Just uploaded a new Fanfic called Anodite Mage. Check it out on my page. For Early access, I have 40 chapters on my [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
(General P.O.V)
The ceiling was too white.
Damian blinked once, then again. Pain moved like a ripple through his body—dull, distant, not entirely real. His breath came shallow, steady, automatic.
A groan to his left broke the quiet.
Jason was slumped in a chair by the window, head back, mouth slightly open, snoring. His arms were crossed, a blanket draped loosely over him like someone had tried to make him comfortable but gave up halfway.
Across the room, a red-haired girl with a book looked up from her chair. Her eyes widened in surprise.
"You're awake," she said, standing fast. The book hit the floor with a soft thud. "You—actually healed? From a broken neck? You should be paralyzed, let alone alive!"
Damian didn't answer. He just stared at the ceiling.
The girl didn't wait. She sprinted out of the room, her voice echoing faintly in the hallway. "Bruce! Bruce, he's up!"
But when she came back 5 minutes later—with Bruce in tow, sharp-eyed and grim—both Damian and Jason were gone.
On the outside, Jason cursed under his breath as he gingerly hauled himself up the side of Wayne Manor, boots slipping once before catching on the old stone ledge.
"Why is it always the roof," he growled, grabbing the last ridge. "Of all the brooding spots in this damn mansion…"
He heaved himself over the edge.
In a simple black T-shirt and similar sweat pants, Damian stood near the far end, facing the horizon beyond the Wayne property. His back straight. His shoulders too still with the only movement in strands of his white hair dancing in the breeze. He hadn't spoken a word since they left the room.
Jason stepped forward, hands on his hips. "You know I'm scared of heights, right D?" he called. "I only came up here 'cause I figured you'd do something stupid if left alone."
No answer.
Jason shrugged. "Figured we could sneak back in, swipe some of Alfred's sage tea and those weird breadcookies. I've missed 'em."
Still nothing.
Jason's tone shifted.
"I get it. I really do," he said, voice lower now. "That feeling… like you're not strong enough. Like you should've done more."
He paused as Damian stiffened.
"I was there too, remember? And I could barely keep it together. I stood behind Cass and watched her bleed while you took a boot to the neck. That kind of helpless? It doesn't leave you."
Damian's fists clenched slightly at his sides.
Jason walked closer, more careful now. "But don't put this all on yourself. None of us were ready for what Dragon pulled. You blame yourself for Cass? Well so do I."
Finally, Damian spoke.
"Is she alive?"
A beat of silence.
Jason exhaled. "She's… not doing great."
That's when Damian turned. No words, no dramatics—just a slow pivot of the shoulders and head. Enough for Jason to see his eyes.
And what he saw in them wasn't grief.
It was self-loathing fury. Cold, contained, sharpened like a blade pressed to ice.
Then it faded—swallowed by something deeper. A blank wall of resolve.
"Let's go," Damian said, brushing past him.
Jason turned, keeping pace.
"Wait," he called out.
Damian paused halfway to the stairwell.
"There's something you should know," Jason said. "Sifû's here."
Damian's body went rigid.
"Shiva..."
-0-
Damian followed close behind Jason, his bare feet quiet on the polished Manor floor he barely remembered from 5 years back. His neck still ached, but the pain had faded into background noise—numbed by the image burned into his memory: Cassandra, limp in Dragon's hands.
Jason stopped outside a heavy double door and turned slightly. "Before we go in… be prepared."
Damian said nothing. His eyes stayed locked forward.
Jason knocked once.
The door opened without delay. Alfred stood in the doorway, eyes immediately landing on Damian. There was a flicker of something in his expression—relief, maybe—but it passed too quickly to name.
"Master Damian," Alfred said quietly. "It's good to see you awake."
Damian gave him a curt nod.
Alfred stepped aside, ushering them in. "You've been expected."
The room was a repurposed med bay—clean, sterile, humming with machines. Wires fed into a life-support pod at the center of the space, where a glass incubator glowed faintly.
Inside was Cassandra.
Or what was left of her.
Her body looked impossibly thin, almost hollow. Tubes cradled her frame like vines. Her face was pale. Lips cracked. Chest rising slowly, like her lungs were reluctant to try.
