New Story from Blue? Yes it's True!
I got bored, watched some of Unlimited Blade Works, and wrote this.
If you check out the story on AO3 (both myself and all my stories have the same name) there is a guessing game that you can take part in where you guess who the next spirit is. I'm not doing it here because the comment system isn't good for that sort of thing here.
Anyway, on to the story.
Enter: Duellist
Tonight the spirits would come, just as they did every three years. Bruce had been chosen every three years for over a decade now. Not only was this the first time since Jason died, it would also be the first since Damian came to live at the manor.
No one knew why the spirits came, simply that they did. Every three years, on the third day of the third month, they came. All over the world the spirits came and found their chosen, those that would help them win in the Grail War.
The prize for winning was a grail, not the real one of course, but a good imitation. A lesser grail such as the one the winner would receive was a well of energy, enough to craft into a relic of great power. Most of these were crafted into relics, the power they held creating magical devises that could be used in future conflicts, others were used for grand spells, one had been used in Gotham to heal a plague that had swept the city nearly two hundred years.
Dick was in Bludhaven, Tim was in Jump, Alfred was visiting family in England, leaving Bruce alone with Damian. That was fine, if he was chosen he would be out all the time anyway, he could find somewhere for Damian to stay for a few days until the fighting stopped, and if he wasn't chosen he could watch the coverage with Damian.
The world over had spent the past few weeks preparing for the coming conflict, shops were closing, shelters were being prepared, roads were being cleared, every one of the chosen cities were getting ready, and Gotham was no different. For the past few weeks people had been leaving in droves. Going to the shelters a few miles beyond the city limits, going to see family in cities that were not about to become a battlefield, or taking a camping trip, anything to get out of the city. Of course, not everyone left. Police officers, firefighters, hospital staff, emergency services of all kinds were standing by, and that didn't even begin to take into account the civilians that had decided to stay.
At exactly two-thirty in the morning the sky lit up. It was golden glow, a great circle of light that shone over the Gotham like a small sun. It had begun.
"Is that the spirits, Father?" Damian asked as he looked out the window. Normally he would be in bed at this hour, but Bruce wanted him to see this. The arrival of the spirits was a spectacle, something that was simply wondrous to behold. No picture, painting, or video did it justice.
"Yes. It's amazing,isn't it?" Bruce said just as the first spirit descended upon Gotham, a golden arrow that went to ground somewhere in the east, two more followed it, the second in the north and the third in the east, not far from the first. The fourth shot straight at Wayne Manor. Bruce had long enough to think here I go again when the spirit shot past him. He turned just in time to see the golden light throw Damian across the room and onto the couch.
No. It was the only thing going through Bruce's head. But there was no denying the way that the golden glow of the spirit settled under his son's skin. Damian was chosen.
When Damian awoke, he would have a lot to learn, and a very short time to learn it.
"Can you call the spirit?" Bruce asked. He had just spent the past few minutes getting Damian up to speed on what it meant to be chosen. Luckily Talia had taught him about spirits so there wasn't much to tell him. And now onto the big event: calling on the spirit. Unfortunately while he was dealing with the revaluation that Damian was going to go fight he missed the rest of the spirits finding their chosen. He would have liked to be able to tell Damian how many foes wandered the city.
"No need." A new voice said. In the corner of the room stood the spirit. He wore thick black combat boots, tough looking black pants, a black shirt with a black leather jacket over it, and black gloves, his face was obscured by a red helmet that wouldn't have looked out of place on a motorcyclist save for the spots that looked like eyes in place of the traditional glass visor. And while, like many spirits, he bore no weapons of any sort, Bruce didn't doubt he could call up his equipment at a moments notice.
"What is your name, spirit?" Damian asked when he recovered from the shock of someone simply appearing in the room. Bruce decided to stay to the side and see how this played out. This was Damian's spirit, and it would be Damian's fight. If asked Bruce would tell him anything he wanted to know, but it would be best if he worked it out himself.
"I am prohibited from telling my name unless it is stated, so unless you know it I cant tell you." The spirit replied. The look on Damian's face said that he knew and had forgotten that fact.
"Your title then." He demanded as he recovered from his embarrassment.
"Unfortunately I am unable to answer that either," He, and the voice pointed towards male, said in such a way that implied that he wasn't sorry at all, "For you see, this is the first time I have returned to the Earth since my mortal death, and as such I have done no deeds to earn myself a title."
