Screams mixed and swirled with the Fear Toxin, which now crept silently through the streets, seeping into every apartment, dark back alley, car and slum. And in its wake shrieks followed and a surge of chaos that swelled like a tide breaking upon the sheer rocks of Madness. Ah, to Scarecrow this was a delight. At last his reign had begun and he would be the Lord of Terror. All would cringe in his wake!

Scarecrow gripped the reins of the sleek black horse, which fidgeted tensely at the chaos and screaming that surrounded this equine beauty. It was an easy matter for Scarecrow to rip the terrified mounted police off this stallion and take it for his own. Already Scarecrow relished the power of riding such a magnificent, powerful animal, its taut sinews, its glistening midnight coat, its speed just waiting to be unleashed.

A car smashed dramatically into a bus, children began to tear at each other and a few men began to pummel each other senseless in fright. Scarecrow smiled beneath his mask and urged his stallion into the swirling clouds of toxin. The screams filled that dark night, thick with pain, suffering and soon death – and Scarecrow road through it all as the harbinger of what was to come, a pale rider of the Apocalypse.

But through this suffering and mayhem, through the ragged holes Scarecrow peered out from, Jonathan Crane, somewhere, deep within his mind, gazed out from those mad blue eyes. Almost like when Scarecrow first emerged and tortured Stan, Crane now was a spectator, but it was much worse now, for he had lost control.

Like dominos that not only topple but somehow shatter, no longer able to be picked up and stacked again, a turn of events went terribly wrong from the moment he met with Rachel Dawes. He had expected their meeting to be brief and simple, that he would brush her off, tell her what he told the judge, that Falcone was intuitionally insane and send that harpy on her way.

But he had been a fool, he should have known better, that she would complicate things, right on the eve Crane's employer, Ra's Al Ghul, was sure to set things in motion, one way or another. He couldn't risk anymore complications and that meant Rachel had to be put out of the way – and fast, just like Falcone.

The Fear Toxin had worked perfectly, but then Crane hadn't anticipated the wild card, the one unexpected move in his meticulously planned game of chess: the Bat-man. He moved swiftly and Crane's confidence and over reliance on his own toxin had been his own undoing – and had been used against him. Crane felt the toxin burning his throat and enter his lungs, his heart speed up and his mind suddenly growing frantic. Crane fought to stay calm, even as the Bat-man had transformed into a demon. As his terror grew, he could feel Scarecrow clawing from the depths of his mind, clawing to the surface of his consciousness, gaining in power and strength.

Just hold out, just a little bit more, Crane thought.

But Scarecrow's harsh laugh echoed in his mind, overwhelming him and Crane could feel his tenuous grasp on sanity begin to slip, slip through is fingers his sand swiftly running through a sieve.

As the Bat-man threw him against the wall, and Crane felt the blackness of unconsciousness nearing him, he knew with terrible certainty that when he awoke he would no longer be Jonathan Crane, but Scarecrow.

Now Jonathan Crane gazed back, helpless, a spectator as he watched Scarecrow gallop through Gotham City on this night of his Reign of Terror. He wasn't certain who he was chasing now, but he seemed intent on his prey, whoever it was.

Not who, Scarecrow thought. I'm just finishing the job you failed at and in the process will have my first prey of my Reign!

Crane gazed intently through Scarecrow's eyes and saw the woman with the dark brown hair and a small boy.

Rachel Dawes!

And now she will die, but not before she first fears me, Scarecrow thought.

The horse lunged forward in a fierce surge of equine power, the muscles rippling beneath the gleaming black coat, its hooves clattering harsh and sharp against the damp, cold asphalt.

"Crane," Rachel cried in shock and horror.

Crane struggled to use his voice, but his throat was silent and he was pushed even further back into the depths of his own mind by the overpowering Scarecrow.

"No, Scarecrow!"

Dramatically the stallion reared, its black gleaming hooves cutting through the toxic air.

"There is nothing to fear but fear itself!"

Crane noticed Rachel lifting something in her hand, pointing it directly at them.

Scarecrow, I think Rachel has a gun.

Shut up, Jonathan!

