The world returned in fragments.
First came the slow, rhythmic drip of water onto concrete. Then smell rust, mildew, something sour clinging to the air like rot. Finally, light thin and broken, stuttering from a ceiling panel that hummed with dying electricity.
Phantom opened his eyes.
He lay on a cracked slab of metal, restraints still locked around his wrists and ankles. Except they weren't locked anymore. The steel had been bent outward, warped as if by some violent spasm. His chest rose in shallow bursts, lungs burning with the stale air.
For a moment, he thought he was back at Cadmus the beginning. The air tasted the same. The walls were the same shade of pale green decay. Even the shadows seemed familiar, coiling in the corners like memories that refused to die.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright. His muscles screamed. Armor plates were cracked, blackened by fire he couldn't remember. Dried blood clung to the inside of his gauntlet. His head throbbed.
How long?
He staggered forward, boots scraping across the floor. A shattered pane of glass leaned against the wall, catching the flicker of the light above. He froze when he saw himself in it.
A face he barely recognized stared back.
Gaunt. Hollow eyes ringed with darkness. Scar tissue curled from his jaw into the stubble along his throat. A soldier's face, but harder now. Colder. The boy who had once stumbled through the Cave, still learning what it meant to be free, was gone. What stared back at him was… something else.
His hand rose, fingertips brushing the reflection. For a heartbeat, he swore it wasn't him at all, just another failed clone peering back, waiting to be shut down.
His voice, hoarse from disuse, rasped into the silence:
"...How long this time?"
The shadows didn't answer.
The room pressed in around him, damp and suffocating. Pipes lined the ceiling like arteries, some split open, dripping brown water onto the cracked tile. Every drop echoed too loudly, as though the silence itself was brittle.
Phantom steadied his breathing and stepped forward. His boots splashed through shallow puddles, scattering ripples across the floor. Rust ate at the walls where paint had peeled away. The scent of iron and ammonia clung thick, heavy enough that it coated the back of his throat.
This place… he knew it.
Cadmus. Or something like it. The architecture was unmistakably sterile design buried under layers of decay, bulk doors welded shut, corridors narrowing like a maze. He had been born in a place like this. Cut open in one. Buried in another.
Now he was waking in one again.
He brushed a hand against the wall as he walked. The concrete felt wrong, damp, but warm, as though it had soaked up every scream, every failed experiment. He could almost hear them in the dark. Children crying in the tanks. Shouts of scientists behind glass. The metallic hiss of restraints.
His pulse quickened. Not from fear. From recognition.
He found a row of pods collapsed against the far wall, their glass long since shattered. The stench of rot hit him before his eyes adjusted. He crouched. Inside one lay a husk malformed, bones warped where flesh had grown in the wrong directions. Its mouth was frozen open, as if it had died gasping. Another pod cradled nothing but sludge and bones, and black water pooled at the bottom.
Failed experiments.
"Ghosts," he muttered. The word carried too many meanings.
His hand flexed unconsciously. He wondered if, once, he had looked like this. If a single wrong turn in Cadmus's blueprint would have left him twitching on the floor, a mistake abandoned to rot.
He forced himself up. Dwelling was useless. He needed answers.
Further down the hall, a faint light flickered the glow of a terminal. Against instinct, he approached. Dust coated the keyboard, but the screen still pulsed faintly, its fan wheezing like a dying lung.
Lines of text scrolled across it:
PROJECT: PHANTOMASSET STATUS: INACTIVE BLACKOUT OPERATION HANDLER: [REDACTED]MONITORING AGENTS: BATMAN / DEATHSTROKE
His throat tightened. Batman. Deathstroke. Different masters. Same language. Asset. Handler. Operation.
Not a man. Not a soldier. Not even a weapon of choice. Just something to be pointed out.
He stared at the word "ASSET" until the letters blurred, until the glow from the screen became too bright for his eyes. His reflection looked back at him in the glass again, helmet tucked under his arm, hair damp with sweat, face gaunt and sharp.
Not his face. Not anymore.
