BATMAN: THE FINAL KNIGHT #1 (OF 2)

There are certain events you come to expect when you live in Gotham City. As time has gone on, these events have reduced in occurrence, but there’s always a voice in the back of your head warning you never to forget. To never become complacent. Used to be, back in the day, when Arkham Asylum was on a hill overlooking the city, that breakouts would occur on a near monthly basis. Always some lunatic slipping out of their straitjacket and running rampant through the streets, mad schemes and killing sprees a standard affliction.

Ever since they moved Arkham to the island, completely cut off from the mainland, the breakouts lessened. That’s not to say that the island was impenetrable. There have been plenty of breakouts since the ‘unescapable’ Arkham opened up, over ten years ago. But the lunatics stick around for longer, get more of the treatment they need-- even if their madness is incurable.

New Arkham, as it was labelled by the media, quickly became Arkham Island, and that’s where we are now. The paint is flaking. The sheen is gone. But the place does its job, and the people of Gotham City are better for it. Less madness on the streets. Less horror on a day-to-day basis.

Old Arkham was burned to the ground during one of the old rogue’s last hurrahs. Scorched earth. Nothing left but ash and charcoal. No one goes there unless they go on a dare. Kids get drunk in the gutted ruins of the pacification ward. The long stretch where the extreme cases used to be imprisoned is hallowed ground for a certain sort. Mad pilgrimages end there.

Dynasties lived, thrived and died throughout Arkham Asylum’s time on this Earth.

“Listen here, my darling girly girl. Listen close,” the pale skinned man held the knife to the throat of the young woman they’d dragged up to the ruins of old Arkham, a smile plastered across his face. “I don’t want you to cry, no, no, please don’t cry. That’s, that’s not funny, heha. I want you… I want you… oh how I want you. But that’s not the point. I don’t want you to cry. I want you to scream. ”

Throngs of men and women laughed around the scene. The woman was bound to one of the old gurneys they found amongst the ruins. They’d pushed her all the way to the spot where some said Cell 8-1 once stood. The cell where the Joker spent his days imprisoned, awaiting that next moment when he could unfurl his full demonic fury across the face of scarred old Gotham…

“Please, please don’t do this,” said the woman. “I don’t, I don’t even know who you are.”

The man put a finger to the woman’s mouth, and then held the knife to his mouth. The edge of the blade bit into his lips and a thin trail of blood fell down and into his gammy, emerald-beard. “Tell you what, hey? Tell you what you can take from this experience. I’m Jack and you can be JILL. We’re up on this hill together, aren’t we? Now, my crown, it’s all broken, I fell down, didn’t I? Do you know where that leaves you? Do you know what I’m going to do to you next? ”

There was a loud thud in amongst the crowd of onlookers. The pale man who held the knife looked over at the onlookers, a confused expression on his face. “What’s-- uh-- what’s going on? ”

Smoke began to trail out from under the masses of humanity who hoped to watch the ritualistic sacrifice of the woman on their most hallowed and sacred site.

“oh,” whispered the pale man, his manic affectation slipping instantly. “Oh, no.”

The thick cloud of smoke surrounded everyone, reaching out like it had a mind of its own. People began to cry out in confusion-- then they began to cry out in terror, as something began to grab them, pulled them deeper into the darkness that engulfed them. Cries quickly became screams, but the screams didn’t last long.

“Bat-- Batman! Battyman! ” The pale man tried to assume a position of confidence, but the façade had slipped quickly in the face of the horrific counterpoint of their grinning deity of chaos. If the Bat-man was here, striking them down, then the sacrifice had to come sooner-- but why did it feel so hopeless to even try? Why did the knife feel so heavy in his hand? “Now, see here, you ruffian! I didn’t invite you to our little soiree, I didn’t see your ticket at the door! I’m afraid I’m-- uulp!”

The smoke cleared and the muddy grounds of old Arkham were littered with the bound and unconscious bodies of dozens of dozens of street toughs, all dressed in purple and greens, their hair dyed green and their skin grease-painted white.

Some women-- and some men-- wore costumes resembling that of the Joker’s favourite moll, Harley Quinn, while others wore variations of the Joker’s own purple suited ensemble.

A few committed deviants had clown faces tattooed over their own, while others had come to the proceedings with a hearty collection of knifes-- all confiscated by the bogeyman of Gotham City before being knocked out and bound-- particularly tighter than everyone else-- and left to squirm.

The young woman the pale-skinned man had intended to murder was gone too, whisked away to safety during the commotion of the preceding moments.

All that was left was the pale-skinned man, his throat clutched tightly by Gotham’s protector and favourite son, the Batman, as the smoke trailed around his limbs and seeped back into the grounds of old Arkham.

The Dark Knight stood dominant in the centre of what had-- moments before-- been a place of chaos. The way his lips curled showed how unimpressed by the events taking place on the grounds of the old asylum he was. There were other ways he knew to show how unhappy he was. And he was more than happy to show them.

“This ends tonight,” said the Batman.

