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When Thomas Wayne dies, everyone feels it.
It doesn’t matter that it’s late at night. It doesn’t matter that most people are asleep or that some are so hopped up on caffeine they can taste color or that some are so drunk they can barely remember if they’re wearing shoes or not.
None of it matters.
Because suddenly, without warning, every single person in Gotham, from the poorest urchin to the sleaziest mob boss to the richest philanthropist, hears a sound like a gun going off right before something snaps.
It’s like the world stops.
Suddenly, breathing is impossible, throats caught on nothing but the shocking feeling of loss. Suddenly, skin becomes freezing cold, like all the warmth has been sucked from the room. Suddenly, knees buckle and eyes shoot open and heads turn unerringly towards the same place, looking to where there is now a hollow space in countless chests.
And suddenly, everyone knows.
Thomas Wayne is dead.
Gotham’s Sky is dead.
Someone killed their Sky.
The world stands still, breaths caught and fingers freezing and Souls screaming.
And then the world burns.
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Because if DC and Katekyo Hitman Reborn! existed in the same universe, you know everyone in Gotham would have Flames and you know the Waynes would be their Skies.