The screen buzzed, static biting the air. He slammed the monitor off with his fist, shattering the casing. Sparks flared, then died, leaving him in silence again.
His pulse steadied. He exhaled slowly, forcing the tension out of his shoulders.
"Always someone's project," he whispered into the dark.
The shadows stirred around him, listening.
The corridor narrowed the further he walked, the ceiling pressing lower, the lights dimmer, until it felt less like a hallway and more like a throat. Every breath echoed back at him, damp and hollow. His footsteps were the only sound until they weren't.
A scrape. A rustle.
He froze, shadows coiling instinctively at his fingertips. The darkness flexed with him, spilling out across the floor like liquid. For a heartbeat, he thought one of the failed clones had survived, dragging itself across the stone to reach him.
But it was only a rat. Its ribs jutted like knives, eyes reflecting the faint glow of the emergency lamps. It sniffed, squeaked, then vanished into a vent.
Phantom exhaled, low. "Figures. Even the vermin outlive the experiments."
He kept moving.
The deeper he went, the more the facility changed. The walls weren't just decayed, they were scarred. Claw marks gouged into the concrete. Bullet holes in the steel doors. A bloodstain stretched across one corridor, so old it had blackened, as if the stone itself had absorbed it.
His mind tried to supply memories that weren't his: voices screaming as restraints snapped, alarms shrieking as containment failed. He had lived this before. He had survived it before. And still, coming back here, the weight of it pressed down on his chest.
He turned a corner and stopped.
More pods. This time intact. The glass was fogged, but silhouettes floated inside. Small. Too small.
Children.
His pulse kicked. Shadows writhed at his shoulders like wings straining to unfurl. He stepped closer, breath frosting on the glass.
Eyes opened inside one of the pods.
Wide, milky-white, unblinking.
The child's lips moved or tried to. No sound carried through the glass. But Phantom read the shape of the mouth anyway, clear as if the word had been branded into his skull:
"…ghost."
His stomach knotted. He staggered back, hand clutching the edge of a console for balance. His chest felt tight, his ribs too narrow for his breath. The word echoed in his skull, bouncing against the walls until it was louder than his heartbeat.
Ghost.
That's what they saw him as. That's what Batman saw. That's what Deathstroke saw. That's what he had become.
He slammed his palm against the pod. Shadows surged, spiderwebbing across the glass like frostbite. The child inside didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Just stared.
"Shut up," he whispered hoarsely. The words were to the thing in the tank. To the memories. To himself. "Shut up."
But the silence that followed was worse.
He staggered away, shadows trailing off his armor, curling and stretching like they wanted to stay with the pods. He refused to look back.
At the end of the corridor, a stairwell waited, and beyond it, the faint outline of a collapsed exit hatch. Cold air bled through the cracks, sharp and real, pulling him toward the surface.
Phantom stopped at the base of the stairs, resting one hand on the rusted rail. His voice rasped low, carrying just enough weight to make the shadows ripple:
"Always ghosts. No matter how many times I crawl out, they drag me back down."
He climbed.
Each step groaned under his weight. Each step carried him closer to the night above and closer to the people waiting for him there.
The bulkhead screamed as it gave way, rusted hinges snapping. Phantom stepped out into the night air, rain stinging against his armor. He paused, tilting his head back, breathing deep like a man surfacing after drowning.
The lot was empty but for two silhouettes framed by lightning. Batman broad, immovable, his cape snapping in the wind. Beside him, Nightwing arms folded, weight shifted forward, every muscle tense.
Kade stopped a few paces short. He let his visor retract, the dim violet glow fading to reveal eyes hollowed by fatigue.
"Three months," Batman said, as if reading his first question before it left his mouth. "Your Qurac op is complete. Objectives met. Zero civilian casualties. Light assets eliminated."
Kade gave a slow nod, jaw tight. His voice rasped, deep from disuse: "I don't remember most of it."
Batman's expression didn't waver. "You did what needed to be done."
"Yeah," Kade muttered. His eyes dropped to the mud at his boots. "That sounds like me."
