Title: Night of Knights (5/?)
Author: Lord Maedhros
Rating: R (just to be safe)
Fandom: Gargoyles/ Batman Crossover
Summary: Batman/Gargoyles crossover. Goliath will do anything for Elisa's safety, but strengths become liabilities when one loses control . . . something the Joker is adept at exploiting.
Feedback: Any you are willing to provide would be very much appreciated
Archive: Anywhere, just tell me first
Genre: Action/Adventure
Disclaimer: All related characters are the property of Disney/ DC Comics. They are NOT my characters (as cool as that would be), nor are they being used for profit of any kind. As always, hats off to Bob Kane and Bill Finger, the immortal creators of Batman.
Warnings: Violence; maybe some spoilers but just in the general sense, nothing particular
Author's notes: I am soooooo sorry about the delay in posting, I was rather estranged from my usual beta reader for a time, and then I came home from college where I didn't have internet access. . . it was just a mess. the chapter has actually been finished for some time, but enough with excuses; I'm sorry. To the Batcave!
italics = thoughts
Chapter 5: Dangerous Game
Barbara Gordon yawned widely, stretching her arms as she lifted her head from where it had been resting
on her desk. She adjusted her glasses, and reached for her tea.
How long was I sleeping? she wondered groggily. A sip of cold tea answered her question to the extent
she could comprehend at that point. Long enough for my tea to be cold. Figures.
Babs turned her wheelchair around, and headed for the kitchen of her apartment. Her head ached, and
her eyes were having a little trouble focusing. She put the kettle on again, and checked her wall clock, which
read 2:42 a.m. So why did I wake up?
"Hey, Snoozing Beauty! In here!" an easy and familiar voice drifted in from the living room. Barbara
smiled, and wheeled herself into the next room. Babs killed her grin with a concerted effort as she entered,
adopting a stern face and placing her fists on her hips.
"How did you get in here?" she asked sharply. The man she was addressing was dressed in a form-
fitting bodysuit, jet-black all over but for the broad bands of blue that formed a 'V' across his chest, then ran
across his upper back and down his arms. His mask lay on the coffee table, sticking out from under his
booted feet. Dick flashed her a roguish grin, and vaulted upright from the couch.
"Oh, well, you know," he began casually. The exasperated look Babs flashed his way shut him up.
"Okay, okay. In through the clock, second panel in between the six and the seven. Then past the alarms in
the roof, and through the trapdoor in the ceiling of the linen closet. Happy?"
"Yes, thank you," she replied with feigned formality and a wan smile.
"I wish you wouldn't do that."
"Do what?"
"Make me tell you how I did it every time I break in here," he said sheepishly. "It's like asking a magician
how a trick is done; it's just not magic if you reveal all your secrets."
"And I'm sure you think you're quite the magician," she said. "At least Tim knocks when he comes in
through the window." She smiled again, and reached towards him. Dick caught her halfway, lifting her easily
off her chair into a kiss. "It's been awhile, hasn't it, former Boy Wonder?"
"Yeah, I guess it has," he said. "I hate to do this, but I don't get called up here for friendly visits very
often. What's going on?"
Barbara sighed heavily. She suddenly looked very worn-out and tired. "You're right, of course. Dick, it's
the Joker. He's got an NYPD detective, one Elisa Maza, held hostage somewhere in Gotham. He hasn't made
any ransom demands, and he's made no contact of any kind with the police."
Nightwing's expression darkened. Even without the mask in place, Babs could see his training and
experience with his mentor bubbling to the surface; the characteristics of him that were unmistakably coming
from the Batman. His posture shifted, very subtly, and she watched as Dick left momentarily, and the protégé
of the Bat seized control. With the Joker, a ransom demand or a threat list did not mean he wasn't going to kill
someone. The absence of these things meant that it was a virtual certainty that he intended to kill her. "So
what do we do?" he asked her.
"What can we do?" Babs asked back, ignoring his personality shift for the moment. "Batman's out
searching for her, along with Robin, but there's not much hope at this point. We've eliminated most of the
Joker's old haunts, and if he's set up someplace new, we're not likely to find him before it's too late."
"You don't think Batman can find her," he said, more a statement then a question.
