Authors' Note: Warning for graphic description of past violence, and character death.
With Gotham squared away for the moment, and Jay located, Babs could finally take a moment to breathe. Just a moment, she rarely had time for more than that, but sitting back from her console and closing her eyes and just consciously letting go of the tension in her shoulders and jaw was necessary, after the last couple days.
It also made her aware of how bone-deep weary she was. No surprise, she'd been running on caffeine and adrenaline for far too long. Hopefully there was a full night's sleep awaiting her, once she made one more check to ensure all her people were safe and accounted for.
There was one she couldn't reach out to, and it stung. She'd been listening when Dick told Kala that she was welcome in Gotham, no matter what Jay said, and Kala had demurred. Hopefully, with time, they'd see her back again, but Babs knew she couldn't keep Kala on the roster for now. And that meant she didn't have the right to check in on her, the way she did all of her people.
Still … she pulled the data from the nearest military base's radar, and saw a report of a small, very fast object crossing the bay from Gotham to Metropolis. The officers in charge had classed it as a metahuman; military installations near Metropolis in particular were accustomed to Superman flying around at all hours. They didn't need to know that particular trip had been his daughter.
Thus reassured, she checked up on the rest of her flock. The boys were all accounted for, and Dinah had driven Helena home to keep an eye on her after she'd taken a nasty hit upside the head. It didn't seem like a concussion, but she wanted to make sure Huntress was okay. Babs agreed with that wholeheartedly; Helena, less so. She'd been roundly outvoted.
That only left Steph and Cass. The last message Babs had received had been that they were checking out a fire at a small farm nearby. That shouldn't have been too dangerous. She'd sent a response, asking them to check back in, but hadn't heard from them. Babs looked at the email exchange, and saw that her message was still unread, too.
Signal was spotty in the mountains. Babs still didn't like it. The nape of her neck prickled with unease, and she dug a little deeper to see what was going on. First she pinged their netbook and it reported back, so signal wasn't the issue. Next she requested all the information from the last twenty-fours on that device. Steph and Cass surely knew she had remote access and a keylogger program running on it.
It hadn't been used for several hours, but it hadn't been shut down, either. The girls turned it off to conserve battery power when they weren't using it. And the last information that had been pulled up was the movements of the tracking devices, showing vehicles and personnel converging on a single point.
Babs tried to message the girls directly via their comms, and couldn't get through. Then she pinged the locators both girls carried. Neither of them reported back. Which meant they could have gone someplace that blocked the satellite transmission, or the locators could be damaged. Either way, it wasn't good news.
At last, she pulled out the number she had for Talia al Ghul. If the girls had run up against the League of Shadows, a timely reminder might help ensure their safety. To Babs' surprise, the number came up with a generic prerecorded message saying it was not in service.
She stared at the phone for a long moment. There was no good reason for Talia's phone to stop working. Unless she'd decided to sever ties with the Bats, temporarily or permanently, and that was the worst possible news.
There was no one else to call. Cass and Steph were hers. Babs could involve Bruce, and she would if they remained out of contact for twenty-four hours. For now, they could still be indoors, or in a deep ravine out of reach of the satellite. And Talia could have shut down her phone while she took care of League business and didn't want to be interrupted.
None of it sat well with Babs, and she sent Dinah a quick text, keeping her appraised. The response she got back warmed her heart. Give them four more hours, then we start taking measures, Dinah said. So it seemed off to her, as well.
Babs just wished she had a way to know exactly what was going on in Libya just now…
…
Words deserted Cass, and she howled like an animal with one paw caught in a trap. Exactly what she didn't want to happen, and she'd done it to herself. Steph had told her again and again and again that she wouldn't let her face Shiva alone … but she'd felt like she had to do it.
And she'd been losing, until Steph came along.
She'd always been losing – her way, her grip on anything resembling a normal life, her sense of self – until Steph came along. Steph whom she could've beaten a dozen times, blindfolded, one arm tied behind her back, Steph who hadn't had a tenth of the training Cass had, and who kept throwing herself into things that were much too dangerous for her. Oracle and Batman together couldn't hold her back. She was the bravest person Cass had ever met.
