A small not before we start. Like i always say i write my novel in Arabic then Translate it using chatgpt so you may read some weird stuff that you can ignore if you like and enjoy the story. And... See you later kids
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Chapter 1
> "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for... I agree with the second part."
— Ernest Hemingway
Gotham City is a terrible place.
Not terrible because of fire or plague, not because the buildings crumble or the sky stays grey — but because the rot runs deeper than stone. It's in the blood of the city. It pulses in its veins.
Gotham is filled with monsters — some wear the skin of men, others don't even bother to hide. Men who laugh while they burn you. Creatures who kill for sport. Psychopaths in clown paint and masks who don't need a reason to destroy lives.
In this city, there is no light.
Only shadows.
And in those shadows — something watches. Something walks.
Once, Batman was the only one who lived there. And his soldier, Robin.
But not tonight.
Tonight, something else walks the dark.
---
It was just another day in Gotham — or whatever passed for "normal."
People went to work. Drank coffee. Laughed like nothing was wrong. Like the whole city wasn't a haunted house that just never turned on the lights.
The sun set early — it always did. Gotham swallowed daylight like a sickness.
And when night fell… the real city came alive.
A woman, mid-20s, freshly off work from a hair salon, stepped out into the night. She was pretty, graceful, and tired. She held a small purse and adjusted her coat, eager to catch the late train. She passed under a flickering streetlight, heading toward the empty subway entrance.
She never saw the man behind her.
He moved quick. Covered her mouth. Pulled her by the neck into the shadows between two buildings.
She kicked, struggled, tried to scream — but he was strong and sick and already whispering in her ear:
"Shhh… don't scream… or you'll die," he said. Spit clung to his lip as he grinned beneath a cracked hockey mask.
The woman's eyes widened in terror. Her body froze.
The man breathed heavy. He smelled like smoke and rot. His hand crept up her shirt, fingers shaking with anticipation.
"You can choose," he whispered with sick pleasure. "You die... or I enjoy you and let you go."
Tears fell down her cheeks. But no sound came. Her mouth was still sealed shut by his rough palm.
He chuckled. His free hand trembled against her skin. This was the moment he lived for — that helpless, silent scream. That beautiful look of fear.
Until her eyes changed.
She wasn't looking at him anymore.
She was staring behind him.
The man frowned and slowly turned around.
A figure stood in the mouth of the alley.
He was about 5'10". Dressed in nothing but black — hoodie, jeans, boots, and a plain black mask. A steel pipe hung in one hand.
He didn't speak for a long time. Just tilted his head.
When he did, his voice was quiet, hollow, like it came from a deep well.
"Choose," he said. "Die… or die."
The man yanked the woman tighter, dragging her in front of him like a human shield. He pulled a small pistol from his waistband and pointed it at her head.
"Don't move!" he shouted. "I'll kill her. I swear to God I'll blow her brains out!"
The masked figure raised his eyes just slightly. His tone didn't change.
"Do it."
The man blinked. "What?"
"I said do it," the masked repeated calmly. "You think I care? You think I'm Batman? Superman? I'm not here to save the day."
He stepped forward. Slow. Measured.
"I don't care."
The man's grip trembled. The woman sobbed harder.
"You kill her — you die. You don't kill her — you die."
The figure stopped a foot away.
"She's not your shield. She's your sentence."
The man stared at him, unblinking. He had been caught by Batman once. The Bat beat him bloody and dropped him off at GCPD. But this… this wasn't Batman.
This wasn't a man at all.
This was death itself.
In a panic, the man didn't move fast enough.
The figure raised his free hand and pushed the woman aside.
She fell to the ground with a gasp. The man had no time to react.
CRACK.
The pipe hit him in the jaw. Bone shattered. He dropped the gun.
CRACK.
It hit again — his ribs.
THUD.
Again — his knee. He screamed.
Then came the final blow.
The figure gripped the pipe in both hands and slammed it into the man's head. Again. And again. And again. Until the mask cracked. Until the skull caved. Until blood sprayed the walls and the woman turned her head away screaming.
Until there was no more head.
Just meat.
The figure stood there, breathing through his mask.
The woman cowered against the wall, shaking.
He didn't move toward her. Didn't offer a hand. He only turned his head slightly and looked at her.
" Let Gotham city know this. The raven of death is back"
And then… he walked away.
---
High above, on the rooftop of a nearby building, two shadows watched.
Batman narrowed his eyes. He had arrived just seconds too late — drawn by a scream, perhaps, or a sudden radio silence from the area. Robin stood beside him, quiet.
"What… was that?" Robin whispered.
Batman didn't answer right away.
He was still watching the blood-splattered alley below, where the woman sobbed and the killer walked away without fear, without hiding.
That wasn't a monster.
That was something worse.
A man who came back dead.
---
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