Damian stopped at the threshold.
He couldn't look away.
Barbara stood near the monitors, arms folded tight across her chest. Dick leaned against the back wall, expression unreadable.
Bruce was standing at the foot of the pod, silent.
He turned to the others. "Let us give them a moment."
Barbara nodded first, walking past Damian with an almost comforting hand grazing his shoulder. Dick followed, offering nothing but a look.
Bruce paused beside Damian.
"We have a lot to discuss about your role in what happened," he said softly. "But I'm relieved you're safe… son."
Damian didn't react. Bruce left and the door clicked shut behind him.
Lady Shiva sat beside Cassandra's pod, her back straight, hands folded. Her eyes didn't move away from her daughter's thin face. Not once.
Damian approached slowly, then dropped to his knees and Kowtowed.
His head bowed to the floor.
He slammed it down—once. Then again. Then a third time.
"I failed," he said heavily. "I failed the mission. I failed to protect her. I don't deserve a punishment less than death."
Blood trailed from his forehead.
"But before that," he whispered, "grant me one request. Let me bring back Richard Dragon's head. Let me redeem myself, my honored master."
Shiva still didn't look at him.
"You're asking for the impossible," she coldly told him. "You saw his strength. His control. His speed. He is beyond you. Fighting him now would only change your killer from me… to him."
Damian's fists tightened.
His arms shook.
"I know," he growled.
"I know I'm not strong enough."
He looked up, face bloodied, eyes raw.
"But you made me into a weapon once. When I was weak and pathless, you forged me again. Gave me a home. Made me into an Alpha."
Her silence felt heavier than any answer.
So he bowed again, pressing his head to the ground, harder this time. The wood cracked beneath his skull.
"Please," he said. A word too foreign to him.
"Please."
The crack of a heel stopped him.
Shiva placed her foot between his head and the floor, pushing him back gently.
Her eyes met his. They were sharp, cold—but not without weight.
"Very well," she said. "I will teach you how to kill the Perfect Warrior… and save my daughter."
Damian's breathing steadied.
Shiva stood slowly, her shadow looming behind her.
"But this training will not resemble anything you've known before," she said. "There will be no rest. No mercy. No weakness left untouched. If there is a limit to your body, I will break it. If there is fear in your soul, I will rip it out."
Damian stood, bloody but steady.
The fire in his eyes hadn't burned this clearly in years.
"This time," he said, voice low and unshaking, "Richard Dragon will submit."
He raised a trembling hand to his chest.
"I swear it… on my Ashura soul."
(Damian's P.O.V)
I stood near the back of the Batcave, arms folded, keeping to the shadows even though all eyes were technically on Shiva and Batman. I don't like briefings, but I've learned to endure them. Strategy demands patience. Especially when the stakes are as high as they are now.
Cassie was running out of time. She had a few days left. Maybe a week with her stubborness but no more.
Jason stood beside me, occasionally chewing on one of Alfred's breadcookies, because of course he was. A costumed Batgirl and Nightwing flanked the left, serious but alert. And then there was him—Robin or Tim as I'd heard him called. Sitting in the corner, arms crossed, sending me glares like heat-seeking missiles.
Sifû stood at the front of the room, composed as ever. "Richard Dragon isn't just a master martial artist," she began. "He is a walking convergence of ancient and modern battle theory. He created styles. He reinvented others. If it can be used to kill or incapacitate, he knows it—and he's refined it beyond what most martial practitioners consider possible."
She wasn't exaggerating. If anything, she was holding back.
"He is a grandmaster of tactical movement, environmental awareness, pressure manipulation, and feints. But his most dangerous skill is Chi Manipulation."
Chi. That damnable perfect Chi control he had was a problem.
Jason stopped chewing. "Cassandra said something before-," he revealed. "Something about him stealing the energy in the air."
I flinched.
Because I remembered. Not just the strike. Not just the power behind it but the green Chi that had felt...wrong and corrupted. I remembered the moment—the moment my neck snapped. The heat of the blow. The helplessness. The sound.
My hand crept to the back of my neck without thinking.
It didn't make sense. That kind of trauma should've killed me outright. And yet, I'd woken up twenty-four hours later. Alive. Whole. I needed answers.
