BATMAN: THE FINAL KNIGHT #2 (OF 2)

The Unnamed, the former leader of the organisation once known as the League of Assassins, sat aboard the private jet, contemplating his imprisonment over the last four years.

Sustained on the drops of Lazarus effluent that his successor allowed him, he looked at his bare arm, at how his veins pulsed green visibly under grey, parchment-thin skin. The old man was wiry, thin, tight muscle compacted against bone. Other than mastering one’s body, there wasn’t much you could do, under the ground, imprisoned by your grandson. Hone your body. Focus your mind. Become better.

Except that the Unnamed, a man who once held the mantle of Ra’s Al Ghul, was irrevocably, untreatably, unrepentantly insane. Something had happened four years ago that had fractured his mind, and all he remembered was darkness, the bat, his daughter and death.

“…Master, you’re shivering.”

The Unnamed looked up at the Ubu who addressed him, and if the follower had the nerve, he would have said, you look old, but the Unnamed was old, that went without saying. He had been sustained by the life-giving energies of the Lazarus Pit, then during his four-year captivity, it’s dirty, radioactive waste by-product. He was broken, mentally and physically.

Against his will, the Ubu spat blood as the Unnamed twisted his scimitar in his guts. The tall, bald man’s cream tunic flooded with a gush of red as he gasped, but he the edge of the blade severed his spine and he was dead within seconds. He fell hard, a wet thud, and the Unnamed spat on his corpse.

“To be cold, to be weak, that is not what I am.”. The Unnamed kicked the corpse of the Ubu, and clicked his fingers, and two of the dead man’s tribesmen rushed over and carried their death brother from the feet of their master. “I am strong. I am whole. And above all, I am free.”

All around the Unnamed sat the members of the League of Assassins who had been banished when the Blind Bat had assumed control of the organisation. He’d expelled the death-dealers, the poisoners, the marauders, and then twisted the ancient murder cult into something… good.

“How long until we land?”

“Within the hour,” replied the Dark Archer. He twisted his dyed black beard and smiled, before coughing violently, something caught in his throat. “I’m sorry, sir. But yes. We’re ready. When we land, Gotham will burn, just like you intended.” He looked at his hand, and at the pulsing, green discharge he’d expelled from his body. “What’s… what?”

“Yes. And the Detective will suffer as I tear down everything he ever loved.”

The Unnamed unfolded a photo he’d been given by the Lady Shiva, one last task for one of his longest serving acolytes before she renounced him once and for all. It showed a silver-haired beauty, a wide smile as she embraced a dark-haired man who was clearly Bruce Wayne. He stroked his stubby, wall-scratched nails down the face of the woman.

“We’ll soon be acquainted, my dear.”

FOUR YEARS AGO; SOUTHEAST ASIA, THE LAZARUS PYRAMID:

“The endgame is upon us,” said Ra’s Al Ghul, resplendent in his emerald and gold cloak and finest silk shirt. Against the leg of his brown trousers were twin blades, one for each hand, and it was well known he was more than qualified to wield them. Before this latest scheme he’d taken a dip into the Lazarus Pit, and the ages had sloughed off him like they were nothing but wet mud on a boot. Ra’s looked to be a man in his thirties, lupine features that curled up as he went about his final act of spite against the Detective.

The grand chamber of the Lazarus Pyramid was full of the greatest assassins the modern world had ever seen, along with a handful that had their origins in the ancient. The great family Ubu lined the walkway toward the steps that led to the throne of the League of Assassins, currently where Ra’s Al Ghul sat. Man-Bat guardians lined the walls, their immense size obscuring the ancient history hanging from the walls. If you glanced up, you would see their brothers hanging from the ceiling too.

Knelt at the base of the throne steps, were Talia Al Ghul, bound in a number of chains, a black, metallic collar around her neck. Next to her was the Batman, bare-chested with dozens of heavy chains weighing him down to the floor. They’d removed the many tools hidden about his person, and he too had a collar latched around his throat. He was in a drug-induced daze, barely able to keep his masked head up.

Stood before his parents was Damian Wayne himself. Nearly eighteen years old. The League hadn’t bothered binding his wrists. They knew he would not act against his grandfather. Not when his parents were trussed up like they were. They’d stripped him of his tools, his cape, and finally, his mask. All he had were his skills and the R on his chest.

“I believe I’ve made the choice quite simple, Damian. The collars around your parents’ necks are connected to the detonator in my hand--” Ra’s held up a cylindrical device with two buttons at the tip, “--as well as my own heartbeat.”

Talia struggled against her bonds but couldn’t find purchase. “Father, don’t do this. It doesn’t have to be like this!”

“ Silence. If you had been a better daughter-- a better mother-- we wouldn’t be here. Do not think I do not hold you responsible for the lengths it has taken to get to this point!”

Ra’s took a step down from his throne and neared his grandson. Careful to keep his distance. There was theatrics to consider here. A demonstration of strength in front of the gathered forces of the League of Assassins.

“You will make a decision and therefore choose your path. If you do not, I will make the decision for you. So, who shall it be? Your mother, the woman who raised you, my daughter? I would kill her if you ask me to, because you are meant to be the greatest man who ever lived, with or without her. If her sacrifice leads you to fully becoming one of his--”

Ra’s gestured towards the Batman, his thumb poised over the detonator.

“--Then I will accept the decision. But it has to be made. Now, if you finally realise that his way is a course that prevents the world from evolving past this passive, statutory state it suffers within, I will kill him for you, and therefore take that weight, that familial obligation, off your shoulders.”

“No,” said Robin, defiance in his young eyes. He levelled a finger at his grandfather, who stood atop the steps deep within the Lazarus Pyramid, ancient training ground of the League of Assassins. This place bled history, the tapestries behind the imposing bulk of the Man-Bats depicting the dark and sordid history of the secret society that the great and deadly Ra’s Al Ghul ruled with an iron fist.

Ra’s raised the detonator “That’s not an answer I could make the decision for you, of course. That’s what grandfathers are for. And I will if you do not show the strength of blood and will that I once believed you to contain. So--”

“By the ancient rite decreed by the first head of the Demon, I challenge Ra’s Al Ghul for the leadership of the League of Assassins by rite of combat! I no longer believe he is fit to lead the Great Demon!”

The words came out of Robin’s mouth as a defiant shout, a steady hand pointing an accusatory finger at his immortal grandfather.

“What? As if you have the right to challenge--”

Sensei interrupted with the raise of his hand. “Let the boy speak.” An ancient figure that had been with the League since its conception, this immortal had served as an advisor and sometimes enemy to those who held the mantle of Ra’s Al Ghul. “Is he not an assassin? Has he not killed in the name of the Demon?”

“Sensei--” started Ra’s, but he realised that to argue with a member of the League with such longevity and pedigree as Sensei would lead to unease amongst the ranks. “If the boy wishes to die then I will kill him. Shall we begin?”


