Knives glanced at Robin again, annoyed. The boy didn't really expect him to spare this piece of garbage, did he? The fool was practically begging to die. He opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off as the Joker started pushing forward along the blade. His mouth drawn into a thin line, Knives eyed the Joker coldly, unimpressed by the display and fully planning to rip this maggot's head off if he took one step closer - but then his eyes darted to the flower, understanding dawning just as the trigger was depressed.

Gas flooded his face and he whipped his other hand around, trying to sweep it away, but it was too late. The toxin had entered his system, and he stumbled back, coughing violently. A spasm ran through his arm, and the blade ripped free, the hacking gradually turning into something much more sinister: laughter. He was laughing, and he couldn't stop, his breath beginning to come up short because of it. It was blotting out everything else, and as it grew worse, the changes in appearance starting to appear, his left arm- which had already been shuddering violently, more and more feathered tendrils sprouting by the second- all but exploded.

A glory of razors erupted forth, striking out at random, even as the heat rooted in his left arm spread to his back, the beginnings of what could only be called wings started to push out and into the open.