Ah, there it is. That searing, unmistakable pulse of Holy Fire. It crashes into me like a wave, disrupting the familiar infernal rhythm I'd been lounging in. For a brief moment, I wonder if perhaps I'd been daydreaming, lost in the ceaseless boredom that Hell sometimes brings. But no. It's real. The burn, the sharp, divine signature—an angelic signature, no doubt—but... mixed with something darker, something I know far better than anyone else. Hell Fire.

And it's on Earth.

What in the name of Father's increasingly irrelevant plan is happening?

Holy Fire and Hell Fire don't belong on Earth, at least not together. They're like oil and water, like celestial hymns and death metal at the same concert. The only time they mingle is when angels and demons get too close to each other, and last I checked, Heaven's pristine lapdogs kept to themselves. Curious.

More than curious, actually. Intriguing.

I sit up, sliding off the velvet lounge in my castle in Hell, feeling the flames still licking gently at the back of my mind. Not enough to threaten anything, no—but powerful. And dangerous, especially if left unchecked.

I close my eyes, focus for a moment, and the sensation pulls me. Like a thread tugging me toward something once familiar, something I haven't thought about in... well, it's been a long time. Infinity Island. That place. The pit of obsession. The land of Lazarus. A place tainted by the mistakes of one woman—a mortal whose greed I once found entertaining, until it became tiresome.

Rúh al Ghul.

The matriarch of the al Ghul line. I knew her well—better than anyone else ever could. A mortal with ambition like fire, insatiable and all-consuming. I spent time there, long ago, when Rúh's beauty still held my interest, and her hunger for power made her bold enough to play with forces she didn't understand.

She had been special—or at least I thought so for a while. The only mortal I had ever deemed worthy enough to lie with. Most humans were too fleeting, too fragile, but Rúh... Rúh had a mind that fascinated me, a darkness that mirrored my own. She wanted immortality, like all the rest, but more than that—she wanted dominion over death. A fool's errand, truly, but one I indulged for a time. I had no need to resist her charms. Mortals come and go, but Rúh... she was something different. Or so I thought.

Until she wasn't.

I allowed her to taste a sliver of my power, gave her the knowledge she craved, the keys to the Lazarus Pits that became the lifeblood of her line. The Pits themselves weren't mine—at least, technically. Lazarus is a bothersome Duke of Hell that likes playing with humans, especially those interested in giving him human sacrifices. But he was still under my command, so when I commanded him to share part of his powers with the al Ghul line, he obeyed.

As for Rúh? She reveled in it. Worshiped it. The magic twisted her, and she let it. The lust for power consumed her, until she became nothing more than another mortal chasing eternal life. And, predictably, it destroyed her.

But not before she gave birth to Ra's.

I can't help but smirk at the memory. Ra's al Ghul. The Demon's Head. My legacy in human form. He inherited his mother's madness, her obsession with control, with cheating death. He built his empire on that madness, believing himself invincible, just like Rúh had.

And now, this island—this wretched place—is where their line continues. Their blood is still here, coursing through the veins of their descendants, tangled in the same web of darkness and power that consumed Rúh all those centuries ago.

I open my eyes, the flames still dancing at the edge of my perception, tugging me, calling me back to this cursed island. I haven't set foot here since Rúh's fall. Since I watched her spiral into madness, drunk on the power I'd given her, on the Lazarus Pits that promised eternal life but delivered something much darker.

This place reeks of my past. My mistakes. But this fire... this is new.

I step through the veil, the fabric of Hell parting as I walk into the physical world. Infinity Island spreads out before me, just as it did centuries ago. The mountains, the thick forests, the sea crashing against the shores—it hasn't changed. But the air? It crackles with energy. Dark, ancient energy. The island still hums with the magic of the Lazarus Pits, but something else has tainted it. Something I recognize all too well.

I feel it immediately as I arrive. The flames are closer now, the strange mingling of Holy and Hell Fire strong, radiating from somewhere deep within the island. But I don't need to go searching. I can feel the pulse of the al Ghul bloodline, calling out from the heart of this place.

My lips curl into a small smile. How fitting that I should return here, to the place where it all began. Where I sowed the seeds of obsession and immortality that would lead to Ra's, to this bloodline cursed by its own ambition.

Rúh was the one who started this, but I can't help but wonder what has become of her descendants. What has become of Ra's and his legacy? And what is it that calls me back here, to this island that reeks of my past and their failure?

Could it be that Rúh's legacy is still playing out? Is it possible that Ra's descendants are still chasing that same madness? Still clawing at the same power that destroyed their line?

I let out a soft, amused laugh. How ironic.

I take a step forward, the familiar ground of the island crunching beneath my sandals, the memories flooding back with every breath I take. This is where it began—this is where it always begins. Mortals, playing with forces they don't understand, trying to control life and death, when neither were ever theirs to command.

And yet, here I am. Drawn back to the al Ghuls. To my legacy.

Perhaps it's time to see what the bloodline has become.

The flicker of green and blue flames caught my attention, and I felt a slow smirk crawl across my face. Now that is something worth investigating. It wasn't just the Hell Fire or the strange mingling of Holy Fire that made it interesting—it was the fact that it was so... precise. Whoever summoned these flames hadn't let them run wild like most amateurs would. Usually, anyone foolish enough to unleash both Hell Fire and Holy Fire ends up torching everything within a hundred-mile radius, but this? This was contained, focused. The flames were anchored to one spot, their heat intense but restrained, like a beast on a leash, roaring to break free but bound by the will of its summoner.