"I'm here to he–"

Scarecrow's words were cut short by a blinding flash of brilliant light followed by burning pain and searing electricity. Scarecrow no longer spoke, he shrieked as the horse catapulted in panic down a dark street.

Sharp bursts of pain burned Scarecrow as the taser dug through the burlap mask and into his cheek. Faintly he realized he screamed as the taser kept sending burst after burst of electricity, lighting up his mask from the inside in an eerie glow. Faintly he could see smoke through the ragged eye holes of the mask. Through the haze of pain and swirling blackness that rapidly was swallowing all vision, Scarecrow viciously yanked at the wires and ripped it free from his flesh. A stinging pain followed as the needles came loose and it fell useless like twisting electric eels, still searching for a prey to shock upon the asphalt.

Scarecrow felt the warm wetness of blood upon his cheek and the burning pain from the wound, but a growing anger flared more deeply in his heart as he saw the lightening shocks of the taser flash a few more times upon the ground, then die out.

Rachel, that b-tch! That damn b-tch! I will make her pay for this! Not only will she die and fear, she will suffer!

Scarecrow tightened his grip on the reins of the horse as though it was the throat of Rachel Dawes and turned his murderous gaze down the wet, dark street. Screams still filled the air and people still ran and tore at each other in panic. But now it was not good enough, no longer good enough for Scarecrow. His reign no longer would be complete until Rachel Dawes was among them, screaming until her throat was raw and she was exhausted and sick from terror. His reign would not be complete until she was cringing in horror as she saw him approaching and knowing it would be her death. His reign would not be complete until the last of the life's spark dimmed from her eyes and her last breath was drawn from her lips.

In rage, Scarecrow screamed his horse onward and dug his heels into the stallion's sides. The midnight horse bolted down the black street, his teeth grinding against the steel bit, his hooves clattering swift and merciless. As the end of the street approached, Scarecrow could see Rachel standing surrounded by a multitude of convicts defenseless.

Ah, what a sweet scene! I almost am tempted to watch, but she is mine!

Scarecrow swiftly kicked the stallion's sides and as though the magnificent horse had suddenly sprouted wings as the mythic Pegasus, the black steed raced toward her with dizzying speed. Even the convicts stopped, stunned with their knives and makeshift weapons as the powerful steed threatened to trample them in seconds.

He now saw Rachel Dawes, her long brunette hair, her startled brown eyes, but something was not right. What could it be?

The stallion's sharp hooves clattered closer, closer, in any moment he would be on top of Rachel, trampling her beneath his weight.

Rachel turned directly toward him, her eyes wide in fear and shock.

But it wasn't Rachel.

Oh, God, no! Emily! What are you doing here? Emily!

Swiftly he grabbed the reins and harshly yanked them back. The stallion's head jerked back and he tossed it a moment, protesting the command, before he reared up, his fierce hooves cutting the air before heavily clattering back to the pavement.

Emily's heart was racing in terror. She had come from the safe, warm confines of her home when she heard there was a disturbance at Arkham Asylum – something about that strange vigilante the Batman. She had heard about some of the Batman's strange crime fighting heroics when he took down Falcone, but she never expected he would suddenly break into Arkham Asylum and what if he hurt Jonathan?

She raced as fast as she could from the east end of Gotham into the Narrows before the bridges had been raised, before the asylum had been emptied, before all hell broke loose and the terror began. Now Emily fought to keep control, but mostly in her own mind as a swarm of nightmares surrounded her and all she wanted to do was scream, scream and die just to make the terror stop.

Then as she stood, seeing Gotham City transform to hell, complete with people morphing into ghouls, demons and specters – with their skeletons showing through the transparent flesh – she realized a new hell was approaching. She looked and saw the demonic legions approaching, their fangs slavering, their claws sharp and ready to tear at her flesh. Emily turned her eyes to the heavens, heavens that swirled with a burning, acrid fog and darkness.

Oh, God, please no. Please help! Please!

Did she expect a saving angel? The police? The Batman? Emily really did not know and as the hellish legion approached closer, she really didn't care. But then she heard it, the sharp clattering of hooves and the arrival of a midnight black horse with a pale rider wearing a mask dripping with maggots.

