Where the man who called himself 'Black Death' had come from, no one could say. But he was a blight upon the land unlike any other, for his one goal in life seemed to be to end as many lives as was humanly possible, with no care for who his targets might be. He'd been around since before Nightwing's return to Gotham, but it took time to build a reputation and he seemed exceptionally talented at evading Batman's thorough patrols.

Nobody knew his face or voice, the only reason anybody knew him by name was because he painted it in the blood of his victims on the ground or on the wall of a nearby building. There was little consistency to his manner of slaying, he seemed equally content to slash the jugular with a knife as he was to choke someone to death and then gut them to get at the blood.

Coming on the scenes of slaughter, Batman and Nightwing were at first shocked, then merely disturbed by their chaotic message of senseless violence. But though they looked quietly upon these scenes and pursued leads in their hunt for Black Death with calm deliberation, it was clear that they felt very different about the man.

For whatever reason, it was plain in Nightwing's eyes that he harbored an immediate, intense and deep loathing for Black Death. Disgusting as the man's habits were, Batman held none of the passionate and unreasoning hatred which so clearly existed inside Nightwing. He was of the sort that regarded his enemies with refined detachment. Then again, Nightwing had always been the more high-strung of the two. The only difference was what purpose he put those energies to.

The ever cheerful and perpetually optimistic Robin was most assuredly dead. In his place was something else, which wasn't entirely a bad thing. Realism had taken over for optimism, and in the place of a cheery demeanor had come an intensely sober and self-contained work ethic.

For though fury flashed in his eyes, Nightwing did not permit his emotions to get the better of him. He did not burst into outraged rhetoric nor did he take his anger out on training dummies. It was quietly contained and controlled, for he had learned mastery of himself and his emotions long before. Emotions out of hand were as lethal as a bullet to the head.

January 30th, 11:00 PM

The first time Batman and Nightwing came across Black Death was almost purely by accident, as he had already slain his victim and was in the process of painting his name grotesquely on the pavement. It was actually the overwhelming smell of blood, brought to them by the wind, that led Batman and Nightwing down from the rooftops and into the alley.

They each took an end, surrounding their foe before even laying eyes on him. As they closed in, they took in the appearance of Black Death for the first time.

He stood a full head taller than Batman, and was easily twice as heavy, all of it in muscle. But he was far from muscle bound. Though powerfully built, there was a litheness to him that suggested he was capable of moving at tremendous speed and with considerable agility.

It was Nightwing whom he noticed first. Looking up from his scrawling, Black Death's small piggish eyes locked onto the interloper, and narrowed with a kind of delighted fury of which only a man whose mind is truly and most irreparably shattered is capable.

Black Death charged at Nightwing like a bull, with startling speed for something so large. As Nightwing deftly leaped out of the way as he'd done a thousand times before with a thousand different enemies, Batman made his presence known from behind. Black Death turned on him and they began to fight in earnest.

While they were thus engaged, Nightwing made his way over to the figure lying prone on the ground. It was a young woman, her fragile skull bashed in by a blunt object, lovely blond hair sticky with blood. She was not alive. Nightwing's interest in her ended there and he turned back towards the battle. He could not afford to spend thought or effort on the dead right now.

It came as a shock to him that Black Death seemed to have the upper hand, having driven Batman to the ground with sheer brute strength. Seeing Batman pinned beneath the monster of a human being, struggling to free himself, lit a fire in Nightwing's soul which burst at once into raging flame.

Nightwing hurled himself bodily at Black Death, leveraging the larger person off Batman. He did not seek to close with Black Death, leaping clear even as his adversary positioned himself for defense. Batman had regained his feet in the space of a heartbeat, and the two Bats now stood shoulder to shoulder, regarding their enemy with an appraising eye.

But Black Death didn't give them time. He charged again, rushing at them like a rabid animal, striking in all directions. Batman leaped to the right as Nightwing dodged left, and both got clear, though Nightwing did so only at cost as one of Black Death's fists struck him in the side and sent him reeling backward into a pile of snow-buried trash. Nightwing rolled with the hit and was gone by the time Black Death reached the location for a follow through kick. Debris flew in all directions as Nightwing regained his feet and pulled out one of his eskrima sticks in the same motion.

He struck with the weapon. Though his aim was true, Black Death had either heard it or sensed the stick whistling towards his head and blocked it with one of his giant forearms. There was an audible crack sound as the stick connected with the arm. Black Death had done more than move to block. With his free hand he had moved to attempt grabbing the stick, but Nightwing was already in the process of retreating almost before he'd made contact.

