That comment gets a raised eyebrow, or at least the movement of one under some of the sack-cloth grafted to Crane's face. "The...what, did you say?" He asks. He's not ignorant of magic, or those who claim to use it. There are empowered beings in his own world who wielded such power, or claimed to. But he's never heard it referred to in that particular way. "You do have a point, however." Not that his world still exists, no, Crane is certain beyond any shadow of a doubt, that his world his gone. He remembers the dark void, swallowing everything up.

But that doesn't mean he was the only survivor.

"It would be...problematic, if anyone else survived. But I suppose I cannot rule out the possibility just yet." That said, anyone familiar with his "professional" name, who knew what he'd done to Gotham and its protector in just twenty-four hours, well...they'd know the Scarecrow was someone to be very, very afraid of.

"I was in the process of killing a legend that gave hope to the people of my city." He replies, and a grin spreads across his face, an ugly, satisfied smirk. "And replacing that smothered hope with a deep and unabating fear." He sounds...entirely too proud of himself.