"I'm not sure even Batman can now, Dick," she replied wearily. "And stop it. You're acting just like him,
totally cool and stoic in a crisis. As useful as that is on a case, it won't help you here, and it's not what I need
to hear right now." Barbara looked more worn-out then ever as she spoke. She looked at Dick with tired eyes,
and he relaxed again.
"When was the last time you got any real sleep? You've got to start taking better care of yourself here,
Babs," he said, his demeanor softening as he registered her puffy, bloodshot eyes.
"Well, if you don't count the last few hours before you arrived . . . uh, about three days I guess." She
poked him in the stomach. "You should talk, Hunk Wonder. You're as much an insomniac as Bruce is, you
know. And by the way, that last line sounded like something he might say, too." Barbara winked at Dick,
slapping his leg lightly with the back of her hand. From the kitchen, the kettle started to whistle. "Come on,
I'm going to get my tea. We can wait until morning, then Batman can fill you in on what happened tonight."
She turned her wheelchair, and started towards the kitchen. As she did so, they heard the subtle clearing of a
throat across the room. Batman stood there, half supporting and half carrying a young, dark haired woman.
She looked as though she had just been to hell and back. Her hair was tangled, her clothes were ripped and
stained with everything from blood to rat droppings, and she was covered with lacerations and bruises.
Most of her injuries had been attended to; they would only heal with time and rest. It was a miracle that she
had survived at all.
"Speak of the devil . . ." Babs started softly, her voice filled with amazement.
". . .And he appears." Nightwing finished for her, gazing almost disbelievingly at his former partner. He
quickly got a blanket out of the closet, and offered it to the young woman. She took it, shaking, and Dick
helped to wrap her in it. This done, Elisa lay down on the couch, and promptly fell asleep. Babs wheeled over
to her, and examined the bruises on Elisa's face. She looked up at her mentor.
"How did you find her? Barbara asked him. I would have known if anything happened with the Joker,
but if you didn't find his latest hideout, I don't see how . . ."
"I didn't find the Joker's hideout," Batman started. "She escaped on her own. It's possible the Joker was
simply toying with her, but she took advantage of it well enough."
"Anything's possible where he's concerned," Babs interjected. "But let's not worry about that now.
Right now, we need to protect the detective, and let her rest."
"Agreed," Batman said decisively. He turned to Nightwing, who had discreetly donned his mask again.
"Let's go. Based on where she was when I found her, I have a pretty good idea of where the Joker is. We can
still catch him."
Dick just nodded, his eyes narrowing to slits behind his mask. He glanced at Babs, who gestured
towards the window with a look that said 'what, you need me to tell you to follow him?' When he looked up,
Batman was gone. Cursing himself, Nightwing leaped out the window after his former partner. He launched
himself backwards off the windowsill, spiraling and rotating through the air with the grace and agility of a
born aerial acrobat. Time itself seemed to slow as he fell, plummeting towards the streets of Gotham far
below. He closed his eyes, letting out his breath and relishing the invigorating, nearly intoxicating sensation
of total freefall. The air rushing past him whipped his hair into a frenzied state to contrast the perfectly
controlled positioning of his body. He kept falling for a few instants longer than was probably safe,
indulging himself, then turned in midair with a violent twist. Nightwing took the well practiced shot blind,
snapping his wrist back sharply to let loose the grapnel and line concealed in his forearm gauntlet. He knew
the shot was good the instant the grapnel left his hand, with the same utter certainty of his own performance
he had known all his life. There was still fear every time he performed such a maneuver, but it was a fear that
he savored, tasting the release it afforded him, however brief. The monofilament line went taut when
Nightwing was more than halfway to the pavement below, and he began to swing without even the slightest
hint of jarring or jerking motion to his flight. He caught a glimpse of the Batman, silhouetted against the
waxing moon, and seamlessly changed direction to follow him. Nightwing let go at the apex of his swing and
threw his next line, following the Dark Knight over the rooftops of Gotham.
