Issue 5
Nothing But Ruins and Death
Rifle ready, David Cain advances slowly. He's on high alert, listening for further movement within the ruined house ahead. Another footstep. His finger is just barely touching the trigger. There's a clop, clop on the pavers. A shape steps out from around the wall.
A furry, goat-like creature stops directly in front of him, apparently just as surprised to see the assassin as Cain is to see him. There's a moment of hesitation, then Cain lowers his weapon as the goat bounds off amongst the remains of the stone city.
"Relax; it's nothing."
He turns and walks past the others until he gets to Batman, kneeling over the prone form of the giant he calls Bane. He watches for a moment, sees the pale yellow of his skin, and the beads of sweat standing out on his bare arms. Batman has peeled Bane's mask off, and the giant stares unblinkingly up at the sky, completely unable to get up. Cain shakes his head, then holds the muzzle of his rifle over the giant's forehead.
Batman's black-gloved hand shoots up, wrenching the weapon aside by the barrel. The Dark Knight is on his feet instantly, glaring at the master assassin.
"He won't make it."
"No one dies."
Cain laughs, but there's a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Everyone dies, boy. Sooner or later." He looks down at Bane. "Besides, he destroyed you. Brutally. Painfully. Why should you care what happens to him?"
Batman still holds the gun barrel, keeping it pointed at the cobblestone well away from the fallen giant. Bane's head has turned toward them, and he watches the dispute almost without concern, as if they were deciding someone else's fate rather than his own. Or as if he has already accepted the outcome, either way.
The Dark Knight refuses to budge.
Finally, Cain sighs and slings the rifle over his should again. "Well, what's wrong with him?"
"The Santa Prisca government tested an experimental drug on him while he was in prison," Batman explains. "Now he needs a dose every twelve hours."
Cain's brow furrows suddenly. "Green vials?"
"Yes," Batman answers. "Why?"
Unslinging his pack and kneeling quickly, Cain rummages through the bag's contents. The rest of the team has already gathered around, and now watches his search eagerly. After a moment, he produces a medical case, which opens to reveal three syringes of a bright green liquid. The sealed, well-padded case had been enough to protect the contents even during the wild chase.
Batman snatches one out of the case eagerly. Groaning with effort, Bane extends his arm. When Batman holds the syringe up in front of him, he nods. It's Venom, and even the dosage is correct. Batman presses the needle under the skin and empties the syringe with a sigh of relief.
Bane nods again, this time in gratitude. His breathing deepens, and his eyes flutter closed. The Venom will do its work, but it will take time for him to recover.
Batman stands up and the circle parts to let him through. Without a word, he walks toward the wall, climbs a cracked, well-worn flight of stairs, and stands on a crumbling battlement above the gatehouse. Its only mid-afternoon, but what a day it has been.
Robin joins him after a moment, hanging back a couple steps to give the Dark Knight his space. Looking out from atop the battlements, they can see the entire valley. After the frenzied chase and the snarling hellhounds, its amazing how peaceful the scene in front of them is. The goats graze peacefully in the meadow, a few bright-colored birds sing from the random trees. The waterfall's torrent becomes a gently murmuring stream as it flows through the center of the valley. And behind them are the peaceful ruins of a forgotten city.
Batman turns to examine the structures, or what remain of them. The architecture and building techniques don't seem that different from what an archeologist might find at a historic site back on Earth. The walls are made of stacked stone, with the protective wall around the city being almost seven feet thick. The full height of the wall is roughly twenty feet, though it has crumbled in many places. The buildings within the wall are laid out in a rough grid, with cobblestone streets passing between homes, shops, and what look like stables of some kind. The first ward of the city – the one they find themselves in now – consists of three rows of houses and a small cluster of shops arranged around some sort of central square. This square, Batman can see, lies just beyond the two-story building from which the goat emerged.