Nightwing broke in, his voice sharp: "That's not a good thing, Bruce. He doesn't even remember. You call that a win?"
Batman's head turned, cape shifting with the movement. His tone stayed level, steel against steel. "It's the price of working in shadows."
Kade's gaze slid sideways, fixing on Nightwing. "You're still talking about me like I'm not here, Dick."
The name hit harder than a punch. Nightwing's mouth tightened. "Don't do that."
"What?" Kade's tone was flat, tired, but unrelenting. "Don't remind me, I know who you are under the mask? Or don't remind you I was there when you took it off the first time?" His lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I remember more of that than I do Qurac."
"Enough." Batman's voice cut through he air. It wasn't harsh, but it carried weight. He stepped forward, his shadow swallowing the rain. "The mission has changed. We need you deeper. Embedded with the Light. With Deathstroke."
The name twisted in the silence between them. Kade's eyes narrowed, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Back to Slade."
Batman nodded once. "Yes. Permanently."
Nightwing's composure cracked. "Bruce, you can't—" He stepped in front of Phantom, eyes blazing. "You want to throw him back into Slade's cage? After everything Cadmus did, after everything Slade did? You really think he'll come back from that?"
Batman's reply was steady, not cold but firm. "He's the only one who can. Deathstroke trained him. Deathstroke trusts him. No one else has that access."
Nightwing shook his head, his voice rising. "That's not trust, that's ownership! You're asking him to go back to the man who broke him in the first place!" He turned, almost pleading. "Kade, you don't have to do this. Tell him. Tell him you're done."
Kade's eyes locked with his. There was no fire there, no heat, just exhaustion, worn into every line of his face."You don't get it, Dick. I don't know what 'done' looks like. Fighting's all I've got. It's all I know how to do."
Dick's throat worked. "That's not true. You were more than that. I've seen it."
A low, bitter sound slipped from Kade's throat, not quite a laugh. "You saw what you wanted to. Some scared kid you could fix with friendship and training sessions in the Cave. That boy's dead. All that's left is this." He gestured to the armor, the shadows flickering restlessly around him. "And this doesn't stop."
Batman's gaze held steady. "Which is why I need you."
Kade looked back at him, eyes unreadable. "So that's it. No line. No limit. Just me in the dark until Slade decides I'm useful, or you decide I'm expendable."
Batman's jaw tightened not in denial, but in understanding. "I won't lie to you. It will get worse before it gets better. But I trust you more than anyone to survive it."
The words hit harder than Nightwing's protests. Kade stared at him for a long moment, something flickering behind his tired eyes. Batman never used words like that lightly.
Nightwing's fists clenched. "Bruce, listen to yourself. You're not sending a soldier. You're sending a man who's already drowning. You're asking him to let Slade drag him under again."
"Enough," Kade snapped, the sharpness in his tone startling even himself. His voice lowered after, almost a growl. "Stop arguing about me like I don't get a choice. You both know what my answer is."
Silence hung. Rain tapped against steel.
Kade pulled his helmet back on, sealing his face in a violet glow. His voice, muffled but firm, carried finality: "Give me the orders. I'll follow them. That's what I do."
Nightwing stared at him, searching for something the boy he once laughed with, trained beside, and trusted as a brother. But the visor showed nothing back. Only a ghost.
Batman gave a slow nod. "Then you know what to do. Survive it."
Kade turned toward the dark horizon, shadows curling at his boots like chains. His parting words were quiet, bitter, but resolute:
"Surviving's the part I've never been good at."
And then he walked into the night.
The rain swallowed his footsteps as he moved away from the ruins, shadows trailing like smoke behind him. The city skyline pulsed faintly in the distance, neon bleeding through the storm. But here, in the dead zone of Cadmus's carcass, it felt like the world had forgotten him just as it had before.
Five years.
Five years since the Cave. Since the Team. Since the boy in the cracked photo is tucked in his gear. He'd traded laughter for silence, missions for friendships, scars for smiles. Every year, another piece of him was stripped away until only the weapon was left.