“H-he’s coming back,” stuttered the pale-skinned man. As he sweat, the makeup plastered over his body began to run, leaving streaks of white across his tatty circus-couture clothing. “The clown prince of c-crime--”

"You're not him." Batman threw the man to the ground, the old gurney clattering as his body collided with it. “But if you’re intent on emulating the Joker…” He cracked his knuckles. “…I’m more than happy to oblige you.”

The pale-skinned man screamed as the Batman engulfed him in his entirety.

BATMAN: THE FINAL KNIGHT

“Long night, Master Bruce?”

Bruce Wayne sat in the Cave, hunched over in his chair, nursing the headache that comes with being older than he was ten years ago and pushing himself twice as hard. His knuckles hurt-- he’d need to ice them for a while before running an x-ray. He felt a pop when he dismantled Richie ‘Smiling Boy’ Young, the current ring-leader of the Arkham-based group of the Jokerz, and at that moment in time he wasn’t working the thug’s bones. So it must have been one of his own, which was a headache to deal with.

“They’re always long,” said Bruce. “If it’s not the Jokerz, it’s the Mutants. It never ends…”

Bruce turned and saw he was alone. Where was Julia Pennyworth, mission control when he was out on the streets? Out of town. Travelled to England for an old university friend’s wedding.

And Alfred… was long gone. Long dead. But his spirit still hung heavy throughout Wayne Manor, more so than the spirits of Bruce’s mother and father.

Wayne Manor-- in one form or another-- might have housed his family for centuries, but Alfred Pennyworth had made it a home for Bruce, and his absence was…

“…Godammit,” whispered Bruce. He set the bone in his finger with one sharp movement, then headed toward the medical facilities down from the computer area. He hoped the ice machine had done its job while he was out.

Then there was a noise, in the depths of the Cave that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

Even without the mask, the façade of the Batman quickly descended upon Bruce.

To ask ‘who goes there?’ would reveal too much, so the Batman stood, silent and still, and let the ambience of the Cave wash over him. If there was an intruder, even if they held their breath and only allowed their heart to beat, he would know, the pulse and intonation of the subterranean atmosphere as much a part of him as the world of Gotham was upstairs.

The Batman stood, his face exposed, his costume removed and resting across the chair he’d been sat in previously, a man ready for anything. When no further unnatural sounds came, just the old sounds a below place makes when the gravity of the world reaches it, Bruce allowed himself to breathe, and finally dismissed the way his brain switched on as a side effect of his lifestyle choices.

Facing off against the Jokerz always did something to his mind set that he struggled to shake without a good night’s sleep, and those were fewer and further between.

So the Batman simply stood, in the dark, the only sound below that of bats’ wings rustling. When no other sound came, he relaxed, just an ounce of tension off his burdened shoulders, and shook his head.

“You’re getting jumpy in your old age,” whispered Bruce. He pressed a button next to a light switch and a mist descended from numerous funnels in the ceiling. Contented, he finally pressed the light switch itself and throughout the cave, darkness fell.


Bruce groaned as he awoke in his bed. Thankfully, he hadn’t sat down in the Cave and fallen asleep there. Somehow, he found the strength to climb the steps to the Manor-proper, then fall into his bed. He looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see his wife curled up next to him, fast asleep. Was she here when he turned in last night? He could barely remember the drive back from old Arkham, let alone whether or not she was already asleep when he got into bed.

Bruce dragged himself into the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror.

Was there something special about today? For some reason he couldn’t place it, but soon enough, as he splashed his face and the cold water did its work on his tired brain, he remembered. Today was his birthday. Another year. Another miracle of survival.

With that said, Bruce looked tired, more than just because of the three hours’ sleep he was currently operating on. Back when he was a younger man he could operate on less than an hour, and with his ability to meditate exhaustion away during board meetings or any time spent in transit, that hour had always been enough.

Nowadays, it took him longer to find his centre. Took him longer to fall asleep in the first place and then he awoke later and later. His lifestyle was catching up with him, in more ways than one. Every day was a constant ache of pain that refused to be dulled. Not only did Bruce decline the ongoing use of painkillers, but he had a habit of never letting anything heal properly, something that infuriated Alfred Pennyworth to no end when he was…

“Damn,” said Bruce. He did it again.

“Are you all right, Bruce?” asked his wife. He looked over his shoulder and saw her, Silver Wayne (née St Cloud), as beautiful as ever and with long strands of white hair falling across her face as she smiled sleepily at the man she loved. “What’s taking you so long? I’m getting cold.”

Bruce turned back and chuckled. “I won’t be much longer. I’m just going to shave, then I’m all yours.”

“Rawr,” purred Silver. She rolled over on the bed, the sheets twisting around her body.

Bruce lathered shaving foam across his jaw and considered the razor. He remembered the lessons Alfred gave him when he was younger and that first sprouting of facial hair emerged across his face.