Black Death growled his frustration and turned his narrowed gaze on Nightwing. He charged with a roar of fury, which was cut short as Batman came down heavily with a kick to his enemy's head. Black Death staggered, a shift which threw Batman to the side. Black Death's momentum carried him on past Nightwing and into a wall. Nightwing dove in to finish him, but it was not to be that easy.

Black Death somehow managed to recover from the devastating blow to the head and whirled, landing a heavy kick in Nightwing's side. Nightwing fell in silence and slid through the snow, gasping in an attempt to regain the air that was lost at the impact. Dazed but not out, Nightwing sprang to his feet, oblivious to the pain in his chest.

Nightwing's mistake was in not rolling to the side, as Black Death did his signature charge. But it was cut short by a bolas wrapping itself around his ankles. He crashed down on his hands and knees with a roar of rage a bare six inches short of his target.

Nightwing shook his head dizzily as Batman fell upon Black Death with intent of restraining the latter. But Black Death bucked like a bronco, flinging Batman skyward. The few seconds it took him allowed Nightwing to recover himself. As Black Death rose staggeringly to his feet, Nightwing flew at him, using both eskrima sticks.

Black Death had only his arms for defense, but that seemed to be quite enough. He gave ground to Nightwing, but that was all. Then, all at once, he'd lashed out with one foot with the intent of knocking his adversary down. Nightwing leaped backward with cat-like reflexes, but Black Death advanced with equal speed, taking his small opponent by the left wrist and yanking him off the ground.

He landed a punch in Nightwing's already bruised side before the latter folded himself almost double and kicked out with both boots, striking Black Death in the forehead and chin. Black Death went reeling, but held fast to his enemy's wrist, unwilling to let go of that advantage.

They crashed down together, Nightwing atop Black Death. His struggles gained a certain frantic note, either because he could feel the strength in his enemy's dire grip or because flashbacks had assaulted him as well. He lashed out even as Black Death began a roll which was not unlike that infamous death roll of a crocodile.

It was then that Batman reentered the fray, landing a square kick at Black Death's elbow, forcing him to release Nightwing, who scrambled at once to his feet and shook himself like a wet dog.

Black Death had apparently had quite enough. He got to his feet and, at the first opportunity, fled. Batman and Nightwing gave enthusiastic chase, but soon lost him.

It was only at this point that Nightwing's injuries made themselves felt. Abruptly he lurched to the side and would have fallen had Batman not caught him and helped him stay upright. He put one of Nightwing's arms around his shoulders and a supporting arm at Nightwing's back. Nightwing made no attempt to pull away, indeed he seemed quite willing to let Batman help him walk.

"I think we should call it a night," Batman said.

"But that bastard got away," Nightwing spat in protest.

"We'll get him next time," Batman assured him "next time we'll know what we're up against,"

January 31st, 12:03 AM

It had taken a long time to get home. Once there, Batman took a look at Nightwing's injury, which proved to be a few broken ribs and appeared little more serious. After tending to the wound, he suggested Nightwing get some sleep.

Once Nightwing was asleep, Batman sat down at the computer and input a description of Black Death and began an internet search for anyone matching the description. Finding their foe's true identity would be their one advantage. He had not said it to Nightwing, but he was genuinely concerned about what their next encounter might bring.

Here was a foe who seemed every bit as fast, as agile and even stronger than Batman and Nightwing, who was more vicious by far than either of them on their worst day. Batman hoped to God that the villain wasn't smarter as well.

Even in the midst of this, he sensed that the rift which had formed between himself and Nightwing had been abruptly sealed in this one night.

It had not escaped his notice that Nightwing had flown immediately to his defense, nor had he failed to realize that they had worked together with the effectiveness which had not been theirs in months. Most of all, he knew that Nightwing had trusted him in the heat of the moment, and had permitted his touch when he might have flinched away or even lashed out.

It was more than Batman could have honestly hoped for. But there was, of course, no celebration conducted by either party. They took the change as a matter of course, and went on with their work in the same quietly determined way that they always had.

Whatever last remnants of fear Nightwing had harbored in his soul fell away that night, and his rage had long ago deserted him, though it seemed almost to have been reborn in the face of this new threat to Gotham which, though no longer his home, was most dear to him.

06:00 AM

Nightwing awoke before dawn, as had been his habit for as long as he could remember. He got up cautiously, for he still felt dully the pain in his side, reminding him at once of the night before.

He shrugged out of his costume and into his normal clothes, which he hadn't worn in some time, then went up and into Wayne Manor, a place he had not been to in almost as long. For during his stay he'd kept to the batcave, though Alfred had more than once attempted to entice him up the stairs with promise of food. He'd taken his meals downstairs as Nightwing.

