They weren't marked. The children. Neither were the brothers and sisters who had come to praise him for reasons other than his grace. The Father McCallough, the founder of the Brotherhood of the Bat, wore a red bat on his face. Carved in. The deacons, a black bat circled in yellow. The priests, who also served as the emissaries, were tattooed with a black bat in the middle of their face that could never be removed. They were the first. The Chosen people of the Bat. They would see him saved.

"Ana," her mother said as the young woman walked into their small, Spartan home. She wasn't really her mother but she didn't know that. She didn't know anything anymore beyond what the Brotherhood taught her. "Ana" wasn't really her name. It was assigned, just like the others. Soon she wouldn't even have that.

"Hello, mother," the young priest said, hugging the old Italian woman and smiling. "I'm home."

"How was your day?"

"Good," Ana said, her voice a hard rasp from having her throat slit the night she met the Bat.

"Come, I was just about to have lunch. Would you go outside and gather the children?"

The children. Her siblings. Somewhere she had a little sister who wanted to be a teacher, a mother who worked at the First State Bank of Gotham and a father who taught English at Empire State University. She knew nothing about them. If she had she would have wished them death. They were impure. Trash to be burned in the fires of Hell.

"Mama wants you to come inside!" Ana called to the five children riding around on a rusted out merry go round and playing on a rickety slide. They all smiled and screamed when they saw her and ran to her for a group hug.

The children all listened intently to everything she said. Their mouths instantly snapped shut when she would so much as yawn. She was holy. A Chosen priestess of the Bat. They had only heard about him in Sunday school but she had met him. Touched him. She would kill him. She was all the little girls wanted to be and everything her brothers wanted in a wife.

They ate their simple meal of water, bread and onions then she went to her room to rest. Father McCallough said that, as the Lord walked the earth a normal man, carrying all he needed in his belt, they should do the same. Too many unnecessary choices led to dissention. There had been a boy, many years ago when the Brotherhood was young, when indulgence was still allowed. He had come to worship a false god. The one calling herself Wonder Woman. One of the unworthy the Lord was now consorting with. Ana wished she could kill the Amazon but had consigned herself to her task. There was no questions. Father McCallough took his orders from the spirit itself - the unchanging blood bat on the wall of his home. The face of God.

The Father came for her at sunset. It was almost time. She had to be ready when the Bat came. He would be here soon enough.

Ana didn't cry when they hooked her up to the machine in the converted dovecote. Not like she had cried when they stole her life the first time. Numbers rushed in front of her eyes and there was no room for tears. The nodules attached to her shaven head flooded her brain with every fighting style, every tactic, every strategy. She wasn't going to fight like Him. That would be blasphemy. No, she was going to fight better then rip him to pieces with the sickles the technicians replaced her hands with. She would never be human but she hadn't been for nearly six years. She wondered if she would smile when the faithful ate of His remains.

Gordon stood outside of the First State Bank of Gotham. He looked worried as he clasped his trench coat around him, the cold wind causing it to billow up from his legs. Smoke dissipated shortly after it left his pipe. He was nervous. Batman made his presence known early, not to scare the man.

"What's the situation?"

"Three fanatics like the one the other night. After that I'd spot them anywhere. They've got about fifteen hostages and, surprise, they want you."

"Hm."

He was gone from Gordon's side and vanished to the back of the bank. He would come in through the fire exit, surprise them. He expected a guard at the door but apparently they wanted him to come. He went.

Fifteen hostages, just like Gordon said. Men, women and children alike. Some were crying, less than he expected in this situation, some were defiant. He hoped no one decided to be a hero. With religious fanatics that could be extremely dangerous.

"Batman!" a little boy yelled excitedly. He put a finger to his lips but it was too late. Everyone knew he was there.

One of the fanatics grabbed a woman, the other grabbed a teenage boy.

"Batman! Hail, the Lord and Savior!" the leader yelled as he came forward brandishing his military level weaponry. Batman wondered where he obtained it from.

He stepped out from behind one of the support pillars, batarangs in hand for each gunman beneath his cape, and stood parallel the leader.

"Let them go."

"I'm sorry, Master. I can't do that. You've veered off track, my Lord."

"You people keep saying that. Sorry if I don't live up to your expectations. Maybe you should try doing something actually constructive with your lives."

"You speak like a blasphemer."

"I'm my own harshest critic. Last chance, let them go."

The leader smiled, revealing his rotted teeth.

"Shoot them."

There was an explosion of sound as the two gunmen fired off their weapons into their hostages. Batman screamed and launched both batarangs but it was too late. He knocked the guns off course but only caused the gunmen to fire a stream of holes on either wall. Outside Gordon and the GCPD were about to charge.

"Tell them to stop."

Batman, still in shock, went to the door and held up his hands. Gordon waved for his men to stop. He looked over his shoulder. One of the gunmen was close. He swung out his leg and kicked him into a pillar then spun and broke his arm, he was in no mood to play nice. The other gunmen aimed his gun but stopped short as Batman pointed his partner's weapon at him.

"Drop it."

"Yes, Lord."

