Chapter 258: There's No Robin, I'm Venom Who Loves You Most!
Hulk represented Dr. Banner's childhood trauma and suppressed emotions made manifest. His strength increased alongside growing anger.
Batman had long ago determined this through Banner's life history and Hulk's various post-emergence behaviors.
From when Venom Robin began battling Hulk until now, though Hulk occasionally gritted teeth and cursed Robin, Batman could clearly determine Hulk hadn't entered enraged states.
Hulk consistently maintained normalized strength levels battling Venom Robin. Until now—when Venom Robin's physique reverted to former Venom appearance, strength beginning exponentially surging, even starting overpowering Hulk—Hulk's face finally flashed slight anger.
One low roar—within Hulk's body, muffled thunder rolled. His powerful heart beat frantically, pumping green blood throughout his entire body.
Venom had just recovered one round. But facing Hulk's somewhat angry emotions, Hulk's fist still slowly yet unstoppably pressed toward Venom's body.
Identical size to Hulk plus bulging muscles made Venom's strength multiply. But facing Hulk appeared willing yet powerless.
"Hulk, that's enough."
Observing Venom about being completely pinned by Hulk, Batman spoke.
Batman's words barely finished—Hulk's fist immediately opened into palm form, separately grasping both Venom's fists. Like paired hydraulic clamps, he restrained Venom completely motionless.
"Hulk isn't satisfied. Bring Big Lizard." Hulk snorted dissatisfiedly toward Batman.
"There'll be opportunities, Hulk." Batman reassured, then looked toward Venom. "Robin, revert."
Venom's fists were firmly grasped by Hulk. Currently hearing Batman's voice, he turned his head. Scarlet tongue curved through air:
"Roar roar, Batman? Don't recognize me? There's no Robin—I'm Venom who loves you most!"
His voice was rough and brutal—completely lacking Venom Robin's crisp tones, instead identical to original symbiote Venom.
Even his current tone matched Venom perfectly.
"Excessive moonlight makes Venom Robin become pure Eclipse Knight. Extremely lacking moonlight supplementation transforms him into pure Venom..."
Batman determined Venom's current situation, making eye contact with Dr. Octavius:
"Moonlight!"
Standing on moonlight platform, Dr. Octavius understood immediately. His four rear mechanical tentacles extended uniformly, controlling moonlight once again penetrating prisms, refracting to illuminate Venom's body.
"I don't like moonlight." Venom—illuminated by moonlight—showed layer upon layer of bandage wrappings appearing across his pitch-black symbiote surface. "I also don't like becoming any Robin."
Bandages wrapped forming combat suit. But Venom's physique didn't restore to Robin's 1.4-meter height—instead maintaining approximately three-meter height matching Hulk.
"Hulk, release him." Batman addressed Hulk, who immediately released his firm grip on Venom's hands.
Batman stepped forward several paces, standing under three meters from Venom.
"Revert." Batman's voice remained low, eyes deadly staring at Venom. "Or I'll help you."
Venom couldn't restrain retreating half a step. He looked at Batman, then observed side-positioned menacing Hulk plus moonlight platform's Dr. Octavius.
After several seconds' hesitation, Venom's body deflated—rapidly shrinking from nearly three-meter robust physique back to 1.4-meter adolescent appearance.
"Robin, I need conducting mental assessments on you."
Robin appeared. Batman immediately addressed him.
"Old Bat, what just happened?" Venom Robin appeared completely bewildered.
Batman observed him deeply, not speaking.
Batman didn't speak. Naturally Octavius and others wouldn't tell Robin about previous events either.
Hulk's body produced consecutive light sounds. He also reverted to only-loose-shorts-wearing Dr. Banner, rapidly donning shirt, jacket, and lab coat.
---
Bat Island.
The island's forests were pitch-black. Occasionally moonlight penetrated dense leaves, projecting groundward, forming pale white light spots.
Norman Osborn sat on ground, back against one thick trunk, hugging that food bag.
Eyes open, listening to island insects producing rustling sounds, hearing some nocturnal hunting birds flapping wings while passing.
Norman Osborn even heard—possibly illusion—wave after wave of strange hissing sounds.
During daytime, Norman Osborn had traversed through forests, advancing under two kilometers.
Within merely two-kilometer range, he'd discovered three long-weathered animal skeletons plus one pile highly-probably-human bones.
Moreover, beyond birds and insects, Norman Osborn hadn't discovered any other animal existence traces here.
Footprints, feces, fur, scents... nothing whatsoever.
Initially, Norman Osborn could barely console himself—his activity range remained too small, hadn't ventured into animal-activity zones yet.
But as nightfall descended, those strange hissing sounds transmitted, Norman Osborn suspected the island didn't lack animals—rather possessed one extremely ferocious beast.
Possibly giant python, possibly fierce tiger. Precisely that beast's existence caused no animal traces here.
Norman Osborn leaned toward believing it was a giant python.
"How to survive?" Norman Osborn asked himself.
His stomach felt somewhat hungry. But he didn't dare eating—fearing sounds would attract that python.
He curled his body into a ball, minimizing heat dissipation—similarly avoiding attracting pythons.
But as time progressed, those hissing sounds grew increasingly clear. Norman Osborn couldn't restrain shuddering.
He looked upward at pitch-black canopy, deciding climbing trees to spend the night. This way, even if pythons slithered over, he could rely on branches for position transfers.
Moreover during daytime, he could stand on high branches observing surrounding environments.
Once determined, Norman Osborn no longer hesitated. Biting the bag in his mouth, both hands and feet grasped the trunk, slowly climbing.
But problems emerged: despite bark existence preventing trunks being completely smooth, tree-climbing remained far harder than Norman Osborn imagined.
He couldn't even climb one-meter height. Lifting one foot meant the other slid downward—cycling endlessly.
The forest remained pitch-black. Ground scattered with dead branches. Casual movement would inevitably produce sounds.
With these concerns, Norman Osborn couldn't even switch to slightly thinner trees for climbing.
He could only re-curl his body into a ball, hugging food, eyes open while recalling first-half-life experiences—thus forcibly enduring until dawn.