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(General P.O.V)
(Batcave)
Four shadows danced against the dim lighting of the cave.
On the Batcomputer screen: surveillance footage, satellite maps, heat signatures, police reports. The remains of East End were smoldering red and orange, even on thermal.
Robin leaned on the console, arms crossed. "Eyewitnesses are calling it a freak firestorm. Thunderstorm rolled in fast, lightning struck ground zero, and the wind turned it into a blaze."
Batgirl zoomed in on a few stills. "No casualties. That's the only good news. Warehouses all gutted. Whatever was inside? Gone."
Nightwing frowned, tilting the feed. "I don't buy 'freak.' Firefighters said the flames weren't normal. Couldn't put them out with foam. Took hours, and they still didn't burn out right."
Batgirl tapped through audio clips. "And then there's this."
She played it. Multiple 911 callers.
"I swear there was a dragon—swear to God—its face was in the flames!"
"Something was there… not human. A demon."
"It laughed, man. The fire—it laughed!"
Robin shook his head. "Firefly?"
"No," Batman said, finally speaking.
They turned to look at him, seated in front of the screen. The cowl's shadow didn't hide the edge in his voice.
"It's not Firefly. It's them."
"'Them?'" Nightwing echoed.
"The League of Shadow's assassins. Whoever else is working with them." Batman's jaw tightened. "They're moving. And whatever they're planning—it started with this."
He turned to the board. "Spread the net. Full patrol coverage. East End, Narrows, Burnside. I want eyes on the ground and in the sky."
Batgirl exchanged a look with Nightwing.
Robin grumbled, "There goes my weekend."
(Elsewhere – Rundown Trailer park, Old Gotham)
"ARE YOU TWO OUT OF YOUR DAMN MINDS?"
Jason's voice rattled the peeling wallpaper.
He paced back and forth in front of the tiny bed where Damian and Cassandra sat, still dressed in scorched clothes.
"We were training," Damian muttered.
Jason rounded on him. "You leveled a street. Almost burned down East End!"
Cassandra just shrugged, arms crossed.
"Oh don't give me the silent routine now," Jason snapped, pointing at her. "You Chi-blasted half the safe house into the East River. Do you know what that looked like from across the street?!"
"Epic," Damian said under his breath.
Jason jabbed a finger toward him. "You! Don't get smug. You two lit up our only safe house like it was the Fourth of July—on demon steroids. There's a crater in the middle of a residential zone that looks like a dragon made it. You're on GCPD, fire department, and definitely Batman's radar now. Congratulations."
"Still no casualties," Damian noted. "That's a win."
Jason took a deep breath and ran both hands through his hair. "You're going to get us all killed. And we haven't even gotten into Arkham yet. If it wasn't for Clayface hiding us here...ughh!"
He trailed off and pointed a finger at them both like a fed-up dad.
"You're going to apologize. To each other. Right now. Whatever beef you two have is over."
"Why?" Cassandra frowned.
"Because," Jason growled, "if you don't, I swear to God I will march over to Wayne Manor and tell Bruce who's been frying his city with chi blasts and Ashura tantrums."
Damian's eyes narrowed while Cassandra scoffed.
"And you," Jason turned to her. "I'll release those audio files I recorded of you mumbling and giggling in your sleep like a lovesick schoolgirl."
Damian choked. Cassandra's face flushed red.
"You recorded what?" she snapped, hand on her sword handle.
Jason held up his phone. "Say sorry."
A long pause.
Cassandra's jaw clenched, her grip loosened, then she pouted and mumbled, "Sorry."
Damian smirked. "You're cute when you're mad. Who knew."
Jason raised the phone threateningly.
Damian sighed. "Fine. I'm sorry Cass."
Jason nodded and lowered the phone. "Thank you. Now, go eat or meditate or whatever gets you two to chill."
He walked out, grumbling to himself.
As the door clicked shut, silence filled the room.
Damian leaned back on the mattress. Cassandra stared ahead, arms still crossed.
His eyes drifted—just briefly—to her lips.
His thoughts snapped back to the spar. To a moment when she was beneath him. When he said "submit."
They'd been that close. Almost too close.
But she hadn't mentioned it.
So neither would he. They had a mission to focus on.
-0-
(Next Day- Evening)
Amanda Waller walked briskly through Arkham Asylum's west corridor, her expression sharp and unreadable. Beside her, Nightwing kept pace, casual but focused. Waller didn't buy it.
"The League of Shadows," she said flatly. "And you expect me to believe Batman sent you instead of showing up himself?"
"Batman's busy," Nightwing said without missing a beat. "He passed the intel to me. It's serious. One of the League's top assets is targeting Arkham. They want to eliminate Gotham's competition aka the Rogues, before they expand their control."
Waller scoffed. "So it's criminal politics now?"
"When their version of a warning includes leveling the Court of Owls? I'd say it's worth acting on."
She gave him a long look. Then snapped her fingers at the two guards stationed ahead. "Search him. Strip everything—tools, comms, weapons."
Nightwing raised his hands, letting the guards frisk him and confiscate his gear.
"Protocol," Waller explained.
"Completely understandable," he said.
She gave him a nod and led the way into the secure surveillance hub. The door hissed open, metal and reinforced glass giving way to a room stacked with monitors, control consoles, and internal comms.
She didn't glance back at him again.
