Riddler almost dropped outright, the pain doubling him over. He was expecting a shadow attack, not fists. It drove him a few staggering steps backwards.

"I don't care!" he wheezed, realizing distantly that was a nonsensical answer, and not being able to bring himself to consider why that mattered.

A small spike of darkness shot slid out from his hands, still clutching at his stomach, and a little twisted butterfly--all sharp angles, just like the faux paper plane--shot towards Aaron's face as Riddler struggled to recover.