THE DEATH KNELL-Chapter 46: THE FLASHPOINT BETWEEN US

Beyond the reach of Talia's watchful gaze, a streak of red light sliced through the vast Arctic tundra, tearing across the thick snow with impossible speed.

The icy landscape, once serene, erupted in chaos. Powdered snow soared high into the air, scattering like the petals of a goddess's offering. Yet before the flurries could descend back to earth, the figure responsible had already vanished, leaving only a disrupted trail in his wake.

At the forefront of this streak of light was a cloaked man, his movements too fast for the naked eye to track. Draped over his shoulder was Batwoman, her form draped in shadows against the relentless expanse of white. His legs, propelled by sheer kinetic energy, barely made contact with the ground as golden lightning crackled around them, illuminating the frozen wasteland.

To the outside world, time seemed to have slowed, every movement stretched out and sluggish compared to the speedster's relentless advance.

"How's the ride?" The cloaked man's voice carried effortlessly over the wind, as if their motion defied the very laws of sound. "Not every day you get a tour of the Arctic at Mach speed."

His words were casual, even lighthearted, yet his grip remained steady. The blizzard that threatened to consume them didn't even graze their forms, held at bay by an unseen force.

Batwoman, however, didn't so much as flinch. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon—or at least where the horizon should have been. The dark expanse of the polar night stretched endlessly before her, an abyss swallowing the snowy wasteland. No matter how fast they moved, it felt as if the landscape remained unchanged. But she knew better. The coastline was approaching. Fast.

"If you know another version of me," she said coldly, "then you should already understand—I have my own ways of dealing with pain."

The cloaked man huffed, slightly adjusting his grip on her. "Well, sure. But enduring pain when you don't have to? That seems unnecessary." He let out a short chuckle, the fabric of his cloak fluttering as he ran. "It's weird to talk about it like this, but—"

Before he could finish, Batwoman cut him off. "Your so-called Speed Force wraps us in some kind of special field, right? Just like before, every time you pull one of these stunts. I can't feel a thing."

Her voice was even, detached, as if this entire experience barely warranted her attention. The world she once knew felt alien, unfamiliar. The things she had taken as immutable truths had been shattered in mere moments. If not for the evidence the cloaked man had presented, she wouldn't have believed a single word about this so-called future he claimed to know.

The man in the cloak grinned. "You're catching on quick. This little pocket of physics we're in? I call it 'bullet time.' Temporarily sharing my Speed Force with you lets us move in sync with each other. It's pretty neat—" He glanced at her face and sighed. "—but you don't care, do you?"

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His words barely seemed to register. Batwoman wasn't listening. She wasn't even present, not in the way she usually was. Batman never let his mind wander like this. He was always calculating, analyzing. But here, in this moment, she seemed... distant.

"Alright, alright. I get it," he muttered. "I'll spare you the science lecture. We've got work to do. But after this? Maybe I should start charging for my lessons. I could rent out Gotham Stadium, give a full demonstration. What do you think? Would it sell tickets?"

Batwoman barely reacted. "If you want to waste time explaining yourself to a stadium full of people, be my guest. But don't expect me to listen."

The cloaked man sighed again, shaking his head. Every Batman he encountered, no matter the universe, was always the same—distant, detached, impossible to connect with.

"Fine, fine. Bats are always the boss." He adjusted his grip on her. "Next stop—ocean crossing."

Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the edge of the tundra. The frozen expanse ended abruptly, giving way to the Arctic waters. But he didn't stop.

He kept running.

The moment his foot met the icy sea, the water barely rippled beneath him. His speed carried him forward, his steps too fast to sink. The ocean stretched out endlessly ahead, yet with each bound, entire miles vanished behind them. Ice floes and crashing waves stood frozen in time from their perspective, mere still-life images in their high-speed world.

Overhead, the night sky loomed vast and unbroken, but in the far distance, the first hints of dawn began to creep along the horizon.

As the cloaked man ran, his voice carried effortlessly over the roaring silence. "You sure it's a good idea to leave Mr. Butler back on that island?"

Batwoman's eyes narrowed. She already had her suspicions, but this sealed it.

No one sent a babbling idiot to deceive her. A liar had to be careful, precise. A con artist never talked too much—too many words left room for mistakes, for contradictions. But this man? He never stopped talking. He had no filter. That meant one thing: he was telling the truth.

"For the last time," she said, "it's not some deserted island. It's Observation Station No. 7. Alfred is safer there than anywhere else." She paused, her voice dipping into a knowing tone. "Your Batman would probably like that place, too."

Through the communicator in her pointed cowl, a refined voice chimed in. "Indeed, Miss Batwoman. Though, I must say, as an old man, I would prefer a tropical island near the equator to soothe my aging bones. That said, our breakfast options remain... limited."

Alfred's words carried a touch of polite exasperation.

The cloaked man smirked. "Oh no, don't tell me. You guys are still living off bananas and coconuts?"

"It is, unfortunately, the most abundant resource here," Alfred admitted. "And while I do strive for culinary variety, even the most exquisitely prepared banana loses its appeal after the hundredth serving."

Batwoman exhaled through her nose. "We'll deal with it later."

For the past month, the cloaked man had taken her across the globe, moving between locations, making preparations. But dinner? Dinner always meant returning to that island.

Alfred had insisted on maintaining balanced meals, but even the best gourmet skills couldn't change the reality—tropical fruit lost its charm when it was all you ate.

"Then, miss," Alfred continued, his voice steady but firm, "perhaps you could retrieve me? The manor has gone untouched for nearly a month. As a butler, I cannot allow such neglect."

"It's not that simple," Batwoman said, her expression tightening. She had avoided Gotham, deliberately steering clear of Wayne Manor. Even though she had bested Bane and taken his stolen nuclear device, the threat still lingered beneath the city's surface.

Until she pieced together the full picture—reviewed every surveillance recording, cross-checked every anomaly—Gotham remained an uncertain variable.

Alfred, ever composed, merely said, "But, miss, haven't you already formulated your plan? As you always do?"

Batwoman fell silent, her sharp blue eyes glinting in thought.

"...Yes," she admitted. "You're right. We're ready."

She turned to the cloaked man, giving his shoulder a light pat. "Take us to the island first. Then we go to Gotham."

The speedster grinned. "Good call. Hold on tight. We're about to hit max speed."

Lightning flared, golden and fierce, as he pushed himself forward. The ocean blurred beneath them, the world vanishing in a streak of light.

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, they were there.

The island. The sun still hung in the sky, casting warm gold across the sand. And there, by a fire, Alfred tended to a grill, calmly flipping slices of caramelized banana.

The cloaked man staggered to a stop, inhaled deeply, and immediately grabbed one.

"You didn't wash your hands," Alfred observed.

The speedster shrugged, stuffing the banana into his mouth. "I did. Just... really fast."