A man named Bruce Wayne hit his head on a bar as the truck he was riding in hit a bump, adding to the discomfort. His hands were tied tightly behind his back. He was riding in the back of a large truck with a tarp covering the bed along with nine other prisoners and three guards.
He had lost track of which country he was in in all his travels. He had left Gotham City three years previously in his quest to better his body and mind. Within a month of traveling, he was able to go off the grid. He left his fortune to his old butler, legal guardian, and friend Alfred Pennyworth in order to protect them for the eventual return. To hide his identity, he grew out his hair and beard and would often stain his skin with different coffees and herbs. He had gone by many names through the years. Early on he went by Johnpaul, then Ducharse, Li, and much more. The one he was currently going by is Damion.
In the past three years, he had trained under one master. She was a master of the mind and body. He did not train to hit but to take it. She trained him to control his body temperature, pulse, and adrenaline. He could make his mind speed up to the point the world and his own body seemed to move in slow motion. He could make his body as hard as a brick. After a complication in the Master's town, he had to depart, but his training there was already complete. He was still naive. After traveling hundreds of miles, he decided to exercise his newly crafted talents on a criminal underworld. To do so he lowered himself to a criminal to understand them. There he almost fell. There he realized that anyone was a couple of mistakes away from murder, Everyone had the potential for great good and evil. When he hit his lowest point, he forgot his training and was arrested.
For the past two weeks he lived in a pit until yesterday afternoon. There in his cell, he remembered his training and the whole purpose of his travels. When the guards came to his cell, he assumed they were rations, but instead they bound his hands behind him and put a sack over his head. He had since been thrown in the truck and hadn't left since. They had been traveling for almost a day now. Only stopping twice for only five minutes each. From what he was able to glean from the bits of cries and whispers, wherever they were headed wasn't good.
Soon later, the truck stopped. Shouting and movement could be heard from outside. This wasn't another fueling stop. This is the destination. Surely enough, he was lifted from his seat and thrown out of the truck onto the hard, cold ground. Once all the prisoners were unloaded, they were forced side-by-side and in a kneeling position. Suddenly, without warning the sack covering his head was ripped from his head. The light nearly blinded him. Blinking rapidly, he took in his surroundings. His eyes and head moved as quickly as they could without drawing suspicion. They surrounded by snow capped mountains and large, rocky fields. On top of the guards and prisoners, there were more people. Twelve, no thirteen men stood dressed in black around them. They all were armed with swords and other numerous weapons.
The others were on their faces begging for mercy, but he wasn't. This did not go unnoticed by the dark warriors. One stepped forward and asked, "Who are you?"
One of the guards answered, "He's …" but the rest of his sentence was interrupted by the masked man, " I asked him! Who are you?"
Bruce looked up and replied, "I am justice."
The man laughed, "No! You are many things but not that. No, you are a criminal!"
"Maybe so, but who are you?"
The man lowered a sword to Bruce's throat and said, "You stand before death and have the audacity to question it? You are not justice, because we are justice."
The man removed the sword from his throat and turned around and began to walk away. He smiled and said, "Then I am vengeance!" He climbed to his feet and ran. He lifted up his legs and swung his bound hands under him bringing them forward.
The man spun around and brought his sword crashing down on him. The sword slowed in air. The whole world slowed down. He pulled his arms up. They were too slow. He forgot his body is not as fast as his mind, but they were fast enough to catch the blade as it fell.
The man slid the blade down and out from his hands. He gasped and stumbled backward, blood dripping from his hands. The cuts stung but are not deep. Looking down he realized that the blade not only cut his hands but the rope that bind them. He pried his arms apart, fully breaking the bonds.
The man spoke, "The problem with vengence is it is blind, consumed by wrath. It is partial, biased…" The man rose his sword, but was caught by another masked man. Upon closer investigation, Bruce noticed that this new man's outfit was lined with purple, signifying rank or perhaps royalty.
"No, Ducard!" the new man interrupted. "What is your name?"
Bruce, deciding to comply or partially at least answered, "Damian, Damian Kayne."
"Perhaps. If you truly desire justice and are willing to commit to a cause beyond yourself then come, climb and become more than a man. On the top of the third mountain is a place where you can learn."