Shiva went on. "Chi is classified into three primary types. First, Natural Chi: the ambient life force that radiates from people, animals, plants—everything alive. Second, Inner Chi: the personal reservoir within each individual, unique to them. And lastly… Unnatural Chi. A broad category. Dangerous. Not all energy belongs in this world."
Her eyes flicked to me briefly.
Yeah. I got the message.
She didn't say it, but I knew. My Ashura energy—it didn't belong. It didn't follow the same rules. It healed me. Rebuilt my spine and forced my lungs to restart.
Unnatural Chi.
It fit.
Nightwing leaned forward. "So Richard must be using Unnatural Chi too, right? I mean—if he can steal life force from other people, that's got to qualify."
I shook my head. "Wrong."
All eyes turned to me.
"He's not just using one kind of Chi. He can manipulate all three. Natural. Inner. Unnatural. That's how he overwhelmed a fighter on Cassandra's level. That's how he broke me."
Robin snorted.
The air thickened.
Batman didn't even look at him. "Batgirl?"
She perked up, clearly ready. "I've been tracking all exit routes from Gotham using X-ray drones. No visual confirmation of Dragon yet, but based on air distortion readings and void signatures, I think he might still be here. Underground, most likely."
Shiva took it from there. "My daughter has seven days. Her Inner Chi chambers are weakening by the hour. If we don't retrieve her stolen lifeforce before then, she won't survive."
Nightwing tilted his head. "And how exactly do we get it back?"
I looked to Shiva.
She lied. "There's a rare technique—used by certain Eastern clans. It forces Chi out of the host body. Once released, it naturally returns to its original owner."
I said nothing.
Because I knew the truth.
The only way to recover Cassandra's stolen Chi… is by killing Richard Dragon.
And while the Bats had a no killing rule, I was fine with that. No. More than fine. I was waiting for it.
No one touches her and gets to walk away. Not even Richard Dragon.
Nightwing raised an eyebrow. "So let me get this straight. We're supposed to find the world's deadliest martial artist, who casually snaps demon kids' necks for breakfast, absorbs life force like a vacuum, and beats mini Shiva without breaking a sweat—then use some mystery technique to drain him and hope he doesn't kill us first? All in a week?"
He looked at Batman. "That all?"
My adopted father gave the tiniest smile. "Yes. That's all."
He turned to assign tasks.
"Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl—you're in charge of locating the target. Cross-reference the drone data with known criminal escape routes. I've already contacted the Commissioner—GCPD will provide ground support."
"Understood," Nightwing said.
Shiva added, "He'll be seeking more Lazarus Pits. Draining them. That's his priority now."
Jason hummed. "Yeah… he said something about another Lazarus Pit in Gotham. I'll ask around. Someone's bound to have a lead."
Shiva nodded. "Thank you."
I spoke up. "There's another possible lead. Helena. Richard's apprentice."
That got their attention. The whole room went quiet.
Jason frowned. "We already checked her place. While you were half dead. She's missing too. Vanished right alongside him."
The words hit harder than expected.
I'd trusted her.
I should've seen it coming. But I didn't. That mistake burned deep. I swallowed it.
"I see."
The silence lingered. Then Nightwing asked, "So while the rest of us are chasing ghosts… what will you three be doing?"
Meaning me, Shiva and Batman.
"Training," I said.
Jason raised an eyebrow.
I stepped forward. "And when I'm ready…" I looked around the room, letting it land, letting them know to stay out of my way. "There will be hell to pay."
That ended the meeting for most people.
Batman said, "That's all. Questions?"
One hand went up.
Robin.
Of course.
He stood, finger raised, face flushed. "Yeah. I have one."
Then he pointed directly at us—me, Jason, Shiva. "Why are we helping them?"
His voice rose, cracking slightly.
"They're killers. You let them into the Batcave. Why are we helping murderers with a revenge plot that has nothing to do with us? Why, Batman?! Why?!"
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Even the Batcomputer's hum seemed to go still.
I stared at him.
And for once… I didn't feel anger.
Only pity.
Because he hadn't lost someone like Cassandra.
Not yet.
He still thought there was a line between people like me—and people like him.
He'd find out soon enough. There's no such thing.