Content Warning: The following contains possible depictions of disturbing violence. If you find such content distressing or triggering, I recommend that you exercise caution while reading.
People say murder is a crime.
But let's think about it.
Aren't there 5 billions of humans crowding on this Earth?
Ryuunosuke knows well how outrageous a number that is.
Furthermore, it is said that the number of births and deaths everyday can be counted in the tens of thousands. What weight can Ryuunosuke have by becoming a murderer?
He is satisfied by squeezing the best out of the life force of those he kills, of feelings such as the attachment for human life, anger and affection. To let his victims know the exact time and circumstances of their death, that in itself had a deep meaning as rich as a miniaturized life.
When on the verge of death, very common people will behave strangely, and on the other hand, people seen as exceptional will die in an extremely banal way― observing such patterns in humans, Ryuunosuke pursued death; and while being an expert in death, he greatly studied its complete opposite, life. The more he killed people, the more he understood the lives he took.
That knowledge, that discernment in itself was a kind of dignity, a style.
Although Ryuunosuke couldn't find the words to accurately explain why he had that power― if he really had to sum it up, it would be all with the expression "be cool".
After some 30 victims, his methods for execution and torture have started losing its freshness.
Stab, stab, stab.
It was all the same
They all look the same.
Even testing all sorts of tricks that he could come up with lost any excitement.
He could remember how it all started when he decided to come back home after half a decade, breaking into the backyard storehouse as his parents had fallen asleep late at night. It was in this storehouse that he had taken his first victim.
Meeting his sister after 5 years was disappointing. He really felt nothing about her. Only her death. He honestly thought that being related would add something; but at that moment, he found a rotten old book from the mountain of junk crammed into the warehouse.
That was enough of a stimulus to renew his inspiration.
At once, Ryuunosuke made the place a "spiritual ground" as described in the notes, then resumed his night time reading. He didn't know just what meaning the land now called the town of Fuyuki had, but Ryuunosuke was setting up the important points of the mood for new killings; he followed the instructions of the old book as faithfully as possible.
But Ryuunosuke Uryuu was the prime example of caution. Though he was a passionate artist, he knew that society was not kind to those who pursued the fine arts, and thus he was always, always careful about how he acted.
As usual, he had set his gaze upon a woman that he fancied, and after going out for dinner, the two hit it off.
She mentioned she needed to get some affairs done at school, so normally he'd cut things off- being in touch with a future victim for too long was a horrible idea. But, once she said they could go back to her home after it, he chose to stick with her.
And then Ryuunosuke's hand lashed out, stabbing her in the gut with a hidden knife he had taken with him, his free hand moving to her throat to cut off the startled scream. As she fell down, he couldn't help but take in the sensation.
This is why Uryuu Ryuunosuke disliked splatter movies.
Not just horror, but war movies, panic movies, and all manner of adventure movies and dramas, now that he had seen death so many times.
To finally understand why fiction keeps painting man's death oh so tirelessly.
"Death" is merely... something that you can't experience while you live. Therefore it is impossible to understand its true meaning. That's why humans can only guess the essence of death by observing other people's deaths, and making up a virtual experience.
Indeed, for a "civilized" society to respect human life, this virtual experience cannot but rely on fiction. Yet, where war makes your neighbor minced meat with bombing and land mines, nobody watches horror movies.
Once, Ryuunosuke feared "death" like any ordinary person. He could have been an amateur in horror movies, if death could have been minimized and fear conquered by looking at the special make-ups of slaughtered bodies, the red ink of blood splashes and the realist acting reproducing a screaming "stale death".
Curiosity, however, overcomes fear.
Because if you asked his opinion, the blood and screams in horror could answer his questions, he wouldn't have become a "homicidal maniac".
Slamming her to the ground, choking her long enough that she passed out, he took the book out, looking over the instructions.
It says something about his career as Batman that one of the first things he noticed in his investigations was how the killings themselves were so ... mundane. There was a lack of any of the sickening "play" or "flair". He concluded that the killer were driven primarily by pleasure and curiosity, rather than the need for power or some kind of personal gain.
The man he was taling had never been considered a suspect even once—the police investigation was a total dead end, failing to turn up the evidence required to even open a case against him. Despite being an unmethodical pleasure killer, his ability to destroy evidence was almost transcendent. Nearly that of a professional.