"He's lost!" the leader screamed. "He tries to mislead you! Do not be fooled!"

"Shut up," Batman said, pointing the gun at the man with the green and black teeth. "You're already in enough trouble."

"Go outside," Batman told the second gunmen. "Turn yourself in. Maybe they'll give you life in Blackgate."

The gunmen nodded nervously then put his hands over his head and walked outside. Somewhere in Gotham he had a wife and young son who thought he was gone. Taken away from them by some evil. They would read about his suicide by Monday morning.

Batman tossed the other man's gun across the room and dropped him to the floor. He approached the leader and cracked his knuckles. He was going to see this man scream like his victims never had a chance to do.

"Stop, Lord," the leader said. "I do this for you."

Batman said nothing as he approached.

The leader pulled out two pistols and fired them at the bat on his chest. Batman stumbled backward as he unloaded the clip then crashed through the front doors of the bank. The leader turned and pointed the empty guns at the crowd who screamed and ran for safety only to realize they didn't know where to look.

"Batman!" Gordon cried as he ran to Batman's side.

"No! Oh, no! No! No! No!" The gunman Batman had sent outside screamed. The one inside was crying as well. Their Lord was gone.

"Is he dead?" Bullock asked, showing an unexpected amount of concern.

"I . . . " Gordon didn't know what to say. "He can't be . . . "

Batman lay completely still then, after a moment began to cough. Harsh rasps ripping his throat. He leaned on his arm then sat up with Gordon's help and rubbed his chest. Kevlar.

"Batman!"

The cops began to cheer and applaud amidst the minority of boos and hisses.

"Which," he stopped and heaved. "Which way did he go?"

"That way but--" Gordon said as he pointed towards the fire exit Batman had entered from. Batman didn't wait for him to finish his sentence as he staggered to his feet then headed after him. The Batmobile was almost a block from here and he was behind.

They sped through the city with Batman right on their heels the whole way. The streets of Gotham were packed with cars and pedestrians as always but after all these years they had learned how to get out of the way when they saw His car.

They were in the country a few moments later. The Batmobile pushing two hundred to keep up with the Pontiac. Who ever supped it up had been one hell of a mechanic. He pressed his foot to the gas pedal as they sped around a curve. They were going off but it was intentional. The Batmobile was a lighter machine. It leaped the ditch then was running side by side with the black and silver Pontiac. He was going to catch them.

The window of the Pontiac rolled down as they dodged around what was once a flourishing forest but now was just a field with oak trees blocking their path. The leader of the gunmen leaned out the window, having apparently reloaded his pistols, and began to fire away at the Bat's driver side window. He glanced at him occasionally as bullets ricocheted away from the car. He couldn't take his eyes away from the forest path. If he did he would hit a tree then they would escape.

The Pontiac hit a bump that sent the Batmobile onto one side. The gunmen hit the top of the window and dropped his weapons. He staggered as they sped on. The Batmobile beside them landing hard against the ground, Batman jerked the wheel to avoid an oncoming tree. The leader of the gunmen, stunned from his recent racking, wasn't quite as quick. His body broke as he slammed against the old pine tree at one hundred and eighty miles an hour.

The Batmobile flew off a tall trench as he raced to catch up with the Pontiac. The car spun as Batman tried to wrest control of it. The alignment was shot after that impact. He could see the leader of the gunmen hanging lifelessly out of the car window. His body suddenly fell out and landed in front of the Batmobile, Batman narrowly avoided it. The Batmobile was directly behind the Pontiac when it smashed through a fence and skidded to a stop in front of a ramshackle commune, the engine block smoking through the hood.

Batman was out before the driver of the other car and leaping down from the top of the Batmobile. The driver didn't bother to close his door as he fired off a shot or two at Batman then took off towards the commune. There was another ditch up ahead, Batman noticed as he ran after him. His breath was ragged from the gunshots. The driver jumped the ditch and Batman followed suit.

"AAAAHHH!" he screamed as two three foot sickles slashed through the skin on his stomach. He fell into the yellow grass, soaking them with his blood.

"Welcome, Batman," Father McCallough said. "I see we've gotten your attention, Lord."

Batman coughed and his stomach muscles burned like fire. He looked around but didn't see anyone or anything that could have done that. Just the balding, yellow faced Irishman in front of him.

"You see, as your disciples have said, you've gotten off the Holy path."

"You're . . . " He stopped as his eyes involuntarily shut and his ears began to ring from the pain in his stomach. "You're nuts."

The Father laughed. "I'm faithful. You see, you saved all of us. Now it's time we returned the favor."

A naked woman, the woman who had sprayed him nearly a week ago, stepped out of the shadows under the cove. Her long red hair was gone, her eyes replaced by metal orbs, two long sickles jutted out of her forearm. At their base was a mace shaped weapon. Double threat. The black bat on her face was the only thing unchanged.

"Ana, here was one of the Chosen. She loves you, dear Lord, so much that she's given up her very humanity to save you."

"Wh--What is this?" Batman moaned.

"Reaper," Ana rasped. "My name is Reaper."