Somewhat better preserved than the other buildings, this particular structure stands on the corner of two streets. Its front side faces the central square, while the back left corner is in view of the gateway. All four walls of the structure are intact, though the door hangs useless from a single hinge. The roof is gone, but portions of the upstairs floor remain, providing a covering for part of the great room below.
Batman smiles. They still have a few hours until nightfall, but when the darkness does come they'll have somewhere to take shelter. Gesturing for Robin to follow, he steps down from the wall and rejoins the group.
Cain, now joined by Katana, is already exploring the interior of the building. Batman and Robin help Bane to his feet and support his weight as they make their way forward. And, as before, Green Arrow keeps a vigilant watch behind them. Deathstroke decides to investigate the alley on the other side of the building.
His assault rifle is still slung over his shoulder. Within the confines of the city, he opts for the military-issue Beretta pistol he picked up at the red parachute. He keeps the wall to his right as he moves along, to prevent anyone from getting the drop on him from his blind side. The alleyway is relatively narrow, perhaps six feet across. The walls on either side are continuous, with each house butting into the next. As he goes along, the ground starts to slop downward, toward a lower area directly underneath the cliff. He turns a corner, finding himself in a more open space. The alleyway empties into a low courtyard; no, not a courtyard. A graveyard.
A half-dozen mausoleums sit in three rows in front of him. Their stone sides are carved with strange symbols he can't read. Rows of alien hieroglyphs frame bizarre pictograms. He runs a hand over the sides of the first mausoleum. The etchings have been worn by weather and time, but they still tell their story. The people who lived here were humanoid, yet somehow different. Something in their proportions. The pictures seem to depict how each of the eternal residents here met their end, or rather, not just the end, but their whole life stories. Beautiful etchings of harvests, and riding strange four-legged mounts, and raising their families. Some died of old age, others of sickness, or accidents. One was executed for some crime, yet still laid to rest here like the others. It's a graveyard, but also a tapestry, painting a way of life, a family, a civilization.
Deathstroke knows he is a ruthless killer for hire, but he still sees the beauty in the scene, feels the awe of his surroundings. That's when he notices the strange marks on the stone.
Here and there, the stone is damaged, but only the sides facing the alley. Small impact craters, like gunfire, but different somehow. Energy-based weapons, perhaps? Whatever it is, its far newer than the mausoleums themselves. Its as if someone took refuge here from some attacking force. Was this what doomed the city? The damage to the walls and buildings could have easily been caused by bombardment, and yet the ruin feels much older than these pockmarks in the stone.
Standing next to one of the mausoleums, he slides his hand over the damage. The edges of the wound are still jagged, not worn smooth like the etchings. He looks down. Bits of rock and dust lie at his feet. The rains haven't carried them away. The gunfire is weeks old, at most.
Even more cautious now, he follows the path to the back of the graveyard. Signs of the skirmish are more plentiful here. A pile of brass bullet casings, deep brown bloodstains, a two-pronged spearhead broken off between the stonework. Behind the last grave is a withered corpse, humanoid in form, but much too large to be from Earth. Some sort of rifle, the receiver badly charred, lays on the ground in front of him, while a suit and cloak of some strange material hangs on the desiccated skin. Beyond the first body is an older, much smaller one; just a skeleton by now, non-humanoid, with an elongated skull and four arms, and three fingers on each hand. Tatters of green clothing still cling to the ribcage, and a cracked ring – also green – dangles from one of the fingers.
Deathstroke shakes his head. The difference between the age of the remains is odd; the four-armed creature in green was killed months or perhaps even a few years before the other being. A footfall on a loose stone makes him turn suddenly, pistol raised.
Its Batman, silently examining the scene and forming his own conclusions. Deathstroke scowls under his mask. He thinks back to their days training together in the mountains of Nanda Parbat. Bruce Wayne had betrayed their brotherhood. More to the point where Deathstroke was concerned, the Batman had thwarted his mission to destroy Gotham, a failure that had cost him his position as Heir to the Demon, the next Ra's al Ghul.