He thought of Zatanna. Her voice was still sharp in his head, echoing through the years: "You're a monster, Kade. I can't fix what you are. I can't even look at you anymore."
The shadows rippled at the memory, like wounds reopening. That was the night he'd stopped fighting the pull. The night he stopped pretending he could ever go back. Batman sent him deeper after that, mission after mission, until even the silence became routine.
Now, he was walking back into hell. And part of him knew he belonged there.
"Hey."
The voice cut through the rain, familiar and softer than it should have been.
Kade stopped. Nightwing was there, half a dozen paces behind, mask wet, shoulders tense but not hostile. He hadn't followed with Batman's authority; he'd come as Dick Grayson.
"You okay?" Dick asked. His voice was steady, but his eyes searched Kade's face like he already knew the answer.
Kade let out a dry breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "That's a hell of a question to ask me."
Dick stepped closer. "I mean it. You don't have to do this. Aqualad's already under. He's got his cover. You don't need to throw yourself back to Slade."
Kade shook his head slowly, water dripping down his scarred jaw. "Yeah, I do."
"Why?"
The word hit harder than it should have. For a moment, Kade just stood there, staring at the cracked pavement, before he finally spoke voice a low, almost bitter voice."Because she was right."
Dick's brow furrowed. "Who?"
Kade's lips pressed thin. "Zatanna. She called me a monster. Said I couldn't be fixed. And you know what? She was right. That's all I am now. Might as well use it."
Dick's chest tightened. He shook his head fiercely. "No. No, you don't get to decide that because she was angry. Because she was scared. She doesn't speak for us." His voice sharpened, urgent. "You're not a monster, Kade. You never were."
Kade looked up at him, rain streaking his face, eyes hollow. "Then what am I, Dick? Look at me. Tell me what you see."
Dick held his gaze, unflinching. "I see my teammate. My brother. The same guy who fought beside me when nobody else would. You think Conner, M'gann, Wally any of them would call you what she did? They wouldn't. They never have."
Kade's jaw worked, the words gnawing at something buried deep. But he didn't let it out. Instead, he shook his head, voice quieter now, ragged at the edges."Doesn't matter. You don't get it. This—" he gestured to the shadows bleeding off him, restless, alive "—this is all I've got left. Fighting. Missions. Being what the League needs when they don't want to get their hands dirty. I don't get to be the brother anymore. I don't get to be the friend."
Dick's voice dropped, rough with hurt. "You still are. You always will be. You think I don't remember the kid who made us laugh in the Cave? The one who carried more weight than any of us, and still kept fighting? That's still in there, Kade. You just don't want to see it."
The shadows pulsed, crawling higher across Kade's armor like they wanted to swallow him whole. His eyes hardened. "Then maybe I don't deserve to."
For a long moment, the rain filled the silence between them.
Dick stepped closer, his tone pleading now. "You don't have to do this alone. Not again."
Kade turned away, shoulders squaring against the storm. "Yeah, I do."
And with that, he walked on, the shadows closing behind him like a curtain. Dick stood alone in the rain, watching the friend he once knew vanish into the dark and fearing that this time, there would be no way back.
The safehouse was little more than a concrete box beneath an abandoned subway platform. Rainwater leaked through cracks in the ceiling, pooling across the floor in shallow reflections of flickering light. The smell of mildew clung to the air.
In the center sat a steel case. Batman's dead drop.
Phantom stood over it, silent for a long time before kneeling. His gauntlet brushed across the latches. They clicked open with a finality that echoed in the hollow space.
Inside: black armor.
Not the old plating he'd worn when he was still half a boy playing soldier with the Team. This was heavier, jagged at the edges, matte and sharp like the night itself had been hammered into shape. The breastplate bore faint gray etchings, circuitry woven into the metal to sync with his shadows. The helmet's visor was narrow, a slit of dim violet light that revealed nothing of the man beneath.
A monster's face.
He drew a breath and began.