However, this wasn't the work of a methodical assassin; it was the handiwork of someone who reveled in the chaos of the act itself. Someone who sought pleasure in the "art" of murder.
The crime scenes all had a notable absence of any forced entry or struggle. The victim willingly let the killer in.
But the lack of evidence was evidence in itself. In his own investigation, he had to look at what was missing. It was someone who had to have numerous ways of gaining access to these areas while simultaneously being unsuspicious..
He had to use his intuition and experience to fill in the gaps.
A series of unassuming part-time jobs over the marked area of the victims, each serving as a mundane facade for the scum and he had him. A part of the very tapestry of society. An average face, an unremarkable existence hiding behind malevolence.
But he had to always make sure, thus instead of immediately neutralizing him and harm a possible innocent, he observed.
He had been observing the suspect before the quick change of location with the possible victim
He had moved immediately as he looked down at the house from a high vantage point with his sound amplifiers attuned for the slight vibrations of the location until the unfortunately familiar grunts and unwillingly aborted scream came out to his senses that his cowl had detected.
A single quick breath was all he took before he acted.
After cracking his knuckles and a rapid build up run, he jumped from the vantage point raising his legs in crouch with his cape in glider form, his weight, the angle, the timing, all with the aid of gravity.
Every move was deliberate, nearly choreographed by muscle memory and tactics as a controlled free fall. The world slowed as his senses were heightened to the point of near overload, extracting vital information from the chaos in the rapidly shifting position he was in from the jump.
The deliberate pulse of adrenaline was always one of his best tools.
The rush of air against his cowl was a reminder of the speed at which he moved, yet his mind operated in a state of calculated calm.
Instead of letting it lead to blind aggression, he had forced it to fuel his cognitive faculties. It was an enhanced state of awareness, a mental acuity that bordered on the superhuman.
He was in Free Flow.*
While from his perspective it was as if he had minutes to plan and prepare his course of action, it was only a couple of seconds before he was "glide-kicking" through the door and shattering it into a shower of splinters from the built up momentum, creating a cloud of wooden dust.
With a quick turn he had caught the dagger that had blindly been whipped around from the wild flailing of the culprit as he found himself in the room with a would-be corpse, blood splattered all over, with some kind of demonic summoning circle on the ground.
He looked at the man who had tried to stab him.
Orange hair, dark black eyes, purple tacky clothes...
While gripping his "opponent's" wrist, he quickly dashed his hand against the dagger's blade.
He snapped the blade.
"…" The man looked at the broken weapon, then at him. "Cooool! You, are you the demon?! I thought you'd appear in the circle!"
He held up a book in his other hand, made with real leather, and clearly ancient. As if excited about having found a fellow "art" enthusiast, the man offered his book without hesitation.
"..."
Once the easy-to-stain paper left his hands, with 3 deliberate twists to the wrist elbow and shoulder of the restrained limb, Batman's fist whipped out, striking him in his right jaw, shattering it and sending him flying and out cold before he rushed to the victim.
Letting out a pained moan, the killer writhed on the floor while he looked at her over while calling an ambulance at the same time, making sure to disguise his voice.
The victim lay on the floor, a young woman with dangerously tired fear-stricken eyes, fear of him probably, and a deep wound in her abdomen. Too weak to do anything. She was bleeding profusely, her breathing was shallow and her heart was racing. . She closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle.
Batman's keen eyes assessed the severity of the injury, and he wasted no time. The gleam of his utility belt caught the ambient light as he retrieved a bundle of experimental medical tape and a vial of medical gel that he placed in his universal dispenser.*
""緊急サービス、あなたの場所と緊急の性質は何ですか？" echoed a voice from the communicator in his cowl.
"アパートメント4C、敷賢通りにいます。刺し傷の被害者、腹部の傷です。直ちに医療支援を送ってください。", . His voice, deliberately masked and distant, relayed the necessary details to the operator. Professional help would be on the way.
This caused the woman to open her eyes in confusion and a slowly growing amount of hope.
Kneeling beside the injured woman, Batman began his initial assessment. His gloved hands worked with precision as he applied direct pressure to the wound, stemming the flow of blood. The experimental medical tape adhered seamlessly, providing a temporary but crucial solution.