“Well, we can’t have anything obscuring that sour expression you wear so admirably, Master Bruce…”

Bruce smiled and began to shave. It was a simple enough task, but he flinched as he drew blood unexpectedly. “…Ow.”

Bruce considered his hand, and the gentle tremor that had caused his slip. He was in his forties now. For most people, that was nothing. Another notch on the belt of living. But his body had been ravaged, day after day, month after month, year after year by his lifestyle choices. Everything hurt every single day and it would never stop hurting.

Bruce watched a single bead of blood roll down his neck and splash into the sink.

“Having trouble?” asked Silver.

“Just feeling my age, Silver,” said Bruce.

Silver took the razor from his hand and dabbed a finger in the shaving foam on his cheek, before smudging his nose. “Allow me.” She positioned a finger under Bruce’s chin and tilted his head up, before getting to work. “What are your plans for this special day?”

“Apparently my wife is cold, so I have some work to do on that front,” said Bruce.

“Oh, Dee-Dee,” said Silver, as she kissed his bare shoulder. “Effortless… effortless…”

“And yet I still endeavour to try my hardest,” said Bruce. “The boys will be coming over, but I have an appointment with Leslie at the clinic first thing.”

“And tonight?” said Silver.

“Patrol,” said Bruce. “Just like every night.”

“Oh, Bruce. You entire army of fully-trained protégés will be in Gotham tonight. Can’t you just take the night?”

“I…” Bruce considered the look on his beloved wife’s face, and began to nod. “I’ll speak to Dick later, when the boys come over for lunch.”

“Good. And Bruce, don’t think I’ve not spotted the shoddily put-together splint on your finger.”

Bruce considered his hand. “I was half-asleep. I’ll redo it when we’re done.”

“I’ll do it,” said Silver. “With Julia back home until tomorrow, someone’s got to put you back together if you insist on going out and getting yourself hurt.”

“Silver, you don’t have to--”

“Do you remember our wedding day, when we pledged our lives to each other, well and truly?” Silver held up her hand, and the wedding ring she wore glinted as she rotated it in front of Bruce’s face. “I didn’t just commit to Bruce Wayne, you silly man. I committed to the mask, too. You’re a package deal… if you know what I mean,” she said wink a wink, “so don’t complain, and don’t thank me for giving you the best shave of your life. You’re just welcome.”

Bruce spun round and scooped Silver up in his arms. “Okay, okay, I won’t say thank you then. But can I show you how thankful I am instead?”

“Oh, Mister Wayne,” said Silver. “I do declare.”


The brisk fall wind kept them sharp. Coat lapels flipped upwards, keeping their chins and jaws free of any rogue gusts that might send shivers down their spines. The grass underfoot was emerald, beautiful, and the glistening lake just down the way, visible at this distance, would have been welcoming if it wasn’t for the damn temperature.

Two men stood, side-by-side, a rhythm of conversation yet to be agreed upon.

“I’m going to be honest with you: I didn’t expect to see you today.”

Bruce placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Hey now, it’s the last Wednesday of the month. It’s a standing engagement. I wouldn’t miss it. Not without giving you notice.”

“But it’s your birthday, I just thought you’d have better things to do than visit me.”

Bruce shook his head and dismissed the observation. “Please, Harvey. I keep my word.”

Harvey Dent smiled at Bruce’s sentiment and the two men strolled down the long that arched across acres toward the lake at the bottom of the property. Nearby stood white-clad attendants, though they chatted passively to each other, leaving the two Gothamites to enjoy their own conversation.

Apart from a few surgical scars that had yet to fade, Dent looked the picture of normality. The catastrophic damage done to the left side of his face had been surgically repaired slowly but surely since he’d been transferred to the Meridian Institute, and the mental damage was gradually being resolved as well.

The first thing to go, through extreme therapy, was the abhorrent and malicious Two-Face personality that had haunted Harvey since childhood. Harvey still had his dark moments. A cloud would descend and he’d become aggressive, chaotic, but it was unfocused, there was no obsession, just bouts of madness that could be managed with the right therapy.

“How have things been since I last saw you? You were due another surgery,” said Bruce. He motioned across his face. “The scars are healing up.”

“Yeah, things are… things are going well. I feel an itch under the skin every now and then, but Doctor Meridian tells me it’s psychosomatic. All up here,” Harvey prodded his temple and shrugged, “and I accept that. No voices in the night telling me to do bad things. No rotten thoughts about duality that drive me to commit crimes. If it weren’t for my long and excruciatingly well-detailed criminal record, I’d be a new man.”

“Ah, forget all that. You are a new man. You have to accept that.”

“One who’s never going to leave this estate,” said Harvey, motioning around him. “I mean, I should be thankful for small mercies. It isn’t Arkham. But I’m a criminal in the eyes of the law, and that’s… well, that’s life.” He shrugged and scratched his beard. “Plus, my diagnosis isn’t exactly one you can just cure. My flavour of schizophrenia is a bastard of a thing and I’m only able to keep my head straight thanks to a regime of medication and the fact that Doctor Meridian is letting me converse with a number of legal professionals across the world.” He chuckled. “All my mail is thoroughly checked for any references to the number two, even now. You can hardly blame them. I don’t.”

