"So, you're Talia's little bastard?"
Damian glared up at Deathstroke. The two stood in a freezing courtyard in Nanda Parbat. Not a breeze stirred as they faced off against each other.
"But now, we end it."
Damian rolled quickly out of the way as the older man came charging at him. Regaining his footing, he glanced around for a plan; even though he had the skills, Deathstroke was a fully grown man in pique physical condition. As a ten-year-old boy, half his opponent's size and weight, he would stand no chance in a fight of brute strength.
He found himself standing below a section of the balcony that ran around the square outdoor training area. Most of the supporting pillars of the section he was under had been destroyed or weakened during the initial attack. Damian could practically hear the wood groaning under the pressure.
The traitor hadn't noticed and was charging at Damian, who dodged the man's blade and used his own sword to slice through the last wooden column holding up the balcony up.
Jumping to a position of safety, Damian turned to watch the black and orange clad assassin buried under the rubble. The boy didn't move; Deathstroke was a famed man and a skilled warrior, he wouldn't be stopped by something as trivial as a building falling on his head.
Sure enough, the wreckage shifted, just after it had settled, and the face of Slade Wilson was revealed, coughing and spluttering against the dust that filled his lungs.
Stepping swiftly forwards, Damian plunged the tip of his sword decisively into the man's right eye.
Deathstroke screamed in agony as blood started oozing thick and fast from his ruined socket.
Damian stood, glaring at the pathetic excuse for a man who dared believe himself worthy of killing the Demon Head. With a pained grunt, Deathstroke maneuverer himself until he was looking up at Damian. Blood was soaking through the porous fabric of his suit; he must have been injured in the collapse.
"Well?" panted the injured man. "What are you waiting for kid?"
With a sniff of contempt, Damian thrust his katana through Slade's remaining eye. He allowed the blade to continue its journey this time, putting the weight and force of his small body behind it until he felt the resistance of the back of the man's skull.
Deathstroke's body spasmed; his arms flailed and his legs twitched reflexively. With a final grunt of effort, Damian pulled the sword back. The ex-communicated assassin lay still, his body seeming to deflate under the tattered rags of his full-body costume.
Turning his back on the corpse, Damian found his mother waiting for him. Her expression was unreadable but, after a moment of contemplating her son, she gestured for him to follow her. She was pleased.
Jogging to keep up with her, Damian followed his mother down the maze of corridors. Outside, the noise of a fierce battle still raged. It was a wonder why the enemy hadn't retreated yet; perhaps they were unaware of the fate of their leader. It didn't matter; they might wield machine guns and military-helicopters, but there was a reason why the League of Assassins remained the best organisation of assassins in the world, and there was a reason too why they were based on the side of a mountain. As they ran under a grate in the courtyard, Damian heard the howl of a sudden gust of wind, and the distinct sound of a helicopter in trouble. By the time the explosion occurred, Damian and his mother had entered the chamber of the Lazarus pit.
There he lay; Ra's al Ghul had managed to drag his charred and blackened body all this way. Damian cried out when he saw his grandfather so close to his life-giving pool. He rushed over and began dragging the man towards the glowing liquid.
"Mother," he called as he strained against the weight. "Please, help me."
"Damian," said Talia gently. "He's dead."
"Of course, he's dead. That's why I'm getting him into the Lazarus pit!"
"Damian," repeated Talia, more forcefully this time. "Stop. It's time that my father finally rests and lets someone else take his place."
Damian was so shocked that he lost his grip on his grandfather, the old man's corpse slid back to the ground, putting up no resistance.
"But mother," Damian looked at her. "I am not ready."
His mother's eyes flashed dangerously. "I am, my son. Your grandfather was a great man, but he was stuck in the past. He never even considered that one of his daughters could be his successor."
Damian gaped at her. His grandfather had named him as his heir, not his mother. Though he could not argue with her reasoning; she was a formidable woman and was entirely capable of leading the League. But even so…
The child looked down at the shell that once contained the great Ra's al Ghul. His grandfather's cape, thick and heavy, lay over his body, shielding Damian's eyes from the intricate engravings on the body armour.
"Alright mother," he said eventually.
"Good," for some reason, she sounded relieved. "Now come, my dear son; let us make this world a better place."
xxx
It didn't seem to Damian that the world was any better or worse after the change in leadership. As a secret organisation, the fact that the League of Assassins was currently in the middle of a vicious, bloody battle for power went by completely unnoticed by the majority of the population. It was mostly their clients, those third-parties that used their services regularly, that realised there had been a distinct change in the organisation.
Contracts were still carried out, but they were often marred by the appearance of Nyssa al Ghul's faction of Assassins.
Nyssa and Talia.
The two sisters were both fighting for control of their father's organisation, and it appeared as though neither had the upper hand.
Damian was, of course, fighting for his mother's course; though his aunt had made it clear that she would welcome him, should he decide to assist her instead. He had often wondered about this; his aunt had never seemed particularly maternal towards him – no one who was a member of the League of Assassins had any compunctions about killing a child, especially one so talented an assassin as himself – but never the less, she had held back when fighting him the one time they came to blows. She could have killed him, but had left him alive, mentioning a debt to his father. That had hurt.
That had made him angry.
How dare she spare his life on account of a man that he didn't even know? The Batman of Gotham city was his father in name only.
It was the night after this encounter that he had first had the dream.
He was practicing in the courtyard. Swiftly, he and Sensei went through the motions of the katana, gracefully flowing from one stance to the next. It was extremely calming, almost as relaxing as meditation.
"Your mind is wandering grandson,"
Damian looked up. There, staring down at him from the balcony, was his grandfather.