And she was dying, right now, in front of Cass' eyes. The katana had gone through one lung, for sure. Probably nicked her heart too. But Steph, courageous as a lion, stubborn as a mule, came at Shiva one more time and hit her hard enough that Cass heard ribs crack. Defiant to her last breath, and even as Shiva lashed out with a kick, Cass closed in.
There was nothing left in her mind but this fight, stopping Shiva. Her mother wanted to die by her daughter's hand, or kill her trying – she had read that all through the fight. Perhaps Shiva didn't admit that even to herself, but here, she could die and return, and that as much as her hatred of Ra's al Ghul had led her to choose this place for the final showdown between them.
Cass had discovered, in fighting her mother, that she did still fear death. It was there when the katana whistled past her face, scant inches to spare, there when Shiva's heel caught her in the belly. She didn't want to die, while Shiva didn't seem to care, and worse, Cass was afraid of injury, too. There were things Steph simply couldn't do, all the surgery and therapy in the world unable to completely fix the catastrophic damage Black Mask's power drill had done to her shoulder joint. Cass had grown accustomed to fighting opponents who couldn't even touch her; faced with one who might really be able to kill her or cripple her, she had recoiled.
No longer. Steph had hit the catwalk with a too-final thump. Death held no more fear for Cass; Death was right here beside her, and if that skeletal hand should close on hers tonight, at least Steph would be there to greet her on the other side. Cass steeled herself, her eyes blazing, and all the old deadly skills were there for her to use.
Her fight against Shiva was as graceful as ballet, and as deadly as a hurricane. No words between them, neither of them had breath enough to spare, the staff and katana meeting with a shock and a spray of red. Cass felt some of it land on her uniform, Steph's blood and her own running together along the blade, and that didn't horrify her as it once might have. All of her mind and will was focused on the battle.
…
Shiva's men watched, uncertain, as the two women fought. Their orders were to stand back and let Batgirl and Shiva settle the question between them. They hadn't known what to do about the other girl who arrived, but she was quickly slain.
The man who'd spoken up to Shiva earlier – one of her lieutenants, Tareq – watched the battle thoughtfully. At first, it had all gone Shiva's way … but then after the other girl fell, things looked more evenly matched. He glanced at the others from the corners of his eyes, all of them rapt, their attention on the fight. Suddenly one of them grabbed his arm, a startled look in his eye. "Is the perimeter up?" the guard asked urgently.
"Of course, why?" Tareq replied with a scowl.
"Because those two got in somehow, and there might be more. We'd better make sure none of the sentries were taken out. This is the perfect chance for Batman or the Demon's Head to show up." At those words, Tareq blanched, and they ran for the front together, the rest following.
It was quiet at the main entrance, but the perimeter guard was in place. The lieutenant nodded in relief. "Nothing. Shiva expected the one girl to come alone."
"She obviously didn't," the guard who'd first given the alarm said. "That means there might be more. Shiva thinks she knows everything, but you were right earlier. The Demon is patient enough to wait, but he wouldn't pass up a chance like this. Get the men patrolling, bring up the reserves. No one gets in while Shiva's distracted."
They gave the orders, more men running up to take their stations outside, and Tareq went into the security station to lock down the main entrance. "Even if the guards don't take him, the doors will hold."
"Good," the first guard said with satisfaction, his duty accomplished. In the next moment, he startled, turning to his superior again. "Wait – what about the rear entrance? Through the cave mouth?"
"Trapped and guarded," Tareq said easily. "That passage is so narrow, no more than one person can get through at a time. A child could hold it – and the traps Shiva had us rig would bring down the roof, anyway."
The guard frowned. "I don't like that. How long will the air last down here, if it comes down?"
"Hours," the lieutenant scoffed. "Besides, we have vent shafts."
"That must be how those girls got in," the guard mused. "The fans should've kept them out, but the Bat's people are good at bypassing things."
Tareq swore under his breath. "We'd better check. You go west, I'll take the east wing."
"Right," the guard said, and slapped him on the back. Tareq scowled at the familiarity, opening his mouth to snap at him, but when he drew in air his lungs seemed to be on fire.
The guard caught his arm, a concerned expression on his face, and guided him a few steps to a chair. Tareq tried to speak again, a little dry whistle coming from his lungs, and his eyes rolled as he realized no one else was in the room. He'd sent most of their guards outside.
