" Buenas noches, buitres, " he growls, a voice like grinding gravel and rosary beads.
I--- Batman doesn’t flinch. He reaches into his zarape and pulls out a botella of mescal. Inside, a single, live murciélago flaps its wings. He uncorks it.
"Mercy," Diego repeats, his voice quiet now. "My father asked for mercy. You gave him a bullet." i--- Batman Caballero De La Noche
A child, peeking from a doorway, whispers to her mother: " Mira, mamá. El Caballero de la Noche. "
He presses it to the back of the priest’s right hand. The flesh hisses. " Buenas noches, buitres, " he growls, a
And high above, the shadow spreads its capa one last time and disappears into the rising sun, not as a bat, but as a knight who has finished his vigil.
"Now every time you pray to your vulture," Batman says, "you will see who truly watches over this noche ." Inside, a single, live murciélago flaps its wings
The fight is not elegant. It is a pelea de gallos in a knife-factory. Diego takes a knife to the ribs (armor holds), a cybernetic fist to the jaw (teeth rattle), but he doesn't stop. He is not a ninja. He is a caballero —a knight of dirty, desperate streets. He fights dirty. He fights for the dirt.
He drinks. He doesn’t swallow. He breathes .