Chapter 92: The Death of Allen???
Oliver walked forward at a leisurely pace.
Allen immediately stepped in front of Arthur, taking a protective stance like a mother hen shielding her chick.
At the same time, Arthur cooperated perfectly by curling up his body, acting as if he were afraid of being beaten again.
"Stop your excessive actions and don't harm my Joker Robin a second time!" Allen said indignantly.
Oliver halted, clearly aware that they were putting on a two-man act, but he was still going to take the loss.
In the past, Arthur's bank robberies and gang fights had never harmed innocent civilians—at most, he just caused trouble for Batman. Strictly speaking, his crimes weren't unforgivable.
This time, however, he had genuinely saved millions of Gotham citizens. No matter what, Oliver decided to apologize and make amends.
At the very least, in this incident, the Joker was a hero.
Allen had chosen Arthur as Robin because he knew his real name. If it had been Jack, Jerome, or Jeremiah, he would have sent them straight to their graves.
Arthur, as the Joker, never preyed on the weak. That alone was enough for Allen to spare his life.
"Joker, I—"
"Hold it!"
Oliver had just started speaking when Allen immediately interrupted, correcting him: "He's Joker Robin."
"..."
Nearby, Damian's expression twisted into something unreadable. He had already guessed that the last argument had led Allen to pick three criminals as Robins. The realization made him feel utterly disgusted, like he had just swallowed something foul.
From now on, the title of Robin would be nothing more than an insult.
"Joker Robin, I sincerely apologize for what happened earlier. I hope you can forgive me," Oliver said earnestly.
He was flexible when the situation called for it and had a strong sense of justice and morality. If it were a hot-tempered hero in his place, they might have turned into an anti-hero out of sheer frustration.
"Ugh... keh keh keh..."
Arthur tried to pretend to cry, but his natural condition—the pathological laughing disorder—wouldn't allow it.
Allen, hands on his hips like a haggling market vendor, pressed the issue aggressively: "Look at him! You beat him so bad he's laughing and crying at the same time! His brain wasn't working right to begin with, and now you've made it worse! Have some sympathy, will you?"
How the hell is this my fault?
Batman beat him up even worse, and I didn't see him laughing and crying back then!
Oliver wanted to argue, but knowing Allen's personality, he realized there was no easy way out. So he got straight to the point: "Will ten million be enough?"
"Oh, sure, just throw money at the problem. You and Bats—besides having endless cash, what else do you even have? What else can you even be?"
Allen sneered, but his body was honest—his hand was already stretched out, ready to accept the deal.
"I don't have a check on me. I'll send it over later," Oliver said, then stepped aside, falling into a silent depression.
He had gone out to save the world and ended up losing ten million in the process. He was seriously considering whether being a hero was worth it anymore.
Allen gave Arthur a kick and urged, "Drop the act already. You suck at it."
"Keh keh keh... Boss, how are we splitting the ten million? Feels easier than robbing a bank!" Arthur grinned despite his swollen, bruised face.
"Split what? We're saving that money for QQ's presidential campaign," Allen rolled his eyes.
Somewhere, Penguin was crying.
Allen was actually going to help him run for president.
And the name just kept getting weirder.
People used to call him 'QQ Pet,' but now they had shortened it to just 'QQ.'
Allen strode up to Bruce, puffing out his chest like a peacock showing off. "Bats, your turn."
"What about me?"
Bruce's worst fear had come true.
This lunatic was coming after him now.
"The way you're pretending to be innocent—it feels so foreign to me," Allen said, clutching his chest as if heartbroken.
"Back then, you abandoned me and wouldn't let me play along. Do you have any idea how much psychological damage that causes to someone with a mental illness?"
"No, you don't. You only think about Gotham."
Saying this, Allen's voice turned sinister: "So, I'm going to take Gotham from you. Then, I'll make you unemployed. Keh keh keh..."
Wow.
Bruce was genuinely impressed.
This guy's idea of revenge was so bizarre it actually made him laugh.
"You saw it, didn't you? You couldn't save Gotham. We, the Comedy Troupe, had to do it for you," Allen declared smugly, his expression full of triumph.
Bruce couldn't help but say, "Allen, thank you for everything you've done."
"Save the empty words—just call me handsome," Allen said dismissively.
"Uh... you're really handsome."
Bruce suddenly realized that, compared to Oliver, who had lost ten million, getting away with just a compliment felt like a pretty good deal.
"Hey, Damian."
Allen turned to Damian, showing off: "I have three Robins now. Want to join the Comedy Troupe?"
Hmph!
Damian turned his head away, too proud to respond to a lunatic.
Allen then walked up to Eric, took one look at him, and immediately lost interest. "Never mind, we're not even the same species."
"..."
Blade, being naturally stoic, didn't even react to Allen's antics.
"I feel like singing."
Allen strolled to the edge of the rooftop, overlooking the bustling Gotham below, and began to belt out a song.
After the vampire virus invasion, government agencies were busy with rescue operations, making the usually quiet Gotham night unusually lively.
"Invincibility is so, so lonely… Invincibility is so, so empty…"
Just as he was getting into it, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Annoyed, Allen shrugged off the touch. "Let me finish my song."
But the tapping became more insistent.
Tsk...
Allen turned around—and immediately shut up.
The group tensed up, staring at the newly arrived Talon warriors across from them.
The vampire threat had been dealt with, but the Court of Owls was still a lingering problem.
The Talon warriors split into two columns, making way for a terrifying figure draped in a black robe.
Dark energy curled around its form, and four sharp fangs protruded from its upper and lower jaw.
The Strigoi Priests!
Blessed by the Bat God Barbatos with dark powers, the Strigoi Priests radiated an aura that filled everyone with dread.
"Batman, submit to fate. Fulfill your destined end."
The cryptic statement left everyone confused.
Allen, however, understood the bigger picture. Even Bruce himself wasn't entirely sure about this so-called fate.
"Well, if we're done here—time to get paid," Deathstroke interjected.
Being a mercenary, he had no interest in grand prophecies. He didn't believe in fate, and he certainly wasn't about to start now.
Boom!
A sudden blast of dark energy struck him, sending him flying.
If not for his special metal armor, he would have been obliterated on the spot.
"Wretched ants. You should be honored to serve the great Barbatos," the Strigoi Priests said, devoid of emotion.
The sheer power on display sent chills down everyone's spines.
They had been fighting with swords and fists—now the enemy was using magic.
"Big bro, I'm on your side!"
Out of nowhere, Allen raised his hands and declared, "I was actually a double agent the whole time, infiltrating them from within!"
Boom!
The Strigoi Priests blasted him off the rooftop, sending him plummeting.
After all the backstabbing Allen had done, the Court of Owls wasn't about to believe a word he said.
Still… seeing him get blown away like that felt oddly satisfying.