The private jet landed on the edge of the city, in the forested, densely thicketed area known to the locals as the Gotham Boonies. Ten miles north, you would be on Wayne property, a few miles south you’d be in the city, ready to unleash hell.

After idling down the strip and coming to a stop, the Unnamed disembarked first. Eyes closed, he breathed in the air and was surprised by the lack of pollutants. Last time he was here, the skies were thick and crimson, swathed in unnatural colours by industrial actions that infected the heavens and the earth. Gotham was a plague den, that’s what it had always been. That’s why the Detective did what he did, night in, night out. But if it was beginning to heal…

Standing at bottom of the stairs was the Dark Knight, his cape flapping behind him in the winds that lashed the private airfield. He looked angry. Determined. Four years of building rage ready to be unleashed on the monster before him.

The Unnamed staggered back, in shock. “How did you--?”

“Rocket trumps plane every time. You’re done here.”

“I’ll be done when I’m dead, and I’ll happily die if you go first!” The Unnamed dove toward Batman, and the Dark Knight was surprised by the old man’s speed. He pivoted, drove an elbow into the man’s back, but the attack was shrugged off. Instead, the Unnamed hooked his own arm around the offending elbow and swung around, driving his knees into the back of the Caped Crusader.

The Batman stumbled forward in surprise, but wheels were already turning. For example, why had no one else joined the fight? Where were the long-exiled League of Assassins?

The Unnamed groped at the Batman’s utility belt and plucked a handful of gas pellets from the hidden compartment on his right side, throwing them to the ground around the Caped Crusader’s feet.

As black smoke clung to the space around him, the Dark Knight gave a quick twist of his left gauntlet and a neutralising agent made the gas transparent, but it was too late-- the Unnamed had made his exit, the forest disturbed to the north of his position.

Batman looked around the airfield. For the most part, the space was completely flat. But the Unnamed was one of the greatest assassins to ever live. That’s what it took to rule the League of Assassins, back in the day. He knew of stealth, of fleet movement that the eye couldn’t track unless it was ready to. Their first skirmish, and the Batman came up lacking. That monster could wait—there was an entire phalanx of the enemy in that plane watching his every movement.

Batman looked at that private jet, and was still surprised no one had come down to greet him, swords drawn and bows nocked. Thermal scans showed heat from the engines, and while it spread somewhat from the base of the wing, it didn’t spread into the galley.

The entire plane was still, the only sound coming from the revved down engines as they cooled.

Batman crept up the steps leading inside, and then processed the scene.

Dozens of men and women, all garbed exotically, all assassins, murderers, lay dead, an emerald discharge around their mouths. They were poisoned. But by what? He took a blood sample from the nearest Ubu, noting that one had died sooner than the others, a deep wound in his gut going all the way through and taking his spine with it. In the cockpit, the pilot was dead. Auto-pilot engaged. An easy landing thanks to the onboard guidance computers.

The link between his suit’s systems and the computer back in the Cave would give him an answer shortly. He disembarked and made the call to the GCPD. They’d want to close off the crime scene, and after that they could tick a number of names off numerous intelligence agencies’ most wanted lists.

<Sample contains traces of unknown radioactive isotope,> buzzed the artificial voice of the computer. <Nearest match is that of the Lazarus Pit’s alchemical composition.>

It didn’t take the mind of the World’s Greatest Detective to know that the Unnamed was the cause of these deaths.

“What do you know of his confinement?”

Batman considered the spectral voice of Alfred Pennyworth, his absence felt every single day.

“According to Damian, he survived on a daily dose of Lazarus Pit run-off. Effectively, radioactive… waste…”

“And there you go, Master Bruce. Your smoking gun. What happens when you live off a steady diet of mystical radioactive effluent for four years?”

“Nothing good.”. He activated the Geiger Counter on his belt and it went crazy. The plane was riddled with an unknown radioactive signature, and as he backed out he captured a sample of its unique signature. “Upload to computer databanks.”

There was a clear trail from the plane into the forested areas beyond the field. The Unnamed moved fast, faster than he’d ever moved, more than likely thanks to the radioactive kickstart in his system.

“Computer, begin calibrating Wayne Enterprise’s satellite dark systems to scan for Lazarus Pit radioactivity across the city. If he gets into a populated area… the death toll could be enormous.”

After amending his alert to the GCPD to include information regarding the radioactive signature, the Batman began to run, headed after the monster whose veins pumped with doom for Gotham City.


The challenge accepted, Ra’s Al Ghul held his hands up as the Ubu removed his tunic. His flesh was pristine, no scars present thanks to the repeated dips into the Lazarus Pits that sustained him over the centuries. The Ubus disconnected the heart monitor that tethered Ra’s life to those of the Detective and Talia, and placed it away from the field.

Damian Wayne’s skin was marked by actions no eighteen-year-old should have experienced. Stab wounds. Chemical burns. Knife wounds. Scar tissue, bruises, breaks. The Teen Wonder had lived a long, short life. As he cracked his knuckles, he resolved to himself that he would continue it, without hesitation.

Sensei walked between the two with his hands raised, drawing the attention of everyone gathered. “You are aware of the rules that mark the trial by combat. One weapon per participant. A circle that cannot be left. The man who wins owns the life of the animal that loses, to do with whatever they will.”

“Get on with it,” said Ra’s. He drew his scimitar from its sheath and smiled, testing the blade.

Across from the combat circle, heavy chains weighed down every part of the Batman’s body. That wasn’t the main issue. He’d been through worse countless times before, experienced horrors, but the chains keeping his body weighted to the ground and unable to move weren’t the problem. The ancient, alchemical drugs running through his veins muddied every thought, every idea that might have helped him out of the situation. He didn’t even know it was a problem, his faculties robbed so viciously by the mystical formulas of the Demon’s Head himself.

Bruce Wayne was powerless, stripped of every aspect that made him the Batman.

In this moment, with the League of Assassins baying for blood, with this shade of the Batman the prize, two warriors faced off in the grand arena, and the fate of the Bat, and the world, hung in the balance.

“Trial by combat then, my boy. To the victor the spoils: The life of Batman to do with whatever the victor will. True mastery over the League of Assassins. The name-- the title-- the honour-- of Ra’s Al Ghul.”

“Grandfather. I will never be you. I will be something better.”

“Begin,” said Sensei, punctuating the decision with a clap of his hands.

Ra’s moved like a snake, slithering into the centre of the combat circle with the blade drawn, acting as an extension of his hand, of his body, while Robin was on the defensive, unwilling to commit with the sword he’s selected from the armoury offered to him.

Ra’s went in for a blade stroke that would have severed something important, but Damian deflected, sparks flew, and Robin pressed the momentary advantage. Ra’s took two steps back, but then pushed forward. Parry, thrust, slice, the swords sang against the air, whistling as they went.

Ra’s smiled, laughed almost, but as the fight went on, he realised that he was growing tired, while Damian was growing braver. Not out of desperation, mind. He was pacing himself, making Ra’s push harder, swing harder, dodge harder, while he was lighter on his feet, dancing back and forth, never subscribing to a single fighting style.