“I remember you telling me, all those years ago,” said Bruce. “You were caught in a downward spiral as a kid until you started studying law. You’re looking good, Harv. You’ve come a long way.”

“Long way to keep going,” said Harvey. “The drugs numb me around the edges, but I’m finding my sharpness… not in a bad way, don’t get me wrong, but if I don’t have my mind then I’m not… me. I need to be me without… without him.”

“Just concentrate on doing what you’re doing. On getting better,” said Bruce. “The more you do that, the more of the world opens back up to you. And I’m going to keep in touch--”

Harvey laughed. “Jeez, I should return to a life of crime. Let the Batman drag me back to Arkham…”

“Yeah, yeah, keep laughing, I’m well aware you keep letting me come back because it means Silver might make a showing. Ah! That reminds me, she baked a cake. They’ve x-rayed it for a file and we’re good to go. Want to head back in?”


“So, how’s he doing?” said Silver. “Really. Honestly.”

Doctor Chase Meridian and Silver Wayne watched as Bruce and Harvey conversed on the lawn in front of them. The monitoring room was hidden from external view, but the numerous security cameras fed information directly to this central hub. The large window that took up the whole wall to their right allowed them to see what was going on outside, but it was impossible for those outside to see in.

Chase and Silver’s shared history went way back to their time spent at Gotham University. Chase, the Australian ex-pat hoping to make a name for herself in the field of psychiatry, thrived in the competitive atmosphere of the school, while Silver, never to be outdone, sparred with her fellow student across many debates held at the school, while also studying English Literature.

Even through their more combative times they were the best of friends. As university students are wont to do they drifted apart later in life, but life found a way to bring them back together.

“Harvey is the most complicate case of Hebephrenic Schizophrenia I’ve ever studied, Sil,” said Chase. “Instead of allowing his mental illness to spill out into his life, he compartmentalised it, built a wall up in his head to keep him sane. I can’t even imagine how difficult it would have been to do that and to maintain it. When his wife betrayed him, nearly killed him with the acid she threw at his face, the wall broke down. He wore his damage, both mental and physical, right there, for the world to see.”

“Two-Face… he’s not going to come back, is he?” asked Silver.

“Hard to say. The treatment is sticking. The surgery was impeccable, he’s healing well, but for him to be… for him to be ‘normal’, he has to keep on his medication, needs constant support. I’ve yet to reintroduce him anything remotely resembling a dual motif,” she chuckled and shook his head, “I have to vet every conversation people have with him. No double-entendres. No loose change. Nothing that could trigger something in that chaotic brain of his to release his second personality. It’s hard bloody work, Sil.”

“And you’re the one to get it done, aintcha?” said Silver, with a wink.

Chase sighed and leaned into her old friend, resting her head on Silver’s shoulder. “You betcha.”

The two old friends laughed, falling into old patterns, but the moment of levity passed, and they continued their discussion. “And to think, all you wanted to do when you graduated was study the Batman. Now you’re rehabilitating one of his greatest enemies,” said Silver.

“I’m treating mental illness,” corrected Chase. “You look at the rogues’ gallery that the Batman gathered around him, and they’re all various degrees of mentally ill. I could reel off the afflictions, but at the end of the day, the Batman is fighting people who are unhinged. If it weren’t for the work of your darling husband, funding places like my institute, Arkham Island, ensuring that the best mental health professionals find the best work here in Gotham, then these people would suffer and meltdown, probably inflicting a lot more pain upon themselves, and the rest of the city. Without Bruce, we’d be screwed.”

“Nah, I don’t think he sees it that way at all. Without people like you then the Batman’s work would be for nought. You’re the ones helping rehabilitate those who can be, and then the rest… hopefully Blackgate can hold them.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” said Chase. “Harvey Dent would be one hell of a success story.”


Bruce Wayne took a sip from his glass of water and looked out across Gotham’s not-so-intimidating daytime skyline. “Well, Your Honour, I have to say, who would have thought we’d end up here?”

“The majority of voters in the last election did, it seems. Your birthday tour’s going well, I see?” said Mayor James Gordon. “How’s Harvey?”

“Healing,” said Bruce. “How’s running a city?”

“And I thought being police commissioner was hard,” said Gordon. “The bureaucracy gets thicker the higher up you go. But I’m used to wading through sewage. We’re doing good work. DA Spencer is a hard ass but I’ve worked with worse. Hell, if she’s not a super criminal yet, she never will be.”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah, I’ve spoken to Kate at length. Silver is supporting her re-election campaign.”

“You’re not?” said Gordon.

“Ah, I’m trying my best to lay low. Let Tim run Wayne Enterprises, let Damian…Damian… ” Bruce trailed off.

“Yup, we sure couldn’t do what we’re doing now without Tim’s help,” said Gordon, moving the conversation on swiftly.

