Author's Note: See, I have been quite busy with work, extra college courses and just getting life in order, her is a preview to keep you since I haven't updated in a while.
The air shimmered with an ethereal glow, colors blending and swirling in patterns that defied logic.
He stood in a small, rustic home in Anchiano. The scent of fresh earth and the distant murmur of a stream filled the air. A young bright-eyed child, played in the sunlit yard, laughter ringing like a melody.
Batman felt a pang of wistfulness before he snuffed it out.
The scene shifted abruptly.
He was now in Vinci, inside a grand house filled with scholarly texts and intricate artworks. The same child based on the bone structure and these bizare scense, now older, was pouring over a book, eyes alight with curiosity. The transition from modest home to an affluent household was stark, yet he could ... sense the excitement and potential this change brought.
The dreamscape morphed again, this time to a bustling workshop in Florence. The air was thick with the scent of paint and the sound of chisels against marble. The same teenager stood amidst the chaos, focused unyieldingly as he worked on a piece of art. He watched as he painted an angel with such skill and grace that even her master, Verrocchio, looked on in awe.
The pride in his work was palpable.
He saw him dissecting animals to study anatomy, sketches filled with meticulous detail.
He witnessed fascination with mechanical devices, the pages of notebooks teeming with innovative ideas.
But there was more than just work as observed interactions with fellow apprentices, the camaraderie and rivalry that pushed them all to excel. He saw the forming connections with influential figures in Florence, charm and intellect opening doors to new opportunities. The vibrant artistic community was a stark contrast to the isolation had felt in the begining his own mission.
The dream began to distort, colors bleeding into each other, sounds merging into an indistinct hum. Batman felt himself being pulled back, the scene slipping away.
Just as he was about to grasp a deeper, the dream shattered, and he was jolted awake.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of his room. Caster stood over him, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.
"Are you alright, Bruce?" Da Vinci's voice was soft, yet it held an edge of worry.
Batman took a deep breath, grounding himself in the present. The memories of the dream lingered, a poignant reminder of the thin line between passion and obsession. He nodded, pushing himself to sit up.
"I'm fine," he said, his voice steady. "Just... a dream."
Da Vinci's eyes sparkled with a knowing glint. "A dream about me, perhaps?"
Batman managed a faint smirk. "Something like that."
As he regained his composure, his mind shifted to the present. He needed to review the events that had led to his current state. There was no time to dwell on dreams, no matter how enlightening they might be. The mission awaited, and he had to be ready.
As the last remnants of 15th century Italy dissolved into the dim, earthy surroundings of the cave base under Ryuudou Temple from his mind Bruce took a deep breath, grounding himself.
His body felt heavy, but he was not unfamiliar with the sensation of being pushed past its limits. As he began to sit up, he became acutely aware of his state of undress.
"Are you alright, Bruce?" Da Vinci's voice was a blend of curiosity and genuine concern. Her eyes scan his form with a mix of clinical detachment rather than personal interest.
He nodded, wincing slightly as he moved being the only sign of the utter agony he felt. "I'll be fine. Just... Adjusting."
The cave base was a blend of ancient stone and advanced technology, a testament to Da Vinci's genius in melding the old with the new. Batman's gaze flickered around, taking in the various medical instruments and alchemical concoctions that lined in holographic screens. He could feel the lingering effects of potent healing techniques, his advanced metabolism already working in overdrive to repair the damage.
"Your body's in remarkable condition," Da Vinci remarked, her tone almost admiring. "But the way you push yourself is... destructive. You heal quickly, but the strain you put yourself under is concerning."
Batman couldn't help but smirk at the irony. "Coming from someone who dissected cadavers as a teenager to understand anatomy better, that's saying something."
Da Vinci's lips curled into a smile. "Curiosity and dedication to one's craft are different from obsession and self-destruction, Bruce. You walk a fine line."
After a long moment holding his reaction to using his name, he nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. "I've always pushed my limits. It's how I've survived this long."
As he settled back, his mind wandered to the dream he had experienced. The images of Da Vinci's early life, her apprenticeship, and her relentless pursuit of knowledge were vivid in his memory. He marveled at the contrast between her boundless curiosity and his own driven obsession. Both paths led to mastery, but the motivations were worlds apart.
"Dreams have a way of revealing truths we might overlook when we're awake."
... His body, though battered, felt rejuvenated. The healing techniques Da Vinci employed were far more advanced than any conventional medicine he had encountered. His deep meditation helped, but it was her methods that expedited his recovery.
"I've been better," he replied, his voice steady despite the lingering pain. "But I've also been worse."
Batman's gaze shifted to the intricate instruments and concoctions surrounding them. "Your healing methods… they're extraordinary. It usually takes a cocktail of antibiotics, steroids, and quick surgery to fix what I assume are internal injuries like mine."