Piece by piece, the armor swallowed him. The chestplate locked with a hiss, sealing against the scars beneath. Bracers clamped tight around his forearms, shadows rippling against the etched lines like living ink. Boots clicked into place, weighted for silence. Knives slotted against his thigh. A collapsible short-sword, matte black, magnetized to his back. Compact, brutal, efficient.
His weapons were not meant to incapacitate. They were meant to end fights quickly. Slade's way.
As the helmet sealed last, the violet slit lit the room in a thin glow. The reflection that stared back from the steel case lid was no longer Kade. It was the ghost.
He flexed his hands, shadows coiling up his arms in answer. They fit the new armor like a second skin.
For a moment, silence. Then the memories crept in.
Five years.
The League had grown new capes, new faces. Zatanna had moved up, shining bright among them, her seat at the table earned while his own path dragged him deeper into the dirt. Rocket joined too. Plastic Man, Guy Gardner. The League looked more like the world now. Stronger. Brighter. And yet the U.N. didn't trust them anymore. The Rimbor Incident had seen to that, Savage puppeteering gods into war criminals. Batman called it politics. Kade called it a weakness.
The Team had changed, too. Nightwing is in charge now, the eternal soldier playing strategist. Wally is gone, Artemis with him. Conner and M'gann are trying, failing, breaking apart. New kids wearing codenames like they meant something: Beetle, Wonder Girl, Lagoon Boy. Bright-eyed, eager. He'd seen them on missions, once or twice, from rooftops or through surveillance feeds. They looked at the fight like it was a calling.
He looked at it like it was a cage.
And the League? The League looked at him the same way they had from the beginning: a weapon pointed by Cadmus, sharpened by Batman, trained by Slade. Not a hero. Not a man. A contingency. A monster in their back pocket for when things got too ugly.
Zatanna's voice echoed again in his skull: "You're a monster, Kade."
He tightened the straps on his gauntlets until the leather bit into his skin.
Maybe she'd been right.
His missions during the gap played behind his eyes like war reels. Istanbul: extraction of a double agent, leaving three bodies in the Bosporus. Caracas: silencing a weapons broker, a knife sliding between ribs before the man's family woke. Macau: dismantling a Triad shipment, fire lighting the harbor red while screams carried across the water. None of it had been sanctioned League business, but Batman had sent him anyway. "Blackout missions," he called them. The kind no one else could know about.
Each one had stripped something away until nothing was left but this armor, these shadows, this silence.
Kade slid the short-sword free, testing its weight. The edge whispered through the air like a sigh. His reflection glared back at him from the black, de faceless, violet-lit, unreadable.
He sheathed it slowly.
In the corner of the case was a folded slip of paper. Batman's handwriting, clipped and direct:
Ghost Protocol initiated. No further contact. Survive.
Kade crushed the note in his fist. The shadows ate it, dissolving the paper into ash before it touched the ground.
He stood, armored and armed, the weight of five years pressing down on him like gravity.
For a moment, he pulled a worn photo from the hidden pocket of his pack, the old Team, younger, smiling, before the world turned sour. Robin. Artemis. Wally. M'gann. Conner. Kaldur. Himself. He stared at it, shadows crawling across the edges of the paper until their faces nearly vanished.
He slipped it back inside, deeper this time. Buried where even he wouldn't have to look.
"Ghosts don't need memories," he muttered. "Just orders."
The shadows wrapped him tight, swallowing the last of the man.
He was ready.
The surf hissed against the rocks as Phantom approached the submersible. The manta sigil gleamed faint red in the stormlight. At the base of the ramp, Kaldur stood tall in Black Manta's armor, water sheeting off the plates. The glowing lenses of his helmet tracked Kade as he drew near.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Rain filled the silence between them.
Then Kaldur's voice, deep and measured, broke through."It has been five years."
Phantom stopped a few paces away, visor dimming to reveal hollow eyes. "Feels like longer."
Kaldur studied him, expression unreadable beneath the helm. "You look… changed."
Kade gave a dry, humorless breath. "So do you." His gaze flicked across the armor, the manta insignia. "Didn't think I'd ever see you in his colors."