Batman looks up, meets Deathstroke's gaze for a moment, then simply continues studying the area. Kneeling next to the fallen warriors, he slips the broken ring from the skeletal hand, rubs his thumb over the engraving of a lantern. Once a powerful weapon, the ring is now useless, as is the destroyed rifle of the other fighter.
Returning the ring to its owner, Batman stands and turns to leave. "No one should wander off until we know what we're dealing with."
Deathstroke crosses his arms. "We're dealing with someone who's obviously been killing people who wander in here for a while now."
"Exactly why no one should wander off." With that, the Bat walks back up the slope toward their camp.
Deathstroke shakes his head in frustration and follows behind. Before stepping back into the alley, he turns once to look again at the drawings on the mausoleums. He remembers what Cain said: "Everyone dies, boy. Sooner or later."
Back at camp, Robin carefully removes the magazine from his pistol and starts cleaning the weapon. After the swim earlier, most of the others are eager to do the same. All but the archer, who has already cleaned and reloaded his rifle, and now stands guard from the second floor. His bow and empty quiver are still on his back, but useless without arrows. Deathstroke checks his gear. He has only two magazines left for his rifle, three for his pistol. After what he saw in the graveyard, he's not sure it will be enough. He draws his katana, and wipes the dirty water from the blade.
Letting his own weapons be for now, Cain has built a small fire, and is now warming cans of soup. He watches Robin from the corner of his eye, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the boy struggles to reassemble the SIG. After a moment, Batman sits next to his protégé and deftly shows him how its done.
Cain thinks back to the first time he showed Bruce how to field-strip, clean, and reassemble a weapon. It was a 1911, much simpler than the SIG, but the young fighter had still struggled with it. It was his persistence, however, in practicing the move until his fingers bled that convinced the master to recruit the boy into the League of Assassins. He wonders absently what it was that prompted the Bat to bring not one but two recruits into his own war.
Leaving the others to clean their weapons, Cain steps outside and surveys the street. He looks up to Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow, his most surprising pupil. Queen was much older than the other two when he began his training, and he never expected the spoiled billionaire to take a place beside Deathstroke and the Black Ninja who now called himself Batman. He gives the archer a nod, and walks down the street. What is this city? And how do they get home?
A few minutes later, Batman starts up at a burst of gunfire a few houses away. The entire team leaps to their feet, grabbing their weapons. Even Bane, still sick and flat on his back, fumbles for his pistol. Its then that Batman notices Cain's absence.
"No one was supposed to leave!" he barks, springing out the door.
Another burst from Cain's rifle. Most of the others quickly follow Batman's lead, leaving only Green Arrow, Robin, and Bane behind. As Batman rounds a corner, he hears a roar followed by an agonized scream.
They find Cain moments later; or rather, what's left of him. Flat on the pavement, with a pool of his own blood spreading around his body, lies the master assassin. The action on his rifle is locked open, empty magazine lying next to his dao sword. Its what is missing, however, that inspires horror.
Nothing but a puddle of blood lies above Cain's shoulders. The head is gone, and with it his spinal column. What kind of monster finishes its foe by ripping the head and spine from his body?
Deathstroke snarls in a rage, gripping his katana in both hands. Over his gnashing, Batman almost doesn't hear the bestial clicking from somewhere in the buildings ahead.
It's the sound he first heard in Arkham, then again in the jungle.
He darts forward. "Come on!"
Leaping over the debris in the roadway, Batman races toward the sound. Ahead, heavy footsteps indicate the creature is in retreat. For a moment, he could almost swear he catches a glimpse of an enormous shadow. Just a flickering of the light. Then he turns a corner ahead and finds himself in another courtyard.
He sees nothing, hears nothing.
The others screech to a halt next to him. They watch, and wait, looking for a sign. Nothing but silence. No movement in the fading afternoon light. But finally, a single sound comes to their ears from a distance.
It's the voice of David Cain laughing.