Bruce smiled and took the lifeline. “I’m just happy you’re allowing Wayne Enterprises to support you in your endeavours.”

“Your boy Tim seems to have mastered Lucius’ business prowess, and he can muster up one hell of a fundraising speech. He’s come far since they called him ‘the Kid CEO’. Everyone else thought he was going to run the business into the ground!”

“Ah, but we knew better, didn’t we?”

“That we did. How are the boys?” said Gordon.

“I just had lunch with them, they’re doing well. It’s not long until Dick and Babs get married now, is it? The wedding’s coming up soon?”

“Yeah, and she’s a bag of nerves,” said Gordon, chuckling. “Who’d have thought it? That said, I think I’m more terrified. That’s my little girl, all grown up, marrying some punk…”

“Hey now, that’s my boy you’re talking about,” said Bruce, sharing a smile. “They’re doing good. All of them. I didn’t think I could be this proud.”

“You tell them that?” said Gordon.

“Oh, they know.”

“You’re a hard man to read, Bruce. After all these years, I still can’t figure you out. Might be worth telling them how you feel, before it’s too late.”

“I’ve got plenty of time,” said Bruce. “That said, I saw Leslie this morning for a battery of tests, so who actually knows… tonight could be my final night on this earth. Shouldn’t live with regrets…”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” said Gordon. “Me, all I wanted was to leave this city better than I found it, and to be honest with you, tomorrow I could retire happy. Not that I’m going to. Still work to be done. Now I’m living a different way-- I want to leave the city better than it is tomorrow. If at all possible.”

“A challenge, then?”

“Not necessarily. The work we’re doing… well, you know all about it, I’m sure. I’ve been accepted as one of Gotham’s own, even though I’m a Chicago-boy, born and bred. It’s a good feeling, after the amount of I’ve bled for this city.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” said Bruce. “But you’re a good man, Jim. Glad to have shared this ride with you.”

“To Gotham then, and to old friends,” said Gordon, raising a glass over the city he called home with a friend he called one of his best.

“To tomorrows,” intoned Bruce, “and plenty of them.”

“Zip me up?” said Silver, showing her back to her husband.

“My pleasure,” said Bruce, doing as he was asked. “You look beautiful.”

Bruce kissed her bare shoulder, and she arched her neck back, cheek-to-cheek with her husband.

“You don’t look so shoddy yourself,” said Silver. “I’m pleased you listened to me, Bruce. It’s your birthday. Let the city be protected by someone else for once. Especially when you have an army on speed dial.”

“I’ll regret it,” said Bruce. “Definitely. But let’s make it worth it.”

“Oh, of course. Now, I know what you’re like, so before we go, be sure to check the Cave. You’re not getting out of our dinner, but if you don’t do one last check it’ll bug you for the rest of the night and I don’t want you distracted.”

“I love you,” said Bruce. “I won’t be long.”

“Just don’t get any guano on your suit!”

Bruce smiled and headed downstairs into his father’s-- and now long his-- study. He turned the old grandfather clock’s hands to a very specific date, one he’d never forget, and then the secret passage that led down to the Cave opened.

Quickly, Bruce made his way to what Dick always referred to as the ‘Bat-Computer’, and pulled up the automated list of live targets and ongoing concerns. There was nothing major occurring in the city today, nothing beyond the usual horror that he would fight tooth and nail to fight. Let the others worry, just for one night…

The rustle of bats’ wings pulled him from his thought processes and he sighed wearily, looking down at his pristine suit and then to his hands. Calloused, covered in small scars and pock marks. Too many bones broken over twenty years of fighting a never ending battle. As he considered his next action, a slight tremor moved through his digits. He clenched his fist and released the pressure repeatedly, exerting what control he could over his trepidation.

“And tonight is no exception,” whispered Bruce.

He picked up a pair of tinted glasses from the dash of the Cave and put them on. The temple tips slotted into place over his ears, and then two small pads descended and inserted themselves into his ear canal, effectively blocking his hearing. He smiled, shook his head one last time, then turned to the belly of the cave. In his right hand was a small trigger mechanism.

“Did you really think I didn’t hear you last night?”

Bruce pulled the trigger, and hypersonic relays erupted with sound on a level that only those of certain disposition would be able to pick up. Bats shrieked all throughout the Cave and began their hasty retreat, but others-- bigger-- man-sized-- headed down, straight toward their tormentor, their wings flapping in a furious manner as they half screamed in agony, half roared in outrage.

A legion of Man-Bats, armed to the razor sharp teeth.

Bruce went to work. The ear pods prevented him from being impacted by the sound emitted by the hyper sonic speakers, and the tinted glasses picked up every single last figure who had broken into his home. The switch he’d thrown before leaving the cave the night before had sent out a mist of chemical tracer that illuminated anyone exposed to when you wore the glasses Bruce had on currently. Even without the suit, he was a formidable enemy. He didn’t need the mask, all he needed were his two fists and his brain, and that was enough to end any fight.