With the bleeding somewhat controlled, he gently elevated the victim's legs and torso, a calculated move to reduce blood flow and buy precious moments. In the subdued light, his night vision visor whirred softly, enhancing the details of the scene. He noted the subtle details of her vitals.
Batman's gloved fingers moved with deftness as he accessed a compartment in his utility belt. From it, he produced a small vial containing a carefully concocted mixture of antibiotics and painkillers. Administering the drug, he explained, "This will help stabilize you and reduce the pain until professional help arrives. Stay with me."
The woman, her strength waning, managed a weak nod.
Alive.
Stable even .
He looked over the horrific scene of carnage and felt nothing but disgust ... and a tinge of disappointment in himself.
He could have been here sooner.
As he was about to leave after he had anonymously contacted the authorities he finally looked at it.
A book made with real leather, and clearly ancient.
He quickly took it up from where he dropped it and analyzed it.
The thin worm-eaten book was not a printed copy but an individual note. The postscript says the ninth year of the Keiō era. This writing is more than a hundred years old, dating back to the end of Bakumatsu.
The content itself...
The incoherent writing of thin characters was preposterous nonsense about some kind of dark magic. Moreover, the inscriptions involved Christianity and Satan; apparently it was about some western occults. Offering human sacrifices to otherworldly demons to invoke spirits.
In the dying hours of the era of Edo, studying western knowledge was a genre of heresy.
It was too damn detailed to be fiction. It went on and on ad nauseam about the dos and don'ts of what to do for hours worth of reading if not for his speed reading.
Flipping to the end, he found a summoning chant.
Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone.
The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg.
The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate."
Shut (fill).
Shut (fill).
Shut (fill).
Shut (fill).
Shut (fill).
Repeat every five times.
Simply, shatter once filled."
Was he on fire? This felt like when the eggheads tested that laser on him, but all over his body.
――――I announce.
Yourself is under me, my doom is in your sword.
In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer.
Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world of the dead, I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead."
"You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance ―――!
It was as if he had bathed his hand in scorpion venom only to vanish as soon as the pain started.
In a flash, he quickly unstrapped his gauntlets in order to see if he had somehow somehow gotten into contact with a hazardous substance.
Poison? A Neurotoxin?
The swelling calmed down and stuck to the surface of his skin. The redness quickly disappeared as it came about. The unnatural ink(?) was already trapped in the superficial layers of the skin, resulting in a more vibrant...
"... What?"
Somehow, a ritualistic crimson pattern - a tattoo - was there on his right hand.
"..."
A blinding light that blasted out broke his concentration as he instinctively moved his body to block the injured party. Despite previously having been at optimal levels, it was like he was on fire everywhere in his body, a new form of strain weighing on him. He could feel his heart involuntarily pounding in his chest and his breath coming in short gasps before he got it under control. The burning in his eyes and trembling movements soon followed.
'What...'
"Hmmmm..?"
A woman's hum could be heard.
-A beautiful figure that immediately forced him to wonder if he may be facing another Ivy situation since her … aesthetics was the first thought he had.
Dread furthered filled him when he realized that no, she was just that appealing to the eye. Supernaturally so
"I ask you. Are you... my... Master?..."
The woman trailed off as she saw the carnage with the injured woman, the murderer on the floor, and Batman.
The Holy Grail War, a competition that takes place once every sixty years in Fuyuki City. It is a contest between seven Masters and their Servants to determine who is worthy to bear the Holy Grail and wish upon the artifact, and it is assumed that the Grail can grant any desire the wish maker has, even if said wish should normally be outside the scope of reality.
There are many other nuances and information about the War, the system, and the Grail itself, but the bit about being capable of granting any wish makes any other details trivial in the eyes of many.
However, there are many that do question the War and ask about the Grail. The list of questions is infinitely long, but there is one that stands out among them, and that question is this:
How does the Grail choose a Master?
The best answer is that the Grail chooses Masters based on who most needs its power.
There is a belief that all Masters chosen are magi.
Others say that only those with a strong desire for the Grail can become Masters.
Running on the first line of thought, it is assumed that only the strongest and most gifted magus can become a Master.