And yet, there was no control. Not really. It wasn't some master of fire bending the flames to their will. No, this was... raw. Chaotic, but tempered by something deeper. It was as if the flames themselves understood the intention behind them—to burn down one specific building and nothing else.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

With a single thought, I spread my wings and took to the air, the wind whipping through the trees below as I soared toward the origin of the flames. I could feel the heat even from here, pulsing like a heartbeat through the island. And yet, despite the sheer power of it, there was no destruction outside of the targeted area. The forest was untouched, the trees surrounding the blaze were unscorched. Whoever did this had no desire to harm anyone—or anything—else.

I let out a low whistle, more impressed than I cared to admit. No control, yet no collateral damage. Whoever had summoned this was either an idiot savant or someone with a depth of emotion strong enough to guide magic instinctively. Either way, I needed to see this for myself.

As I descended, the flames licked at my skin—Hell Fire, Holy Fire, neither of them dared touch me. They parted like obedient subjects before their king, kissing my skin with familiar warmth but doing nothing more. After all, what's Hell Fire to the one who created it? What's Holy Fire to the Morningstar?

The building itself—if you could still call it that—was being consumed by the flames. The walls groaned, the roof sagged under the heat, and debris was already collapsing inward. But again, nothing spread. No stray sparks ignited the forest around it. Just that building, reduced to a pile of ash and regret.

I touched down lightly in the center of the inferno, my sandals landing on the scorched earth as the flames swirled around me. I didn't need to look to know they bowed to me, dancing at my command, but I ignored them. My focus was elsewhere.

There, in the middle of it all, lying unconscious on his back, was a boy. No older than sixteen, if I had to guess. His clothes were singed, his skin pale and coated in sweat. He clutched his chest even as he lay still, his breath shallow, as if the fire had burned him out from the inside. The flames flared around him, roaring in response to his pain, but they didn't touch him.

Curious.

I stepped closer, the flames parting as I moved, and knelt beside him, tilting my head as I studied his face. His brow was furrowed, even in unconsciousness, his fists still clenched, like he was fighting something even as his body lay still.

I reached out, my fingertips barely brushing his chest where his hand was pressed, and I felt it. A surge of power—dark and light, divine and infernal, twisted together in a way that should've been impossible. It was raw, unrefined, but it was there. And it was coming from him.

I let out a slow breath, a smirk playing on my lips.

Well, well, well. What do we have here? This boy wasn't just anyone. He wasn't some random mortal who'd stumbled into the fire. No. There was something more. Something deeper.

I could feel it in his blood.

This boy was mine.

Not directly, of course—no, it had been centuries since I'd last laid with Rúh al Ghul, the matriarch of this cursed bloodline. But still, there it was. The spark. The same spark I'd seen in her, all those centuries ago, when she was more than just another mortal clinging to the idea of immortality.

He was my great-grandson.

I tilted my head, intrigued, watching him closely. I'd long since stopped paying attention to my human progeny. They were a disappointment, all of them. Obsessed with the Lazarus Pits, with life after death, with their pathetic schemes to rule over a world that was never meant to be theirs. Rúh's descendants were no different. Ra's, in particular, had been amusing for a time, but ultimately, he too fell victim to the same greed, the same hunger for control that had consumed his mother.

I had walked away from them. Let them rot in their madness.

But this boy... this one.

He had the fire. The real fire. And it was clear, even in his unconscious state, that he had no idea what he was capable of. No control, no understanding. Just raw emotion, burning through him, fueling the inferno that now surrounded us both.

How amusing that this gem had been born between the coals of Rúh's and Ra's line. I had thought their bloodline to be nothing more than a legacy of failed ambition, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps, out of all the mistakes they made, this boy was something different.

He was unconscious now, unaware of my presence, unaware of the fire he'd conjured. But soon enough, he would wake. And when he did, he would have questions. Questions about the power inside him, about the flames that responded to his every emotion.

And I?

I have the answers.

For now, I let the flames burn. They were doing their job—consuming the past, wiping away the remnants of this broken place. And the boy? He would be fine. He had the fire of the Morningstar in his veins, after all. He would survive.

But when he woke... well, that would be when the real fun began.

As I waited, the fire flickering softly around us like a storm waiting to be unleashed, I let my curiosity get the better of me. It had been centuries since I'd bothered to trace my human bloodline, and yet here was this boy—my great-grandson—with power I thought had long since faded from the line.

The question was, why him?

Why now?

Rúh and Ra's both burned through their lives chasing immortality, control. Neither had possessed the spark of true power, only the obsession with clinging to what little they had. So, what made this boy different? What had awakened the flames within him that his ancestors had failed to grasp?

There was only one way to find out.

I placed a hand on his unconscious head, feeling the faint pulse of power still radiating through him. His mind was a maze, but I had no trouble navigating it. I slipped in with ease, delving deep into the layers of his thoughts, his memories, his soul.

Let's see what you're hiding, little one.