Batman watched. He didn’t understand, to begin with, his head addled so. But as the fight went on, the smoke that engulfed his mind began to clear. The League were so engrossed with the fight to the death before them, they’d neglected to keep him dosed.

Ra’s knew this was the time to end it. He drove forward, one hand went in one direction, a quick act of distraction, while the other, sword-clasping, went for a killing blow. Robin seemed to fall for the dictation, but then his own sword swung upwards at the last second, sending Ra’s weapon to the side, while his free hand grabbed the flailing digits that Ra’s had hoped to use to distraction him-- and he bent them back, breaking all the fingers in his left hand.

Ra’s cried out, Robin stabbed at his palm, and the scimitar fell to the ground. Looking up in surprise, Damian drew his weapon up and then levelled it at his throat. “Your life is mine, grandfather. You just lost your right to live by your own rules. You just lost your name.”

Sensei clapped his hands twice and the heads of those present turned in his direction. “There is a new Demon’s Head. There is a new Ra’s Al Ghul!”


The doorbell of Wayne Manor rang, and Silver, the beautiful, effervescent wife of Bruce Wayne answered a few moments later.

The celebrations had been put on hold since he’d left hours earlier, but it's couldn’t have been his birthday without something getting in the way. She understood his mood. This year would bring him to the same age his father had been when he’d died, and these were the things that weighed him down, no matter how hard he tried to find new reserves of strength to move past them.

Silver opened the door, and standing there was Leslie Tompkins. The elder doctor smiled at the wife of the man she’d helped raise, and the two embraced warmly.

“Oh, it’s lovely to see you, my dear. Where are all the boys?”

“Bruce had to head out on business,” said Silver, milking the wink she gave. “The rest of the family went home, they had things they could be getting on with if they weren’t needed here.”

“A classic Bruce rescheduling then.”

“Oh, too true. What brings you to the manor?”

Clutching her bag, Leslie gently replied, “I was hoping to speak to Bruce.”

“Well, it is his birthday. But… Leslie, is something the matter?”


Bruce Wayne sat in the waiting room, watching children play in the corner while parents sat reading magazines from a few years back. Cover stories on Gotham Now read: The Restoration Of Harvey Dent; Does The Joker Get The Last Laugh?; Wayne Bad Boy Leaves Gotham—Batman, Incorporated Goes Global?; Is Scarecrow’s New Partner In Crime More Than Meets The Eye?

Tiffany, the longtime clinic receptionist, was gracious as he waited, asking him if he wanted tea, coffee, but he’d sworn off the latter years ago and wasn’t feeling partiucarly thirsty. There were more important things swimming about his mind.

“Hello, Bruce,” said Leslie, opening the door to her examination room and beaming. She looked tired, but when did she not? Nothing would stop Leslie from doing everything she could from the city, and that meant working well into her retirement. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The others in the waiting room suddenly noticed him, the Wayne name still holding a provenance in Gotham City way beyond others. He tended to be quiet in public unless the attention was on him-- all part of the act, he supposed-- but he found the introspective mood falling over him more often and he wondered if he was finally learning his true character after years of tragedy and transformation. Maybe he was always supposed to be the quiet brooding sort.

The television was on when he entered the office and he saw his adopted son, Tim Wayne, talking on a news programme. He absentmindedly picked up the remote and turned the volume up but was sharply interrupted by Leslie, who turned the monitor off before he caught much of the news.

“You know the rules, Bruce.”

“No television during check-up, I know, I know. My sincere apologies.”

Leslie shook her head but smiled. “Ah, I’ll let you off this time. So tell me. How do you feel?”

“Get the hard questions out of the way first?” Bruce chuckled, but continued. “Old. I feel old.”

“Oh, Bruce, you’re in your forties, you’re a child. And in better shape than some twenty year olds I’ve met too. Silver must be pleased.”

“It’s not really something that comes up.”

“Pish. But I don’t want to embarrass you. But it’s always fun to see you blush.”

“You’re family, Leslie. It’s like my favourite aunt is asking me about my girlfriend, it’s just,” Bruce pretended to shiver, “well, you know.”

“Well, you do know how to make a woman feel special. No blushing, I’m talking about myself now, Bruce. ‘Favourite aunt’, oh my.”

“What can I say? You’ve always been there for me, Leslie.”

“Enough, enough, you’ll give me a complex. What brings you here today, Bruce?”

Bruce was silent for a moment, considering his response carefully, then he began to explain to Leslie. “I cut myself shaving today.”

“Oh?”

“My hand.”

Bruce held up his palm, as still as he could manage. After a moment, there was a quiver, something he couldn’t anticipate, and he clenched his hand suddenly to still it.

“It’s been happening more and more. And stiffness, more so than usual.”

Leslie considered the complaint and then sat in front of the boy she’d helped raise, side-by-side with the dearly departed Alfred Pennyworth. She put her hands on her lap, and smiled warmly at Bruce, before extending her hands and making them flat, floating in front of her.

“Bruce, put your hands out like this.”

Bruce following the instructions as she gave them, his hands now palms up in front of him.

“Now close your right fist, good, and now open it.” She nodded as Bruce continued to do as she told. “Left fist, now. Open it. Close it. Faster now. Open, shut. Open, shut.”

“Is this what I think it is?”

“Let’s keep coming, Bruce. Please--” Bruce stood up and Leslie bit her lip. “-- Stand. Okay. Just walk to the end of the room, to the door, and then walk back to me as naturally as possible.”

After doing so, Bruce sat back down and Leslie plucked her glasses off her face and let them hang on around her neck as she rubbed the corners of her eyes. “I think we should get a blood sample and arrange for a MRI. Do you have time now?”

“I can make the time. We both know what this is, don’t we?”

Leslie nervously played with the beaded necklace that held her glasses around her neck. She spoke slowly, deliberately, considering every word. “The symptoms you describe… tremors at rest… your slowness of movement, the stiffness…”

Bruce smiled, resigned. “Yeah.”

Leslie put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s run the tests first, all right?”


Sensei was pleased. “Will you kill him?. If you do not, he could always challenge you in the future. You would--”

“We’re done here,” said Damian, cutting the old man off. “As is my right as the owner of this man’s life, I spare it.”

“How humiliating.”

“You… spare it?” growled Ra’s, loudly resetting the bones in his mangled hand. “Nn! You disgrace me!”

“You disgrace yourself. I made my choice when I remained in Gotham the first ten times you made your overtures. I am the Son of the Bat. I will not be the man you intend me to be.”

Damian tossed his sword aside and turned his back on his grandfather.

“Don’t turn your back on me. Don’t-- you-- dare!”

Ra’s roared as Damian simply walked away. The disgraced leader of the League picked up the discarded sword with his bloodied hand and rushed toward his grandson. He swung almighty at the teen’s neck, but Robin turned at the last moment and without missing a beat stepped back, the singing blade missing him by centimetres.

Ra's pressed the attack, dishonouring himself before the League, but no one stepped in. They allowed him to make his bed.