Da Vinci nodded, her expression thoughtful. "You can credit my curiosity and dedication to the craft for that. I've always been driven by a desire to understand and improve. Your condition, however, is something else entirely. Your body's conditioning is exceptional, but you have subjected yourself to an immense amount of stress."
It was not like he had any options.
Still, it's better not to waste energy.
"You're right," he admitted, a rare concession. "But the mission comes first. There's always another battle, another threat."
Da Vinci finished her work, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. Even the greatest heroes need to rest and heal."
He hasn't seen Clark take a break so that's obviously not true.
Batman sat up, his body protesting but ultimately complying. He met Da Vinci's gaze, a silent understanding passing between them.
Bruce…
Bruce Wayne was used to being called many things — but there was one term he had always found both comforting and uniquely endearing when spoken by a single person: "Master Bruce." Alfred's voice, laced with a mix of respect and paternal affection, was the only context in which it felt right. When Alfred called him "Master," it wasn't about subservience; it was a reminder of the bond they shared. Alfred, ever the surrogate father, used the term to signify Bruce's perpetual status as the boy he had helped raise, the child he had cared for through the darkest times.
But here, in this moment with Da Vinci, there was a different feeling altogether. The relief he felt when she called him "Bruce" instead of "Master" was palpable. He didn't like being called Bruce—it felt too intimate, too familiar—but it was infinitely better than being addressed as "Master" by someone other than Alfred.
His thoughts drifting to the recent battle where he had faced the golden Servant Caster had referred to as Archer. The phantom pain of dodging Gilgamesh's relentless attacks still lingered in his muscles, a visceral reminder of the encounter. Archer's seemingly endless arsenal was certainly a unique form of combat.
No Servant should have had that many weapons, each with its own unique properties and devastating potential according to what was known.
Obviously, it is wrong.
As Da Vinci continued her work, Batman's analytical mind returned to the confrontation. The surveillance systems he had deployed had captured every detail of the fight, allowing him to study the weapons used by Archer. Each weapon was distinct, yet there was no apparent connection between them.
A sword that looked almost like it was made of stone, full of spikes. Another that appeared beautifully crafted, a work of art in itself. A bizarrely shaped scythe and an ancient Chinese halberd. These were just a few among the hundreds that had appeared on the battlefield. It was inconceivable how one man, even a Servant, could possess such an arsenal.
"There's a lot to analyze," he said, meeting her gaze. "The weapons Archer used, their origins, their effects. It doesn't add up. No king should have that many different weapons."
Da Vinci paused, considering his words. "At least, it's pretty much confirmed that the Servant is of the Archer class, as no other Servant class would fight throwing so many projectiles into their opponents, no matter how strange it is that they are mostly swords."
Bruce nodded, his mind racing. Given the way the golden Servant acted, it was not difficult to imagine that he was a king while alive even if he didn't already outright state it. The mention of the name Tokiomi during the battle was another clue worth investigating. The real problem was imagining that a king could have come across so many different weapons.
It was possible to analyze the weapons the Servant had used during the battle thanks to the surveillance systems he had on the scene. Yet, the information he could find on what he saw only added more mystery to the golden Servant. He thought about the practical, ceremonial, and mystical significance of each. Possible legendary weapons that matched the descriptions.
There was no connection between these weapons. Who knew how many different effects and special abilities those weapons had? And then there was the Servant himself... To be able to resist Caster's spell and the orbital strike in sequence... How could he counter all of it?
At this rate, he would have to spend multiple hours trying to understand what he had seen. There had to be something... Something he could find—
His muscles still remembered the fight, the phantom pain of dodging Archer's relentless attacks lingering as a visceral reminder.
The world he operated in was full of anomalies and exceptions—metahumans with secondary abilities, sorcerers who bent the rules of reality. The golden Servant, Archer, was no different. His arsenal defied logic and thus, demanded deeper scrutiny.
His thoughts drifted to the concept of mythological heroes, leaders, and kings. And then thought of them as people. Remove the fact that they were stories and see the source. These figures bore immense psychological and emotional burdens due to their exceptional status and responsibilities. The expectations of their followers, the challenges of leadership, and the personal transformations they underwent all contributed to their heavy mental load.
He thought of the confirmed identity of Iskander, Alexander the Great. This revelation provided a reference point, but the other Servants remained enigmatic. The golden Archer, the female Knight, each carried the weight of their histories, their legacies shaping their actions and decisions in the present.
"At least we know one thing for certain," he said aloud, his voice breaking the silence. "Iskander's identity is confirmed. But the others… we need more information."