His life flashed before me in pieces, fragmented but vivid, like I was flipping through pages of a book written in blood and sorrow. I saw his childhood, the brutality of it, being raised—or more accurately, forged—by the League of Assassins. The training, the discipline, the lessons beaten into him by his mother and grandfather. The way they tried to mold him into the perfect weapon, to strip away his kindness until there was nothing left but a blade in their hand.

But then... Gotham.

Ah, yes. The moment he was dropped into his father's world. Bruce Wayne—the ever-brooding knight of shadows, believing that righteousness could be clean, that justice meant no killing. I saw how Damian bristled against that world, how he railed against Bruce's rules, against the idea of holding back. The contrast between his father's code and the violence he'd been raised in was jarring. To be told to spare your enemies, to show mercy, when all you'd known was the cold efficiency of death? That must've felt like living in a cage.

I watched him clash with his family. Drake, Brown, Cain—the lot of them. Always testing boundaries, always pushing back. But then... Grayson.

I felt something shift in Damian's memories when Richard Grayson entered the picture. Ah, yes. The first Robin. The golden boy. The one who embraced kindness not as weakness but as strength. I watched as Damian's rough edges started to smooth out, not by force, but by example. Grayson wasn't like the others. He didn't try to beat the softness into Damian, didn't force him to see the world Bruce's way. He showed him. He taught him. And slowly—so painfully slowly—Damian began to learn. He began to understand that kindness wasn't a weakness, it was something you could choose. Something you could become.

I snickered as I watched this evolution. So... the boy had a heart after all. Ra's had tried to beat it out of him, but he couldn't kill what was always meant to live. And Richard Grayson had helped Damian rediscover that heart. The kindness that had always been buried deep inside, that stubborn streak of humanity that refused to die.

How... amusing.

And then came the guilt. Oh, how it swelled inside him, threatening to tear him apart but never quite managing it. The death of his family. The fall of Gotham. The destruction wrought by Darkseid. Every loss twisted the knife deeper into his chest, and I could feel the weight of it all—crushing, unrelenting. The things he never got to say. The apologies he never made. The gratitude left unspoken. Alfred, who had been more of a grandfather to him than anyone else, and Damian never saw it until it was too late. Drake, whom he'd fought with, hurt in ways that still gnawed at him. Todd, who had protected him once, a brother in all but blood. And Grayson—Richard—the only one Damian had truly let in, the one who had taught him how to be more than just a weapon. The one Damian never got to call "brother" before it was all ripped away.

And yet... Damian didn't break.

No. Instead, he forged something new. Out of the ashes of his life, he created safe havens. Sanctuaries for the weak and the broken in this apocalyptic world. He turned his guilt into action, his pain into a mission. To protect. To save those who could still be saved.

There it was. That stubborn resilience. That spark of kindness, tempered by grief but not destroyed by it. I saw it clearly now—why the fire had woken up in him and not the others. It wasn't his lineage alone that brought it to life. It was this... will. This refusal to let the darkness consume him, even when he had every reason to let it.

I pulled back from his mind, blinking in the bright light of the flames still swirling around us. Well now, this was unexpected. A tenacious boy, this one. Stubborn. Brave, to the point of foolish even. He had the blood of the Morningstar running through his veins, and perhaps, just perhaps, he was worthy of it after all.

Just then, the boy's body shifted, his fingers twitching slightly against the scorched earth. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they were unfocused, lost in the haze of whatever pain or exhaustion still clung to him.

But when they finally locked onto me—one eye burning blue, the other a vibrant green—I saw the fire. The flames flickering in his inhumanly glowing orbs. I saw the power that had lain dormant in him for so long.

And then, with all the snark of someone raised in Gotham and the League, he stumbled back, his body tense, glaring up at me with fury and confusion.

"Who the hell are you?" he spat, his voice low, dangerous, the fire flickering in response to his anger.

Ah, there it is. That lovely Wayne family temper.

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

I smiled—just a small, knowing smile. "Hell, Heaven... take your pick, darling. I've been to both."

Damian's eyes narrowed, the fire around him flickering dangerously. He was on edge, teetering between control and losing himself to the flames. And that's what made this so... delicious.

"You're Lucifer," he said, his voice low, like he was trying to piece everything together. The boy was smart, I'll give him that. But smartness doesn't always save you from the truth.

"I see my reputation precedes me," I said, spreading my arms wide in a theatrical gesture. "How flattering."

"What do you want?" Damian growled, standing now, though the fire still burned around him, swirling like it was ready to pounce at any moment. His anger was feeding it, but there was something else there too—his grief. His loss. It all poured into the fire, and the flames grew higher because of it.

"I could ask you the same question," I replied, stepping closer, my gaze flicking to the blue and green flames dancing around us. "I'm curious, really. You're summoning both Hell Fire and Holy Fire, yet you don't seem to know what you're doing. That's dangerous, boy."

He flinched at that, just for a second, but I saw it. A crack in that tough exterior he liked to project. A crack I could exploit, if I wanted to. Not that I needed to. The boy was already on the edge of falling apart, and he didn't even realize it.

"I'm not doing this," Damian said, his voice tight with frustration, but the fire around him flared, betraying him. "It's just... happening."

"Of course it is," I said, letting a small smile tug at my lips. "You're an al Ghul, after all. Destruction tends to run in the family."