Those who devote their time to doing a little research may say that the three families who created the Grail Wars and its system get guaranteed spots while the remaining four participants are chosen by the Grail at random.
There have been ... instances where the Grail chose individuals devoid of desire, snubbing the renowned and seasoned. The uninitiated found themselves thrust into the fray, and even those bereft of any magical heritage became participants in the conflicts of bygone wars.
From the outside one may see it that way.
I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have.
On his deathbed, he uttered words that echoed those words that described the weight of a lifetime devoted to art and invention. Once vibrant with the spark of creativity, now grappling with the specter of his own mortality.
In those words, one could discern the relentless pursuit of greater heights, of perfection that had defined their existence. Insatiable curiosity, the unyielding desire to unravel the mysteries of the world through art and science. Both a blessing and a curse.
Sketches of flying machines, anatomical studies, and masterpieces like the Mona Lisa bore witness to his unparalleled genius.
Even the most extraordinary souls grapple with the limitations of their own brilliance and the limitations of their era.
The time on the Throne only made such experiences gain a new perspective
How can one account for or recall a atemporal existence outside of normal causality? Could one even state they were sentient, and not simply a magical repository of their souls for later use?
It didn't matter as it gave an objective view.
The expanse beyond the mortal coil, freed from the temporal confines that tethered him in life, he is now an essence untethered, a living portrait suspended in the tapestry of the Throne. The benefits of such an existence are profound; he is immune to the ravages of time, untouched by the wear and tear that marks mortal souls. In this realm, Da Vinci stands as an embodiment of his legacy, his every stroke of genius and daub of color eternally preserved.
He realizes that even in the objective awareness that he was the greatest, he always could do better.
The insatiable thirst for creation. The joy of a brush on a canvas, the thrill of discovery.
All mankind should go beyond specialization in both discovery and work.
As ethereal energies coalesced and wove the fabric of their manifestation, a peculiar transformation unfolded.
An embodiment fashioned in the likeness of his most renowned creation.
The mana that sculpted his form carried the essence of artistry itself, and as he, now she, opened her eyes, she beheld the world through the lens of the woman immortalized in paint.
The transition from the abstract confines of the Throne to the tangible form of walking art was a sensory symphony. The texture of the canvas that was the skin, the subtlety of her smile, and the depth of her gaze.
Once a spectral consciousness, now inhabited by a vessel of pure art. The air around him resonated with the aura of pura maestà.
She now pondered the image that lay before her as the words automatically came to her magnificent mouth.
""I ask you. Are you... my... Master?..."
Her azure eyes fell upon the injured woman, the battered and unconscious man in the corner, and the caped figure standing protectively over, the most likely unconscious man victim based on the scene in front of her. Her gaze flickered to the Command Seals on his ungloved hand – ah.
Only after she further confirmed that he was her Master via the rather decent flow of od due to the karmic connection did she take in the split second to evaluate her possible summoner...
And his attire.
An eccentric one it seems.
Leonardo studied the … peculiarly dressed man (perhaps the attire was to act as a form of catalyst or) and his rapidly shifting stance,
Her vision, accustomed to decades of different forms of cloth pigment and canvas recreated and "reborn", observed. The imposing silhouette of the Batsuit in the lighting gave an intimidating figure. The cape, especially if it was billowing in the still air of the dimly lit room, held a certain dramatic flair that piqued her sensibilities.
She however marveled at the tools that seemed to have the concept of "practicality" and "dramatics" woven into the fabric.
Reinforced armor, strategically placed to protect vital areas, hinted at a mind well-versed in both combat and design. She mentally commended the integration of technology that had to be cutting edge in this era.
Yet, amidst her appreciation, she couldn't help but find humor in the absurdity.
The mask, concealing his identity, spoke of a man who found solace in the enigma of the night. The symbol emblazoned across his chest—a bat in perpetual flight—reflected a goal for a form of symbolism.
He is a "vigilante", she concluded. The visual clues, from the mask concealing his identity to the combat gear that hinted at a readiness for conflict, aligned with the historical and societal context she received from the Grail.
He doesn't seek recognition or glory.
The suit is designed for intimidation. There is a certain level of theatricality but too much practicality for it all to be for attention.
Especially the color.
As she noticed his slight movements, she couldn't help but see his elegance.
An eccentric one it seems.