"I am sorry about this," Adem told him, easing him down into a chair. The dose of poison on the tiny, wickedly sharp knife concealed in his ring was enough to kill a dozen men, concentrated as it was. "But you worked for Ra's al Ghul for fifteen years. You really should have known he wouldn't allow Shiva to take a Lazarus Pit from him." The lieutenant's eyes were glazing over as the neurotoxin blazed through his nervous system, shutting down breathing and heartbeat even as it paralyzed him. He'd never had a chance to even cry out a warning.
Adem stepped out, closing the door on the security room. He shook his head; if the lieutenant had picked west, he might've let the man live. But Talia and the reinforcements were even now threading their way down through the vent shafts in the east wing, closest to the Pit. Meanwhile others would pick off the guards patrolling fruitlessly outside, who would be startled to find that no one opened the doors for their retreat. It was going to be a bloodbath out there – but they should've known better than to betray the Demon's Head.
…
Steph did not register the impact of Cass' staff on the railing, though it sent a shudder through the entire catwalk. She didn't hear Shiva fall silent, at last driven to exertion beyond her ability to taunt. Steph was no longer aware of her body; it was like a house where all the lights were turning off, one by one, and once it was completely dark she would be gone.
The blessed darkness was warm and safe. Somewhere beyond conscious thought, Steph compared it to the womb. This was a beginning, not an ending. She had no regrets, no concerns, suffused with peace.
Another fierce strike, and Shiva stumbled. Steph didn't feel Shiva's boot connecting with her belly, nor did she sense herself rolling sideways. It would've given her a bitter kind of amusement to realize that, even in death, she was helping Cass by tripping her opponent.
She had fallen near the edge of the catwalk. Shiva kicked free of her, and that impact pushed Steph's arm and head over the side. She hung there a moment, the catwalk under her shuddering as Cass and Shiva fought. Steph's other arm slipped over.
The drop loomed beneath her. Had Steph been conscious, she would've tried to roll away from the stench of death and jasmine roiling up at her. The last light had gone out, though, and her existence had passed beyond the shell of her body. It was dark where she was, but somehow Steph sensed light coming, and her will reached for it.
Gravity tugged Steph over, and her body slid off the catwalk. The men didn't see it happen; Adem had returned to order them to guard the cave's natural entrance. As he passed through the main cavern, he only cast a glance at the struggling figures on the catwalk before going to meet his employer. The three women were not his concern.
Once, when Steph was younger, she'd gone outside during a power outage that happened to occur on a moonless night. Gotham's nights usually weren't really that dark, with streetlights and stoplights and lights leaking from windows. She had never experienced such a deep, velvety darkness as she had that night, and it froze her in the weedy front yard of her mother's house, eyes wide to catch any hint of starlight that might penetrate the smoggy skies. She hadn't been afraid of the dark, then, but she could feel it all around her in a way she'd never been aware of daylight. The night made her feel more alive, her skin tingling at its touch.
Suddenly she could see the building opposite, and the rickety fence, and the taller weeds in the yard, all faintly limned in golden light. It had been utterly magical, and for a moment she'd believed she had gained the ability to see in the dark.
Then a car turned the corner, its headlights splashing fully across her, and she understood that she had only seen the scattered light reflected in advance of the car. But the moment of magic remained in her memory, and she recalled it with powerful sweetness now, sensing the approach of a light that would not be a prosaic disappointment. Something was coming, real magic this time, and she yearned toward it.
Abruptly, that light disappeared, and she found herself in a darkness that was no longer welcoming. Steph sensed this dark had teeth in it somewhere, and she tried to cringe. She didn't understand what was happening, what had she done wrong, where was she? A horrifying thought occurred, just the briefest flash of fear deeper than anything she'd known when she was still had a body and adrenal glands to pour chemical fear into her veins.
Light, sharp light slicing into her, green light piercing and deeply wrong in ways she couldn't explain. She tried to reject that, to flee into the dark, wanting to search for that other light so faint at first and yet so welcoming. The cutting light had her, held her, jerked her along, and Steph became aware that she did have a body after all.
Every part of it howled in agony.
