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Within the dimly lit sanctum of the Demon's Head, Ra's al Ghul stood before an ancient altar, flanked by his ever-loyal bodyguard, Ubu.
The candlelight cast elongated shadows on the stone walls, dancing to the rhythm of the flames. Two elite Shadows knelt before him, their heads bowed in reverence.
"The League of Shadows," Ra's began, his voice echoing through the chamber, "has always been the unseen hand guiding the world towards equilibrium. Through calculated acts of violence, we have purged corruption and restored balance. But balance is a delicate scale, easily tipped by chaos."
He turned to face the kneeling figures. "To ascend to the rank of Master, you must confront and neutralize forces that threaten this balance. Only then will you prove your dedication to our cause."
Ra's gestured, and Ubu stepped forward, presenting two sealed scrolls. He handed one to each Shadow.
"Cassandra," Ra's addressed the first, "your mission lies in Gotham. A new player has emerged, distributing a synthesized serum that mimics the effects of the Lazarus Pit. This counterfeit threatens the natural order and the sanctity of our methods. Investigate and eliminate this threat."
He then turned to the second Shadow and paused. "Damian, your task is more personal. A former member of our order, Bane, has gone rogue. Once considered a potential heir, his betrayal cannot go unpunished. Find and bring him home. Only kill if he leaves you no choice."
The two Shadows nodded, accepting their assignments without hesitation.
Ra's al Ghul extinguished the candles, plunging the chamber into darkness. "Go forth, and let your actions reaffirm the League's purpose."
As they departed, Damian stopped upon reaching the bottom of the stairway.
"Word of advice Cassie." He turned to face her. "Gotham is a dump but a dump with fangs, watch yourself."
With a nod Cassandra and he parted ways, the weight of their missions settled upon them, each step echoing the gravity of their impending trials...and the excitement that came with it.
-
The sky was a canvas of stars as Damian plunged into the inky depths of the Caribbean, his descent slicing through the moonlit waves.
The waters surrounding Santa Prisca were treacherous, teeming with predators.
His Alpha instincts 'pinged' the sudden flash of movement in the water. Damian stopped swimming, his tattoos gathering within his hand. A shark lunged, rows of teeth lining the exposed jaws. Moments later, crimson stained the sea, and a lifeless shark carcass floated to the surface.
Emerging from the surf, Damian's form was clad in a sleek, black ninja suit in place of his regularly hoodie which had been torn apart by Black Spider.
His new get up was standard issued and meant for stealth. Water and steam cascaded off his lean frame as he dried himself up with Ashura vapor.
The long curved blade in his grip shimmered briefly before dissolving back into the intricate tattoos that adorned his arms.
He checked his backpack, laden with essential gear. Making sure nothing was lost, he sealed it up and turned to the Island.
He had memorized the map within the mission scroll and knew the outlay. His current position was the east shore. His target was 2 miles in.
"Time to go." He said to himself, determined to finish his mission before Cassandra.
Navigating the dense jungle perimeter, he approached the island's security grid. Heat and motion sensors dotted the landscape.
With practiced precision(mostly during the plane ride here), Damian's tattoos morphed into a slender screwdriver, allowing him to disable each sensor silently. The path ahead was clear.
Leaping from branch to branch, he moved with the agility of a shadow, his movements accompanied by a whispered tune:
"Spiderman, Spiderman, he's legit unlike that other rip-off Spider Black..."
The melody faded as he reached a vantage point overlooking Santa Prisca's notorious Venom production facility.
The compound buzzed with activity, guards patrolling its perimeter. Damian's eyes narrowed.
"Tattoos that can become weapons and tools, but no night vision? Useless," he muttered, retrieving a disassembled sniper rifle from his pack. Assembling it with swift efficiency, he prepared to survey the area, seeking any sign of his target: Bane.
The jungle's nocturnal chorus played on, oblivious to the impending confrontation.
Damian finished adjusting the scope on his rifle, the glass lens reflecting faint green light from his red horn.
With the enhanced optics and his own supernaturally sharpened eyesight, he scanned the Venom factory sprawled below.
Almost a hundred armed men outside, some patrolling with flashlights, others gathered around crates or monitoring the perimeter lazily.
He could see Bane nowhere.
But that wasn't a surprise.
His eyes traced the electric fence, noting the rotation pattern of the surveillance lights. A gap — three seconds, maybe four — opened every pass. He waited, counting silently.
Three. Two. One.
Damian launched himself off the ridge, sailing over the fence with a single twist of his body. He landed atop a watchtower in absolute silence. Tattoos peeled from his forearms like black smoke, hardening into claw-like grips as he crawled spiderlike across the wooden beam.
A security guard stood with his back to Damian, glued to a live football match streaming on his smartphone. The striker made a run toward goal.