Robin dropped from the edge of the building, into a long swing that took him under one of the
pedestrian skywalks that linked the Rucka towers. The wind, ever-present at this height, whipped his hair
and cape around, but the momentum of the maneuver carried Tim unerringly all the way to one of the many
ledges of Wayne Tower, where he alighted gracefully. The wind still made him nervous at times, but he did
his best to hide it. On top of that, the local news was predicting a major thunderstorm for later that night. As
skilled as he was, Tim did not relish the prospect of swinging from one wet surface to the next, fifty stories
up. Oh well, he thought, I guess it comes with the territory. For the third time, he went over in his mind the
events of the past hour, as he re-stocked the tools and weapons in his utility belt from the hidden cache he
found there. No matter how he put it together, some parts of the story still didn't fit.
A series of murders took place in New York, perpetrated by the Joker. A New York Police woman
followed the Joker back to Gotham, and he kidnaps her. No big surprises; Joker had never been afraid of the
police.
Then she escapes, on her own, from inside the Joker's hideout. Tim figured Batman and Nightwing were
moving in at that moment. Just like that, the Joker was going to be caught again. Somehow, the whole
situation didn't sit right with Tim. This is the Joker we're dealing with here, he thought. It can't be that
easy. Nevertheless, he still had his job to do.
"Keep an eye on Gotham's other problems, Tim," he said out loud, in a deep voice that mocked the
Batman's resonating tones. "Big fucking deal, Bruce and Dick tackle the Joker, and I'm stuck with back alley
muggers and jaywalkers. This sucks," he concluded ruefully. He slumped forward onto one of the ornate
drain spouts that stuck out from the sides of the building; his gloved fingers traced the cleverly disguised
handholds and grapnel catch spots along its length. Tim's face hung over the side of the eagle headed
gargoyle, allowing himself the illusion that he was floating above the city streets. Robin sighed as he
watched the activity below, the passing cars, the pedestrians on the sidewalks, the doorman hailing cabs for
hotel patrons, the large winged creature gliding between buildings . . .
Whoa!
The dark, winged figure was shaped like a man, but even from fifty- three stories above Tim could see
that it was huge, much larger than any normal human. That, and the fact that it had wings and a tail, made
him all the more certain that this was not a normal person gliding about below him. Tim was considering
waiting for backup, when the creature circled, then touched down in the middle of the intersection. The
sounds of cars screeching to a halt, people screaming, and an eerie, inhuman roar drifted up to Tim's ears. It
was all the prompting he needed to convince him that Robin had to do something. Wasting no time, he
pressed the right eye of the eagle on which he sat. Its beak ground open obediently, and Robin extracted the
line he found there. Holding it loosely in his right hand, he dropped off the ledge. Air rushed past with
unbridled fury as he fell, eyeballing his target all the way down. With fifteen stories to go, he tightened up
on his grip, feeling the heat of the intense friction through the tough material of his gloves, even as he felt
the pull of the tendons in his right arm, his nerves shouting a complaint to his brain at the abuse. He ignored
the pain, and used his cape with his free hand to direct his fall. He let go completely two stories up, a move
that placed him squarely on the broad shoulders of the creature, which fell forward from the unexpected
impact. Robin flipped forward and off, twisting in midair to land facing his adversary.
As it stood, Tim felt a wave of fear wash over his mind. It was bigger than he'd thought, standing about
seven feet tall. It—he had to weigh about three hundred pounds, maybe more, all of it muscle. Its eyes
started to glow a cold, menacing white, and Tim's hand found his staff, extending it. The creature leaped at
Tim with an ear-shattering bellow, and Robin vaulted out of the way, its talons missing him by inches. It
attacked again, slashing wildly. Robin ducked and dodged, waiting for an opening. When it came, he let
loose, delivering a series of kicks and Bo strikes that would have laid out almost any human opponent,
finishing with a two-footed push that sent him into a graceful back flip away from the creature. Landing
smartly, he looked back.
Goliath staggered under the barrage of blows, his head snapping back at several of them. Stunned, the
large Gargoyle stumbled for a moment before regaining his balance. His assailant was outfitted in a colorful
costume and a cape, and a staff for a weapon. Goliath's clouded mind attempted to work through the
information his eyes were providing, to no avail. He saw the Joker again, attacking him, hurting him further,
and laughing at him. Enraged, he went after Robin again, swiping at him with his talons, forgetting all his old
fighting tactics in the blindness of his rage. Regardless of style, Goliath was fast, and his years of fighting
experience gave him an edge. He swung tirelessly, but his opponent kept avoiding his deadly blows. He
began to back Robin up against a large commercial van, boxing him in.