Kaldur's reply was even. "And I did not think I would see you return to his shadow."
The words hung sharp, both men understanding exactly who he was.
Kaldur stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Are you certain about this? If you go back to Slade, you may not come back. At least, not as yourself."
Phantom's mouth twitched, a shadow of something that might once have been a smile. "It's fine, Kaldur. Same orders, different group." He rolled his shoulders, armor shifting. "You know how it goes."
Kaldur's jaw tightened. "I know too well. Every day I wear this armor, I risk losing myself to the lie." His gaze lingered, searching Kade's face. "But you… You have already given so much."
Kade met his eyes, steady but tired. "What's a little more?"
Kaldur hesitated, the storm wind catching the edge of his cloak. For a moment, the mask of Black Manta's lieutenant slipped, and his voice carried the weight of a friend, not a role."I would not ask this of you. Not after everything you endured."
Kade shook his head, voice flat. "You're not asking. He is." He jerked his chin skyward, where Gotham's knight might as well have been watching even now. "And you know me, Kaldur. I take orders. That's what I'm good at."
Silence pressed in again. The waves crashed, the submersible's engines hummed low.
Finally, Kaldur inclined his head. "Then so be it. But remember, even in this darkness, you are not alone."
Kade's visor slid back down, violet light shuttering over his face. Shadows curled at his feet. His voice was a rasp of iron."I've been alone for a long time."
Kaldur's eyes flickered, but he gave no more words. He turned, gesturing to the ramp. "Come. The one who forged you waits."
Phantom followed, boots striking the gangplank as the rain beat down, two ghosts walking into the jaws of the sea.
The submersible's ramp hissed shut behind them, sealing out the storm. Inside, the air was thick with brine and oil, the corridors narrow, lit only by dull crimson strips along the ceiling. The hum of the engines vibrated underfoot, steady as a heartbeat.
Phantom followed Kaldur through the passageways. Soldiers in Manta's black-and-red stepped aside as they passed, eyes dropping to the floor. Some risked a glance recognition flashing, fear tightening their mouths, but no one spoke. The ghost's reputation walked before him, shadows curling in his wake like smoke.
The deeper they went, the heavier the air seemed. The steel bulkheads pressed closer, the corridors winding into the belly of the vessel until it felt less like walking through a ship and more like descending into a tomb.
Phantom's voice, low and rasping, cut the silence between them."Feels familiar."
Kaldur glanced at him, helm lenses glowing faintly. "You have been here before?"
"No." Shadows stirred at Kade's shoulders. "But all these places feel the same. Metal walls. Locked doors. Monsters waiting at the end."
Kaldur said nothing, but his pace slowed as they reached a reinforced door. Two guards flanked it, stiffening at their approach. Kaldur raised a hand they stepped aside without question.
The door opened with a grinding hiss.
Inside, the chamber was wider, lit by the cold gleam of overhead fluorescents. A long table stretched across the center, maps and holo-projectors casting shifting light on the walls. At its head stood two figures.
One was massive, armored in black plating with glowing crimson optics, his presence filling the room like a tidal wave. Black Manta.
The other was leaner but no less imposing, clad in segmented armor of black and orange. A half-mask covered his face, a single red lens burning in the gloom. He leaned casually against the table, but his posture radiated command. Deathstroke.
The Light's enforcer. Slade Wilson.
The room seemed to shrink as Phantom stepped inside.
Manta's voice boomed first, mechanical and cold. "Kaldur'ahm. You return with the ghost."
Deathstroke tilted his head, the single red eye fixing on Phantom. He chuckled low, dark amusement rumbling beneath the mask."Well, well. The Bat's favorite knife. Back where you belong."
Phantom didn't answer. His visor glowed faint violet as he stood tall, the shadows at his boots restless, alive.
Behind him, the door sealed shut with a heavy clang.
The chamber felt colder once the door sealed.
Black Manta loomed behind the table, arms folded across his chest, crimson optics glaring. Kaldur stood to one side, posture rigid in his father's shadow.