It is Death. Death has come to take me away.

But amazingly the demonic legion was not in league with Death. The demon closest to her lunged for her with a knife, but Death made his horse bolt and knocked the demon hard into the concrete wall. Death's horse was so close she could almost feel the animal's heaving breath, its hot coat. Was Death so real? Death raised his hand to the demonic legion and extended his hand out to them as if in a final announcement or sentence of doom.

"She is mine and there is nothing you can do to stop me! Nothing! And remember all of you belong to me! Mind! Body! And Soul! And one day I shall come back to claim all of you! I shall take what is Mine!"

As she gazed at the demonic legion slowly moving away in fear from Death, she felt the strong, firm grip of Death upon her and her feet leaving the firm footing of the earth. Emily kicked and in that moment was almost tempted to scream.

No! Wait! I'm not ready to die! I'm only 26! My life hasn't begun! Jon! I haven't seen Jon yet! I need to see if he's okay! No! Put me down!

But that moment almost seemed sacred somehow and there was an eerie tomblike silence as the demonic legion retreated into shadow and mist, and Emily finally sat upon the horse of Death. She looked around at the filthy, wet, lonely street in sadness. There was much ugliness in Gotham City, but so much beauty too. Emily closed her eyes and pictured Jonathan, the softness of his touch, their last kiss together.

Oh, Jon, will I ever see you again in the next life?

Death, who was seated behind her, firmly wrapped his hand around her waist and she felt a sudden rush of wind in her face as the black horse thundered faster and faster. She wondered at any moment if they would become airborne and where would they go –Heaven or Hell.

The horse's hooves thundered faster beneath them and she could hear people's screams grow louder. Emily was hesitant to open her eyes, afraid of what horrors she might see. In her heart she believed they were still on Gotham and she longed for one last glance before she left this world for good, but another terrifying thought entered her mind, What if they just entered the Gates of Hell and these were souls in eternal torment?

And I will be next.

Emily struggled in her mind against the onslaught of fear that threatened to overwhelm her. She struggled to push back such blind and overwhelming terror.

No, I have done nothing wrong in my life. Nothing so evil to merit this! No! No!

She began to squirm in Death's firm grip and felt a sudden increase in speed, the hooves clopping faster upon the pavement – then she felt they were climbing upward, as if up a steep slope. Her eyes shot open and she saw a familiar sight, the broad bridge that spanned the Gotham City River. She was amazed to see it still was down when all the others had been raised long ago and on the far end of the shore she saw a strange vehicle, like a black tank, madly racing away. No, she wasn't in Hell, but she couldn't help but feel stunned and frightened, because while this bridge was down, it wasn't remaining so for very long. The bridge gradually was being raised as the horse was frantically racing along its length.

"By order of the George O'Connell, Mayor of Gotham City, all Citizens of the Island of the Narrows are authorized to remain quarantined until further notice," boomed a voice from a bullhorn. "Stay where you are! Do not attempt to cross the bridge! It will be raised! Do not risk your life! I repeat, Do not cross the bridge!"

The bridge was growing increasingly steep and the river opened up beneath the bridge's break. The stallion's footing began to slip upon the damp asphalt pavement even as he struggled to maintain his speed. It seemed he would falter before they even would reach the bridge's center.

"No! Faster," screamed Death. "Go, Gunpowder! Run!"

As if mention of the horse's name suddenly leant him speed, the stallion bolted forward and thundered with fury and madness at the gaping bridge. This time Emily didn't care about decorum or appearance, she screamed as suddenly the steed leapt from the bridge's edge and they momentarily were airborne and the black, twinkling Gotham City River yawned wide beneath them. In those breathless moments, Emily had forgotten whether or not she thought she was dead; she was terrified she might die, or die again or whether or not she truly was dead.

The stallion Gunpowder landed hard onto the opposite bridge and wobbled precariously from the impact. Emily held her breath as she saw the frighteningly steep bridge below them and realized that at any moment Gunpowder could just as easily tumble – with them on his back – hundreds of feet below. Gunpowder snorted, scraping against the asphalt with his hooves, then just as quickly ran fiercely headlong down the terrifyingly steep bridge. The wind whistled and howled shrill in Emily's ears – or was she screaming again? She hardly knew anymore it seemed.