The Man-Bats were outfitted with non-lethal weaponry, and that identified their allegiance to the Batman. He disabled them non-lethally in return, even as they fumbled with the anti-venom that would revert them back to their human form. Within less than a minute, two dozen members of the League of Shadows had fallen, all but one unconscious.

The final Man-Bat transformed back into his human form, and Bruce moved slowly toward him. “You don’t sneak up on me in my own home.”

“Y-you heard us?” said the now human assassin, his face contorting as the Langstrom serum was removed from his system by the anti-venom. Bruce hoisted him up and clenched his fist, ready to deliver another blow to the trained assassin’s face. He recognised the man as an Ubu, one of the elite tribe who vowed themselves to stand by Ra’s Al Ghul’s side until the end of time.

“I recognise the sound of leather wing in these caves,” said Bruce. In his peripheral, he could see the transformed bodies of countless other former Man-Bats, though no others were of Ubu’s lineage. “I know the sound, the frequency, the volume. I know when a contingent of the League of Shadow’s warriors are lurking on my ceiling. Now, tell me: What do you want?”

“Our master has dire news for you. We were to monitor you, at peace, to ensure you were off sound mind and of strength to accept the news presented to you.”

“Present away, Ubu,” said Bruce, dropping the loyal servant of Ra’s Al Ghul to the ground. “But know that if I’m not impressed then you’ll be collecting your teeth, along with your comrades, off my floor.”

“The news is so that you must journey now to the Lazarus Pyramid, for an audience with Ra’s Al Ghul himself. The time is short. You are prepared. You are ready. Please, Detective, you must come now!”

Bruce considered the words flooding from the Ubu’s mouth, then shook his head slowly. He pressed a button on the console in front of the Bat-Computer and sighed. “I’m sorry, Silver. Something’s come up.”

Silver’s voice fed directly into his ears via the headset he wore. “Bruce?”

“I know… but it’s something only I can deal with. I can’t… it’s Ra’s. You know what that means.”

“Bruce-- “ Silver’s response was slow and considered: “It’s all right, Bruce. I know. I love you. Stay safe.”

Bruce ended the conversation with his wife then turned back to the Ubu. “Load your men into whatever the hell got you here in the first place.” He began to unbutton his shirt and headed down to the armoury. “I’ll make my own way to the Lazarus Pyramid.”


The Bat-Rocket allowed for immediate travel to any point in the world at lightning fast speeds. This was one of Tim’s designs, an improvement on a Lucius Fox classic. The rocket got him up into low orbit, then the targeting computer fired the rockets and got him to where he wanted to be.

The target today was one of the densest jungles in all of Southeast Asia. What was previously a rain forest with roots in the Pleistocene Epoch more than 70 million years ago, the fact that 85% of the original rain forest had already been destroyed hadn’t deterred the Demon’s Head from putting down his own roots here.

Lazarus effluent, waste water by-product from one of the largest Lazarus Pits in all the world caused the trees to grow at an alarming rate, but not only that-- they grew back wrong. The shapes they made were contorted, twisted, and those who ventured into the outlawed land said they could hear the plants scream. Those that drank from the numerous waterways in the forest were driven mad, though those driven insane by the dilute effluent seemed to live catastrophically long lives…

The Batman departed from the Bat-Rocket in a clearing whose borders were encroached upon by roots that clawed at the ground from below. He moved slowly through the jungle, machete cutting away twisting vines, until he reached the Lazarus Pyramid itself.

Only part of the Lazarus Pyramid remained above ground, the rest was buried by time. They uppermost tip of the compound pierced the treeline, but you’d be hard-pressed to see evidence of it from above. Entry into this area was outlawed, punished harshly by the surround authorities. That was the lasting influence the League had on the countries it imposed it’s will upon.

The Batman slowly entered the gaping maw at the base of the jungle pyramid, and the armed guards stood at attention as he moved past them through the main hall. Some were mutated by the Man-Bat serum appropriated by the League of Assassins before the fall, while others stood tall and pure, their chests emblazoned with the tell-tale sign of new age zealotry-- a bat tattoo; some were scarred by it, some had used ink, but all wore the sign of the bat.

“Where is he?” said the Batman.

“Ra’s Al Ghul awaits you in the throne room, Detective,” said one of the warriors who stood nearby.

The Batman grunted and continued his steady trudge into the depths of the place. The air was hot and humid but the suit’s internal cooling systems kept him comfortable, but he couldn’t help but feel that steady skeleton crawl up his neck of something coming that would soon cause him discomfort. Some great war to come, perhaps, or an even greater concern.

The throne room was pitch black and the Batman could barely make out any details. He tensed, his fist clenched, but he allowed himself to continue forward, until he stood before the foot of a number of steps.

“Hello, Detective.”

The voice was soft and low, a hint of amusement with that last syllable.