"Master Dick, you're up early," Was Alfred's one comment on seeing the boy.

As with Bruce and Dick, Alfred was not given to unwonted displays of emotion. But the sorrowful look of apology had not left his eyes since Dick had been back, as though he held himself fully responsible for what had gone on in the house during his forced absence. Of course, neither Bruce nor Dick cast blame on him, and both had tried numerous times to convince him that what had happened was no fault of his own, because it grieved them both to see him unhappy.

"Where's Bruce?," Dick asked.

"He's just gone to bed, I expect," Alfred replied mildly.

Dick nodded, as if this were exactly the answer he'd anticipated. And, indeed, it was.

"Will you be taking breakfast in the house?," Alfred asked.

Dick hesitated to answer, then smiled slightly, realizing that the feeling of alienation had gone at some point, that he once again felt comfortable and welcome in the presence of his family. It was a good feeling.

"Yeah. I think I will, thanks,"

February 4th, 01:12 AM

An unseasonably warm day had preceded the freezing night which was typical for the time of year. It hadn't gotten into full swing just yet, the slushy snow was more wet than hard, and the ground was muddy in places where before no one had even known there was dirt to make mud with.

A mean sleet was falling intermittently, but neither Batman nor Nightwing paid it any mind. They were once more on the trail of the serial killer which was wantonly tearing at their beloved city's very heart. Batman had failed to find out anything about this Black Death, save for the sickening news that this was not the first city the man had haunted.

The two had split up to better cover what had become known as The Hunting Grounds of Black Death. Both were determined to find him and bring him to justice if possible. But they each knew that he had them at a severe disadvantage, and that a second confrontation with the living Goliath could very well be deadly. And, if it came down to his life or theirs, they knew well which choice they would have to make.

Though they did their best not to kill, both had the same feeling about it. If there was no sensible way around it, they would preserve their own life at any cost, provided it did not put innocent people in danger. For that was something they would never willingly do.

They ranged in ever wider circles, beginning at the site of Black Death's first kill and going from there. They did so in a very matter-of-fact way, but inside there raged quietly a building fury seemingly built more out of offense that anyone would do this in their city than anything else. It was a personal insult to them that this man's unacceptable behavior continued unchecked. And so they hunted, as they had hunted in the nights before. But previous night's labors had borne no fruit, and it seemed like tonight would be little different.

Something caught Nightwing's eye from a rooftop and he climbed down for a closer look. A thin pale arm was hanging conspicuously out of a dumpster. Nightwing opened the lid and found the body of a teenage boy, slain in the gruesome but inconsistent manner which was the signature of Black Death. The name of the monster who'd done it was scribbled on the inside of the dumpster lid.

Something felt wrong about this setup. Nightwing dropped the lid and backed away, feeling suddenly trapped. But he had sensed the ambush too late and now Black Death fell upon him from above, using his great bulk to drive his smaller adversary to the ground.

But springing onto Nightwing was akin to landing on a wild cat. He at once set to violent thrashing, striking out in all available directions with as much force as he was capable of. Even as he did so, he was in the process of thinking about what had just happened and how he might best react to it.

Black Death tried to hold onto Nightwing, which was about as easy as hanging onto a fish. A fish with a bad temper. Nightwing put his effort into a jab with his elbow. Black Death was forced back in order to evade the strike, giving Nightwing time to get into a defensive crouch. But he was immediately on Nightwing again, smart enough to realize that only in close quarters could he hope to be Nightwing's superior. Perhaps he knew also that Nightwing would call for aid the moment he got the chance.

He plowed into Nightwing, grabbing him in a crushing bear hug and continued on towards a wall. Nightwing could all too easily imagine that impact, which would surely break most of the bones in his body as he was crushed between Black Death and the wall. Twisting, he broke one arm free and snatched a birdarang from his tool belt. A single swipe of the razor-blade weapon and Black Death dropped Nightwing and went reeling.

He staggered and nearly fell, venting his rage by roaring inarticulately. Nightwing, meantime, lay in a crumpled heap, gasping for air and wheezing at the pain this brought to his ribs which had barely begun to heal from his last such encounter.

He rolled heavily onto his hands and knees and attempted to rise. He failed and keeled over on his side. He used his radio to call for Batman, realizing he was wounded badly enough that he ought to give up the fight. But he was unwilling to let Black Death go so easily, and once again struggled to his feet.

He'd barely gotten upright when Black Death slammed him in the chest with his shoulder and barreled out of the alley, leaving a thick trail of blood in his wake. Nightwing was flung backward against the wall, whereupon he blacked out.

A/N: to the best of my knowledge, there is no such character as 'Black Death'. So far as I know, he is entirely of my own creation.