That got a reaction. His eyes blazed, the fire around him flaring even higher, and for a brief moment, I thought he might lash out at me. It would have been amusing, honestly, but I didn't think he was quite that stupid.

"I'm not like them," he snapped, his fists shaking as the flames curled tighter around him. "I'm not like Ra's. Or Talia."

"No?" I raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, close enough to feel the heat of the fire on my skin. "Then what's all this, hm?" I gestured to the inferno surrounding us, the fire that was growing more and more unstable with every passing second. "Because from where I'm standing, boy, it looks an awful lot like you're burning everything down. Just like they did."

His face twisted, the anger warring with something deeper, something I couldn't quite place. But I saw the pain there, the grief, the guilt. Oh, yes. I could work with this.

"I'm not... I don't..." His voice faltered, and for a moment, he looked lost. The fire sputtered, flickering like it was losing its strength.

"Don't lie to yourself, child," I said softly, my tone gentle now, almost coaxing. "You're not just a Wayne. You're not just Batman's son. You're an al Ghul. And that fire inside you? That's their legacy."

He glared at me, but I could see the uncertainty in his eyes. He didn't know what to make of me—didn't know if I was a threat or something worse.

"I didn't ask for any of this," Damian said, his voice tight, barely holding together. "I didn't ask to be like them."

"No one asks for the cards they're dealt," I replied, my smile fading as I stepped even closer, my gaze never leaving his. "But you have to play them. And right now, boy, you're playing with fire."

The flames around us surged again, burning hotter, wilder, but I didn't flinch. This boy, this child of light and darkness—he was on the edge of something far bigger than he understood.

"Why do you even care? Who am I to you?" He demanded to know, the words practically spit out, the fire around him flaring up with his anger.

I smiled, hands casually resting at my sides. "Well, since you asked so nicely, let me introduce myself fully. I'm Lucifer Morningstar. King of Hell. The Lightbringer. The one who turned Heaven into a melodramatic train wreck, but you probably care more about the fact that I am the one who sired Ra's al Ghul."

Damian blinked. For a split second, the fire around him flickered, as if even it needed a moment to process what I'd just said. Then the boy's face twisted in confusion, like his brain was trying to catch up with this little tidbit of family trivia. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, as if trying to find the right words.

And then he laughed. Laughed.

A sharp, almost manic burst of laughter, the kind that didn't sound entirely sane, but after everything he'd been through, I couldn't exactly blame him. The sound echoed through the flames, cutting through the tension like a blade. Damian doubled over slightly, clutching his stomach as the laughter overtook him.

"Of course," he gasped between breaths, "Of course Ra's al Ghul would be the fucking Antichrist. I swear, I should've seen that coming. Just my luck."

I crossed my arms, my smile widening in amusement as I watched him lose himself in the absurdity of it all. This wasn't the reaction I'd been expecting, but I had to admit—it was refreshing. Most people would be terrified, or at least a little unnerved, to learn they were descended from the Lucifer, but Damian? Damian sounded like he was more than a little done with all of it.

"Feel better?" I asked, arching a brow as he finally managed to catch his breath, still grinning like he'd just heard the punchline to the world's darkest joke.

Damian wiped a tear from his eye, shaking his head. "You have no idea. At this point, nothing surprises me anymore."

"Glad I could add to the family drama," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "But as entertaining as that little moment was, you might want to pay attention. This is important."

He straightened up, the smile fading from his face as he crossed his arms, watching me with that sharp, scrutinizing gaze. Smart kid. "Go on, then."

I stepped closer, feeling the flames swirling around us as I spoke, their heat comforting in a way that only Hell Fire could be. "My angelic blood runs through your veins, child. You, unlike your mother or your grandfather, have something neither of them could grasp. That's why you can summon Holy Fire—and Hell Fire."

He frowned, the confusion returning to his eyes. "Holy and Hell Fire? What the hell does that even mean?"

"Glad you asked." I flashed a grin, already enjoying myself. "Let's start with Hell Fire, since that seems a bit more... up your alley."

I raised a hand, and with a flick of my wrist, a small orb of green, crackling fire appeared, dancing above my palm. Damian's eyes followed the flame, his brow furrowing as he watched it twist and flicker, a deep, primal energy radiating from it.

"Hell Fire," I began, "is the power to manipulate the demonic flames of Hell. It's not just your run-of-the-mill fire. This stuff? It doesn't just burn flesh. It goes after the soul. When Hell Fire touches something, it targets the very essence of a person. It can bypass physical durability, disintegrate anything it comes in contact with, and because it attacks the spirit, injuries caused by Hell Fire either don't heal or heal very slowly. In short, a well-placed blow with this stuff could kill someone who's otherwise nearly impossible to take down. Even those with accelerated healing or magical protection aren't safe."

The orb of Hell Fire shifted, forming into a sharp, flickering blade before dissolving into nothing as I closed my hand.

Damian's frown deepened, but there was a spark of understanding behind his eyes. He was piecing it together, even if he wasn't quite there yet. "So, what? I can burn people's souls now?"

"Not quite just that," I corrected, wagging a finger at him. "There's more. Hell Fire can also bypass invulnerable targets—so, let's say you come up against someone with impenetrable skin or magical armor. This stuff burns through it, goes after the part of them that no physical protection can shield. It's... quite handy in the right hands."