Robin saw the creature stand, and stared open-mouthed at its resilience. It began to attack him again,
snarling and spitting like a rabid dog, eyes blazing in the night. Robin struck when he could, mostly with his
staff, but his blows did little to slow the creature. Suddenly, Tim realized that he was being boxed in against
the van. In a desperation move, he hit Goliath as hard as he could with his staff, and leaped forward and to
the side. As he did so, the ancient warrior's wing snapped up, striking Robin full in the face with its bony
edge. He was knocked to the ground from the force of the blow, landing flat on his back on the pavement.
Immediately, he kipped up, landing on his feet, but his adversary was ready for him.
The attack came at him in slow motion, his enemies' lethal hand just inching towards its target. Robin's
muscles were equally sluggish in dealing with the onset of this threat, and he could only watch in morbid
fascination as the sharp points approached his body. He was turning to get out of the way, he knew he was
turning away, but it seemed as though he should be finished by now, the claws that held his attention
should have already missed his chest and passed by him, but they hadn't, and now they were too close, and
Tim realized that they weren't going to miss at all. Robin only managed a half turn away before the steel-hard
talons ripped through Kevlar and flesh on his right side. The claws caught in his cape, and Tim was lifted off
the ground by the force of the blow. Goliath's follow-through sent the Boy Wonder flying through the air,
his body describing an arc that would have been graceful, had it not been for the brutal nature of the force
that had initiated it. He landed hard on the windshield of a pickup truck, breaking through it and slumping in
the hole his fall had made in the surface. Robin lay still, bleeding profusely from the gash in his side.
Goliath bellowed into the air, daring anyone to challenge him and releasing another load of pressure
from his mind. As before, the pain grew back, but there was a moment of rational thought before he again
succumbed to the effects of the Joker's poison. In that moment, he saw what had happened, saw the pained
face of Robin on his opponent, and he roared again in anger at his own lack of control. Before he could do
any more damage, he ran past Robin's limp form and leaped up, gripping the side of the building with his
claws and climbing away as quickly as he could. Tim laid where he had fallen, his breath coming in short and
halting gasps. He clutched at his side, and a shockwave of pain greeted his touch, causing him to lose
consciousness once more.
Tim woke up slowly, perceiving the figures and voices that surrounded him with a distinctly detached
feeling. He wasn't really in the room, of course. He was just watching, on an old, rusty television with chronic
reception problems. It wasn't really his body on the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, respirator and heart
monitor. The voices continued to drone on, in a broken, incomplete line of phrases, rather than actual
sentences. Through the haze that clouded his mind and senses, Tim struggled to make sense of it all.
". . .lost a lot of blood . . ."
". . .we should have been there, I tell . . ."
". . .almost ended up . . ."
". . . Jason . . ."
Finally frustrated with his lack of understanding, or maybe just regaining the ability (he couldn't tell
which) Tim started to talk. Even his voice sounded strange, but things were a bit clearer than they had been
a few minutes before.
"Wh. .wha' happened?" he murmured sleepily. The figures around him started to come into better focus,
and he could see Nightwing, Babs and Doctor Leslie Thompkins talking quietly nearby. All three looked in
his direction as he spoke, and for as quickly as Dick tried to kill it, Tim could see the worried look etched in
Nightwing's expression.
"Hey Tim, how are you feeling?" Babs was the first to speak, carefully keeping her voice light and
gentle. Though he could still tell that she was worried, Babs kept those thoughts more closely guarded than
Dick did.
"Ugh, now I know what it's like to get hit with a wrecking ball," Tim tried to be as tough and sarcastic as
he imagined the others would be. "I have a new sense of sympathy for those old out-of-code buildings on
the Hill." Feeling some energy returning to his body, Tim tried to sit up. His effort was rewarded by yet
another burst of blinding pain in his right side, and he gasped in shock at the sudden sensation. Doctor
Leslie was already there, helping to ease his head back down onto the pillow.