"I would talk with you Damian," the old man gestured with his hand and suddenly Damian was walking with him through the corridors of their home. "I am sure you are wondering why I am here grandson."
"Not really," said Damian, "why wouldn't you talk to me?"
"Because I am dead Ibn al Xu'ffasch."
The words struck the boy with the force of an avalanche. Eyes wide, he turned to stare at his grandfather.
"You are," he whispered, before bowing his head in realisation. "This is a dream."
"For you, yes," said Ra's al Ghul, not missing a step as he proceeded down the hallway. "I am here to tell you that it is time for me to return."
Confused, and slightly concerned about his own sanity, Damian followed the great man as they passed under a grate in the floor of one of the courtyards.
"I have allowed my children to play leader long enough," said Ra's al Ghul determinedly. "You must bring me back now Damian, so that I can restore order to my organisation. It was always you who was destined to take my place when the time was right. Do you know why I chose you and not your mother or your aunt?"
Mutely, Damian shook his head.
"It is because your mother craves power, not a better world. And your aunt, for all her ferocity, lacks conviction."
Everything Ra's was saying made sense to Damian, but he was still struggling with the concept that his grandfather was having a conversation with him from beyond the grave. The old man seemed to understand his grandson's preoccupation with this, for he sighed in irritation as he pushed open the door into the Lazarus chamber.
"It doesn't really matter whether you truly believe that I am here. Either you wake believing that I visited you from beyond the mortal veil, in which case you will obey my wishes like the good grandson you are; or you believe I am a manifestation of your own subconscious, in which case you realise the wisdom of my argument as your own. No matter what you conclude," continued Ra's, as he mounted the steps to the Pit, leaving Damian staring up at him. "You know what you must do."
Damian woke before his grandfather's body hit the shimmering water. His heart was racing, and he was sweating profusely, but he remained as still and silent in sleep as ever. It was the hallmark of a good assassin that you were as undetectable in unconsciousness as you were when awake.
Pushing his slightly overgrown fringe away from his forehead, Damian let out a shaky breath.
Apparition or no, Ra's had been right; he knew what must be done.
xxx
Damian was glad that he had managed to dissuade his mother from cremating his grandfather. If she had burnt the remainder of his corpse then this would have been impossible.
Death had taken its toll on Ra's al Ghul. He was much lighter now that his muscles had begun wasting away and he had been stripped of his ceremonial clothing. Damian doubted his grandfather would have approved being entombed wearing nothing but a white robe, but it made Damian's life easier. He was able to push the corpse from the crypt by loading it onto a small wooden cart that was used mostly to carry weapons. The white cloth provided a good way of preventing instant realisation of his plan. As the infamous grandson of the Demon, his people didn't bat an eyelid at the sight of him wheeling weapons around the compound.
He managed to reach the Lazarus chamber with no other obstacles than stairs.
This was the most delicate part of the operation; getting his grandfather's body into the Pit. It would be painfully obvious what was happening as soon as it was clear that the vat of green, glowing liquid was his destination. So, he decided to be open about his intentions right from the start; if the people in the room agreed to cooperate so much the better, if not he was confident in his abilities.
As soon as he entered the cavern, he took note of who was guarding it today. It was Lady Shiva.
Damian hesitated; Lady Shiva was a loyal member of the League of Assassins. The trouble was, Damian was uncertain whether she would hold allegiance to the current Demon's Head, or would assist him in reviving Ra's al Ghul.
"Lady Shiva," greeted Damian, bowing to her respectfully. "I…" he paused; asking for help was not something that came naturally to him and the fact that it was one of his teachers made it somehow even more difficult.
In the end, he gave up asking her for assistance directly; instead, he removed the cloth from the cart, revealing the body beneath.
Upon seeing her fallen master, Lady Shiva ran forwards. Gently, she lifted the charred corpse into her arms and made her way over to the Pit.
Starring at Damian for a second, she gave him a nod of thanks, before allowing the Demon's Head to fall into the water.
Lady Shiva stepped back.
The woman and boy stood, staring at the surface of the pool with baited breath.
Just when they had given up hope, Ra's burst out of the Pit. The newly-rejuvenated man was screaming in pained madness.
Damian gaped at his grandfather, whose blistered skin was healing before his eyes; the blackened, dead cells flaking away to reveal raw, pink flesh beneath.
The commotion must have roused the rest of the League as the door burst open and the other members came flooding into the chamber. There were gasps and shocked cries of recognition, before all present knelt down in subjugation.
The Demon's Head hadn't stopped screaming before Talia came running into the room, her eyes casting wildly around to see her followers bowing down. Finally, her angry eyes fell on the Pit where her father stood; all muscle, and strength, and power. As soon as she saw him, she realised that any power she had scrapped together was lost.
Bitterly, she turned to glare at her son.
Damian stared back at her, worried by the utter hatred in her gaze. He was in trouble; his mother was undoubtably determined to revenge herself on him. Shuddering, he broke eye contact first, looking back towards his grandfather as his cries slowly faded and the old man was left panting.
Slowly, Ra's al Ghul clambered over the side of the pool.
Tendrils of green liquid poured off of his naked body as he made his way slowly over to where the two of his decedents stood. He came to a stop in front of them and cast his eyes over both, before looking to his grandson, pointedly turning his back on his daughter.
"Damian, my blood, you have done well to obey me."
The boy's eyes widened. "So, it was you in my dream," he gasped. "But grandfather, how…?"
"I will explain later. For now, all you must know is that I…we, this family who have used the Lazarus Pit for centuries, have a debt to pay."
"A debt?" A terrible silence filled the room as Ra's pointedly ignored Talia's inquiry.
Licking his dry lips, Damian thought to save his mother. "What debt grandfather?"
"A debt to the one who powers the Pit."