Leonardo continued studied the … peculiarly dressed man (perhaps the attire acted as a form of catalyst)
What must be going through his head
That hair, the smooth skin, those jewel-like blue eyes…
"I don't mind you saying it. Beautiful. That's what you're thinking, isn't it? Yes, yes, it's a natural response, because that is how I made myself."
"..."
As the silence continued, she couldn't help but purse in indignation for a short moment before returning to the beautiful smile.
"..."
Before the silence could any longer, the sounds of sirens alerted everyone.
Everyone had different reactions.
The lady could only feel relief as she fought against the ever growing urge to sleep that was only being fought against from the adrenaline given the terrifying and confusing events that had happened to her.
Ryuunosuke was still folded like a lawn chair on the floor.
Batman had tensed and only slightly flickered his eyes to the broken entrance.
In that instant, the otherworldly woman had… disappeared.
He stood there for a brief moment before grunting.
"So that's what that feels like."
He quickly made his way to the fire escape and quickly left the scene.
In the darkened streets, The Caped Crusader moved with the fluidity of a shadow, navigating through the urban labyrinth with calculated precision.
He was not alone in the shadows as the summoned Servant silently followed in her spirit form.
Spirit form allowed her to be a silent observer without inadvertently adding another layer of complexity.
It allowed her to deescalate the situation. She watched, silent and unseen, as mortal hands worked to aid the injured woman before following her Master.
Having entered her immaterial state, she slipped through walls and buildings, her ghostly presence tailing her Master as he swung from rooftop to rooftop. Her keen perception allowed her to witness his every move, even the daring maneuvers made possible by his grappling hooks and ziplines.
With an artist's discerning eye, she marveled at the display of peak acrobatics
As Batman gracefully swung and vaulted across the rooftops, her spectral presence lingered. Her gaze noticed the subtle nuances in the movements — the precision, the calculated efficiency. It was a performance of motion that resonated with the spirit of a true Renaissance figure.
But it wasn't just the acrobatics that captured Da Vinci's admiration; it was the equipment, the custom-crafted tools of the trade. Her perceptive eye discerned the lack of conformity and the absence of cheap materials.
Wealthy or resourceful.
Instead, she saw the mark of a craftsman, an inventor — someone who, like herself, excelled in the art of creation.
Maybe a kindred spirit?
A fellow seeker of knowledge, an embodiment of the Renaissance spirit that embraced both the arts and the sciences?
But for what reason in this pursuit?
What fueled his actions with this skillset?
In the night, the echoes of her admiration mingled with the whispers of ages past.
As he moved with Olympic-level agility, she couldn't help but reminisce about her own ideas about transportation during the Renaissance.
She couldn't help but admire the evolution of mundane technology.
In her ethereal state, she defied conventional physics, navigating through buildings and perpendicular to gravity, all clandestinely following.
In the midst of her observations, Da Vinci pondered the connection that led her to this accidental summoning. She recognized it as a compatibility summon. There had to be something shared between them that piqued her interest in the Throne of Heroes. It couldn't be a simple case of shared skillset and ability. It was a mystery she was determined to unravel.
And she'd start by seeing how he'd react to her with a little prank.
Eventually they reached the inner confines of the repurposed Wayne Shipping container, Batman could be seen working diligently. The air hummed with the soft murmur of technology, a symphony of hidden cameras, proximity sensors, and the subtle whir of lab equipment.
He seemed to be meticulously assembling the components of a vehicle.
In Spirit Form, she had followed him with the grace of a phantom. The container's high-tech camouflage did little to deter her inquisitive gaze, and she marveled at the amalgamation of advanced tools from the century.
Deciding to test the limits of her newfound "unsuspecting" state, Da Vinci materialized right before the entrance of the secret base. With an impish smile, she began to compliment the hidden workshop. "Ah, what a charming little workshop you have here, my unknowing summoner!" she exclaimed, a whimsical tone playing upon her lips. "Quite the inventive mind you possess, though I must say, with my aid it will be a art of creation-"
Her words hung in the air as she intended to elaborate on the possibilities of their collaboration. However, before she could finish her sentence the playful banter was abruptly interrupted by the deadly twirl of bat-shaped shurikens hurtling through the air.