Steph couldn't see anything but that vile green light, couldn't hear anything but a high tuneless whine, couldn't feel anything but pain. She tried to lunge away from all of it, and only lurched, but she somehow regained her feet. Her nose was working, and it registered the horrific smell assaulting her, like the breath of a flyblown corpse right in her face. Her gut clenched, her lungs burned, and she retched, staggering to escape the smell and the pain and all of it.
Wet. Her skin was wet, her hair dripped, and her sinuses stung as if she'd tried to snort a bottle of jasmine perfume. Her eyes burned, but she could see vague shapes in the sizzling green light. Nothing made sense.
The all-over agony resolved itself into distinct pain. Her ribs snarled with it, places on her legs and belly groaned with it, her wrists felt like they'd been encircled by bracelets of fire, her chest flared like a roman candle burned where her heart should be. Worst of all, her shoulder shrieked with pain, worse than the whirring drill plunging into her flesh, worse than hearing herself scream, worse than feeling little bloody chunks of meat and bone splat against her cheek as the drill chewed through her shoulder. Those memories came back now in brutal, visceral detail, as real as the moment they'd happened.
Steph clutched at her shoulder and screamed, feeling something in her throat tear – and burn an instant later. Her next scream wasn't hoarse, the way her screams had turned to husky barks when Black Mask didn't stop and her vocal chords tore.
Some important connection was trying to be made in her brain, but she didn't have space to think. Steph's mind was a whirling tornado of fear and pain, and all of it was green. At least she could see again, and floundered out of the reeking pool toward marble stairs.
…
Cass saw Stephanie fall, but she was deep in the flow state of battle, and it only registered as one less obstacle around which she had to fight. She'd turned the tables, and saw fear dawn in Shiva's eyes. It seemed right that here at the very end, the woman who had given her life would also learn to fear death at her hands.
Cass herself felt no fear. In truth, she felt almost nothing. One emotion alone occupied her heart, and that was determination to end this. Her focus was entirely on Shiva and their immediate surroundings, seeking every advantage. In Shiva's shoulders and hips she read the next blow of the sword before Shiva even began to strike, and dodged it effortlessly. Cass kicked her mother's wrists, driving the blade into the steel supports of the catwalk. While it was caught there, she brought her staff down in a great sweeping arc.
The katana was designed for superior maneuverability and incredible sharpness, making it the finest weapon for slashing styles. It had never been intended for use in parrying other swords, because its folded steel construction had one crucial weakness. Cass' staff struck with all of her force and momentum at right angles to the overlapping layers of steel in the sword, applying maximum stress to its weakest point.
Shiva's katana blade shattered under the blow.
To her credit, she abandoned the sword instantly, well aware of the strengths and limitations of every weapon she'd ever handled. The katana had always suited her style, where most fights were concluded in a matter of seconds; her speed, agility, and precision meant she usually won before any serious test of her defenses happened. Shiva fell back, reaching for a secondary weapon.
Cass had no intention of letting her reach it. She bore in, first with a high kick that drove Shiva back, and then turning neatly as any ballerina, she brought the staff around again. It whistled through the air, catching Shiva across the chest and flinging her against the catwalk. Cass came in to follow up, registering the way Shiva's head whiplashed back with the force of the impact but paying no attention to it, other than to note that she wasn't focused on the incoming attack.
Shiva fell to the ground, and Cass drove in with another kick. She heard a brittle snap, thought it was Shiva's jaw, and raised the staff to counter the furious reprisal.
Except, Shiva's body language had abruptly gone silent. She lay in an untidy heap, her eyes rolling wildly. Cass froze, wondering what new trick this could be.
…
Talia hung in the vent shaft, a thousand feet of line above her, and only twenty more feet below. The line ended three feet above the end of the shaft, and then there was a fifteen-foot drop from the ceiling to the floor. The three-foot gap was enough to hide the line from anyone glancing up into the vent shaft, and every member of the League of Shadows knew how to break a fall of twenty feet or less.
She listened and heard only her own breathing, then the hum of air exchangers, but knew there had to be men patrolling below. Shiva was not foolish enough to leave this obvious entry-point unguarded.
A familiar voice rose to her ears: Adem, calling to the guards. "Listen carefully, men," he said, and Talia could picture them all turning toward him. Perhaps even gathering around. Silently, she rappelled down the last bit of the line.
