The Moment Between Seconds
The armored suit shattered under Superman's final punch.
It wasn't dramatic in the way the world expected—no blinding explosion, no triumphant declaration. Just a thunderous crack as Kryptonian strength met kryptonite-powered engineering, and the chest plate of the mechanized suit imploded inward like a collapsing star.
What no one saw—what no camera caught—was the escape hatch.
A fraction of a second before impact, the suit's back split open along an invisible seam. A dark shape was launched backward at hypersonic speed, swallowed by smoke, heat, and the chaos of collapsing metal. The suit itself lurched forward, suddenly empty, its internal systems switching seamlessly into autonomous combat mode.
Superman noticed the absence immediately.
He tore through the drone-controlled shell with ruthless efficiency, ripping off an arm, crushing the head, driving it into the pavement with enough force to crack reinforced concrete. When it finally stopped moving, Superman hovered above the wreckage, eyes narrowed.
No pilot.
Whoever had been inside wanted it that way.
Lex Luthor had escaped again.
Aftermath at the Hall of Justice
Washington, D.C. was still burning in places.
Emergency crews flooded the streets, civilians were evacuated in waves, and the sky buzzed with helicopters and drones. The immediate threat was neutralized—but the city had felt the attack deeply. The Legion of Doom had made their point.
Near the shattered steps of the Hall of Justice, the remaining members of the League regrouped.
Batman stood slightly apart, cape settling around him as the advanced suit powered down into standby mode. The faint hum of its internal systems was almost imperceptible now—but everyone present had felt it during the battle.
Superman landed first.
He looked at Bruce differently than he had before.
Not with suspicion. With something closer to respect—and concern.
"That suit," Superman said, breaking the silence. "It didn't just make you faster."
Batman said nothing.
Wonder Woman stepped closer, her expression sharp and thoughtful. "You anticipated Grundy's strikes before he committed to them. That is not simply enhanced reflex."
Flash, still vibrating faintly with leftover Speed Force energy, nodded rapidly. "Yeah, Bats. I mean—I saw you move. You weren't just reacting. It was like you already knew what was coming."
Cyborg's optics flickered as he replayed internal recordings. "Data confirms it. Neural response times exceed baseline human prediction models. By a lot."
Batman finally spoke.
"It's a prototype," he said evenly. "Temporary. Limited use."
Damian, several streets away, was guiding civilians toward emergency shelters, pretending he wasn't listening to every word through encrypted comms.
He kept his head down.
Because he knew the truth.
Bruce wasn't just reacting faster.
For brief windows of time, Batman had been thinking faster than time itself.
Damian's Quiet Vigil
Damian Wayne stood on a cracked sidewalk, one hand gripping the shoulder of an elderly man as paramedics rushed in. Toothless circled overhead, invisible to most eyes under active camouflage, watching silently.
Damian felt it before he saw it.
A tightening in his chest.
A pressure behind his eyes.
A warning that had nothing to do with sensors or technology.
His awareness slipped sideways—into that space only he occupied. The place where instincts sharpened into certainty. Where cause and effect blurred, and the world revealed cracks in its flow.
Something was wrong.
He turned.
Weather Wizard lay unconscious near the edge of the battlefield, pinned beneath debris, wrists bound in energy restraints. Flash had taken him down cleanly. Too cleanly.
Damian's breath caught.
No. Not yet.
The heroes were distracted—surrounding Batman, asking questions, replaying footage. No one was watching the defeated villains closely anymore.
That was when Damian saw it.
A distortion.
Not physical. Not magical in any way that normal spells behaved.
It crept like a shadow that didn't belong to the sun.
Slow. Patient. Careful.
Damian's fingers curled into fists.
He knew this moment.
Not because anyone had told him.
Because he had lived it before.
Possession
The shadow reached Weather Wizard's chest.
Superman noticed a split second later.
"Batman—something's—"
Too late.
The unconscious villain's body convulsed violently. Restraints shattered as dark energy erupted outward in a pulse that cracked the pavement. Weather Wizard's eyes snapped open—burning crimson.
A voice echoed from his throat.
Not his.
"My creator comes," it said, layered with something ancient and vast. "This world will break."
Superman moved instantly.
He crossed the distance in a blur, hand outstretched—
And the possessed Weather Wizard struck him.
The blow wasn't physical.
It was wrong.
Magic surged like a hammer through Superman's guard, slamming into his chest and sending him crashing through a marble pillar. He skidded across the ground, coughing—blood streaking from his nose.
Silence fell.
Everyone froze.
Superman pushed himself up slowly, disbelief written across his face. "That… shouldn't be possible."
Damian was already moving.
The demon turned toward him.
It felt him.
Recognized something dangerous.
A shard of dark magic tore through the air toward Damian—
And missed.
Damian twisted aside at the last possible instant, coat flaring, heat rippling around him as his fire-shadow suit flared instinctively. The blast scorched the air where his head had been.
Batman shouted his name.
"Damian—stay back!"
Damian ignored him.
He was already sprinting.
The Choice
The Batwing hovered above, damaged but functional.
Damian vaulted debris, teeth clenched, mind racing faster than his body. He didn't need to look back to know the demon was stabilizing its hold. The longer it stayed, the harder it would be to force out.
There was only one way.
A reckless one.
A Wayne way.
Damian launched himself upward, grappling line snapping taut as he swung into the Batwing's open bay. He slammed into the cockpit, fingers flying across controls.
"Damian, abort!" Batman's voice crackled through the comm. "That's an order!"
Damian didn't answer.
He locked the Batwing into a collision trajectory.
He whispered, "I'm sorry."
Then he jumped.
The Batwing roared forward under full power.
Batman realized what was happening too late.
"DAMIAN—!"
The jet slammed into the possessed Weather Wizard in a blinding explosion of fire, force, and concussive shock.
The demon screamed.
Not in pain.
In rage.
Dark energy tore free from the host, shrieking as it was ripped from its anchor and scattered by the blast. Weather Wizard collapsed, unconscious but alive.
The firestorm dissipated.
Damian rolled across the ground, battered but intact, flames dying down around him.
The demon was gone.
Consequences
Batman reached him first.
He grabbed Damian by the collar and hauled him upright. "What were you thinking?"
Damian met his father's glare without flinching. "Stopping it."
"You disobeyed a direct order," Batman said coldly. "You could've been killed."
"But I wasn't," Damian replied.
Batman closed his eyes for a moment, visibly restraining himself.
When he opened them again, his voice was controlled—but furious. "You're grounded from solo operations. Effective immediately. And you're being reassigned."
Damian blinked. "Reassigned?"
"You're going to Titans Tower," Batman said. "You need to learn teamwork. Real teamwork."
Damian opened his mouth to argue—
Then stopped.
Because in that private space inside his mind, where no one else could hear, he felt it.
A weight settle.
A door opening.
A future aligning.
And with it—something else.
A reward waiting.
Epilogue: A Blade Yet Unseen
That night, as Damian stood alone on a rooftop overlooking the city, the world felt heavier.
More dangerous.
More certain.
He stared at his hands.
Demons exist. Stronger ones are coming.
He exhaled slowly.
Somewhere far beyond human perception, something had taken note of him.
And somewhere even deeper—something had prepared an answer.
A blade meant to cut through darkness itself.
Not yet.
Soon.
Damian turned toward the horizon, fire flickering faintly at his heels.
"Let them come," he murmured.
And Gotham, unaware of how close it had come to falling, slept on—protected by a boy who knew the future, and would never tell a soul.