"By order of Mayor O'Connell, stop where you are," boomed the bullhorn, even louder and more menacingly than before. "We will shoot you! This is your last warning!"

But Death was unperturbed and why would he be? Indeed, Death would have nothing to lose and bullets could not harm him. But Emily couldn't help but cringe and tense as Gunpowder stormed headlong into what seemed like the jaws of death awaiting them. Up ahead was the entrance into mainland Gotham City – the end of the bridge – and several guards with rifles aimed straight at them. One of the guards turned their rifle skyward and the night briefly was lit with its fire. For a moment Gunpowder hesitated in his speed, pricked his ears and snorted, obviously startled.

"That was just a warning," trumpeted the bullhorn. "Next time the gunfire will be aimed at you if you do not stop immediately! Do not cross into mainland Gotham!"

But Death jabbed his heels into Gunpowder's sides and the stallion galloped hard toward the rifleman awaiting them. The steel of their rifles gleamed cold and merciless on that night as they cocked back the trigger and aimed. A train hummed overhead on the monorail. It was a common occurrence, one the guards were used to. But this night the sewers exploded with burning steam and toxic gas suddenly choked the rifleman's lungs, clouding their vision and senses.

Through the haze, the black stallion and the pale rider emerged through the obscuring mist. A rifleman looked up and saw no longer an idle trespasser, but a nightmare. Maggots dripped from the masked rider and the woman had transformed into a skeletal creature. The rifleman turned, groping for his gun, trying to kill these monstrosities, before they reached Gotham City to terrorize everyone. But then he heard a demonic scream and saw the black horse with fierce burning red eyes.

"Nice horsey. Nice, little horsey. I wouldn't harm you, honest," said the rifleman.

Just as his fingers almost were touching the rifle, the horse reared, his hooves gleaming sharp and dangerous in the toxic air. And from the stallion's flaring nostrils a plume of fire burst toward the rifleman. The rifleman cringed, covering his head as he shrieked in a high-pitched girlish scream, certain now his hair would be aflame and his clothes blackening and burning from his body.

Gunpowder, as if satisfied with the rifleman's cowardice, shook his head proudly and returned his forelegs to the earth. Behind them was a murmur of frightened voices and figures emerged from the mist. Emily noticed they were the rifleman and they still appeared armed.

"Run, Gunpowder," Death screamed.

Death hit the stallion with the flat of his hand while digging his heels into the steed's belly and Emily felt her stomach turning as they bolted headlong into the swirling mist and chaos that lurked before them as the train rushed headlong before them. The sewers continued to erupt and a cloud of obscuring toxic gas billowed before them. People coughed and then screamed as new horrors unfolded before their eyes.

One woman tore at her hair, another man rushed headlong into traffic, causing a bus to steer out of control and crash into a hydrant. As the train raced along on its deadly course, one manhole shot from a sewer with such speed that it smashed through a window. Glass twinkled like hard, sharp stars before it fell down to earth. For at terrible moment Emily screamed in terror as she saw the glass as tiny daggers she was unable to escape from as they pierced her flesh. But then the knives were gone, but in that instant they seemed as real as these people walking the streets with glowing red eyes and twisted features.

Death desperately was trying to maneuver Gunpowder as the cars swerved and crashed, and people swarmed them and tried to claw at the horse. And more and more were the "roadblocks" – overturned cars, swarming mobs of crazed people and mangled, twisted wreckage. Gunpowder snorted, his breathing growing more tired and labored at this frenzied pace and swarming hysteria. But as Death steered through this nightmare, dodging the crashing cars, the people driven mad by the toxin, Emily wondered as she gazed at the stallion, at its flaming red eyes, at the hellish sparks shooting from its black hooves, why she had not been taken to the afterlife yet?

From the corner of her eye she gazed at Death and saw the rough burlap mask that shrouded him – a pall she always thought over the rotting flesh. Maggots swarmed over it and instantly nausea overwhelmed her and she thought she would be sick – further proof she was still alive? But she turned her eyes further down, to the "coat" of Death, the strangest coat she had ever seen, a heavy and pale white fabric – almost used for binding. In one corner of the tear she saw something: ARK.