Adem was warning them of the caliber of opponents they could expect. "You are all League-trained. You know how ruthless your opponents are. We've spotted attackers already, and I've seen one man I know to be among the personal guard of the Demon's Daughter herself. You know her hand-picked people are especially dangerous – and if they're here, she is too. Keep alert, and give no quarter."
Talia smiled in the dark. Of course he'd seen one of her personal guards – in the mirror that morning as he shaved. Now that he had their attention, she plucked a gas canister off her belt and dropped it. The ringing metallic sound of its impact would be the cue for the rest of her strike force to attack. All of them were already wearing gas masks. The only one in danger was Adem, and he expected this move – he would have time to put his own mask on, while the rest were still identifying the threat and reacting to it.
Still, her eyes sought him as she landed, her sword flashing out, and Talia was relieved to see him on his feet, tugging the gas mask on. She gave no more thought to him, focusing on the fight ahead. Her men fired silenced pistols, but Talia preferred the blade for this work. It was a more elegant weapon, and tended to strike awe in her opponents.
The deadly dance was over swiftly; Adem had done everything he could to keep this area lightly guarded, and the men were distracted at the crucial moment. Being attacked by one who had spoken as one of them mere moments ago was disorienting and demoralizing, too. Talia surveyed the room; eight men dead on the floor, her own fifteen unscathed.
"Good work," she told Adem, and he nodded, falling into step with her as they moved out. They were careful never to acknowledge the extracurricular aspects of their relationship in front of others.
"Batgirl is here," Adem told her. "Fighting Shiva at the Pit. She brought one other with her, Spoiler."
And that made things complicated indeed, given her promises to Barbara Gordon. Talia hoped the two young women would get out as soon as they realized the League of Shadows had arrived. She couldn't rely on hope, though. "I want both of them alive," she said, her voice cold. "And unharmed. Batgirl was meant to serve Ra's al Ghul, and the other will be a useful hostage to ensure her compliance."
Adem nodded acknowledgment, though his mouth was set in a concerned line. He knew both young vigilantes were valuable to Batman, and could guess that Talia would not allow them to be harmed. He'd told her often enough how dangerous her divided loyalties were. She'd generally replied that it was untrustworthy advice, from a man who also served two masters, and had then distracted him from the topic.
No time to worry about his loyalties now. She had to fight her way through this compound to the Lazarus Pit. "If any of the traitors throw down their weapons at the sight of us, spare them," she said, deciding to opt for mercy. "Any who take arms against us must pay the price. No quarter."
Her men acknowledged the order, and Talia took a deep breath, settling herself. Failure was not an option.
…
It had been many years since Shiva felt herself tested like this. She had believed herself unafraid of death, but her confidence had not been shaken in so long that when the prospect actually faced her, it gave her pause. She was losing this battle, against an opponent she'd fought and bested before.
An opponent who had every advantage genetics and training could bestow on her. Shiva admired Cass' skill even as the disquieting thought of defeat crept into her mind.
Her sword shattered, and she fell back, reaching for shuriken. Before she could send the blades spinning into her opponent, Cass landed a kick, then spun and struck her with the staff. That blow seemed to carry the force of a tsunami, and Shiva flew backwards. The metal railing of the catwalk caught her viciously, high across the shoulders, and her head whipped back. Stunned, she slumped to the ground, where Cass added insult to injury by kicking her in the face. A starburst of pain in her jaw, and a sudden ache at the nape of her neck, too.
She had to get up, and rolled to her feet, turning to track her daughter. Except … only her head turned. She was still lying on the catwalk, and Cass was poised over her, the staff raised. Shiva tried to scramble to her feet, her struggles growing frantic as again, nothing happened. She couldn't even raise her arm … couldn't even feel her arm. All she could feel was her swelling jaw and a dull radiating pain from her neck…
The truth came to her coldly. Her spine was broken. Low in the neck or high in the back, since she could still breathe. It didn't matter. She was helpless now, unable to move.
Cass stared a moment, then grounded the staff. Shiva gritted her teeth, determined not to plead for her life. She could at least die with dignity. The younger woman bent, and picked up the sword that Shiva had let fall when it shattered. She regarded the remaining length of blade, then looked back to her mother. Shiva saw her own death in those cool, dark eyes so like her own. She steeled herself to meet it.