Damian was without a weapon, but he didn’t need one. Fleet footwork, dipping in between sword strokes, utilising every skill he’d acquired in the ten years he’d been raised by his mother, and the abilities gained after six years fighting crime side-by-side with his father.

Ra’s drew his sword up, drove it down, and Damian caught it between his palms to the astonished gasps of the assassins assembled around the fringes of the fight.

Sensei smiled from where he sat, while the Batman continued to struggle against the chains that held him fast. They’d not bothered topping up the drug dose given to him on arrival. His faculties were returning to him, slowly but surely, and even operating at a low ebb he was more than capable of taking out the majority of the men and women in this room.

Damian looked his grandfather in the eye and shook his head. “I spared your life once, grandfather. Acting out will not force my hand. It simply--”

Ra’s twisted the blade suddenly and Damian’s hands shot down, deep gouges across his palms. Anger rising in his eyes, the Teen Wonder reached forward, grabbed the handle of the weapon and then somersaulted over Ra’s’ head, taking the weapon with him. As he landed, he didn’t see the Demon’s Head draw a second weapon, strictly forbidden in the combat rites of the League, and strike out.

Damian managed to move back a fraction at the last minute, but the dagger sliced across his face, blinding him instantly. He cried out, stumbled back, and Ra’s went in for the kill, only to be distracted when the Detective shattered the links holding him and drove forward, heading straight for his son.

Realising he couldn’t win that fight, Ra’s retreated, vanishing into the crowd of assassins, as Batman cradled Robin in his arms.

“Damian…” whispered the Dark Knight. It looked back. The wound went from the outer corner of his left eye all the way to the right, and in-between was a scarlet ruin. Batman quickly tore off his mask and used it to tourniquet the vicious wound across his son’s face, hoping the smart material would stem the bleeding. He looked back at where Talia had been bound, not knowing what to say, but she was gone, her chains all that was left.

“Detective,” said Sensei, approaching the unmasked vigilante through a massive parting in the crowd. He drew a long key from his robes and passively tilted the Caped Crusader’s chin up. He inserted the key into the lock of the collar and turned it gently, unlocking the contraption. “Your son needs medical attention. We shall provide it, as is our honour-bound duty.”

Batman had been part of the League of Assassins once and he knew their rite and ritual fluently.

“This man is the Demon’s Head,” said Batman, matter-of-factly, “the position his through rite of combat.”

“Yes. And it is the duty of the League of Assassins to serve him.” Sensei extended an ancient hand. “Now, there is an usurper loose in the Lazarus Pyramid. Unfinished business for our leader. You are his Second, are you not? Your secrets are safe with the League, as they always were. Now go. It’s not over yet!”


In Batman’s ear, the computer buzzed key information regarding the radioactive signature he’d detected in the private jet, and witnessed the aftermath of exposure to.

He knew that the Unnamed was full of that Lazarus effluent, and it was down to that he was able to track him through the woods. They’d been at this for miles, a glowing emerald trail visible on the right frequency leading through the thick forest, a madman throbbing with deadly intent, knowing or otherwise, and the Dark Knight on his trail.

“Operator to Knight-1, are you online?”

Julia Pennyworth’s voice cut through the technical chatter from the computer, her voice distant, her accent harsher than her deceased father’s. Last time they’d spoken; she was departing to England for an old university friend’s wedding. What was she doing on active comms? She was his link to the Cave more often than not, prioritising information flow, helping me go further and faster than he could by himself. And right now? Exactly what he needed.

“Knight-1 receiving. I’m in the middle of something here, Operator.”

“I can see that from the data you’ve uploaded. Just because I’m an ocean away doesn’t mean I can’t help. That radioactive frequency is crazy. Familiar though… what’s going down?”

“A madman is on the loose and emitting deadly radiation.”

“Is this Ra’s Al Ghul? Lazarus Pits emit a similar--”

Batman cut her off. “The Ra’s we knew is dead. This is someone else. Are you online to let me know how bad I’ve got it, or do you have input?”

“I’m hooked up to the hotel’s wifi and I’m sucking all the processing power I can into my laptop. GPS has you not far from the manor now, you realise that, right?”

Batman hadn’t. The GPS tracker in his right eye lens told him he was miles away from the private airstrip, and yes, not far from Wayne Manor now. “I’m on his trail.”

“And the trail is leading home. Should I put the place on lockdown?”

“Yes. Activate blackout protocol and link me to the manor speakers. Thank you, Operator.”

“You’re paying my bills, mate. And if that’s what my dad wanted, then that’s what you get. You’re online”

Talia Al Ghul rushed after her father as he stumbled away, his dagger still dripping at the tip with blood. “How could you? Father! Father, how could you?”

“Your boy failed me. No blood of mine can be allowed to fail. So I made him more like his father. Just like the Detective, now the boy is forever blind to my greatness. Now we need to leave this place. We need to consolidate the loyalty of the members. No one will follow your son now that he is crippled.” He smiled. “A lesson well taught.”

“B-but,” started Talia. Then she fell silent. Then she understood. “I see.”

“Of course you do,” said Ra’s. He discarded his blade and wiped his brow. They had entered one of the side chambers, close to the trophy room. In this chamber, there was a single pedestal, atop it a square box. He unlocked the box with the key around his neck and smiled when the contents were just as he left them. “…You always did understand, Talia. More than Nyssa, Ives, or any other of my disappointing children. You always saw what drove me. I see it in you, too.”

“No. I see the truth.”

Ra’s turned, a sneer on his lip. “Truth? What do you--”

Talia drove the discarded blade into Ra’s chest, but he shifted at the last moment, displacing the direction of the strike. He gripped the edges of the blade with either palm, preventing it from going any further, but he was face-to-face with his attacker.

“You… would… kill… me…?” growled Ra’s.

“You would have killed my son! Now I’m playing by your rules, father.”

“I didn’t teach you all of them,” said Ra’s. He sent his foot into her knee cap, displacing it in a sickening, twisting instant. She dropped to her good knee, the dagger still lodged in Ra’s chest, and then he rammed his knee into her face, knocking her back. He pulled the knife out and smiled. It had gone in, but not enough to kill. A dip in the Lazarus Pit would knit him back together.

“I’m disappointed, so disappointed in you. You've become a coward. What drove you… this far…?”

“My love has limits, daughter. You are reaching mine for you.”

“I don’t want the love of a man who would sacrifice me like a pawn!”

“You are a pawn! This war is bigger than any of us, and the man you called your ‘beloved’ is the champion of the enemy! Now--”

Words escaped Ra’s as his eyes widened, the silhouette of the Detective visible in the door way.

“It’s over, Ra’s,” growled Bruce.

“Not yet,” snapped Ra’s. He pulled the contents of the box out and aimed the tarnished pistol square at his enemy. “I’ve been saving this for the perfect moment. Do you remember this, Bruce?”

Bruce tried not to show fear, but seeing the gun took him back to being eight years old, the happiest child alive, walking down Park Row with his parents after the late showing of The Mark of Zorro. He pranced, fenced the shadows with a rolled up cinema listings guide.