"No no no..." The guard moaned in distress.
Snap.
The guard slumped forward, neck broken clean through. His phone clattered quietly on the floor as the striker scored. And the clock hit 90.
"You're welcome," Damian told him, stepping over the body with a faint smirk. At least the guard died before seeing his team lose.
Damian settled into position. Once the scope was mounted, he zeroed in on the factory interior through the reinforced glass of the loading bay.
There. A man with black and white paint on his face, just like the picture in the mission scroll.
Bane — massive and unmistakable — oversaw the loading of large black crates into several trucks. His bare arms rippled with strength, the Venom tubes on his back humming faintly.
"Bingo," Damian whispered.
He exhaled and adjusted his trigger finger.
Then the horn on his head twitched.
A vibration, subtle at first — barely a buzz. Then faster, sharp. Warning.
Damian froze.
Carefully, he shifted the scope away from Bane and began scanning the compound. The horn's vibration guided him like a radar. His eyes locked on a red glow — not infrared, but bleeding.
One of the security lights.
Something was wrong.
He zoomed in, narrowing the lens. The guard stationed there... wasn't moving.
Then he saw it — the man was suspended mid-air, impaled.
Blood trickled down his body, spilling across the red-tinged security light.
Beneath him, the shimmer of something cloaked distorted the night air.
And then — it appeared.
Humanoid. Braided. A monstrous mask. Its wrist-blade still embedded in the man's chest.
Damian immediately knew this thing was a Predator.
Damian's eyes narrowed. "What are you...new comer?"
The horn's vibration went erratic. Damian winced almost overwhelmed by the sensation that he almost missed the pulse of blue that lit up the Predator's shoulder.
A mounted cannon. Aimed his way.
"Oh, come on—"
The blue plasma blast hit the base of the tower.
Wood splintered. Fire flared.
Damian hurled himself from the structure a half-second before it exploded, twisting mid-air and landing in a roll across the gravel of the compound.
Pain flared up his side, but he was alive.
Then—
Click.
A heavy press under his foot.
He looked down.
Land mine.
"You've gotta be shitting me..."
And that wasn't all, in a few seconds there was a circle of gunmetal aimed at him from all angles. Armed men — at least thirty — flooded the yard, their rifles trained with lethal intent.
Damian sighed and muttered, "Well. You guys move fast."
From behind the line of guards, a shadow stepped forward.
Bane.
He smiled down at the immobile Damian slowly, like a man welcoming war.
"We've been expecting you, hijo del demonio," he said, his voice heavy and calm. "Now... it's time to pay for the men you killed."
Damian stared at him through half-lidded eyes, even as the horn on his head continued to vibrate. He clenched his fists, his tattoos twitching beneath his sleeves.
The one time he wanted to rush a mission and this happens. He'd lost his back pack and rifle, had like 50 guns aimed at his head, not to mention the presence of a creature that made his Alpha instincts going haywire. Welp, at least he had his humor.
"Can I pay in blood? Yours to be specific..."
"Funny. You won't be making jokes when I cut off your tongue." Bane growled.
Unbeknownst to him and his men, cloaked within the shadows, a Yautja observed the unfolding events with keen interest.
This Predator had been tracking Damian since his arrival, initially intending to hunt Bane. However, upon witnessing Damian's prowess, it deemed him a more worthy adversary.
Damian, ever perceptive, sensed that unusual presence nearby. Despite employing his Alpha Instincts, he couldn't pinpoint the source. Only his red horn vibrated subtly, alerting him to the lurking danger.
Suddenly, Damian grabbed Bane, dragging him down just as a crackling energy whip sliced through the air, dismembering half of Bane's men.
One man screamed "¡El depredador!" before being impaled by the Predator's blade.
The creature revealed itself—a towering figure with braided dreadlocks and an intimidating mask, its wrist-blade dripping with blood.
"Kill it!"
Bane ordered whoever was left. Gunfire sprouted a few times before screams followed as no one could sense the predator even as it killed one by one.
In a minute, only two people remained, surrounded by carnage and gun smoke. Bane drew a cross from his vest and started praying.
"I will disarm the landmine beneath you if we join forces against it." He offered Damian.
Without hesitation, Damian's tattoos morphed into thin needles that stabbed Bane's neck, injecting him with a paralytic agent. "I work alone," Damian muttered, watching Bane collapse into a false death.
The air rippled as the Predator advanced at them, a crackling electric whip dragging on the ground. Damian smirked, grabbed Bane's body and activated Phantom Step to escape the landmine's blast radius.
The explosion engulfed the Yautja, momentarily disorienting it. Seizing the opportunity, Damian launched himself from the smoke, delivering a powerful kick to the creature's chest.
The battle between two Apex predators was officially underway.