The Batarangs gleamed in the dim light as they bounced off the specter without a ruffle. She regarded the projectiles with an arched eyebrow.
The reaction confirmed his worst fears.
Conventional force would not work based on how such an unnatural interaction as the resistance defied the laws of the tangible world.
No harsh impacts that would come from a fast moving object encountering opposition. He was prepared for superhuman physicalities.
It instead flopped as inertia… ceased.
The air crackled with tension in the aftermath of the swift Batarang deployment, in the few seconds that went by, his mind paced through the numerous plans and exit strategies he made during the various detours taken to shake off Da Vinci's spectral tail.
At the possible immediate threat, he delved into the repository of his exhaustive training in not just conventional arts and sciences but in esoteric disciplines that transcend the ordinary.
In the realm of martial arts, the concept of life force, often referred to as chi, ki, or prana, was a fundamental pillar. It permeated various disciplines, from medicine to philosophy, and stood as a testament to the interconnectedness of mind, body, and spirit. Batman had immersed himself in the study of these principles for his skill set.
From Bhutan, where he spent three months training with the enigmatic Ten-Eyed Men where he unearthed their origins as "demon killers". Under the guidance of Zatara, he had delved deeper into the arcane arts, mastering sleight of hand and escape artistry.
A fleeting moment of nostalgia touched him as he recalled his time.
Occultism had even woven its influence into the very mythos he created for the Batman persona in how he portrayed himself as a mythical creature of the night.
The second the flash appeared in the apartment, he acknowledged the supernatural was at play.
He had calibrated his cowl's visor to oscillate between wavelengths which allowed him to perceive discrepancies in the energy flow of the environment. This, he mused, was how he consistently tracked the spirit despite her ethereal excursions, rather than relying on an unreliable sixth sense.
If he were to follow Constantaine's advice, a Hag stone could have enhanced his ability to sense magical energies.
Yet, buried in the recesses of his mind, Batman recognized a flaw in his approach. He had no idea how far her spiritual senses had reached. Could she sense his emotions from his "aura?"
Thus he had hypnotized himself into forgetting this detail of a possible pursuer until the right que, a deliberate act to conceal vulnerabilities from such entities who might exploit the subtle nuances of body language if not read minds.
Before he could bolt for it and activate the self-destruct sequence to cover his escape, the spirit spoke.
The living art piece, sporting a casual smile.
"I must say, you've certainly crafted some unique throwing implements," she remarked, seemingly amused.
"An unusual choice of greeting but it's always a delight to meet someone who thinks outside the box."
Batman just narrowed his eyes behind the cowl.
Undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm in his response or lack of one, she continued, "I'll cut straight to the chase," she continued, her tone shifting to a more serious but still playful note. "I'm not here to harm you. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Cooperation, my dear Master, is the name of the game. Think of the wonders we could achieve together."
A bemused smile curved the woman's lips. "I find myself in a curious situation, summoned by such a man with an inquisitive mind. You probably want answers. As for what I want, let's say I'm here out of sheer academic curiosity. The Holy Grail is a fascinating subject, and you, my inventive friend, seem to be involved in its affairs."
The figure grinned, her expression as enigmatic as the painting she embodied. "I propose a partnership. Your innovative methods and my Universal Genius could make quite a dynamic duo in this peculiar Grail War."
Batman's response was predictably succinct. "What."
Author's Note:
*This shit is both real, in the comics and not just a gimmick for when you get a high hit point in the Arkham games.
*For Arkham Game veterans, they will recognize the Explosive Gel dispenser that also had medical and forensic uses
*"Emergency services, what's your location and the nature of the emergency?"
"Apartment 4C, on Shikken Street. Stabbing victim, abdominal wound. Send medical assistance immediately,"
Btw This is the last pure Japanese you'll have. It was only meant to convey a certain level of distance Batman had here for a tim
A little Butterfly here.
Ryuunosuke first sacrificed a girl who had run off to play at night in an abandoned factory. The style of the sacrificial ritual captivated Ryuunosuke and became… infatuated with the method, and after three failed attempts is when he summoned Gilles.
Bruce stopped him at his 2nd victim.
In Canon he killed 42 people.
Bruce stopped him at his 37th.
Besides the obvious, such as people he inadvertently saved, what does this, I hope you can guess.