He turned his focus back to the golden Archer. The weapons, the demeanor, the sheer power—all pointed to a king of immense influence and wealth. The surveillance footage replayed again, each frame offering new details to dissect. The stone-like sword could be linked to a legend of a weapon forged from the earth itself, while the beautifully crafted sword might belong to a king who valued artistry as much as war. The bizarre scythe and ancient Chinese halberd suggested connections to other cultures and periods, adding layers to the mystery.
Batman's mind raced through the possibilities.
What kind of king could amass such an arsenal?
Magic - magecraft- certainly makes things anachronistic…
His thoughts were interrupted by Da Vinci's humming, her tone a mix of concern and exasperation.
Her face wore a deadpan expression, despite her usual smile.
"Yes, yes, I know," he muttered softly, leaning back in his chair. The fatigue still washed over him, a reminder of the toll his relentless pursuit took on his body and mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a brief respite.
A micro-nap was due…
As he opened his eyes, he saw Da Vinci watching him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
Kotomine Kirei stood silently in the dimly lit room, his tall figure casting a shadow that seemed to merge with the darkness around him. The simple vestments he wore and the golden cross around his neck were stark contrasts to the inner turmoil that raged within him. His mind, ever a maelstrom of conflicting emotions and thoughts, fixated on the recent events of the Fourth Holy Grail War. The appearance of the man in the bat costume capturing and escaping with an Assassin copy was unexpected, to say the least.
Kirei had always known he was different. From a young age, he had recognized the defect within himself—a void where others found joy and purpose. Despite his accomplishments, he had never felt satisfaction. His father, Risei, saw his perceived devotion and piety, but it was a misunderstanding that brought Kirei only shame. The truth was far more sinister. Kirei found himself drawn to negative emotions, to the pain and suffering of others, and he condemned these monstrous inclinations even as he indulged in them.
For over twenty years, Kirei had tried to correct his nature, to find something that could fill the void within him. He had sought solace in religion, in marriage, even in masochistic self-torture, but nothing had brought him the peace he sought. His wife's death had been the final confirmation that he was beyond redemption. He had planned to end his own life, but instead, he had thrown himself into the orders of the Church, hoping that following orders would numb his inclinations. Yet, even in this, he found no true satisfaction.
His confusion only deepened when the Holy Grail chose him as Master.
He, who lacked purpose, ideals, or aspirations, could not fathom why he had been chosen.
The Grail was an almighty wish machine, and someone like him had no reason to need it.
Still, he followed Tokiomi's instructions, staying in the church as a "defeated Master," even as he expected many things during the Holy Grail War.
But he did not expect Batman.
The man in the ... bat costume had captured an Assassin copy and vanished.
He had heard of Batman from his time as an Executor, of course—Gotham's enigmatic protector in terms of actions if not baffling descriptions.
The Dark Knight's presence in the Holy Grail War was an unexpected variable that Kirei felt compelled to understand.
He began to review Batman's publicly known history, compiling a profile of the various events ,Kirei's intrigue and bafflement grew. Batman's encounters with a rogues' gallery of criminals read like a litany of trials faced by a modern-day shonen manga involving a brooding knight in black armor.
From adversaries with names such as "Doctor Death" and "Hugo Strange" to a Dead Apostle (The elusive Monk at that), they were as varied and dangerous as those faced by any hero of myth for a man of modern day. His burning of Carmine Falcone's secret cash stores and the subsequent bounty placed on his head spoke of a man who waged war on crime with relentless fury.
The list of assassins brought in by Falcone's bounty was even more impressive, as even he had heard of them:
Slade Wilson, Floyd Lawton, Malcolm Merlyn.
Batman had faced them all and emerged victorious.
Kirei's fascination with Batman was not merely academic. He saw in Batman a possible path, someone who might share his own way... possibly the enjoyment of punishing evil.
Kirei wondered what could drive a man to such sadistic joy on the path of goodness. He imagined Batman finding suppressed joy in the pain of the criminals he defeated. . Kirei's emotions were a turbulent mix of admiration and envy as he contemplated Batman's motivations. He also harbored a deep curiosity about the underlying darkness that drove him. The possibility that Batman found a twisted satisfaction in his crusade against evil both fascinated and unsettled him. He imagined Batman savoring the fear in his enemies' eyes, the breaking of their spirits, and the suffering he inflicted upon them.
His contemplation was interrupted by the end of the file with only his own thoughts on the events at the dock.
The images from the now-destroyed Assassin Shade revealed Batman's intervention, another result in the loss of dozens of shades. Kirei realized with a pang of irritation that his resources were dwindling for the first time since he participated, and he only had a few shades left at his disposal.
Yet, even in this setback, Kirei found a perverse thrill.
As he stood in his study, surrounded by the evidence of Batman's crusade, Kirei felt a flicker of something he rarely experienced—anticipation. He looked forward to the day he would meet Batman face to face.
Until then.