Instead, Cass tucked the sword into her belt. "I do not kill," she said, choosing the words carefully. She gave her mother one last look, with perhaps a little sorrow in it, but the rage was still there, only banked. Shiva saw what she didn't say: I don't have to save you, either.
Turning her back, Cassandra Cain walked away.
The gesture struck Shiva with a sense of awe. In that simple, final turn, Cassandra repudiated everything her mother stood for – and every violent impulse of her own blood. Shiva had killed her friend, and still the girl chose not to take revenge. She was, perhaps, stronger than Shiva herself, and in choosing to walk away, she proved her mastery of this fight as well as the greater battle between genetics and ideology. Shiva watched her walk away, and felt herself humbled. Not a familiar feeling for the greatest warrior alive.
No longer. The paralysis might be permanent, and even with prompt treatment, she might never regain full use of her body. To Shiva, that would be a fate worse than death.
Of course, there was a Lazarus Pit just below her. Shiva knew it could heal her injury … and knew it would bring madness in its wake. She'd been intrigued by the Pit, but with no real urge to test its powers herself. Once she'd seen it, smelled it, she discovered that it repulsed and fascinated her in equal measure. So much power, and so viscerally unclean, it made her wish for a moment that she'd never come here.
Now, with death whispering against her skin, the Pit should have seemed like a welcome salvation. One of her people could lower her in … but her skin crawled with horror at the thought. It seemed inevitable, the only means of survival; she who had turned her body into a finely-honed weapon could not bear life as a quadriplegic. Yet she still could not decide what to hope for.
A new complication entered her mind then: gunfire. Her men wouldn't shoot at Cassandra, so the Demon's loyalists must have arrived.
Perhaps this was her final hour, after all.
…
Cass was looking for Stephanie's body, full of a terrible dry grief that threatened to devour her from the heart outward. She left the catwalk, alert for guards, but there didn't seem to be any in this part of the cavern anymore. That was odd … and then she heard gunshots, echoing.
They weren't the only ones who'd been following Shiva. Cass wanted nothing to do with Ra's al Ghul, now or ever, and she did not trust his daughter despite Talia's promises to Barbara. But she would not leave Stephanie here, in the hands of enemies. She would sooner die beside her than abandon her.
Except, she didn't see Steph's body. Not on the catwalk, not on the stairs, and then the awful truth began to dawn on her. Cass' mind tried to flinch from it, but she was too disciplined to allow that.
Stephanie had fallen into the Pit.
Which meant Stephanie had come out of it again, alive, healed … and insane.
Even as Cass thought that, she heard a pained scream echo from the tunnels, and a scattering of gunshots right after it. Terror in her heart, she raced that way.
The only thing worse than losing Steph would be losing her twice.
…
A single imperative, not even a fully conscious thought, drove Steph: escape. She needed to get out of this place, away from these people, and the green fire in her brain drove her to wild urgency. She felt danger on all sides, pressing in on her, and the only possible relief for the building rage and panic was to flee. She did so blindly, taking the first corridor she came to, following its path upward.
Noise ahead, gunshots, and that checked her. Steph clung to the wall, panting, her heart racing. She started to turn back, but some instinct told her not to go down. Out was up, even her aching whirling head knew that much. Eyes rolling, she hesitated, then plunged on.
Behind her, a voice called, "Stephanie!" Despair in the tone, and Steph spun around to face it with a growl. She did not yet recognize the syllables as her name.
A uniform she vaguely recognized, something plucking at her mind, the memory of the face beneath the cowl was one well-known and much loved. For a moment, Steph remembered: Cass, her best friend, her girlfriend, her partner. Then the poisonous green fog clouded her vision again, and she clutched at her head, groaning.
Booted footsteps behind her. Softer tread closing the distance, and she opened her eyes to see Cass leaping past her, holding her staff at the ready, focused on the strangers approaching behind. Stephanie wheeled to face the threat, a Lazarus-green alarm shrilling in her head. Danger!
Reaching for weapons that were no longer there, Steph readied herself to kill whoever barred her way.
