Gotham was gradually falling asleep. Lights in the windows became a rare occurrence; cars on the roads grew fewer, as did the people trudging along on their business.
In the nocturnal darkness, a shadow moved across the rooftops. The figure ran swiftly over the buildings, easily leaping across ten-meter gaps between houses. In extreme cases, when the distance was too great or the figure needed to reach the roof of a taller building, it would vanish from one spot and reappear in another. However, every such action was accompanied by a brief delay.
At night, Gotham was manifold gloomier than during the day. Gargoyles staring down from skyscrapers, dark alleys, heavy gray buildings—everything gave off the vibe of a harsh, black-and-white noir detective story.
In contrast to the emptying streets, life was just waking up near the neon signs of nightclubs. A small figure clad in black garments came to a halt at the roof of one such address.
Fake brown eyes carefully examined the location where one of the League of Shadows traitors had been spotted. Forming hand seals, Damian flushed chakra through his body, which, under the influence of the specific seals, sharply reduced his weight by nearly tenfold—and he leaped. His vision blurred instantly from the breakneck speed, and a moment later, his feet touched the roof of the neighboring building. For a second, the boy's vision went dark, and his stomach churned as if his intestines had been violently scrambled, while a sharp whistle rang in his ears. But within a second, all the side effects of using Shunshin vanished, and he let out a sigh of relief.
Below his feet lay a luxurious penthouse, part of whose roof consisted of panoramic windows. The boy cautiously peered through them into the light-filled room, where voices laughed and life flowed like a river.
A wide balcony looked like an invitation, and Damian accepted it. Entering the Rhythm and moving first along the wall and then the ceiling, the boy followed the sound of voices. Ubu, a two-meter giant with shoulders like barn doors and the face of a hardened psychopath, was merrily embracing two loose women. Massive hands were enthusiastically kneading their chests, while female hands stroked the man's groin. Feigned, cheerful laughter filled the room; fawning smiles adorned the two prostitutes, but in each of their eyes, one could see only dollar signs.
Damian had initially wanted to attach a few tiny bugs—taken back in Nanda Parbat—to Ubu's clothes and leave, but he realized a person could change their clothes. A scan of the apartment didn't help him decide where to plant the trackers, but a glass of whiskey tipped back into a mouth did. If the bug was in the man's stomach, there would be no way to leave it behind at the victim's home.
Commending himself and his brain for their cleverness, the invisible Damian timed it perfectly and flicked the bug into Ubu's mouth just as he tossed back another glass of whiskey. The brute realized he had swallowed something hard, but glancing at a plate of peanuts, he gave it no thought.
Next, Damian stealthily lifted Ubu's unlocked phone and, in a couple of minutes, transferred all the data to a flash drive—he was carrying five of them. Just in case Ubu's stomach contained nuclear-grade acid, he uploaded a tracking program as well.
Moving further away, the boy checked the sensors' functionality, ensured they were transmitting a signal to his phone, and left the penthouse, then the roof of the building, utilizing Shunshin once more.
The mission was a success. All that remained was to track Ubu's movements and, in the best-case scenario, find a base or hideout if one existed in Gotham. In the worst case, he simply wouldn't lose sight of the traitor, as his fate was already sealed and only delayed due to his current utility.
Gotham was asleep now, and while the streets were lit by lamps, the rooftops were illuminated only by the moon. Damian ran across the tops of high-rises at a leisurely pace, experiencing no issues navigating such extreme circumstances.
By what could only be described as a twist of fate, two young people had decided to have a date on a rooftop that very night. He was a tall, perfectly built black-haired guy of nineteen. She was a beautiful black-haired girl with a lovely figure and an equally lovely mind.
"Gotham looks even bleaker at night," Zatanna sighed.
"Yes, but there's a charm to it. Sometimes I miss its gloom in Blüdhaven."
"That's occupational hazard; you've run across these rooftops too much," the girl smiled.
"Heh, you suggesting I see a psychologist to work through it?"
"Pff, as if you'd ever open up to an outsider. Maybe Black Canary, at best."
Receiving no answer, Zatanna turned toward her boyfriend and saw him staring grimly into the city.
"Did something happen?"
"Yes. See him?" Dick Grayson pointed a finger into the moon-drenched darkness of the city.
"Hmm," Zatanna's eyes immediately filled with light, turning her pupils into two blue flames. "I see. League of Shadows attire, but the figure is... small. Almost like a child's."
"We need to check it out," Dick said with a disappointed sigh. "Sorry. If the League is operating in Gotham, it means trouble. We'll deal with him quickly, find out why he's here, and come back. We didn't buy that bottle of wine for nothing." The guy nodded toward a bag on the roof containing said bottle.
"Fine," Zatanna shrugged. "Give me your hand. He's already far; let's teleport closer."
The guy and girl gripped hands firmly. The sorceress closed her eyes for better focus, and a second later, both vanished in a faint blue flash, reappearing a few rooftops away from the slowly running child figure.
Zatanna waved her hand toward Dick, and his sleek blue Nightwing suit instantly materialized on him.
"Thanks," he nodded and broke into a run.
The girl used magic again, rising half a meter into the air, and floated smoothly after her boyfriend.
Two heroes and Damian in his League of Assassins gear ended up on the roof of a thirty-story building at the same time.
"It really is a child," Nightwing shook his head and said loudly enough to be heard, "The assassins are getting smaller these days."
