Chapter 378: The Curse
Batman had already analyzed the Ebony Blade by every means available to him. The results had told him nothing. Whatever curse it carried was invisible to current technology.
He didn't know any sorcerers or mystics in this world either -- no one he could call on the way he once called on Zatanna in Gotham to resolve something beyond the physical. He did know one deity, but he had no intention of placing his hopes for the Ebony Blade's curse on that particular entity.
After Garrett's death, both Tony Stark and Batman had gripped the hilt themselves. Neither had triggered anything. Which brought everything back to the same conclusion: the sword had to be held by a Whitman before the curse would reveal itself -- or before anything could be done about it.
Dane Whitman lifted the Ebony Blade with both hands and studied the blade carefully. The surface moved like something alive, shifting the way deep water shifts under light.
He'd made his choice. He didn't hesitate now. His right hand moved slowly to the grip and closed around it.
The next moment -- a clear, resonant ring of steel.
The surface of the Ebony Blade heaved like a single breath -- rising and falling in one motion -- and the entire length of the black sword blazed with cold light. Dane Whitman flinched and squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them, the blade was still in his hand. Along the flat of the steel, a single line of small text had appeared where there had been none before.
"Death is my gift?" Dane Whitman read it quietly.
"Black Knight -- what are you feeling?" Batman asked, voice sharp with attention. Behind his back, one hand had closed around the stone fragment taken from the Metropolitan Museum.
The moment anything went wrong, he would press the fragment against the blade without hesitation. He had prepared four contingency plans for the curse. They were limited -- the nature of what he was dealing with sat outside the reach of technology -- but they were what he had.
Dane Whitman's expression, though, showed none of the signs Batman was watching for.
Dane Whitman looked up, slightly puzzled, and shook his head.
"I don't feel anything wrong."
Batman gave a slow, matching shake of his head. The question had been a psychological probe as much as a genuine inquiry -- the real assessment was coming from the Arkham suit's scanner. Compared to baseline readings taken before Dane touched the sword, his physiological state showed no meaningful change. Whatever the curse was, it hadn't registered as a physical event.
If there was a change, it was nothing beyond the ordinary stress responses anyone would show in the circumstances.
The curse doesn't appear to be physiological in nature, Batman thought. Though the possibility of a delayed onset can't be ruled out.
He was still framing the thought when Dane Whitman spoke again.
"No -- wait."
Batman looked at him.
Dane Whitman was moving the Ebony Blade slowly outward, extending it into empty air beside him. The motion wasn't the simple thrust of a sword strike. It looked exactly like a man pushing something into a space that wasn't visible -- there was resistance, a quality of pressure to it, as though the blade was meeting something only he could feel.
Then it happened. As Dane Whitman pressed further, the tip of the Ebony Blade vanished. Not obscured -- vanished. The blade followed. Then the grip, and his hand around it. Until the sword had disappeared entirely into nothing.
Batman had watched every moment of it. The Arkham suit had registered nothing -- no field, no anomaly, no detectable cause.
"Uh." Dane Whitman stared at his own empty palm, genuinely bewildered. "Where did my sword go?"
He had done it entirely on instinct. The idea of the blade disappearing hadn't entered his mind -- he'd simply followed some impulse and extended his arm. The result had surprised him as much as it would have surprised anyone.
Batman was quiet for a few seconds. What he had just seen could not be explained by any physical law he understood. Only magic or metaphysics could account for it -- and Batman, despite having used magic a handful of times in his life and possessing what he privately acknowledged was a considerable natural aptitude for it, had always kept it at arm's length. The risk of dependence, the risk of losing control -- those concerns had always outweighed the utility.
But he knew more about its principles than Dane Whitman did.
"Focus on the blade. Reach out and make the motion of drawing it from the air."
The conclusion came from what Batman had observed with Doctor Fate's Helm of Nabu and Wonder Woman's bracers -- magical instruments that responded to the will and intent of their bearer.
Dane Whitman nodded. He extended his arm and made the motion of pulling a sword free from a sheath that wasn't there.
The blade came back. Inch by inch, the Ebony Blade emerged from the air in his grip, until the full length of it was in his hand again.
"Ha--"
Dane Whitman let out a stunned, short sound. He swung the blade twice through the air experimentally, then pushed it back into nothing again.
This time he didn't stand still. He turned and ran to the far end of the abandoned shipyard -- a hundred meters between himself and Batman -- and reached out again.
The sword appeared in his hand.
"This is incredible." Dane Whitman said in genuine disbelief.
He tested it again and again and found the same result each time: the Ebony Blade could be committed to wherever that space was and called back at will, from any position, at any distance, in any posture, the moment he thought of it.
"Beyond summoning the sword at will -- do you notice any other effect?" Batman asked, when Dane Whitman finally stopped and walked back.
Dane Whitman shook his head. "Nothing."
Batman didn't press further. He put the choice to him again.
"Two options. First: you train with me until you're a capable fighter."
"Second: you contact Peter Parker and have him fund a journey -- see the world, find your footing on your own terms."
Dane Whitman didn't hesitate at all.
"First."
Batman's brow pulled together slightly. Based on everything he'd read of Dane Whitman -- six years of hard living, no particular loyalty to anything, no evident hunger for the fight -- the second option should have been the obvious choice. The immediate answer put him on quiet alert. He said nothing and waited.
Dane Whitman gave an awkward, slightly embarrassed laugh.
"I'm scared of dying. I want to stay close to you for at least a month -- long enough to confirm there actually is no curse -- before I'd seriously consider the second option."
"Peter Parker is a businessman. I don't think he'd have any answer for whatever the curse turns out to be. When that day comes, I'd need to reach you through him anyway."
Batman gave a small nod.
"Starting tomorrow. Come here every afternoon and wait for me."
He had no intention of bringing Dane Whitman to Bat Island yet. Distrust was part of it -- the other part was the value of observing him during this period of apparent freedom, watching what he did when no one seemed to be watching. If Dane Whitman used the Ebony Blade's new capability to cross any line that mattered, Batman would act without hesitation.
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