The memory of the gun was burnt into his memory, as was the resulting action.

In his memory, the man stepped out of the shadows, pistol drawn, demanding their money, and his father, Thomas, was reasonable first, taking out his wallet, but when the man waved his gun at Martha-- the pearls, always the pearls-- Bruce’s dad stepped forward, anything to protect his family, and all it took was one gunshot and he fell. So much blood from such a tiny little hole.

Shocked but braver than anyone had any right to be in this situation, Martha put herself in front of her son, but the movement surprised the man and he shot her too, the bullet clipping her pearls on impact, perfect white spheres mixing with that horrible, impossible redness.

The man ran, leaving a boy orphaned, one parent dead in the gutter, the other dying. Thomas Wayne’s eyes locked on his wife, one final whisper, “Martha” before his life left his body.

“Where… did you get that…?” hissed Bruce, as the gun that murdered his parents was pointed at his face.

“I always knew how to break you, Bruce. You mythologise yourself, and I allowed it, I entertained the Bat, ‘the Detective’, because I knew that if I could get you to change your insipid little mind, you would be the greatest successor I could have ever wanted.”

Ra’s aim was steady. The distance between the two mortal enemies too much for Bruce to cover in his weakened state and confidentially disarm him before the immortal could get a shot off.

“Do you not remember that night, not long after my escape from your Arkham? After you trapped me there in a drug-addled state? When the League descended once more on your home? You had no idea what I was doing, what I had planned, but we didn’t attack you, did we? We didn’t act out in spite toward your so-called family.”

“You hospitalised hundreds of men and women.”

It was a winter’s night, what, six, seven years ago? Snow falling, and the League of Assassins spent a night attacking the criminal element. Batman suspected it was Talia, some twisted act of love, but no, they were there by order of Ra’s, and they were searching for something-- the Dark Knight never found what. Was this it? All along, was this the reason? Did Ra’s send the full force of an ancient assassination cult to Gotham City just to find the gun used to murder Bruce’s parents?

“Get to the point.”

“I did what you could never do. I tracked down the man who killed your parents. That nameless, faceless petty criminal who took their lives, and without much persuasion, he told me where he’d dropped the gun that created this persona you adopted. My disciples located it, I restored it, and here we are. And what better way to end this ridiculous cycle than by ending it how it began?”

“You’re mad. You threaten your daughter. Your grandson. And to what? To force their hand? You don’t deserve them, Ra’s. You never did.”

“I don’t care what you think anymore. I always knew how to beat you, Bruce. Just like the rest of them, your heart if your weakness.”

“Father, no--”

Ra’s pulled the trigger just as Talia moved to knock him down, having quietly, defiantly, re-set her broken nose and popped her knee back into place. She stood abruptly, between Bruce and her father, and the bullet tore through her skull, killing her instantly.

Ra’s screamed, horrified, and Bruce could do nothing. The bullet passed through her, caught the Dark Knight in the shoulder and sent a chunk of meat flying, but he had already moved, sprinted forward, and he didn’t care—adrenaline was running through him like lightning. He slammed the full force of his body into Al Ghul, and the villain fell, the gun falling pathetically from the old man’s hand.

“You-- monster--!” howled Bruce, pummelling Ra’s. He threw punch after punch, felt flesh tearing and bone breaking, but his rage was so immense that he couldn’t stop. Al Ghul gibbered and hissed, blood bubbling up from his mouth, but couldn’t mount a defence. Not that he wanted to. It was only when a hand gripped Bruce’s shoulder that he caught himself.

“Enough.” Damian stood over him, his eyes bandaged and bloody, and the act caused Bruce to stumble backwards, completely horrified at his actions.

Ra’s was alive, but barely. He breathed raggedly, like his throat was a wind instrument, whistling gently, but he looked like he’d been run over by a freight train. Bruce looked at his hands, then down at Talia, and he didn’t know what to say.

Damian had been led to the room by Sensei and the other five immortals that lurked in the shadows of the League of Assassins. He cleared his throat, and said slowly. “See to my grandfather’s wounds. He will live.”

Damian seemed to look down at the body of his mother. “Father… I can smell her perfume. The gunshot. The impact. I could hear it when I came in.” He dropped to his knees as his father stood over him, his fingers finding hers. She gripped her hand and lowered his face to it, allowing her to stroke his cheek one last time. “Oh, mother. Mum…”

“Damian… we need to find a Lazarus Pit. We can bring her back. Heal your wounds. We need to hurry.”

“No Lazarus Pits.”

“Damian, what do you mean?”

“I’ll destroy them all. Every single one, across the world. No more eternity for the League. No more immortals.” The teen looked up at his dad, and after a long silence between father and son, said, “You need to go now.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not after all this.”

“Especially after all this. I am the new Ra’s Al Ghul. I am the Demon’s Head. You are the Detective. If I am to solidify my position as the head of the League of Assassins, you must leave.”

Bruce couldn’t comprehend what his son was saying. “No, I refuse--”

Damian stood. “You know the rites of the League. You know what comes next. I must take the next steps alone. And when I am ready, I will reach out to you. Until then, Gotham… Gotham needs her Batman. That is something I can never be. Not now. Not ever. So, father, it is time.”

The teen motioned toward the door, and two Ubu appeared. They carried the rest of Bruce’s uniform, his utility belt, an array of batarangs and other devices.

Damian took the bloodied mask his father had used to staunch the bleeding around his eyes and held it out.

Bruce looked down at it, then to his son. “Damian…”

“I love you, father. Now you have to leave me. For the good of everything. For everything to… to have been worth it, you have to go. I will continue our mission, in my own way.”

Bruce took a step back without retrieving his mask. “I love you too, Damian. I…”

“Go!”

Bruce was led away, and that was the last time father and son were together for nearly four years. In that moment, Damian knew what had to be done.

“Prepare the tomb,” he said, slowly, at the assembled subjects. “The one beneath the Lazarus Chamber. My grandfather will have time to reflect on his actions.”

“You’re letting him live?” asked Sensei.

“Mercy can be a weapon as well, Sensei. Have his wounds dressed. Then I will say my goodbyes.”

“And your mother?”

Damian knelt and gathered her up in his arms. He was weak, fevered, but knew what he had to do. “Prepare a funeral pyre and have the upper levels of the pyramid cleared. I will say my goodbyes.”

The League did as they were told, following orders like their code dictated. Alone with the body of his dead mother in his arms, Damian struggled to hold back the grief. He was the new Ra’s Al Ghul. He was the Demon Star his grandfather always wanted.

“You win, grandfather,” said Damian, as he exited the chamber. “The League is mine now.”


An alarm sounded, the one that knew whether or not authorised people were in the manor. The infrequent tone meant the security systems recognised that Silver and Leslie were the only ones present, so immediately the shutters slammed down over the windows, the doors were bolted with steel rods. After the clanging and the banging that came with the lockdown ended, there was an eerie silence punctuated by the voice of Bruce Wayne as it played over the PA system hidden throughout the manor.

