Capítulo 116: Angels and Blood
He looked down at the kid who had recently avoided him like the plague and said coldly, "Sorry, I don't want to."
The white spider eyes widened in shock, and the young voice, out of sync with the uniform, anxiously grasped his arm, "T-T-The Angemon is bleeding!"
—As a longtime fan of the Angemon and president of the Angemon fan club, Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man, knew full well that the Angemon was supposed to be bloodless.
So, the sight of blood that was slowly flowing from the Angemon's chest was indescribably shocking to him.
Soren: …?
He looked down, following Spider-Man's gaze, and saw the deep, bone-exposing wound on his right chest, where thick, dark red blood was slowly dripping out.
As he looked down, two cool drops also fell from his nostrils.
...He was actually bleeding.
Blood gushed from his body like a breached reservoir.
The pure white figure swayed in the night sky, the eight silver wings flapping slower and slower.
Amid Spider-Man's panicked voice, his vision began to blur—
He fell from the sky.
The light of evolution dissipated from him.
The feathers of his wings fell like the withered, broken wings of a butterfly, drifting down like snowflakes in Gotham's night sky…
He was falling.
In the dark alley, the roar of an engine with monstrous power sounded.
Two beams of blinding headlights pierced through the fog, illuminating the entire alley.
The Batmobile roared through Gotham's eternal darkness, speeding straight toward him.
White spider webs flew out from Spider-Man's wrist and attaching to the corner of a building across the street.
The young superhero swung across the alley, shooting webs in a futile attempt to catch the rapidly falling Angemon.
"No—!"
Spider-Man let out a cry of fear and despair.
The web wrapped around Soren's chest, but the dazzling light scattered like butterflies.
The eight wings became mere specks, and in the fading light, his true appearance was revealed.
…The slender, easily breakable golden-haired youth's face was as pale as paper, his limbs and head drooping helplessly, falling into the open door of the Batmobile.
The Batmobile, a black steel behemoth, screeched across the ground with an ear-splitting sound.
Soren was caught in the arms of someone wearing a custom-tailored suit.
Two pairs of powerful, steel-like arms held him tightly.
The icy blue eyes shattered like frozen glass, revealing the searing, boiling magma beneath.
"I told you not to interfere in my Gotham."
The handsome man with black hair and blue eyes lowered his head, his eyes burning with intense flames.
He bent down to pick up Soren, recklessly using the high-quality fabric of his expensive suit sleeve to wipe the large amounts of blood that was pouring from Soren's mouth and nose.
He quickly pulled out a silk handkerchief from his left chest pocket and pressed it to Soren's nose.
The man who had long become the most mysterious and fearsome legend in Gotham from years of fighting crime, lost all his calm and restraint in that moment.
His trembling fingers combed through the pale golden hair, the thick blood quickly dripping down his hand, tangling the hair into matted, bloodied strands.
He breathed heavily, using the handkerchief to staunch Soren's bleeding while struggling to stay calm and start the Batmobile, "I'll take you back to the Batcave."
Soren's soft golden eyelashes were matted together with blood, his baby-blue eyes sluggishly turning toward Bruce Wayne, "B... Bruce... The suppressor... my suppressor is failing…"
He knew very well what was happening to him.
A blood clotting disorder was merely the most common symptom of his genetic condition.
His mother, who had resolutely removed her gene suppressor also had experienced even more symptoms in the last months of her life.
Along with her journey towards release came extreme paranoia, mental disorders, neuromuscular weakness, retinoblastoma, and malignant hematopoietic stem cell clones...
He had witnessed all of it.
Bruce stared straight ahead, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly they turned white.
He clenched his teeth, his jawline deeply set, and the stray lock of hair on his forehead fluttered with his breathing, "I understand."
His voice was heavy, like the deep echo of the sea.
The Batmobile's doors closed from top to bottom.
At this moment, Spider-Man had caught up and saw Soren's bloodied face inside the Batmobile.
He froze in shock, "Y-You, you're the Angemon?!"
"N-No, no, no—what happened to you!?"
The still-teenaged boy was in a state of panic and helplessness.
He seemed to be falling into an ice cave, not knowing what was happening.
Grasping at the Batmobile's door as if it were a lifeline, he tried to reach out to Soren.
Bruce ignored him and pressing a button to close the door.
The Batmobile's engine roared, and blue flames erupted from the rear as it sped out of the alley like a missile.
This powerful steel beast roared through Gotham, racing to the outskirts to Wayne Manor.
The lake behind the manor parted like the Red Sea, with a wide road descending straight to the lakebed amid the cascading waterfalls.
The Batmobile raced unimpeded, diving into the Batcave.
The doors opened upward, and the tall man in the black suit jumped from the Batmobile, lifting Soren from the passenger seat.
In the embrace of this tall, solid figure, the golden-haired youth looked as fragile as a delicate white egret.
Exhausted from blood loss, his head rested on Bruce's chest, the blood staining Bruce's custom-tailored white shirt.
That pale, slender neck was bent as if it might snap at any moment.
Bruce strode purposefully towards the medical room while carrying Soren.
He kicked open the door to the medical room with one foot, pushed the door open with his right shoulder, and then gently placed Soren on the operating table.
Soren looked at Bruce, whose usually calm demeanor had shifted, and spoke softly, "...Bruce?"
Bruce wet a towel under the faucet and bent down in silence to clean the blood from Soren's face, his steel-blue eyes silently fixed on him.
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