ARK – It couldn't be Arkham Asylum. No!

But Emily wasn't a fool. She had heard in those dreadful moments as the police flooded the Narrows Island the asylum had been emptied and some of the worst criminals were loose. This "coat" might very well be a straightjacket torn by such a patient during his escape.

"Let me go, you! Let me go," Emily shrieked.

She began to squirm in his grip, struggling to free herself as the horse continued in full gallop. She didn't know what she might do if she slipped; she just as easily could be trampled to death by Gunpowder.

"Oh, no, my dear! You are not going anywhere," whispered the lunatic. "I have you now and you are mine. All mine! Mine forever!"

With this the lunatic gripped her tighter around the waist and dug his heels into Gunpowder's sides. Faster they rode and Gunpowder snorted, his black hooves flashing and thundering, barreling full-speed at the screaming people and leapt over an overturned and smoking car.

For a moment Emily trembled, fearing the jump Gunpowder made and the rushing speed, but then she regained herself and dug her nails into his gripping hand.

"I am no one's," cried Emily. "You let me go now!"

The lunatic screamed, but then he tore his hand away from her nails and painfully dug his hand into her stomach like a claw.

"Maybe you need to be broken – like a horse then," hissed the lunatic. "I shall break you!"

But Emily twisted, though it was painful in his grip and tried to rip his mask off.

"NO!"

As if Emily had just touched him with a scalding iron, he tried to yank her hands away from the mask and shoved it securely back on his face. Gunpowder felt the frantic struggle on his back and suddenly stopped and turned his head around, nervously pawing the ground.

"So you don't like your mask being touched? Well, if you don't let me go –."

Emily frantically grabbed hard at the mask, nearly tearing it. This made the lunatic angrier than she imagined. He grabbed her wrists, painfully squeezing them and stared at her with those wild, mad eyes through the ragged holes in the mask. From the distance a lightening flash momentarily lit up the night followed by an echo of thunder. She briefly saw the eyes clearly and even in the lunatic's madness and anger she saw something disconcertingly familiar in those pale blue eyes.

"Please let me go," Emily whispered. "I have to find Dr. Jonathan Crane. You might know him from the asylum. He might have been your doctor."

A cruel, harsh laugh erupted from the lunatic.

"Oh, no! You will not find him anymore! Dr. Crane is dead now. You will have to love me instead," gloated the lunatic.

Emily fought back her vengeful tears as she gazed at the masked lunatic.

"You killed him?"

"Oh, no," cried the lunatic. "He has been dead long ago. I just finally put him out his misery. And from his death rebirth! From his death I shall live!"

"You are mad," Emily screamed.

He loomed close to her in the mask, but she struggled and desperately fought against him, digging her nails into his throat. Again another flash of lightening came, lighting up that grotesque mask, the maggots still squirming over that rough burlap. Then she heard a metallic shrieking, twisting steel and metal rods collapsing from a great height. Both Emily and the lunatic turned their eyes upward and saw the disconnected monorail structure spiraling in the air like some beautiful, yet bizarre sky dance before it inevitably fell earthbound – towards them.

Blodeuedd: About censoring the swearing. I've never given much thought about it. I also post this story on a forum with mixed age groups and that's one of the reasons I censor it. The one reason I do it here is out of consideration for the rating I've placed on this story. Enough swearing and I have to up the rating on the story, foul language and all that. As for your brilliant story, you don't have anywhere as much swearing as mine so you don't have to worry about that I believe. : )

Coneflower Adams: Thank you for posting a review and I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. Yes, the battle lines have been drawn and the fight definitely is being waged between Jonathan and Scarecrow … but as you see here, Emily is beginning to fight back too.

The Dancing Egg: Okay, you don't have to bug me on AIM … here's the new chapter! LAH!

Firefly4000: Thanks for the review. Yes, reviews do keep us writers going. Please keep posting. : )

Not Human: Yes, my story is finally dovetailing the story of Batman Begins, so we officially are in the movie now – which can pose some problems with continuity and plausibility, but I think I made this chapter work – I hope.