“Silver, someone is on the way that means you harm. I’m coming as fast I can, but I need you to get to the panic room right now. I love you so much, but you need to hurry..”

Silver grabbed Leslie’s hand and the two rushed through the corridors of Wayne Manor without exchanging words. When they reached the kitchen, Silver led Leslie into the large pantry, and closed the doors after them.

“Are you sure this is… the safest place for us to be?” asked Leslie.

Ignoring the doctor, Silver pushed her palm against one of the walls and the hidden panel glowed blue. A large door hissed open and she slipped inside with Leslie, and the door closed after they were safely inside.

Marvelling at the state-of-the-art panic room, Leslie couldn’t help but smile. “Of course Alfred put a panic room in the kitchen. That silly, wonderful man.”

Against the largest wall, dozens of security camera feeds showed every angle of Wayne Manor. The smaller wall featured another dozen or so cameras, but they weren’t yet turned on. Silver knew why, and she pushed a button that scanned her biometrics. Recognising her as Bruce’s wife, the monitors turned on and showed the interior of the Cave beneath the house. Now the two would have the full picture of the goings on in Wayne Manor.

To their terrified amazement, the two women witnessed a man stood upon the centre platform, where the fleet of vehicles Bruce utilised to protect Gotham City would emerge from the cavernous depths of the base. Emaciated, the man’s skin was parchment thin and his veins pulsed emerald. Tufts of hair lined his cheeks, chin and scalp, and the rage across his face throbbed through their monitors.

“I know him,” whispered Silver. “That’s Ra’s Al Ghul. Oh my God. Oh my God he looks…”

“Bruce Wayne!” bellowed the Unnamed, his shrieking voice tinny over the audio pick-ups feeding sound into the panic room. In his hand was a weapon stolen from the arsenal nearby, and he wielded it with deadly intent. “Come out and face me!”

“And then what?”

The Unnamed raised his weapon and levelled it at the darkness. “Where are you?!”

“I’m here, in the shadows, in the dark. But you didn’t answer my question. ‘And then what?’”

“I have been waiting for this day since you engineered the death of my daughter and the end of the true League of Assassins. My fury is white hot and righteous! You, who stole my daughter away from me… you’re the one who will suffer the greatest defeat.”

In the panic room, Silver searched the numerous camera feeds, searching intently with Leslie for some sign of Bruce. There was a flutter in the dark, in the upper reaches of the cave system that made up the Batman’s base. He was holding a tranquilliser gun, levelled at the Unnamed, but he wasn’t taking the shot.

“Oh, Bruce,” said Leslie, understanding why.

Lowering the gun, Silver could see the grainy expression on her husband’s shift into one of frustration. It was a clear shot. He hadn’t taken it.

Instead, he descended, landing at the far end of the elevated platform that the Unnamed stood upon. The former leader of the League of Assassins smiled and shook his head at the sight of his nemesis.

“Coward! When I’m done here, I shall take your son’s so-called League of Shadows and return it to it’s former glory. With the loyal--”

“The ones on the plane? They’re all dead. You killed them because you’re toxic, old man. You kill everything you touch.”

The Unnamed opened his mouth to reply, but the statement confused him. Everything confused him.

“No, impossible. Even now, they travel across Gotham, ready to engineer the demise of the city. I will ruin you. I will burn your home to the ground! Your city! Every good deed! Every good thing! You took everything from me, so now I take everything of yours!”

The old man was possessed of a speed and agility that Bruce assumed came with an exclusive daily diet of Lazarus run-off. Crossing the distance between them like it was nothing, the blade the Unnamed wielded came down hard on the hero’s forearms, but the reinforced gauntlets took the brunt of the impact and redistributed the force through kinetic absorption pads, while the bladed scallops jutting out from the wrist up locked the sword in place.

With a twist, the Unnamed was disarmed, and Bruce grabbed him by the scruff of the shirt he wore, pushing him to the ground violently.

“I took everything? You pushed everyone you loved away and your mad crusade to save the world came to nothing.”

Bruce punched the old man in the kidneys repeatedly, driving him to his knees.

“The day you admit that you never wanted to save anything but yourself, the day you realise you’re a mad Old terrorist who just happened to have access to a life-extended alchemical pit, that your life is one moment of luck followed by another, then-- and only then-- will you realise that everything you’ve done has resulted in failure!”

The Unnamed drew a hidden dagger from his back and sent it toward the gaps between Bruce’s ribs, but he had seen the trick before, he’d seen his son fall to the old man’s treachery, and so he caught the attack between his elbow and hip, trapping the blade before it could enter him, and with a headbutt the weapon fell away from the villain’s grip.

“Nnnargh! You took my daughter away from me! Turned my grandson into a coward who turned his back on his heritage-- he should have been the ruler of the world! Now he’s a blind, broken shell!”

“You-- you really are mad,” said Bruce. He felt his body ache. The protective shielding of his costume only mitigated the effect of the radioactive aura produced by his enemy. “You’re the monster! You killed your daughter! You blinded your grandson!”

With his inhuman speed, the Unnamed kicked Bruce in the chest and sent him staggering, then he trudged forward, fists raised, ready for the final round. “Mad? Mad is your clown, your scarecrow, your two-faced man. I am beyond such paltry labels-- I-- am-- Ra’s-- Al-- Ghul!”

“No! You’re! Not!”

Defiance against the impossible personified, Bruce threw all his might into a punch that caught the Unnamed square in the jaw and sent him flying backwards. Following through, he dove onto the old man, pinning his arms down with his knees, and he continued the assault he’d started four years ago. Landing blow after blow, only stopping after a seeming eternity had passed.

The old man wheezed, coughed, blood spluttering up through jagged lips and fragmented teeth. There was no Damian Wayne here to put an end to the fight. No League to take him in. The final fight between them, and then-- then what?

The Unnamed, the man once known as Ra’s Al Ghul, his true name lost to the ages, looked past the victor, a glazed look in his cataract-ridden eyes.

“T-Talia,” he whispered, blood flecking from his mouth, “I--”

“You don’t get to say her name,” said Damian Wayne, the blind leader of the League of Shadows. Emerging from the darkness that crested the surroundings of the cave’s interior, the black-cowled new arrival appeared to look down at his father and grandfather, but his gaze was beyond the two eternal enemies.

“Is that Damian?” asked Leslie, looking at Silver inside the panic room.

“I think so, but that costume… he looks like a demon. Like… like his father.”

“Your security system needs work. My overrides were still recognised, even after all these years. Off.” Damian pushed Bruce away from the Unnamed and then assumed the position his father had. He uncorked a small vial, pulsing with an emerald liquid, and raised his grandfather’s head. “Drink, old man. Drink.”

The Unnamed did as he was ordered, even though he had no choice in the matter.

“What is that?” asked Bruce.

“I lied when I said I destroyed all the Lazarus Pits.”