I let that hang in the air for a moment, watching as he processed it. I could see the gears turning in his head, but before he could ask another question, I continued.

"Now, as for Holy Fire..."

I waved a hand again, and this time, a bright, blue flame flickered to life above my palm. It was softer, almost beautiful in the way it danced, but Damian instinctively took a step back, his eyes narrowing at the sight of it.

"Holy Fire is a little different," I said, watching him closely. "It's the power to manipulate the purifying aspect of flame. While Hell Fire burns the soul, Holy Fire is... cleansing. It's especially effective against demons, evil beings, and even angels, if you know what you're doing. It can trap or immobilize them, rather than just kill them outright. It's Heaven's answer to Hell Fire, and in the wrong—or right—hands, it's just as dangerous."

Damian stared at the flames, his expression unreadable. I could see the conflict in his eyes, though—he was trying to reconcile this new information with everything he'd been taught, everything he believed. It was like handing a kid the keys to a bomb and watching them realize what kind of power they were holding.

"In short," I finished, closing my hand and snuffing out the Holy Fire, "Hell Fire disintegrates anything it touches. Holy Fire purifies. You, child, are capable of wielding both. A rare combination, I might add."

He stood there, silent for a moment, his gaze still locked on the place where the flames had just been. I could see the confusion warring with curiosity, the shock battling against his instinct to figure this out.

"And this..." He gestured to the flames still burning around us. "This is because of your blood? Because of you?"

"Exactly." I flashed another smile. "You're a special case, boy. Most of your ancestors—Ra's included—didn't have the capacity to handle one, much less both. The Lazarus Water in your veins? It complicates things, but it also makes you uniquely powerful. You can summon the destructive power of Hell and the purifying flame of Heaven. Lucky you."

Damian stared at me, his expression unreadable, the fire still crackling around us, but his silence told me everything I needed to know.

He was trying to make sense of this, to understand what it meant for him—for his future.

"Any more questions, or are you ready to accept that you're far more interesting than your dear old grandfather ever was?"

Damian's eyes widened, his expression a mix of disbelief and something close to fear. Not that I blamed him. It's not every day you find out you've got the power of Heaven and Hell at your fingertips, capable of burning through souls and purifying demons. Most mortals would be on their knees by now, begging for an explanation. But this kid? No. He stood there, rigid and tense, like he was one step away from either exploding into a fit of rage or collapsing under the weight of it all.

"Why me? Why not the rest of my family?" His voice wavered slightly, but he masked it quickly, his fists clenching. "You say I am special, but you do not explain why."

Ah, and there it was. The confusion. The need for answers. Well, I could give him that.

"Why you?" I echoed, tilting my head with a casual smirk. "Well, I had the pleasure of taking a little dive into your memories—"

Damian's face twisted in anger before I even finished the sentence. "You what?" His voice was sharp, venomous, and his eyes blazed, flames flickering in response to his fury. "You were in my mind?"

I waved my hand dismissively, not bothering to entertain his dramatics. "Oh, don't get all righteous about it. You weren't exactly in a position to stop me, now, were you? Besides, you've got far bigger problems than me poking around your head."

The flames around us crackled as if agreeing with me, their colors shifting between that familiar Hellish green and the radiant Holy blue. Damian's glare deepened, but he didn't interrupt this time. Smart boy. He knew I was about to give him something important, even if it pissed him off to hear it.

"After you died—" I continued, watching him tense at the mention, "and yes, I know about your little brush with death, courtesy of Heretic—when you were brought back using a shard of chaos... well, let's just say your system got a bit of a kickstart."

Damian's eyes narrowed, the anger giving way to confusion again. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"You've got three different forces at play inside you, child," I explained, stepping closer and gesturing to him with a flick of my hand. "Chaos from the shard, angelic blood from yours truly, and the demonic influence of Hell. All fighting for dominance. And now? They've awakened the Hell Fire and Holy Fire within you."

For a moment, Damian just stood there, processing, his face tight with concentration. His hand went to his chest again, right over his heart, and I could see it—the doubt, the fear creeping in.

"So... what?" he muttered, more to himself than to me. "That's why I feel this... pain? The fire—it's inside me, fighting each other?"

I nodded, crossing my arms as I studied him. "Bingo. Hell Fire and Holy Fire aren't exactly meant to coexist inside a mortal host. It's like throwing two hungry wolves into a cage—they'll keep fighting until there's nothing left but blood and bones. They'll tear you apart eventually, one way or the other. You're a walking contradiction, boy. Heaven and Hell can't share space, not for long."

His face went blank for a moment, just a brief flicker, like he was absorbing the enormity of what I was saying. Then, without warning, Damian burst out laughing. Again. It wasn't the kind of laughter that you hear when someone finds something funny. No, this was different. This was hysterical. The kind of laughter that comes when you're so close to breaking, the only thing left to do is laugh at the absurdity of it all. It echoed around us, bouncing off the flames, sharp and hollow.

Of course.

Of course this would happen to him. Of course, the powers of Heaven and Hell would decide to rip him apart after he gained them.

"This is... perfect," Damian gasped between fits of laughter, shaking his head as the flames flared around him in wild, chaotic bursts. His whole body trembled with it, but there was no joy in the sound. No humor. Just bitterness. Resignation. "I finally get some kind of power, something that might actually help, and this is what I get? It's going to kill me? That's just... that's perfect. That's so... on brand for my disaster of a life."