"Careful, Timothy," she cautioned him. "It would be best if you just kept still for a while. Richard,
Barbara, you two can have a minute to talk to him, but he needs rest right now. Be quick about it."
"Yes ma'am," Dick saluted briefly with two fingers. Babs arched an eyebrow at him. He turned back to
Tim, his demeanor again becoming serious. "So, uh, just what did hit you, Tim?" he asked bluntly, voicing
the question that was in all of their minds. "I mean, your side looks like you picked a fight with a polar bear
having a bad day or something . . ." Babs discreetly caused her wheelchair to turn sharply, 'kicking' Dick in
the shin.
"But Doctor Leslie says you'll be fine as long as you don't do anything strenuous until it heals," Babs
said quickly, flashing Dick a withering look. He turned away sheepishly. "Seriously, Tim, what happened?
Witnesses were talking about some kind of monster, with wings or something . . ."
"I don't know what it was," Tim said. "It was acting like it wanted to hurt someone in the worst way, so I
just tackled him. I didn't have any time to call for you guys to help. From what I can tell, he's really strong,
really tough, and he can fly or something. I landed a lot of good hits, but I just couldn't bring him down."
"You did good," Dick told him seriously. "Whatever that thing was, it didn't go after anybody else after
you fought it. You probably just saved a lot of people tonight."
"Yeah, thanks," Tim came back in a half sarcastic, half grateful tone. "Be careful, you guys. That thing is
tougher than it looks, and that's saying something."
"We will."
"Oh, um, how'd it go with the Joker?" Tim asked.
"Ah, well . . ." Dick began. "it didn't exactly go as planned. We found a giggling jack-in-the-box that
taunted us with some pretty lame insults, until it started spewing poisonous gas at us. As far as booby-
traps go, it was kind of minimal, actually," he said. "We found evidence of a fight on the third floor, and in
the cellar. Whatever happened in there, one or more of the fighters involved must have been incredibly
strong. There are whole sections of wall missing upstairs, and the roof had been torn through. I didn't know
what would have done that, until you'd told us what happened earlier," he finished.
"And you think it's whatever I tackled tonight?" Tim asked.
"I think so, Tim," Dick told him. "Gotta go, the boss is waiting." With that, Nightwing took a step to the
side and dove out the window, disappearing into the night.
"Take care, Tim," Babs told him. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" "Hey, someone has to keep
your boyfriend out of trouble," he teased, managing a weak grin. "I'll be fine, you go do what you do best."
"See you later, then," she replied. "We'll let you know how it goes." And she left.
Tim was left to himself, feeling thoroughly defeated and alone. He fell asleep listening to the beeping of
the heart monitor, the slow, steady hiss of the respirator, and the pattering of the raindrops that were just
then beginning to fall outside.
Elsewhere in Gotham, Goliath glided low over the rooftops, seeking to rid himself of the madness with
which he was afflicted. His flight, as before, was erratic, but he also flew more slowly now, wobbling a bit in
the air as he went. The rain was starting to fall harder, and the wind was picking up, which made flight
difficult. Whatever was left of his conscious mind knew what was happening to him. He remembered what
had occurred, though his thoughts came only in a broken series of pictures and sensations. He remembered
fighting . . .Vikings? No, no, that was long ago. Just thugs, like any that he might encounter in Scotland. New
York, rather, not Scotland anymore. He had been fighting, either way, and then Goliath saw him. That face,
grinning at him with its excessively broad, wicked smile, full of malice and tainted with the eerie touch of
insanity. He remembered the dart, and the bullet, and the flash of searing, white-hot pain that blossomed
from his left side and spread throughout his body, followed closely by a similar flash through his mind. He
had wanted to kill him, tried to pursue him, but he had been unable to. Now Goliath saw him everywhere.
Each human he encountered now bore that face, that evil, and he felt a desperate need to attack it, to
make the pain stop, to quiet the commotion in his brain that was driving him mad.
A sound reached his ears then. More than a sound, it was a laugh that drifted up to him, kindling a spark
of rage inside his mind. Again, Goliath's mind flew through the events of the night, and the spark grew to a
flame, and the flame to an inferno in his mind, which manifested itself with a strong, pulsing glow in his eyes.