Before their eyes, the Unnamed twisted and contorted. Firstly, his wounds healed, the damage done at the hands of Bruce erased from his skin as the serum flowed through his body. He gasped, choked, and then with all his effort, he screamed, “Detective!” before his arms shrank, receded into his body, then his legs, until he was a head and a torso, throbbing and twitching, screaming obscenities in an ancient tongue. His chest caved in, shrank, his belly expanded then jutted out, before he continued to shrink, to reduce, until he was a baby’s body and an ever de-ageing head, then, after a few moments more, he was a child, a newborn, shrieking like babies do when they were dragged out of the womb.

Damian stood and held the baby that was once his grandfather in his arms. “Remember what you once told me, father? About the monsters we faced?”

“Everybody deserves a second chance.”

Damian had given his grandfather one. Used the mystical properties of the Lazarus Pit to revert his grandfather to a newborn state.

“…And now what?”

Damian considered the baby, felt the tiny form in his arms, it’s tiny heart beating, and then he shrugged. “Who knows.” He began to step backwards toward the shadows as the baby stilled, gibbered, and stopped his crying. Damian looked as if he’d recalled something, and then looked up and smiled. “Happy birthday, father. It’ll be dawn soon.”

“Damian—won’t you—won’t you stay?” asked Bruce. He missed his son desperately, but respected the man he’d become, respected the decisions he’d made. But that didn’t diminish the ache that lived in his chest, the ache that signified the loss of his son from his life over these four, long years.

“There’s no place for me in the daylight,” said Damian. His body was submerged in the dark now. “But maybe someday. When the world changes. Maybe then I’ll return.”


The family Bruce had managed to grow over the last two decades surrounded him on the patio at the back of Wayne Manor. They’d come when he’d called, some expecting it to be the birthday party that he’d had to cancel the day before, others detecting something in his tone and fearing the worst.

When they arrived and the doors to the garden were open and Bruce and Silver stood looking over the acres of land, they let themselves relax, but there was something in the air, and the man the boys thought of as their father, didn’t know what to make of it.

Jason Todd stood behind the chair that Carrie Kelly had sat in, and his knuckles were white as he gripped it tight. She was the Robin he’d trained, and she’d proven herself worthy of the role time and time again. Bruce had worked with her off and on, but these last few years, since Damian… he’d chosen to work alone more often than not. Prior to taking his position, he’d walked with Bruce down toward the mausoleum, the subject of their conversation between them for now.

Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson, engaged to be married in the upcoming year, held hands and stood closer to Bruce than the others. While Babs had no idea what was coming, Dick remembered his conversation with his adopted father from the day before, and his fiancée could tell he was nervous.

Next to Leslie Tompkins, Julia Pennyworth stood at the threshold that separated the study and the patio, leaning against the doorframe. She’d flown in on a private Wayne Enterprises jet and Jason had picked her up from the airport on his way in from San Francisco.

With his arm around his long-time girlfriend Stephanie Brown, Tim Wayne was sat on the bench position against the house itself, located behind everybody else. He was drumming his fingers against his leg, but had said nothing other than his ‘hellos’ since arriving. Bruce had taken him aside on arrival, and Tim hadn’t told Stephanie why. She could see that he had been crying, but he wouldn’t tell her why.

Hands on her lap, eyes locked on Bruce, Cassandra Cain sat and waited. If anyone had looked her in the eye rather than paying attention to the man who’d gathered them here, they’d have noticed tears, as she saw through him immediately.

“Thank you all for coming again on such short notice. I know some of you lead busy lives, and I appreciate you taking time out from them to come here.” His hand was against the garden wall, with Silver’s on top of it. As he started, her fingers wrapped his, and squeezed gently. “Before any of you ask, yes, there will be cake. I hope it hasn’t gone stale since last night.”

Stephanie smiled, but Tim chewed on his bottom lip, waiting for what was coming next.

“I wanted you to be here, because you’re my family. I’ve been lucky enough to have two in my lifetime. You make me better for it. But… a change is coming, and you need to hear about it first.”

There was a pause as he swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bulging as he visibly searched for the words. The majority of them had never seen him like this, but Dick and Tim were there when he’d returned from the Lazarus Pyramid four years ago, when Damian had stayed behind. Was his son all right?

“Leslie… she knows what I’m going to say. I went to her yesterday, we… ran some tests. I knew what was coming, but I had to be sure.”

“Bruce,” started Dick. “What--?”

“I’ve been experiencing tremors. Trouble walking. Muscle stiffness. Funnily enough, when I’m in the cowl, out on the streets, the adrenaline pumping and in constant motion, I feel it less, but even then… and when I’m still… when I’m at rest…” His fingers dug into the surface of the concrete, and Silver could feel his veins popping under her palm. She looked at him, then at the others. “That won’t last.”

Jason tensed up. He could feel that old red wolf that lived in his stomach begin to growl.

Finally, Bruce came out and said it, and the words struck them like thunder.

“…I have Parkinson’s Disease. It’ll only get worse from here on out.”

The silence that followed was louder than anyone could have expected, and of course it was Jason who broke it. “Are you mad?” He held out his hand and began to count on his fingers. “Kryptonian tech. Purple Healing Ray. Nanites. The Justice League. The Justice Society. Hell, the All-Stars. This is nothing. This isn’t a fight you’ll lose. Why are we standing around here all solemn? Why aren’t we calling up Wonder Woman and renting out a projector? Bruce, c’mon.”

Bruce shook his head. “I always told myself, back when I started, that if my body gave out, or my mind failed me, I’d have to hang up the cowl. When I’m the liability, that’s when I have to step back. So as of last night, I’m no longer Batman. And I thought it’d be a hard decision. Gotham always needed me, I thought. But look at what we’ve all achieved. Crime rates are down. Arkham Island is the most secure it’s ever been--”

With a smile, before Bruce continued he leaned forward and knocked twice on the wooden table Carrie sat at.

“--Employment is up. The police department is corruption free. Every child in Gotham gets an education. Everybody gets their healthcare covered. Wayne Enterprises has done more in the daylight than I can now do in the night. Gotham isn’t the coiling black thing that lurks in the night anymore. We helped it into the light, and you all keep it there.”

“Jason is right thought,” said Dick. “There are things we can try. You never give up on a fight. We can solve this riddle like we do Nygma’s. I don’t understand.”

“So you’re giving up? Is that it?” asked Jason. They knew when Bruce had made his mind up, and from his words, the way he spoke, it was obvious this wasn’t something they were going to talk him out of. “What’s your play?”

“I’m glad you asked. Silver and I are going to go travelling. Do all the things we haven’t been able to do because of the… mission. I look at all of you, and I know Gotham City, hell, the world, is in good hands. I trained you with everything I had, and you’re my betters for it.”

“Gotham needs Batman,” said Cassandra. “We are not him.”

Bruce looked over at Tim. “But one of you can be.”

Dick and Jason looked back at their adopted brother. Stephanie pointed at herself, then realised who the subject of their gaze was. She pointed at him, then squirmed in her seat, apologising to nobody in particular.