"Then what do I call you?" Damian said, clearly fed up with the unhelpful spirit. The spirit wandered over to the couch and sat down, seeming to be at ease in the face of Damian's anger.
"As I am of the Duellist class I believe that Duellist should do fine enough." Spirits were divided into classes, for instance Red Robin, the spirit that allied himself with Tim every time the war came around, was a Tactician, not the greatest fighter but more than smart enough to make up for it. Duellists tended to prefer close combat, sometimes having short range capabilities. "But there are two things you have overlooked. First things first: what is your name?"
"I am Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne, four time winner of the Gotham Grail War. What is the second thing I have overlooked, nameless spirit?" It was obvious that the spirit was winning their game of words. An easy task when Damian didn't seem to know that he was even playing.
"Why should I fight alongside you?"
After Damian had finished showing the spirit why they should work together, which involved an impromptu fist fight, the spirit sat back down on the couch.
"You're not completely useless, i'll give you that. But we'll see how you do when the real fighting starts." There was a grudging respect in the spirit's voice. Bruce, who had stayed out of the fight, was already seeing what kind of spirit his son had been given: prideful, maybe a touch arrogant, but he clearly respected strength. If he could back up his pride with action he would be a good companion for Damian, of that Bruce had no doubt.
After trading a few more words with his spirit Damian decided to get some sleep, after all, the war would truly begin in a few short hours. Now alone with the spirit, who was not taking the opportunity to rest, Bruce decided to talk to him, maybe get an answer to the question that had been on his mind since the spirit arrived.
"Why Damian and not me?"
"If memory serves you're allied with the Great Bat, correct?" At Bruce's nod he continued "I heard that the Bat wasn't fighting this year, the Amazon Princess forbade it. She wanted him to be there for the birth of their first child."
That was annoying. As much as he hadn't wanted to fight this year he did enjoy seeing the spirit who had fought alongside the Waynes for the last four hundred years. But Bruce could respect his reason for not fighting, it was much the same reason he hadn't wanted to fight this year: family was important.
"You should rest, the war starts at nine-thirty in Gotham." With those words Bruce walked away, he would have a long few days worrying about Damian.
It was nine twenty-seven in the morning and Damian was walking through the third floor of a deserted parking structure. In three minutes the war would begin. Damian's backpack was full of food, water, rope, first aid supplies, and other such things. It was actually a pack that his father had put together for emergencies like an earthquake or some other natural disaster. He also had a few minor relics that his father had seen fit to give him, among which was a way to carry his weapons, mainly his sword, more conveniently. He was as ready as he could be.
"Are you sure this is where you intend to be when the battle starts? If a fight breaks out we would need to get down to the surface just to escape." His spirit pointed out. It was a valid concern, one that Damian had taken into account already.
"I have no intention of fighting here," The twelve-year-old replied. "And if it comes to that i'm confidant that you can carry me to the next building."
"Very few are lucky enough to choose where they stand when the fighting starts." There was something familiar about what the spirit had said, but Damian couldn't place it. "And I am not one of the more mobile classes, any place I go we would be followed."
Before Damian could respond to that a sound echoed across Gotham: the Celestial Bell. The war had started, from this moment on Damian would have very little rest until he either was eliminated, or claimed victory for his own. Just as the last of the spirit bell's notes faded away the Duellist appeared in red blur and grabbed him around the waist. In a blur of movement he half carried half dragged Damian across the car park. A moment later the floor under the spot Damian was standing in exploded.
"How did you know that would happen?" He asked. While they had gone over the spirit's capabilities during their walk through the quite city, it was possible that the spirit hadn't seen fit to mention something.
"Spirits can detect magic, sometimes. Whoever that was made no effort to conceal themselves." Before Damian could ask for more information, the ability to sense other spirits could be of great use, Duellist kept moving dodging attacks by someone that Damian couldn't get a good look at. Suddenly a shot rang out, a pistol now resting in the left hand of Damian's spirit. Duellist let Damian down and moved forward, stopping just before and to the right if Damian himself.
"So, what class of spirit are you?" Duellist asked.
"My class? Fuck you." The rude spirit says back.
And that's one chapter down, let's see if I can stick with it and reach the end.