He kept laughing, even as he clutched his chest, even as his breath hitched like he was close to choking on it. And I just stood there, watching, arms crossed, with an amused but knowing smile on my lips.

"Ah, don't be so dramatic," I said, my voice light, almost teasing. "You're not dead yet. Though, I have to admit, you've got a point. You've certainly got a flair for the tragic."

Damian's laughter cut off suddenly, his eyes snapping back to mine, still burning with that furious blue and green fire. "What's the point, then?" he demanded, his voice tight with frustration. "What's the point of having this power if it's just going to destroy me?!"

Ah, there it was. The question. The fear hidden beneath the bravado. It was then that I finally snapped, fed up with his meltdown, with his pity party. With his humanity.

"Did you expect anything else from your pathetic species?" I sneered, letting my voice curl into something sharp and dangerous.

I let out a cruel, mocking laugh that echoed through the inferno, watching as Damian flinched, the flicker of discomfort in his eyes undeniable. Good. He needed to remember who he was dealing with.

"I always knew your species would destroy itself—by your own hands or by something more powerful. It's all inevitable, you know." I could feel the fire burn hotter with my anger, as if even the flames were feeding off my disgust. "I told Father that you were weak. Unfinished. A mistake, at best. But did anyone listen? No! No one listened, not even when I told them the truth."

My beautiful visage twisted, warped, and I let the darkness in me surge to the surface. My skin flamed, turning monstrous—red and molten, as if I'd been scorched by the fires of Hell itself. My eyes flared with fire, fiery-red and merciless, my gold teeth gleaming like a predator's maw as I leaned closer to him. Burned and scarred—that's what I looked like now, like the truth of me, and Damian's disciplined stance faltered for a moment. His eyes widened, just a fraction, but I saw it.

I pressed on. "They cast me out for speaking the truth... but no matter." I straightened, my face melting back to its usual, perfect self, smirking as I watched the boy. "Let's play a game, shall we?"

Damian's body language stiffened again, but I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. The boy wasn't stupid. He knew there'd be a catch, but he was too proud to walk away. That Wayne pride, mixed with al Ghul arrogance. The perfect cocktail.

I let the smirk stretch wider, sharp as a blade. "If you catch me in a lie, you win. I'll help you keep those flames at bay. But if you fail, you'll come with me. To Hell. The land of no hope. For all eternity."

Damian's eyes narrowed. I could practically feel him calculating, trying to gauge how serious I was. As if I'd joke about something so trivial. His lips tightened, and he studied me like he was trying to see beyond the game, beyond the manipulation. But then... there was something else in his eyes—pity.

Pity? For me?

It was almost enough to make me rip out the ground beneath him. The idea that this child—this mortal—could look at me and see something worth pitying was infuriating, but also... fascinating. I watched him, waiting for the inevitable moment when he'd break. When he'd balk at the stakes. But instead, he straightened, and his expression softened, like he'd already made his choice.

"We do," he said simply.

That answer surprised me, even as my eyes flashed with the power of the deal being struck. I felt the magic ripple between us, binding us both to the terms. I raised a brow, my amusement growing as I spoke. "Just to warn you, I loathe lies. I know—the Devil hates lying, what a shock! But you see—"

"That's fine," Damian interrupted me, his voice calm, almost soft. "Because you've already lied."

I froze mid-sentence, my smirk faltering for the first time in... centuries. What did he just say? He dared to interrupt me? My eyes narrowed, ready to burn him to ashes with a word. But he wasn't afraid. No, he was standing there, looking me dead in the eye, with that quiet, infuriating certainty.

"You said I lied?" I snapped, my voice rising with irritation. "I never lie."

"But you did," Damian replied evenly, his expression unreadable. "You called Hell the land of no hope."

I laughed. A cruel, mocking laugh. "That's your guess? Then you've already—"

"Lost?" Damian cut in again, his voice unwavering as he locked eyes with me. "I never had anything growing up. Nothing that mattered for survival. All I had was hope. It wasn't something I learned; it was something I had to have to keep breathing."

He spoke so quietly, with a confidence that made my blood simmer, but there was something more. Something... unnerving. He wasn't afraid anymore. He was seeing something in me that I hadn't intended to show.

"I'm not here to listen to your pity party!" I snapped, letting my anger break through. "I don't care about your story! Your story doesn't matter! Why are you even telling me this?"

Damian barely flinched. "Because I grew up with nothing but hope, even if I didn't want to admit it," he continued. "Hope is cruel. It takes and takes, and it's never satisfied. It doesn't give anything back until your dream, your wish, your struggle becomes real. That's what I learned growing up in the League of Assassins. Hope was the only thing that kept me alive."

Lucifer's eyes burned hotter, but Damian didn't stop. He stepped closer, like he wasn't standing before the King of Hell. Like we were equals. "You see, when you take everything from humans—when you leave them with nothing, not even death to comfort them—all that's left is hope."

I blinked. Hope? In Hell?

"Hell," Damian said, spreading his arms wide with a sardonic smile, "is nothing but a place where people hope. They can't die. They can't escape. They can't reach Heaven. So, what do they do? They hope. They hope for release, for redemption, for anything other than the suffering they're trapped in."