As he glided on, the laugh reached him again. This time, he was able to pinpoint the source: a small
gathering of college students on the roof of the apartment building below him. The laugh had come from a
young man, shirt off and beer in hand, who was shouting drunken challenges to the ever-gathering storm.
Infuriated, Goliath dove for the rooftop, landing hard. The keg was the first thing to fall victim to his wrath,
as his claws shredded the thin metal and sent several pints of beer in all directions. The drunken man turned
in anger at the destruction of the keg. An objection stuck in his throat as he saw the intended target of his
outburst.
The young man faced Goliath, and the gargoyle saw his quarry. Joker stood before him, grinning madly
and raising his hands towards his pursuer. Goliath's hand grabbed the man's arm as it came towards him, and
the Gargoyle used it to toss the unfortunate young man across the roof. With a yelp, the man sailed
awkwardly through the air, turning slowly, to finally land with a painful end over end tumble that took him
almost to the opposite edge. Goliath turned, and was at first confused to now see the Joker facing him from
the other side. Hadn't he just tossed the giggling fool away? No matter, he would just have to hit him harder
next time. He would wipe that ugly, evil grin off the maniac's smirking face.
The young woman that Goliath now faced tried to run, but the ancient warrior's huge wings unfurled,
and she ran straight into the tough leathery skin that spanned them. She bounced off and fell back from the
force of the blow, and she watched in horror as the mighty Gargoyle raised his talons, snarling, for a killing
blow.
A quiet rustling sound, almost inaudible against the now-pounding rain, and Goliath suddenly arched
backwards, a roar caught in his throat before it could fully escape. Batman stood at the opposite end of the
rope that had wrapped around the Gargoyle's neck, attempting to pull Goliath off his intended victim. Seeing
that his present course of action, while distracting, was not pulling his adversary back, the Dark Knight
decided on a different course of action.
Batman took a step, leaped up, and dropped off the edge of the building. Goliath stood for half a second,
as if failure to realize the demands of physics would stop it from affecting him. Then the line, which Batman
still held, went taut. The combined force of Batman's body weight and the momentum of his fall pulled
Goliath clear off his feet. He was airborne for half a second, before his body crashed forcibly into the roof
and began skidding across it. With a defiant snarl, Goliath slammed the talons of his left hand into the tarred
surface, cracking the cement base and leaving four long gouges in the concrete before the resistance from
his dragging claws halted his motion. His other hand groped until it finally found the line that was attached
to his neck, and he cut it with a swift motion of his claws. The loose end of rope left his sight, off the edge of
the building. The huge Gargoyle looked down, searching for the troublesome creature in the alley below.
The Batman had vanished.
Goliath turned back to his previous target, only to see a furtive shape scrambling desperately down the
fire escape on the opposite side of the building. He almost moved to pursue, but was stopped in his tracks
by the vision that flashed before his eyes a second before she disappeared. As the girl looked back towards
him, he saw her face—not gaunt, pale and evil, but young, fearful, and entirely human. Such was his shock at
this sight that he stopped short of following, as several conflicting thoughts fought with one another for
control of his mind. His mind raced back, re- living the events of the past few hours. In one moment, he saw
the Joker, leering up at him from the rooftop; in the next, he saw a group of terrified college students recoiling
from his sudden assault. It was impossible to sort out the reality from the insanity, the memory from
imagination. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, attempting to sort out the confusion in his mind.
When he opened them again seconds later, the Batman was there. The driving rain beat at his shoulders,
lashing at his cloaked form. His long, billowing cape whipped about him in the gale force winds, seeming to
take on a life of its own; a brief glimpse of the daemon that plagued the man.
Batman alighted behind the Gargoyle, and felt a rush of adrenaline flow through his body. His
experienced eye saw the raw power there, the rippling muscles and thick frame that suggested potentially
superhuman strength.
It's like Jean-Paul all over again, he thought.
Bruce felt a flash of nervousness then, and for a second he wondered what would happen if he failed—if
he were killed tonight. The titan before him certainly looked capable of such a thing, and Tim's current state
supported that argument. He took a slow, meditative breath, letting some of the tension bleed from his
muscles, and the cold, calculating mind of the Bat consumed him once again. It was defensive; he had
always done this to deal with the greatest stresses of his life. Batman could deal with it; he could handle the
pain of loss, and the dangers of his nightly excursions into Gotham's streets. Then the large Gargoyle
attacked, and the Batman responded in kind.
