He presses it to the back of the priest’s right hand. The flesh hisses.
I--- Batman looms over him, the zarape dripping with oil and blood. The single bell in the tower above begins to toll midnight, pulled by a ghost (or by the wind). Each clang is a gunshot in the silence. i--- Batman Caballero De La Noche
"Now every time you pray to your vulture," Batman says, "you will see who truly watches over this noche ." He presses it to the back of the priest’s right hand
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. The single bell in the tower above begins
He leaves the man screaming, his gang dissolved, the Junta ’s ritual broken. As dawn bleeds over the adobe rooftops, Diego climbs the bell tower. He looks out over his city—his ugly, beautiful, cursed Gotham del Sur . The mariachis are playing a sad, hopeful tune.
I--- Batman moves. Not with the silent glide of the American comics, but with the crack of a bullwhip—his látigo , a braided cord of piano wire and horsehair. It wraps around a federal ’s rifle, yanks it into the abyss. He lands on the altar, his boots scuffing the blood-rusted tiles.