Categories > Cartoons > Batman
A new figure haunts Gotham’s rooftops — the Night Raven. His robberies are precise, his laughter mocking, and his challenge clear. When Batman finally confronts him, the Dark Knight realizes th...
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Night had fallen on Gotham, and rain once again washed over the streets. Neon signs flickered faintly through wet windows, while the alleys crawled with those who only came out after dark.
On the roof of an old bank stood the silhouette every criminal feared without a word. Batman said nothing, but the city listened to his silence.
Tonight, he was waiting. Police had reported a string of robberies that seemed ordinary—except for one detail: the criminals left behind black cards marked with the image of a raven. To most, it was nothing. To him, it was a sign.
Through the rumble of thunder, Batman caught a familiar sound—a thin, mocking laugh, like it was taunting the sky itself. He turned, and on the rooftop across the street, a cloaked figure appeared.
“Night Raven,” Batman growled, his voice drowned in the storm.
Raven was new to the city. No one knew where he came from. His robberies were precise, calculated—but every move carried a challenge. It was as if he wanted to be noticed. Wanted the Dark Knight himself to take the bait.
“Took you long enough,” Raven called across the gap. “I was starting to think you didn’t care!”
Batman didn’t reply. He leapt, the rain scattering like shards of night behind him. The clash was brief, but fierce. Blows echoed with the thunder, every second stretched into eternity.
At last, Raven slipped away, laughing as he vanished into the mist.
Batman rose from the wet pavement and found the black card his foe had left behind. On it was a single word: “Play.”
He clenched the card in his fist. A new shadow had risen over Gotham. But the city knew: no matter what darkness came, Batman would always face it head-on.
On the roof of an old bank stood the silhouette every criminal feared without a word. Batman said nothing, but the city listened to his silence.
Tonight, he was waiting. Police had reported a string of robberies that seemed ordinary—except for one detail: the criminals left behind black cards marked with the image of a raven. To most, it was nothing. To him, it was a sign.
Through the rumble of thunder, Batman caught a familiar sound—a thin, mocking laugh, like it was taunting the sky itself. He turned, and on the rooftop across the street, a cloaked figure appeared.
“Night Raven,” Batman growled, his voice drowned in the storm.
Raven was new to the city. No one knew where he came from. His robberies were precise, calculated—but every move carried a challenge. It was as if he wanted to be noticed. Wanted the Dark Knight himself to take the bait.
“Took you long enough,” Raven called across the gap. “I was starting to think you didn’t care!”
Batman didn’t reply. He leapt, the rain scattering like shards of night behind him. The clash was brief, but fierce. Blows echoed with the thunder, every second stretched into eternity.
At last, Raven slipped away, laughing as he vanished into the mist.
Batman rose from the wet pavement and found the black card his foe had left behind. On it was a single word: “Play.”
He clenched the card in his fist. A new shadow had risen over Gotham. But the city knew: no matter what darkness came, Batman would always face it head-on.
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