“Timmy--?” started Jason.

Tim nodded. “Bruce and I spoke earlier. I’ve agreed. And… well, every argument you can make against it, I’ve already made, and he’s not accepted any of them. I’m assuming the mantle of the Batman.”

“Dick can attest to the fact that I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. In fact, we discussed it again yesterday.

Dick nodded. “Tim… you’re the best of us. You’ve proven that since you came back to Gotham after your world tour. You’ve done amazing work as CEO of Wayne Enterprises, the crime fighting advances you’ve spearheaded as the Shrike… it all makes perfect sense.”

“Godammit, he’s right,” said Jason. He patted Carrie on the shoulder. “And I’ve got your Robin lined up , no arguments, y’hear?”

Bruce moved past the others and placed a hand on his adopted son’s shoulder. “You make me so proud. You all do. I can think of nothing better. Nobody better. I knew this day was coming the moment you became Robin. Everything since then has reinforced that.”

Tim looked at Steph, who nodded with encouragement. He stood and embraced Bruce. “This is what I’ve always wanted. And I’m glad that… I’m glad we didn’t have to lose you for it go like this.”

Dick nudged Jason. “You cool with this?”

“We had our shots, back in the day. I was a lunatic and you were just keeping the seat warm. It’s the perfect decision.” Jason sniffed, and Dick realised that he was welling up. “Shut up. Allergies.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Dick, patting him on the back.

Bruce turned back and went over to Silver. Tim sat back down and looked at his hands, but the lights behind his eyes signalled that he had started to think. Started to make plans. Everything he’d ever considered, every possibility, was being analysed. Whatever came next… would be glorious.

“I’ve considered every remedy to my situation, but where does it stop? I lose an arm, a leg, I replace them. My heart gives out; I get a transplant. My body fails, we go out and clone a new one, but where does it end? When do I admit that I can no longer be what I was before?”

Bruce sighed and noticed his hand trembling. The others did too. He clenched his fist, lowered it so that it was situated by his leg. He pushed forward, ignoring it for the time being, and the others followed suit.

“So yes. Today, we celebrate. Yesterday was my birthday, but today is ours. We’ll eat, we’ll drink maybe-- probably not-- and then tomorrow, Silver and I will fly out to Europe, and we’ll start something new, while you build your own dynasties. So, raise your glasses. You’ll excuse me if I don’t. A toast. To what’s next. What’s beyond. And to you all. Thank you. It’s been a long, dark journey, but we’re finally into the light.”

They lifted their glasses, clinked them with their nearest, and drank. Bruce nodded, proudest man in the world, proudest he’d ever been, but scared none the less for what came next. After the speech, they meandered about the patio, then the pizza arrived. Dick tipped the delivery men handsomely, and Jason helped him get the food into the garden. During all this, Bruce and Silver headed to the bottom of the garden, to where the large pond was situated, and they looked down at their reflections rippling in the waters.

“Have I made the right decision?”

“You made the best one. I agree with everything you’ve said… but of everyone in this world, no one’s given as much as you. I just think… if anyone gets a pass to cheat this, to use everything in his means to beat it… it’s you, isn’t it, darling? Can’t… can’t we try?”

He looked out across the waters, and when he saw himself, there was no shadow of the bat hanging over him. Just a mortal man, and the woman he loved, who he’d committed his entire life, his entire being to.

Bruce had no answer.


Damian Wayne, the Demon’s Head, stood at the top of the London high street, dressed as incognito as a trained assassin turned vigilante who had been blinded by his immortal grandfather could manage. He wore a dark suit and tie, a hat that tipped down to meet his opaque glasses, and he’d trimmed his beard before coming here. He tapped his cane against the pavement, but his honed senses didn’t need the act to help him find his way. He began to walk down toward the flower shop of which he was a longstanding patron, and entered to pick up his order.

Behind the desk where they wrapped the bouquets, a woman in her early forties, her olive-tan skin complimented by the dark hair she currently wore up in a bun, smiled at his entrance. “Oh, hello, Ian! You’ve not been around in a while.”

“Work took me abroad, Michelle. That’s the nature of imports and exports, unfortunately. Rarely in one place for long.”

Michelle beamed. “Well, it’s lovely to see you. Your usual?”

“Please,” said Damian, with a nod. He took out his wallet, found the ten pound note and unfolded it carefully. Michelle cut the stems of the flowers, placed them within the gift paper and wrapped them up carefully.

The bell above the door rang and a man with black hair and wearing a white polo neck and jeans entered the shop. When Michelle saw him, she beamed.

“Hey, you,” she said, and the man leaned over the counter and kissed her softly.

“Hullo, love. Time for lunch, I think.”

Damian smiled at them but looked away. Michelle handed the flowers to him carefully, and with a quiet thank you passed the money to her.

“Have a lovely day, Ian!” said Michelle as Damian left the shop.

After making it halfway down the street, tears would have fallen down his cheeks if he still had the ability to cry.

Damian lied to his father when he said he hadn’t used a Lazarus Pit after his ascension to the role of Demon’s Head. but it wasn’t for himself. It wasn’t his right to cheat death, and he made it his mission over the last four years to destroy every last pit left in existence. But his mother had been dragged into the unholy game of her father’s from birth. She’d lost her own mother to his machinations, thanks to the wars Ra’s waged.

After the funeral pyre had been built, Damian instead descended to the Lazarus Chamber, above the tomb his grandfather was to be buried within. He carried the weightless body of his mother and lowered her into the surging waters, and after an hour she emerged whole, the horrific wound in her head no longer present.

Instead of rising out of the infernal waters clutched by the madness that came with the roiling chaos of the Lazarus process, she was serene, and it was soon clear that she didn’t remember anything. Not her name. Not her life. The damage done by Ra’s was irrevocable. Bringing her back had rendered her a blank slate.

And it gave her a second chance at a life she’d never had, here in London, under a new identity.

Damian’s most trusted men, those who had never met her, whom he’d recruited himself, watched over his mother and kept her safe, but she was untouched by the world of the League of Assassins. Ra’s never knew she survived. No one knew she still lived other than Damian.

So for once, in this terrible life they led, in a world of never-ending battles, one woman got out and lived happily ever after, all thanks to the love of her child. And Damian Wayne would soon return to the League of Shadows, the organisation he’d transformed into a force for good, and continue to do what he could to safeguard a world that didn’t even know he was looking out for it.

Damian would continue to bring peace to the world, no matter the cost.


NEXT TIME: A new Batman rises in Gotham, and the world takes notice! The flaming cult of Azrael descend, intent on discovering if their prophecies for the Dark Knight are to come true! A figure from the Caped Crusader’s past arrives to test the new Batman’s mettle! And when Gotham evolves in reaction to her new protector, what new horrors will emerge from her distorted spirit? What does this mean for her first generation of villains, some of whom have tried desperately, and some unsuccessfully, to escape the shackles of their madness? ALL THIS AND MORE WHEN WE RETURN!