Batman vaulted out of the way as Goliath lunged forward, avoiding the deadly claws. His hand found a
set of three bat-shaped shuriken in a pouch on his belt, and he twisted in midair, hurling them in a
backhanded throw at his adversary. His aim was true, and the weapons stuck fast in Goliath's left arm,
distributing along the length of the limb from shoulder to wrist. He bellowed in pain, as the paralyzing toxins
in the tips of the edged metal discs were released into his muscles. Frothing in rage now, Goliath shook his
head clear of the pain, and went after the Batman again. The large Gargoyle swung at him, but his movements
were not random or reckless, but the instinctively deadly swipes of a sea seasoned warrior. Batman realized
this, and even as he fought, dodging and blocking, he was intrigued by the practiced ferocity of the creature
before him. His lapse into thought did not slow his reactions, but a moment later he was forced to return his
full attention to the task at hand, as Goliath's attacks increased in speed and ferocity. The Gargoyle fought
with a combination of fist and claw swipes, slashing and punching viciously at his enemy's head and torso.
Batman, by contrast, was a martial artist in the purest sense of the word, combining blinding speed and
agility with tremendous strength and power in his fighting. The two combatants moved with dazzling speed,
locked in their deadly dance. Goliath managed to keep Batman on the defensive, following up each of his
attacks with a quickness and accuracy that made up for the otherwise brawling nature of his fighting style.
So it went. Batman kept just out of reach of Goliath's claws, searching for a way to finish the fight. In the
end, he realized, it would come down to a test of endurance. One of the two combatants would begin to slow,
and it would be the opening that the other needed to finish him. The thoughts that he had experienced upon
first facing the Gargoyle surfaced again.
What would happen if he killed me?
He knew what would happen, though. Dick would hunt down his killer, and he would fight him, too. He
wondered if Nightwing might be able to beat Goliath. While not quite as experienced in the martial arts
(though very nearly as good), he was quicker than Bruce was, more agile and flexible. In his mind, the
Batman made a decision. He would not allow Dick to risk the fate that had befallen Jason. He could not allow
it. Death was always a possibility for any of them, from any foe, but it was Batman faced Goliath now. Not
Nightwing, not Robin. He would win.
And he fought on. Minutes later, Goliath and Batman paused momentarily, each fighter catching his
breath. Goliath could feel the paralyzing serum going to work on his left arm, although it still functioned at
that point. Bruce, meanwhile, felt as if his muscles were going to rip free from the feeble constraints of the
tendons that held them to his bones. He ached everywhere, and his sweat ran in rivers beneath his form-
fitting bodysuit, escaping only through the small, exposed area around his mouth. He could taste it, taste his
own sweat as it mingled with the blood from his now-crooked nose and the tongue that had been caught
between his teeth as he took Goliath's most recent blow. To the east, the sky began to lighten, heralding the
dawn despite the raging storm that kept the city dark as midnight. The storm itself was starting to ease in
intensity, allowing some of the wan pre-dawn light to filter through. As Batman prepared to attack once
again, he heard a voice. It was a woman's voice, and one that he recognized. "Goliath," the voice shouted
over the wind. Elisa climbed up to the top of the fire escape, and onto the roof. Goliath looked at her, totally
confused, but he did not snarl, nor did he assume an attack position. Rather, he straightened, softening his
expression. He still glanced at the Batman suspiciously every few seconds, but the fight was over. Elisa
walked slowly to him, talking softly the whole way. As she reached him, finally, the first rays of morning
crept over the docks, and transformed Goliath instantly from his harried, beleaguered flesh to cold, unfeeling
stone, for yet another day under the sun. The badly shaken Batman looked at Elisa in the wan light of early
dawn in disbelief and respect. She was in better condition than when he had found her, true, but she still
looked very worn out and beaten from her ordeal. They stood there, just looking at each other past the stone
form of Goliath, as the rain reduced to a steady pattering and the sun rose over the city.