I--- Batman Caballero De La Noche [CONFIRMED - 2024]

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.

"Your ancestors," he says, "believed the bat was the Señor de la Noche , the guide of lost souls. You have lost yours."

" Buenas noches, buitres, " he growls, a voice like grinding gravel and rosary beads. i--- Batman Caballero De La Noche

He presses it to the back of the priest’s right hand. The flesh hisses.

El Sacerdote laughs, revealing teeth filed into fangs. "You think a disfraz frightens us, murciélago ? This is not your precious Gotham. Here, the night belongs to us." I--- Batman moves

A cloud of vaporized mescal and adrenaline ignites from his gauntlet’s flint striker. A wall of blue flame erupts, separating Los Espectros. In the chaos, the látigo sings. It wraps the jaguar-claw, twists, cracks the cybernetic wrist. The acid-spitter gets his own throat plugged with a Batarang shaped like a calavera —a sugar skull.

His name is . Not the fictional Zorro of old California, but his great-great-grandson, who watched his father—a reform-minded alcalde —gunned down in the zócalo by the corrupt Federales of the Junta de los Buitres (The Vulture Council). The last thing Diego saw before the blindfold was the shadow of a mission bat flitting across the moon. He took that shadow as his oath. He lands on the altar, his boots scuffing

A festival where the cartels of the Junta sacrifice a rival boss on the steps of the Mission. Diego perches on the bell tower’s cross, his capa merging with the soot-stained sky. Below: mariachis play a mournful canción while a man in a white suit— El Sacerdote , the council’s high priest of extortion—prepares the sacrificial blade.