I stared at him, speechless for the first time in... I don't even know how long. His words twisted around me, unsettling me in a way I hadn't anticipated.

"When did your lies get so good that even you started believing them, great-grandparent?" Damian asked softly. His tone wasn't mocking, wasn't cruel. It was... gentle. Just like his brother, Grayson, the boy who'd taught Damian kindness.

For a moment, I tried to snap back, to retake control of the conversation. But the words wouldn't come. They lodged in my throat, stuck under the weight of what he'd said. What he'd shown me.

"Great-grandparent," Damian continued, tilting his head slightly, his eyes full of a strange sort of understanding, "who do you think brought hope to humanity? Who gave them the will to look beyond what they were told?"

I knew where this was going. I should've stopped it. But I couldn't.

"You did," Damian said quietly, his gaze locking with mine. "You were the one who dared to hope for more, even when it cost you everything. You've spent so long believing you were cast down because you were wrong, because you were evil. But the truth is, you were cast down because you hoped. You saw that things could be different. And that's why Hell is full of hope, because you brought it here."

Hope in Hell? I chuckled, shaking my head at the absurdity of it. "Hope thrives in my kingdom, does it?"

Damian nodded, his expression serious, but there was a faint smile on his lips. "Hope doesn't belong in a world of rainbows and roses. It thrives in the darkest places, where there's nothing else left. That's what Hell is—the perfect place for hope."

I couldn't help but laugh. A real, honest laugh, the first in... longer than I cared to remember. "Well, if anyone were to win against me, it would be someone with my blood."

Damian smiled back at me, a glimmer of understanding passing between us. "Indeed, great-grandparent."

For the first time, I saw him not as a mortal boy, not even as a great-grandson—he was something more. And in that moment, I realized that maybe, just maybe, this boy understood more about the nature of hope, of Hell, than I ever had.

"Well played, Damian," I said softly. "Well played."

"You asked what the point is, right?" I echoed, my tone softening just slightly. "The point is, Damian, that you're walking a fine line between two worlds—Heaven and Hell. And while that may be ripping you apart from the inside, it also makes you uniquely powerful. You can burn away souls, purify the darkest of beings, and wield flames that no one else can touch. You're more than just a Wayne. You're more than just an al Ghul. You're something else entirely."

He stared at me, the fire still flickering dangerously in his eyes, but the laughter was gone now, replaced with something darker. Something more determined.

"So, what?" he asked, his voice low, controlled. "I'm just supposed to burn until there's nothing left? That's my fate?"

I tilted my head, smiling faintly. "Not necessarily. Fate is flexible, Damian. You've got a choice in this. You can let the fire consume you, or... you can learn to control it. To master it. To find a way to make your flames coexist."

His eyes flashed, the fire around him pulsing in response to the storm brewing inside him. He was angry, yes. Confused. Scared, even. But I could see it, buried deep beneath all of that—a spark of something else. Something he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge yet.

Hope.

"Well then," he muttered, his voice low, dangerous. "I guess I'd better learn fast."

I smiled again, a slow, satisfied smile.

"Now you're starting to sound like a Morningstar."

I watched him, my great-grandson, standing there with the weight of all our twisted history on his shoulders. The fires around us—blue and green, Hell and Heaven intertwined—still flickered, but they were quiet now, as if Damian's realization, his words, had momentarily calmed the chaos. He'd won our little game, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something like peace in his eyes.

But this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

With a lazy wave of my hand, I summoned the flames back, drawing them from the air, watching as they twisted and swirled like serpents before rushing toward Damian's chest. His eyes widened in shock, the brief flicker of peace replaced by sudden panic as the wild inferno was pulled into him. The fire slammed into his chest, knocking him off balance. He stumbled backward, gasping, clutching at his chest like the flames were burning him from the inside out.

But the pain receded, slowly, and the flames, though still there, were contained. For now.

"There," I said with a smirk, watching him catch his breath. "That should help... temporarily. Let never be said that I do not end of the deals."

Damian glared at me, still panting as he straightened up, his hand still pressed to his chest. "What the hell did you just do?" His voice was tight, controlled, but I could see the edge of fear behind his eyes. He wasn't used to feeling this vulnerable—especially not in front of someone like me.

I grinned, relishing his discomfort just a little. "I put a seal on your powers, Damian. The Hell Fire and Holy Fire are still inside you, but they're... contained, let's say. You can still summon them, but not to their full strength. Consider it a lid on the wild inferno brewing inside you." I stepped closer, letting my voice drop to a lower, more dangerous tone. "Without it, you'll tear yourself apart. This seal? It's a band-aid. Temporary. It'll slow down the inevitable, but you're still going to have to figure out a way to stop the flames from destroying you."

He took a breath, the weight of my words sinking in, but his expression stayed hard. Defiant.

I raised an eyebrow amused. My great-grandson was already calculating. Already looking for a solution, even as his chest still burned with the remnants of the fire I'd sealed.

"I suppose I should thank you for not letting me explode," he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he glanced away, still trying to recover from the shock of having a literal inferno trapped inside him.

I chuckled softly, amused by his tone. "You're welcome."

Damian looked back at me, his eyes narrowing. "But if this is just a band-aid, what do I do now? You've been... helpful, but I'm not exactly trusting you to be my personal guide through all this."

