Chapter 49 McDonald's Zero-Dollar Purchase

Unbeknownst to the cultists and demons, a colossal blood-red moon had, at some unknown point, manifested in the night sky above Gotham City. Crimson moonlight shrouded the towering skyscrapers on the ground, and in the very center of the full moon, a faint, blurred pentagram pattern hovered vaguely, while the oppressive, decaying scent of sulfur drifted through the air. The rivers flowing through the city, particularly the side close to Arkham Island, exuded a rotting stench reminiscent of piled-up corpses.

Batman stood quietly atop a tower, overlooking these changes from afar. His expression was extremely stern, yet he was not nervous. Data from various districts of the city, transmitted by the Batcomputer, flashed rapidly before his eyes. He cross-referenced them with normal baseline data from ordinary days to filter out the risk-free areas one by one. As for those that could not be screened out by the system... those were the directions that he and Robin would slowly investigate tonight.

Eventually, the computer highlighted three locations in the city with red markers.

"I can't see any connection between them," Red Robin Tim said in the Batcave, touching his chin. "The Penguin in the Diamond District suffered a theft three days ago; he allegedly lost one of his collectibles. Robinson Park has been under construction and renovation recently, sealing off a section of the lawn. Dixon Docks... there's a group of low-threat cultists lacking organization and discipline. Though they call themselves a cult, I feel it's more like a spell-discussion group cobbled together by a bunch of bungling mages. According to computer records, their greatest achievement in causing trouble was using magic at a McDonald's to confuse the clerk, zero-dollying three budget meals, plus an extra order of fries and a McFlurry."

"..."

A cold snort came from Robin Damian Wayne over the comms channel.

Batman shook his head and said calmly to Tim, "You've only seen part of it. The day before yesterday at dawn, an Arkham sanitation worker, while incinerating discarded waste en masse, secretly pocketed a note scribbled all over by the Riddler. Last night, someone took advantage of a torrential downpour to jump into the Gotham River and fish out a Court of Owls coin from the shallows of the river bend. Up to this very moment, that group at McDonald's... that group of previously harmless cultists has already gathered coins, ballads, daggers, wooden stakes, mouse claws, the blood of those performing the ritual, and a demon fingernail bought from the black market.

"This reminds me of a legend from long ago—in 1916, a British mage summoned a 'deity' through a certain evil ritual."

No one questioned why Batman omitted the outrageous deeds the cultists had committed at McDonald's.

Everyone listened solemnly as he recounted the ancient history and the dark ritual that could only be performed during a full moon. When he finished, Robin spoke up: "They replaced the final required material—an angel's feather—with a demon's fingernail... Why?"

This "why" questioned both why the cultists had substituted the ritual materials and why a group of "law-abiding" criminals had suddenly risen to stir up a massive storm.

Batman replied, "This is precisely what we need to investigate next. The key individual is named Sam Hathaway. His British ancestor guarded the *Book of Magdalene*—which records the summoning ritual—prior to 1916, and even witnessed firsthand the scene when the previous magic ritual took effect."

***

"Sam Hathaway."

The Demon Lord Alastor gracefully stepped through the portal, pretending not to notice the increasingly pungent stench of the surroundings. His scarlet eyes swept over the trembling cultists and finally landed on Sam, who was standing beside the High Priest.

"You have quite the courage. It has been many years since I last saw a human dare to make a deal with a demon of Hell."

The last one seemed to be named Con-something...? Word had it that because his moral character was even worse than a demon's, his reputation was utterly atrocious, and he had long occupied the top spot on Hell's "Most Unwelcome Humans" ranking list.

Alastor's thoughts spun around for a moment before returning to the person in front of him. He smiled, walked up to Sam, and patted him familiarly on the shoulder. "Don't be nervous, my good brother. I haven't even had the chance to thank you yet. Guiding demons into the mortal realm is a monumental achievement indeed... the kind that racks up credit for going to hell after you die."

Sam shook like a leaf. He was a pale, frail young man with black hair, sporting exaggerated dark circles under his two brownish-brown eyes. Under the immense pressure, his pupils were dilated, and it took a great deal of effort for him to barely focus his attention on Alastor, stuttering, "H-Hello."

Alastor wanted to waste a few more words, but the surrounding environment was truly abysmal. He never would have imagined that this group of demon summoners wouldn't even have a decent house. A demon's senses were far sharper than a human's, and those lingering stenches were constantly drilling into his nasal cavity, causing Alastor to rapidly lose his patience.

His smile turned cold as he suddenly whipped out a holy revolver from his waist and pressed it against Sam's forehead. "I, Lord Alastor, will forever remember your contribution and sacrifice. And you should know what the consequences of summoning a demon are, shouldn't you?

"See you in hell, human."

He pulled the trigger, and Sam immediately closed his eyes.

"..."

Yet after everyone waited for a few seconds, they found that nothing had happened.

Alastor came to his senses, tucked the holy revolver—which had been blessed by Heaven—back into his pocket, and muttered, "I forgot that an angel's weapon can't kill ordinary people..." He switched to another ordinary handgun, aimed it at Sam's head once more, and smiled slightly. "Pardon me, let's try this again—see you in hell, human."