With a clap of hands, light began to fill the room. The Batman blinked as the walls of the room became visible, as did the dozen or so steps that ran up toward the throne of the head of the League of Shadows. All around, tapestries were draped across the throne room retelling the history of the League of Assassins up until the fall, and then the rebirth after, into the League of Shadows, all headed by this man--

“Hello, father.”

Standing taller than his father, Damian Wayne descended the steps of his throne to where the Batman stood. His birth name was Ibn al Xu'ffasch, which translated to ‘Son of the Bat’; but he was known to all in the League of Shadows as Ra’s Al Ghul, the Head of the Demon. Not the first to bear the mantle, and certainly not the last to.

Damian's garb resembled Bruce's own, though his cowl's ears twisted outward in a way that suggested satanic undertones-- that of a demon-- and there were no eye slits visible along the front of the mask. The material of the almost ceremonial costume was perfectly pitch black, no sign of line or seam, just the darkness, the night, the perfect uniform for a knight of shadow. The perfect blackness of the mask and the absence of eye slits suited the Demon’s Head, considering he was completely blind.

“And what do I call you today, son?” said the Batman.

“Does it matter?” said Damian. “I’m glad you came so quickly. It’s been some time. I had feared…”

Bruce interrupted. “Four years. You needed distance to build the League into something new. You seem to have achieved that.”

Damian nodded slowly. “My mother trained me to be the best of all worlds.” He began to count on his fingers. “Assassin. Terrorist. Corporate suit. And then you, avenger, defender, knight. Philanthropist. I was named the Son of the Bat. I had hoped to achieve my mission in less time, but I am pleased with the results. Not that I had many other operations, considering you handed Wayne Enterprises to Drake…”

Damian removed his mask and Bruce couldn’t help but feel something tense inside him. The wound that ran from his right temple to his left scarred in a perfectly straight line, taking his eyes with it. His hair was long and unruly, but he looked happy, at peace. Grown past the stubborn child that made Bruce’s life difficult from one moment to the next due to his unconventional upbringing amongst the League of Assassins.

Alfred always said Damian looked more like Bruce than he would have imagined, and while he had grown out of his moody teenager years, now he looked every bit the man Bruce anticipated he would become.

“You sent your Man-Bats to my home, Damian,” said Bruce. “You could have just called. Especially today.”

“I knew you could handle it,” said Damian. “And am I not apart from your world now? I left Gotham City when I was eighteen to become my own man, I couldn’t have simple come back. It’s never that easy.”

“You’d be surprised. Those in our line of work always find returns so much easier than you might expect,” said Bruce. “Return and resurrection.”

“Of which you are experienced in both, eh, father?” said Damian. He walked past Bruce, his hands clasped behind his back, and his back straight. “I did not want our reconciliation to be like this. Under these circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” said the Batman. “What’s happened?”

“The prisoner has escaped, father,” said Damian, matter-of-factly. “The greatest terrorist this world has ever seen, and neither my League of Shadows nor Bat Incorporated can locate him. For all my mastery of the numerous arts you yourself have pioneered, I am not the detective you are.”

“Ra’s--?”

Damian interrupted. “No. Not that name. Ra’s Al Ghul is not a name he holds. That monster lost all claim to that title when I defeated him in armed combat. It is by my mercy that he still lives, and therefore his name is nothing. Lost to the sands of time and owned by me. The Unnamed has escaped, and you need to stop him before he does something that brings the world to ruin.”

“Where did he escape from? I need information, Damian. I need it now before it’s too late,” said the Batman. Thoughts rushed through his mind. Gotham was without her protector, but an army stood ready to protect her. But this was… this was his nemesis who had escaped. Who knew what monstrous acts he had planned?

“I’m well aware.” Damian pushed a stone in the thick and ancient wall that triggered a second staircase to appear next to the Batman’s feet. The Dark Knight descended down through the secret passage until he appeared in a long hall, and at the end of the corridor a wall had fallen, or being demolished, by an external force.

“You kept him down here?” asked the Batman. The questions in his head didn’t stop there. You imprisoned him behind a wall? You kept him in the dark? You locked him up and threw away the key?

Damian stood behind his father. “I didn’t kill him. That’s not what the Bat stands for.”

“After what he did, I had assumed…”

“You assumed wrong, father. I took a vow, just as you did. Not to kill but to protect life. The same vow all members of the League of Shadows takes when they join our ranks.”

Batman made a rumbling noise as he began to examine the cell. There was a cot on one side of the room, and a hole in the floor that stank enough to suggest its reason for existing. The walls were covered in markings, and on closer inspection Batman could see that the markings were made by fingernail, and in various languages.

“And what vow would that be?”

Batman sniffed the air and focused on a strange odour that mingled with the stale air that resided within the cell. What was that?

“The Bat does not kill. The Bat protects. The Bat avenges. The Bat is more than a man and he is legion. The League of Shadows honours the legacy of the one man who has done more than any.”

Batman looked up at the ceiling, where burn marks spread from a small hole that resided directly above a small dent in the floor that was similarly scorched. The smell that flickered at his memory was chemical and fire, intermingling in equal measure. It itched at a box he kept in his head, where madness once lived, borne from rebirth.