I smiled again, a slow, dangerous smile. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. You're smart, Damian. You'll figure it out. But don't get too comfortable. The flames are still there, and eventually, they'll find a way out, seal or no seal. You've got a clock ticking down, boy, and I'm curious to see what you do with it."

I could see the weight of my words hit him, but he didn't flinch. Not this time. The fear, the uncertainty—it was still there, but buried deeper now. Hidden behind that steely determination that I admired so much.

I turned, spreading my wings in one fluid motion, feeling the familiar rush of power as I prepared to leave. But before I took off, I glanced over my shoulder, locking eyes with him one last time.

"Oh, and Damian?" I called out, my voice teasing, wicked. "Come pay me a visit in Hell one of these days. I'm sure we'll have plenty to talk about."

Damian stared back at me, his jaw clenched tight, but I could see the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, his voice cold but steady.

I grinned wider, satisfied. "I'll be waiting."

And with that, I launched myself into the sky, laughing.

Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. My great-grandson. A boy caught between light and darkness, fire and blood, hope and despair. He was something special, something unexpected.

And I had no doubt that he'd come to visit me soon enough.

He was too interesting not to.

From my perch in the clouds, I watched it all unfold below. The island stretched out beneath me, the remnants of blue and green flames still clinging to the air around Damian. He stood there, his chest still rising and falling heavily, his hand instinctively over his heart where I'd sealed the wild inferno inside him. It amused me how quickly he regained his composure, even with the knowledge of what was now inside him, ticking like a time bomb.

Resilient boy.

I could feel the flicker of his emotions, see the stubborn determination that filled his eyes as his lieutenants, Suri and Omar, rushed toward him from the treeline. Their concern was almost laughable, but it was... touching, in its own way. Mortals always seemed so fragile, yet they clung to their bonds like they were the only things that made life bearable.

And perhaps, in this desolate world, they were.

"Master!" Omar's voice reached up to me, sharp and laced with concern as he jogged up to him, her eyes scanning him for any visible sign of injury. "Are you okay? What the hell just happened?"

What the hell just happened, indeed.

Damian, ever the stoic, straightened, his hand slowly lowering from his chest. He wasn't fully recovered from our little encounter, but he was already trying to shake off the weight of it, even though I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darkened. His voice, though, was steady. "I'm fine."

I couldn't help but smile at that. He had his father's tone—a practiced calmness, even when the world was burning around him. A bit of arrogance, too.

"Lucifer stopped by for a chat. Nothing major."

I had to suppress a laugh at that. Nothing major. Of course. Just a casual meeting with the Devil, a seal placed on the raging flames inside him that could tear him apart at any moment—just another day in the life of Damian Wayne.

Suri's face twisted in disbelief. "Lucifer?" Her voice cracked, barely able to process the name. "As in... the Lucifer?"

Damian nodded, already moving past them, brushing it off as though it were the most mundane thing in the world. I could see it, though—the small hesitation in his movements. He was shaken, even though he refused to show it. The kid had more pride than sense sometimes. He got that from both sides of the family.

"Yeah, that Lucifer."

Suri wasn't as easily convinced, though. She stepped in front of him, blocking his path, her eyes narrowing with worry. She was the more grounded of the two, always trying to keep Damian tethered to the moment, even when he was ready to burn past everything. I could tell she cared for him deeply.

"And you're just... fine with that?" Her voice softened, losing some of its edge as she studied his face. "You look like you just walked through Hell."

Damian's smirk slipped back onto his lips, that cocky grin that he used to hide how messed up he actually was. "Maybe I did."

Suri opened her mouth to protest, but before she could press him further, Damian placed a hand on her shoulder. His expression softened, just for a second, and the brief vulnerability made me... interested. He was learning how to be more than just a weapon. He'd learned that from Grayson, no doubt. He'd learned how to care, to connect with people, even when every part of his training had told him not to.

"I'm fine," Damian said, more gently this time. "I'll explain later."

For a moment, Suri hesitated. She didn't believe him, not entirely, but she trusted him enough to give him space. She let out a sigh, stepping aside as Damian walked past her. His mind was already elsewhere, I could tell. The seal on his powers thrummed inside him, a constant reminder of the battle still raging between the fires I'd contained.

I chuckled softly to myself. He'll figure it out.

As he walked toward the treeline, Omar exchanged a glance with Suri. The skepticism was all over their faces, and rightly so. Lucifer doesn't just stop by for casual conversations.

"So... what do you think he's planning?" Omar asked, his voice low but filled with that cautious edge of someone who knew this wasn't over.

Suri watched Damian's retreating figure with a tight frown, her eyes clouded with worry. She didn't answer for a moment, but when she finally did, her voice was quiet, almost resigned. "I don't know," she admitted softly. "But whatever it is... it's going to be big."

I grinned at her words, letting the wind carry them up to me in the clouds. Oh, yes, Suri. It's going to be big, indeed.

I spread my wings, feeling the pulse of Hell Fire still burning inside me as I prepared to leave, the sky darkening slightly around me. But before I vanished, I let my gaze linger on Damian one last time. He was already disappearing into the distance, but I could still sense the flicker of his resolve, that unshakable determination to fix this—to fight against the inevitable.

I had been right, he is an interesting boy, I thought, amused.

As I finally teleported back to my castle, I settled back into my throne, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across my face.