This time, he successfully pulled the trigger. The bullet fired with a *bang*, but just as it was about to enter Sam's skin, it was blocked by an invisible magical force visible to the naked eye, unable to advance a single inch further. Alastor could not help but open his eyes wide, refusing to believe it, and bent his finger to try again.

*Bang!*

The bullet was blocked once more.

Sam was covered in cold sweat, yet seeing this scene, he revealed a weak smile. He lowered his voice and said, "The ritual... the summoning ritual is not yet complete. You haven't taken away the offering we 'presented.' Until then, a demon's power is restricted in the mortal realm and cannot be fully unleashed. You cannot kill anyone."

Alastor stared at him for a few seconds, turned his head, and shouted, "Steve! Steve! Come over here and help me stab this guy!"

Captain America: ...

He had not yet been resurrected, so he still retained the appearance of an eagle's head and a bear's body. Hearing Alastor's nonsense, he merely said in a disgruntled tone, "I can't do that."

Then, ignoring the demons around him who were whispering amongst themselves due to the sudden turn of events, he walked over to Sam, softened his tone, and asked, "What offering are you talking about?"

Sam did not answer him. Alastor sniffed again, then pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke through it, nasal-voiced: "Can't you smell it? Ignore the stinky smell all around; there's a rich aroma of food drifting over from the opposite riverbank."

"..."

From a demon's perspective, wouldn't this place smell both delicious and foul at the same time, akin to someone placing a boxed meal right beside an outhouse?

Would they even be able to eat after this?

Steve's train of thought derailed for a second before he grew alert once more. Flashes of Gotham's map crossed his mind, along with the fleeting glimpse of the city's nightscape he had caught when a demon lifted the upper hatch earlier. Suddenly, he realized where the opposite riverbank Alastor mentioned was located—

That was the notorious Arkham Asylum!

A chill went through his heart. His gaze swept over the various ritual materials scattered on the ground, which included the Riddler's note, the Penguin's dagger... After scanning the area a few times, a flash of insight struck Steve, and he abruptly realized: in other words, this group of cultists had designated the Arkham inmates as the sacrifices to summon the demons. And this summoning was simultaneously a ritual, a sacrifice, a transaction, and a curse upon Arkham!

If the demons did not kill the madmen of Arkham first, they would be bound by the rules and unable to swagger out and enjoy mortal life... But if the demons fulfilled the ritual's requirements, then all the cultists, including Sam, wouldn't even dream of staying alive. By then, the portal connecting Hell to the mortal world would be completely fixed, and Gotham—and indeed the entire Earth—would become a playground for demons.

At this thought, Steve could not help turning his head to look at Alastor, whose expression was shifting uncertainly.

As it happened, the Demon Lord had made up his mind at that moment as well. He flicked the serval ears on top of his head, bared his sharp fangs in a ferocious smile, and nodded at Sam. "Very well, you win, my friend... We'll be seeing each other in hell after a while."

He blew on the barrel of the gun in his hand, turned back to hail the tide of demons crowding forward, and shouted, "Let's go, assholes and scum! For the sake of our future happy life, go kick the dog heads off those lunatics across the way first!"

The demons cheered and charged out of the septic tank following Alastor. Only Steve stood by the riverbank with complicated feelings, pausing before stepping onto the cross-river bridge to look back at Sam, who had already fallen into a semi-conscious state.

After a long while, he said, "I understand your desire for revenge, but your methods are a bit... inappropriate."

Sam Hathaway lay face down on the grass with his eyes closed, giving no response whatsoever, as if he hadn't heard a thing.

***

Batman walked into the apartment where Sam Hathaway lived, holding a flashlight. It was far more dilapidated than people imagined; the floor was littered with drained wine bottles and beer cans, a few syringes, numerous fast-food packaging bags, and countless drafts covered in text and drawings. He and Robin failed to find Sam himself in the apartment, which was well within Batman's expectations.

He had come here simply to verify a hunch of his.

"Sam Hathaway's grandfather fled to the United States a century ago," he half-crouched down to inspect the draft papers on the ground while lowering his voice to speak to Robin beside him. "He was not a mage, merely an ordinary person who accidentally stumbled into the magical world and was unfortunately terrified by a botched magical ritual. Having narrowly escaped with his life, he forbade anything related to magic from appearing in his household, strictly guarding against all mysterious forces, and implemented the harshest discipline especially upon his son, Sam's father, Simon Hathaway.

"Yet sometimes people do not actively pursue the mystery; rather, the mystery catches a whiff of talent and trails right behind them.

"Sam's father, Simon, was the kind of person with astonishing talent who would be actively sought out by magic. No matter how much his family resisted, Sam's father still accidentally came into contact with spellcraft and became deeply fascinated by it... Look here, Robin, these are the manuscripts of Sam's father."

Damian squatted down beside him and discovered a diary-like notebook in the corner.

The first half of it mostly detailed the process and results of researching magic. It seemed Sam's father had been completely immersed in the sense of achievement brought by the mysterious power, referring to it as the "miracle of destiny" and believing that there was nothing in the world more magnificent, grand, and worthy of exploration and study than this.