“What do you feed your prisoner, Damian?”

“The Unnamed doesn’t eat or drink. He subsists on what I deign to provide him.”

The Batman’s anger flared. “Damian, how is your grandfather still alive?”

Damian’s expression didn’t change, though with his dark eyes impossible to read due to their absence from their sockets it would have been difficult to begin to try. “A single drop of Lazarus effluent from the ancient pit that crackles beneath this pyramid falls into the container at your feet every day. It keeps him alive. Somewhat.”

“You’ve tortured the man for four years,” said the Batman. “This is…”

“You know what that man did before I dragged him here. You let it happen. I claimed one birth right over the other in an attempt to better this world from the dark, just like you. I made the decisions that you couldn’t. You know what he did.”

“You drove him mad with a diet of untreated sewage,” said Batman. “That alchemical waste you’ve fed him is one thing, but four years in the dark, with just one thing on his mind—you know what’s written here--”

“Revenge. And my mother’s name,” said Damian. “In every language, both dead and alive, that the Unnamed ever knew. Madness is a just punishment for a man who has performed the horrors that the Unnamed has through his long, sordid life.”

“That may well be, but it was never for you to decide. I respected your decision, Damian. I allowed you to make a choice and the result is a horror.”

“The Unnamed took my eyes. He took more than you can ever understand. I stand by my decisions and I stand by the vow I made. I do not kill. But suffering? To allow him to suffer?” Damian turned away from his father. “I relinquish all responsibility now.” As he spoke, a large group of Man-Bats dragged a naked Ubu down the corridor, past Batman, who had exited the cell and watched the procession continue. Bruce recognised the Ubu as the one who addressed him in the Cave mere hours before--

“What is this?” said Batman.

“A loyal Ubu is a commodity you would be remiss to ignore,” said Damian. “But one loyal to someone other than the one he should be is a danger.”

The Ubu looked up at Damian with defiant eyes. “I follow the one true Ra’s Al Ghul, you blind child. You are weak and unworthy of our eternal loyalty--”

Damian moved faster than Batman had ever seen, striking the Ubu with such force as to throw him back into the cell and knock him unconscious.

“I allowed this Ubu to remain in my League of Shadows after I abolished the Unnamed’s former order. A mistake, I know. This traitor led his tribe to the Lazarus Pyramid and released their former devotee and now he has to pay the price. I will hunt down the rest of the Ubu tribe and met out similar punishments.”

The Man-Bats began to repair the wall of the cell, sealing the Ubu into the ancient prison.

“Damian--” started Batman. What could he do? Fight the entire League of Shadows? His son? The law here was different, wild and beholden to one man’s will.

“I won’t kill him. He takes the place of the former prisoner who occupied this cell. He will live a long life. A simple one.”

“You’re torturing him--”

“No, I’m saving lives,” said Damian. “I may have once been Robin, your loyal sidekick, your son, but now I’m something more. Now go, before the Unnamed unleashes an apotheosis unlike any witnessed before. He’s had plenty of time to think about it, after all. Happy birthday, father.”

The Batman grimaced and surged past his son, and exited the Lazarus Pyramid without another word. The Bat-Rocket launched without complication, and he headed back to Gotham City, and the war to come.

Damian contemplated the final gap in the wall off the cell the traitorous Ubu was slumped over in.

“Wait,” said Damian, and the Man-Bats ceased with work without argument. He contemplated his old life, old wounds and old philosophies. The air of disappointment radiating off his father at the sight of what he had just ordered to be done. “Well played, father.”

The young Ra’s Al Ghul struck the wall with such intensity that the brick work crumbled into rocky dust. The wall fell, and the Ubu stirred from his unconsciousness. “I never want to see this man again. I do not offer mercy, but I wish to see him tried by their law, out in the world.” He headed upstairs and threw a casual wave in the direction of the nearest Man-Bat. “Fabricate another sort of guilt. Send him to Santa Prisca. Let his rot infect some other place.”


Aboard the private jet, flanked by a royal guard worthy of a true monarch, the decrepit, malnourished old man was clothed in an emerald cape befitting an old life. His white beard was long and knotted, his hair long and wild. While his skin was grey and aged, his body finally showing its age, beneath the flesh pumped blood tinged green due to the exposure to the Lazarus effluent. Poison blood moved through poisoned veins and in this moment-- his final strike against Gotham City-- he couldn’t think of a more perfect metaphor for his hatred for the Detective. This man had a daughter, and he had a grandson, and he knew what it was like to be betrayed.

Banished members of the dead League of Assassins had rallied around their old leader, old lives and old rivalries reignited by a single message sent. Weapons were sharpened. Loaded. Prepared for war. .

“It is time for our final hour, Detective,” said the Unnamed, his fingers latticed together and his nails blunted by years of madness-induced scrawl across ancient walls. “Our final confrontation. You will pay for what you did to my daughter. And then Gotham will burn. It will burn forever.”