Damian slunk his way through the shadows up to a high stone wall with savage spikes and wire running along the top. On the other side was a mansion, five stories tall, centuries old and incredibly beautiful. Inside said mansion was his target, some rich American visiting for the weekend.
With practiced movements, he scaled the wall and used his small frame to slip through the spikes, his armored costume protecting him from the razorwire. For a moment, he paused to look around. No sign of dogs, or guards, which made him slightly uneasy.
Not as uneasy as the rest of today had made him, but still. Uneasy.
Quietly he dropped down to the ground and rolled through a shadow to press himself against a decoratively trimmed bush. He couldn't make out in the darkness what it was, but likely some sort of animal. Several shadowy forms just like it dotted the yard all the way up to a rear porch that came off the second floor. Inside the brightly lit mansion, he caught glimpses of guests in elaborate dresses and suits.
Under normal circumstances, he would have spent the day scouting the place, learning the guest list, floor plans, and been here hours ago. That plan had gone out the window as soon as that Raven girl had shown up, thrust herself into his life, and promptly decided she apparently lived with him now. Any chance of salvaging the situation had vanished as soon as she'd added that alien, Blackfire, to the situation.
'How the hell did this happen to me?' he found himself wondering as he skirted the shadows till he reached the mansion's wall. 'Why the hell am I even going along with it?'
Scowling, he tried to avoid admitting why. His life was shit. It had been for the last four years, ever since Slade had killed his family and taken over the League. No one believed in him. His supposed father was dead, his legacy taken by a bunch of adopted brats who refused to acknowledge or accept him for who he was, and who'd tried to throw him in prison for murder. For three years he'd scrambled and hid in various Eastern Block countries, stealing to stay alive.
It was only in the last year that people had been willing to give him a chance to use his skills as an assassin to make ends meet. Even that had gone wrong more often than not. He had the skills, and the drive, but for all that he was an al Ghul. The League had had a code, it had stood for something, and he'd been raised from birth with that code. Simple slaughter went against what he had been raised to believe in, but that was what the people willing to hire a free lance teen wanted. So when he failed to deliver it, well, that just made getting the next job harder, and harder, and harder.
Damian was getting so very, very tired of it all.
So when the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen showed up offering to help him, even though it was dumb as fuck, he agreed. What did he have to lose? Nothing. Not a god damn thing.
Then Blackfire had shown up and stolen his first kiss. An alien had just picked him up and kissed him. He knew boys weren't supposed to care about that sort of thing, but it had just smashed him over the head and refused to let go.
Now he found himself stuck with two women he could best describe as a succubus and a goddess and he had no fucking clue what to do except just hang on.
With smooth, practiced motions he fired a grapple line up at the roof and started climbing the side of the mansion till he reached the third floor. Thankfully, this job wasn't killing a bunch of people, it was just killing one. He could handle killing one person, especially for a half a million dollars. It would get him set up easy, taking him one step closer to finding a way to get the League back.
All he had to do was kill some American prick named Oliver Queen.
Queen didn't look like that hard a target to take down. Americans were soft, plus he was a fat cat billionaire, which made him even softer. On top of that, the man was a bleeding heart, left wing progressive. All those people could do was whine, wave petitions, and scream at people online until they lost their jobs. Hardly a threat to someone raised from birth in the art of combat and death.
Carefully, he disabled the security system and snuck into the man's room. While the party was likely to go for hours, there was the chance that Queen could show up at any moment. The only thing more blatant than the man's politics was his being a 'complete horndog' as the American's put it. Damian could almost respect that. You could judge a man by the strength of his appetites, though you could tell a great man by how well he had mastered them as well. Oliver Queen was a strong man in that regard, but Damian doubted he would ever be a great one.
Once inside, he scanned the room for the best hiding spot. Striking his target while they were asleep in bed would be easiest, but experience had taught him that trying to use the massive canopy over the bed would not be a great choice. Under it could work, but that would leave him with extremely limited mobility if something went wrong. Given his size and age, mobility was what he had going for him more than anything else. The wardrobe was too obvious and probably in use. The place was so old it hadn't been designed with closets, so that was out. Bathroom was too risky.
The sound of approaching voices made him curse silently and he dove under the bed anyways. Producing a small blade, he sliced the fabric and hauled himself up into the box springs just as the bedroom door opened. Slowly, silently, he made sure no fabric hung down, just in case anyone looked under the bed.
"Oliver," a woman's rich, accented voice said with a giggle, "you're so naughty. Where do you think that hand is going?"
"Where ever you want it to, my lady," replied a man's voice, with a light west coast accent. "After all, I aim to please."
The woman's response was muffled by what sounded like some very heavy kissing. There was the sound of rustling fabric as clothes hit the floor. Damain was inexperienced when it came to the actual act, but he knew enough about what went down to blush hard and it took most of this training to keep from shifting and giving himself away.