Deathstroke didn't move at first. He simply let the silence hang, the single red lens of his mask burning a hole through Phantom. The mercenaries in the corners of the room didn't even breathe too loudly.
Finally, Slade straightened, boots clicking against the deck as he circled the table. His voice was low, rough, but steady, each word a scalpel."So. The Bat's ghost. My ghost. I wondered which leash you'd answer to."
Phantom said nothing. He held Slade's gaze, visor dim violet against the mercenary's red lens.
Slade chuckled, the sound humorless. "You always were good at silence. I taught you that. Words are weak. Hesitation. The enemy doesn't need to know what you feel."
He came to stand just in front of Phantom, close enough that the glow of his lens reflected in Kade's visor. His voice lowered, intimate in its sharpness."Tell me, boy, who do you belong to now?"
Phantom's jaw tightened. For a moment, the answer threatened to stick in his throat. Then he rasped: "I belong to the mission."
Slade tilted his head, studying him. "Good. Still sharp." He began circling again, like a predator assessing its hound. "But missions change. Masters change. Only survival remains. That was your first lesson."
Phantom's voice was flat. "Survive. Complete the mission. Burn anyone who gets in the way."
The room went still. Even Manta's optics narrowed, intrigued.
Slade stopped behind him, close enough for his voice to rasp directly into Phantom's ear."Say it louder. Let them hear who you are."
Kade's hands clenched, shadows rippling at his feet. His voice dropped into a growl, resonant in the steel chamber."Survive. Complete the mission. Burn anyone who gets in the way."
Deathstroke's gloved hand came down heavy on his shoulder, not just a touch, but a claim."That's my boy."
The words carried something more than ownership. Pride. Satisfaction. Almost paternal.
He turned back to Manta, his tone calm, assured."You see? Not the League's leash dog. Not the Bat's mistake. Mine. A weapon honed. And now, returned."
Manta's voice boomed, filtered, and mechanical. "So be it. If he proves his worth, he serves the Light again."
Slade chuckled, stepping back to face Phantom directly once more. "Oh, he'll prove it. Won't you?"
Phantom finally spoke with certainty, his visor glowing like a slit of cold fire."I already have."
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Slade laughed again, sharp and short, the sound like a blade scraping stone."Welcome home, Ghost."
The shadows around Phantom shuddered, restless and alive.
The chamber emptied slowly. Guards filed out, equipment hissed offline, leaving only the hum of the sub's engines.
Aqualad remained, standing in the red glow. His face, hidden behind Manta's helm, betrayed nothing, but his hands were clenched behind his back. He had seen many things in these past years. Betrayals staged, loyalties tested, masks worn so long they became skin. But watching Kade bow his head to Slade's hand…
That cut deeper than he expected.
He remembered the boy in the Cave, the one who had tried to make friends even when he didn't know if he didn't belonged, who had bled beside them against the League's own traitors. Now that boy was buried beneath jagged armor, answering like a soldier drilled into obedience.
"Survive. Complete the mission. Burn anyone who gets in the way."
The words still rang in Aqualad's ears.
He turned sharply, hiding the flicker of pain in his eyes. For the mission, he told himself. Always for the mission. But as the sub rumbled into the depths, he could not help but wonder how much of Kade was left and how much of Phantom would ever come back.
---
Far above the sea, in the sterile quiet of the Watchtower, Nightwing stood before the dark expanse of the monitor wall. Batman stood behind him, cape draped like the night itself, arms folded.
"You shouldn't have sent him," Dick said at last. His voice was steady, but his fists were tight at his sides. "Slade isn't just another target. He made Kade. You know what that means."
Batman's reply came low, steady, with that weight of inevitability that had always marked his words. "It means he's the only one who can get deeper than anyone else."
Dick turned, eyes flashing. "At what cost? He's not… Bruce, he's not just an asset. You can't—"
"He was made in Cadmus," Batman cut in, sharper now. "Shaped by Deathstroke before we ever found him. Every mission since then, every time I sent him farther from the T, it was for this. To make it believable. To make the Light trust him when the time came."