High above Arkham Asylum, the night air was cold and heavy. Wind curled over the prison's high walls and bristling fences, tugging at shadowed corners.
Damian hovered in the sky, suspended by two vast wings—black, leathery, alive. Glowing red veins pulsed along the surface. They were part of him, formed from his tattoos and reinforced by Ashura.
His helmet lit up with internal readouts.
No more waiting.
He folded his wings and dropped.
In the tunnels beneath the asylum, Jason and Cassandra struck.
Jason launched from the shadows with quick, efficient brutality, silenced pistol and steel-toe boots making short work of Arkham's outer guards.
Meanwhile, Cassandra moved like wind through the gaps, a silent blur of pressure-point strikes and garrote threads. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Every hallway they cleared was left with nothing but silence and unconscious bodies.
Inside the command center, Waller reviewed the surveillance feeds. The prison was alive with routine movement—until the monitor for the northwest quadrant blinked.
"Energy spike," one tech reported. "North yard."
Waller leaned forward.
The screen flared white.
An explosion of concrete dust and red vapor erupted in the courtyard. Damian landed in the middle of it all, crouched in a smoking crater.
Ashura rolled off his shoulders.
"Target confirmed," Nightwing said quietly, stepping closer to her side.
Waller narrowed her eyes. "Deploy all squads to the yard. Lock all exits including access to the tunnels. Sound the alarms."
Guards scrambled.
The feeds caught Damian calmly raising his hands, stepping out of the crater like he hadn't just landed hard enough to shake the block.
Waller's lips tightened. "Take him alive. If possible."
As the techs worked, she failed to notice that Nightwing hadn't moved in a while.
Hadn't blinked.
Behind her, he began to shift.
His face melted into clay.
His arm stretched silently behind her like a whip.
Clayface was ready.
The moment Waller's eyes returned to the monitors, Clayface struck.
His arm shot forward—liquid mass turning solid around her throat. She tried to scream, but he clamped her windpipe before the sound left her lips. Another arm re-formed from his chest, stretching to silence the nearest comms technician with a hard blow to the head.
"Everyone out," Clayface growled. "Now."
The guards in the room hesitated—just long enough to make a mistake.
He slammed the floor with a massive fist, and the shockwave sent consoles flying. One of the guards hit the wall and didn't get back up. The others fled. He locked the door.
"Clayface...missed home that much?"
Waller struggled in his grip.
"Relax, Waller." Clayface said in a warped version of her own voice. "You're not dying today. You're just losing control."
In the main yard, Damian dropped to one knee as guards surrounded him. He made a show of surrender. Let them feel victorious.
Handcuffs clicked onto his wrists.
He looked up at the rows of cellblocks. The inmates inside stared down at him, silent and tense. Waiting.
The lockdown lights above them turned green.
A hundred locks disengaged at once.
CLACK. CLACK. CLACK.
Cells slid open.
An Arkham riot erupted.
Inmates spilled into the yard like floodwater—screaming, fighting, tearing into anything in reach. The guards' formation collapsed in seconds.
Damian stood calmly, flexed his wrists—and the cuffs snapped off like string.
"How surprisingly useful of Clayface. Might be a good idea to keep him around." He noted, walking through the chaos untouched, Ashura vapor trailing behind him. Screams rose. Guards fell. Someone set a tower on fire.
He didn't look back.
Inside the command room, Clayface shoved Waller into a chair and locked her arms behind it with hardened mud. She glared at him.
"You've made enemies you'll regret."
Damian entered seconds later, the door beeping open for him, brushing soot off his shoulder.
"I've made worse," he said, nodding at Clayface.
Damian turned to glance at the console. All Entries into the tunnels below Arkham were on lockdown like the rest of the Asylum.
"Access codes," he said simply.
Waller didn't speak, only kept glaring at him.
Clayface tightened the grip. The chair creaked.
Damian turned to face her fully, removing his helmet. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be a memory. So I'll make this easier. Give me what I want and we won't have to blow our way through. Those tunnels are old and could lead to the whole base collapsing. Think of the damage you'll avoid."
Silence.
Then, finally, she gave the code.
Clayface input it. A digital seal unlatched on-screen.
Jason's voice crackled through the comms. "West tunnel door just popped. We're heading in."
Damian gave a nod. "Keep it tight. No delays. Locate the target, I'll follow along soon."
An alert pinged on the console, in response to the Alarm.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION — CODE: ORACLE PR1M3
Damian motioned to Clayface who turned back into Waller in seconds.
He pressed a button.
"This is Waller," he said in a perfect mimic of her clipped, no-nonsense tone. "Situation's contained. Breach isolated. Working with Nightwing and GCPD. Will update when secured."
A pause.
Longer than necessary.
Then: "Understood," came the flat voice of Batman.
The line went dead.
Damian's jaw clenched.
"He knows and he's coming," he said. "We have minutes."
Jason's voice came in again. "We're entering the sealed section now. Feels old. Real old."
Damian turned to Clayface. "Seal the upper levels. Make it look like the riot spread. Then disappear. Don't get caught. Also, good job."
"Aye aye boss."
Clayface gave him a thumbs-up and started corrupting the surveillance feeds.
Damian stared at the vault door camera, where Cassandra and Jason were already slipping inside.
"Let's find this Lazarus Pit," he said to himself. "And vanish before company arrives."