Without another word, the hero lunged forward, deftly pulling a meter-long metal stick—an Escrima stick—from the mount on his back. A second later, the weapon swung toward a slightly bewildered Damian, but it only caught air.
Damian stepped to the side, ending up on the right, and then pivoted his torso to dodge an upward swing of the stick. Four more times the boy evaded the practiced strikes of the two Escrimas, sizing up his new opponent, before unexpectedly erupting into a hail of lightning-fast attacks.
The older youth managed to block barely half of them, while the rest were absorbed by the armor plates of his suit. To Nightwing's surprise, he felt every blow, even though few normal people were capable of such power.
The chakra-infused body produced incredible force, more characteristic of a trained hundred-kilogram adult fighter than a twelve-year-old child.
In a sudden opening, the small fist connected with an unprotected chin. Nightwing's head snapped back, and his body involuntarily stiffened, nearly lifting off the ground.
A spinning left elbow strike slammed into the hero's armored stomach, forcing him to double over sharply.
Damian's flurry was interrupted by the sound of electricity from behind. Relying entirely on his body's reflexes, the child rolled to the right, narrowly avoiding a weak bolt of lightning that scorched the roof.
Seeing Zatanna, the boy realized he had to run. His fingers quickly wove hand seals. Placing his right palm, folded into a concentration seal, before his mouth, Damian exhaled. As the exhaled air passed his palm, it suddenly ignited into a tiny spark, which a moment later expanded into a Fireball.
"Oh, crap," the boy barely had time to complain as he saw an identical Fireball flying his way. It was as if Zatanna had anticipated the child's plan and decided to counter it, though it was actually just a coincidence.
A surprised Nightwing realized he wouldn't have time to dodge the Fireball. He covered the only exposed part of his face with his arms, but suddenly a translucent blue magical barrier appeared before him. The fireball slammed into the barrier and splattered across it like napalm, draining helplessly onto the roof's surface.
Damian lunged to the side to dodge the flame, then performed a quick roll and another dash to avoid a magical ramming attack. Several shuriken appeared in the boy's hands seemingly from nowhere and, with a flick of both wrists, flew toward his two opponents. Neither could dodge in time, but Zatanna was shielded by a magical barrier she had clearly set up in advance, and Nightwing was protected by his suit.
However, just as with the Fireball, Damian's goal was misdirection. The two seconds bought by the flying metal were enough to weave a complex combination of seals and surround the bell on his belt with chakra. It chimed merrily, releasing a chakra-infused sound wave that hit the eardrums of the two humans and instantly reached their brains. The chakra, following a pre-set pattern Damian had just devised, began to affect the five senses of both heroes, creating an illusion in their minds.
Suddenly, Nightwing began to sink into the roof's surface, as if it had turned into a quagmire in the blink of an eye. Zatanna was seized by dozens of glowing gold chains that seemed to grow out of space itself, stretching out to crucify the girl. Simultaneously, both saw Damian dissolve into several black ravens. Crawing and rustling their feathers, they scattered in all directions, inexplicably shedding those same feathers. Nightwing reacted instantly. Flicking his stick, he fired a hook from its tip that latched onto the wall of the neighboring building, yet no matter how he pressed the button, nothing happened.
Ready to charge, Nightwing stood rooted to the spot. A second later, he fired the hook at the neighboring roof but couldn't seem to find the button to retract the cable. Zatanna froze in place, her face straining as if trying to break the bonds holding her, her head darting side to side, trying to track all five scattered ravens.
Damian, meanwhile, wove new seals, lightened his body with chakra, and jumped, moving three houses away in the blink of an eye. Two seconds for a breather, and the boy repeated the Shunshin. He spent a few more seconds keeping his stomach in check and then ran home on his own two feet.
"I am such an idi-o-o-ot!" the boy nearly slapped his forehead. "Why did I even have to fight them? I could have just said I'm on Batman's side! Even if I hadn't, they would have brought me to Dad anyway. Though wait, Nightwing attacked first! No 'hello,' no 'goodbye,' the moron. Should I go back and actually kick their asses? No, Zatanna's there. Forget that."
Only after five long seconds did Zatanna realize that everything happening to her was an illusion. A sharp burst of pure mana from her entire body destroyed the chakra in her head, and with it, the illusion. She performed the same trick, directing the burst at Nightwing. The hero, who had almost "drowned" in the swamp, suddenly found himself standing on a solid surface, arm extended with an Escrima stick from which a cable protruded, its hook embedded in the neighboring building.
The guy blinked and looked around.
"What just happened?"
"An illusion."
"So I wasn't actually drowning. And that kid turning into ravens was an illusion too?"
"Yep. And an incredibly high-quality one. It wasn't external; it was internal, planted directly into the brain."
"So he's a telepath?"
"If he were a telepath, he'd have tried to crawl into our heads. Though maybe he is one, just limited to planting illusions."
"Maybe he was holding back?" Nightwing asked, already messaging Batman about the encounter with a very young League of Shadows fighter.
"Hmm, possibly."
"Bats is calling us in," the guy frowned.
"'We'll catch the kid and then relax,' he said," Zatanna mimicked her boyfriend.
"Surprisingly, he isn't calling us in right now, but tomorrow," Nightwing smiled and kissed his girlfriend on the cheek. "So, let's continue our date."
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