When the bed shifted as the amorous couple started to lay down on it, he gently lowered himself to the floor. Mostly because he didn't want to get squished, but also because having them bump into him through the mattress, or even notice that the weight of the bed was off, might let them know he was there. Yes, it was a very slight chance, but one he would rather not take.
The kissing had gotten heavier and moved into outright moans, along with other activities he could guess at. Images flashed in his head, taken from movies or late nights when surfing the net had gone wrong, or right depending on one's perspective. Those mixed with what he'd seen that morning and afternoon.
Raven had done her best not to flash him everything, at least not deliberately, but the young woman was desire personified and had zero concept of modesty. Having to explain to her what underwear was had been so mortifying he'd wanted to kill himself. Seeing her try it on, asking how it looked as if it were just any other outfit, had pushed him almost to his limit.
Blackfire, on the other hand, openly flaunted what she had. Her divine form, shaped as if carved from marble by a master artisan trying to capture physical perfection itself, had almost broken him completely. The only saving grace he had was that she didn't need him to explain what counted as underwear and why it was used.
Now, however, those images of them trying on both undergarments and their odd choices of streetwear haunted his mind, mixed with the sounds of desire coming from above him. The memory of Blackfire's potent kiss forced itself into his mind. What would it be like to kiss her again?
Or to do other stuff?
He held his breath, trying to regain control over himself. Above him, Queen paused in whatever he was doing, much to the woman's displeasure. Damian froze.
"You hear something?" Queen asked.
"Yes," the woman pouted. "You, not going down on me."
"Right," Queen said with a chuckle. "Hang on. I just need to grab something from the bathroom."
The woman pouted, protesting something in French, but the bed creaked anyways as Queen got up. Damian held his breath, freezing under the bed. Had he given himself away? If he had, he needed to move now, to strike, and try and salvage the situation. If he hadn't, moving now could blow the entire thing by making him have to kill the woman.
There was the creak of a door and Damian knew he'd blown it, some how, because the bathroom door had been open and that wasn't the sound of a medicine cabinet. With a silent curse, he rolled out from under the bed and came up in a crouch, pulling the short ninjato he wore from his back. As his head came up from the other side of the bed, he spotted Oliver Queen by the wardrobe wearing just a pair of boxers, a drawn bow and arrow in his hands.
"Robin?" Queen asked, confused.
Damain didn't hesitate, with his other hand he pulled out a pair of shuriken and hurled them at Queen, aiming for the bowstring. The man dodged, far more expertly than someone like him should have been able to, and fired. An arrow flew past with blinding speed, barely missing Damain as he threw himself across the bed.
The naked woman in the bed started screaming, but he ignored her. Yes, that would have been the opportune moment to strike her down, but something told Damian that a moment's inattention would cost him. Why, and how, Queen was armed and able to shoot like that, he didn't know. What he did know was that he had to take the man out fast while he still had something of the element of surprise.
Ninjato met bow with a metallic ring as the distance closed between them. Up close, Queen would have the size and strength advantage, but Damain knew it was better to sacrifice those than allow his foe to just keep shooting at him. Still, he found himself pushed back, the older man using the bow like a short staff with absolute mastery.
"You're not Robin," Queen said, their faces inches apart as Damain blocked a savage blow. "You might have done a good job faking his costume, but I've met him."
"Screw Robin," Damian said, twisting his body and blade. He scored a shallow hit on Queen's thigh, but paid for it with a foot to the gut that sent him staggering back. Still, the successful strike distracted Queen enough for Damian's blade to snick through the bow's string.
Queen gave him a look between being pissed off and impressed. Damian wiped his mouth on the back of his green glove and resisted the urge to spit. That would leave behind DNA evidence, more than he already had, anyways.
"Not so tough without your bow, huh, Queen?" Damian said, coiling to strike. "I'll admit, you're not a bad fighter for a bourgeoisie fat cat, but there's no way you can beat me. Give up and I'll make it as painless as I can."
Real, genuine anger flashed across Queen's face at that.
"Why you little shit," Queen snapped. "I'm going to smack the shit out of you for that."
"Bring it, pretty boy," Damian snarled. He launched himself towards Queen at the same time the older man lunged towards him. Bow met blade in a series of rapid blows, but this time Damian was able to hold his own slightly better as Queen's temper overrode his control.
With a savage twist of his blade, Damain sent the other man's weapon flying, deep cuts on his arms. Queen stumbled backwards and fell onto his ass, staring up at the younger man in horror. Blade leveled at Queen's throat, Damian prepared himself to strike.
His only warning was the whistling of incoming arrows and he barely managed to jump back in time to avoid being impaled. Twisting around, Damain found a young man his own age, with close cropped red hair, wearing a red jumpsuit, pointing a bow at him.
"About time you made it, Speedy," Queen said, getting to his knees, then his feet. He turned to Damian. "Alright kid, your turn. Surrender, and I'll try and make this as painless as possible for you."
He was screwed, but he knew he couldn't surrender. Hungarian prisons were no place for young boys, assuming he even made it that far. The client would probably have him killed before he got there. At the same time, there was no way he could take the two men, not pinned between them like this.