Dick's breath caught, anger flickering into something closer to hurt. "You've been planning this for years."
Batman's silence was answer enough.
Dick shook his head. "And you didn't tell anyone. Not me, not Wally, not M'gann, not Conner. You think they wouldn't notice he was… slipping away?"
Batman's voice softened, almost imperceptibly, like a father admitting what he cannot undo. "That's why you can't tell them. Not now. Not ever. The more distance, the safer the cover."
"Bruce—"
"No." Batman's eyes narrowed, the mask hiding nothing of the steel in his voice. "If the Light suspects, it's over. Kade's the only one who can do this, Dick. You have to trust him. You have to trust me."
The words hung heavy in the sterile air.
Dick looked away, jaw tight, fighting the instinct to argue. Fighting the memory of the boy who used to laugh, who used to smile awkwardly when Zatanna teased him, who used to feel human.
All that was left now was the ghost.
"Then God help him," Dick said finally, his voice low, rough.
Batman didn't reply. He only stared out into the void beyond the Watchtower glass, silent, as if he too knew what it meant to lose a son to the shadows.
The Batcave was quiet, save for the low hum of the computers and the steady drip of water from stalactites high above. The glow of the monitors painted the cavern walls in shifting blues, shadows stretching across the stone like grasping hands.
Dick stood at the console, gloved fingers gripping the edge until his knuckles blanched. His chest rose and fell with the weight of words he'd been holding back since the Cadmus ruins.
"You shouldn't have sent him."
His voice cut through the cave like a blade. Alfred, standing near the staircase with a tray he hadn't touched, froze but said nothing. His eyes flicked between the two, man and father and son, in everything but blood, knowing what was about to come.
Bruce didn't turn. He loomed in front of the main screen, cape trailing across the floor like a shadow made flesh. "Slade isn't just another target." His tone was steady, immovable. "And Kade isn't just another operative. He's the only one who can get deeper than anyone else."
Dick spun, fury in his eyes. "At what cost?!" His voice cracked, too raw to hide. "He's not… Bruce, he's not just an asset. You can't keep treating him like one."
Bruce finally turned, mask catching the light. His reply was sharper now, honed to cut through hesitation. "He was made in Cadmus. Shaped by Deathstroke before we ever found him. Every mission I sent him on, every time I pushed him farther from the team, it was for this moment. To make it believable. To make the Light trust him when the time came."
Dick stared at him, breath caught, anger burning into something closer to betrayal. "You've been planning this for years."
Bruce's silence was answer enough.
Dick's fists trembled at his sides. "And you didn't tell anyone. Not me, not Wally, not M'gann, not Conner. You think they didn't notice him slipping away? You think they didn't see the walls going up, brick by brick?"
Batman's voice shifted, not cold, not sharp, but heavy with something rarer. Almost human. "That's why you can't tell them. Not now. Not ever. The more distance, the safer the cover. If the Light suspects, it's over. Kade dies."
Dick's throat worked, rage and grief warring inside him. "Bruce—"
"No." Bruce's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping lower, heavy with finality. "You have to trust me. And you have to trust him. Kade is the only one who can do this. The only one who already knows how deep the abyss goes."
The cave fell silent. Alfred set the tray down with care, porcelain clinking faintly against silver. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes lingered on Bruce, weary, old, but full of something unspoken.
Dick turned away, jaw tight. He saw not the boy who used to laugh in the Cave, who stumbled over his words with Zatanna, who tried so hard to belong. That boy was gone, buried under armor and shadows.
All that remained was the ghost.
Dick's voice was rough when it finally came, softer than before. "Then God help him. Because no one else can."
Bruce didn't reply. He only stared at the monitors, the glow of the mission plans washing over him. His silence carried the weight of a man who had already buried one son in this cave, and now risked losing another.
Alfred's hand tightened on the railing above, his whisper too low for either man to hear: "And God help you, too, Master Bruce."