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“Master Damian, a letter has come for you.” Alfred says, over breakfast, brings the envelope to the boy.
The paper Damian pulls out is fine and delicate, the edges embossed with gold. He unfolds it gently and reads it. The family waits in baited breath as he reads. Finally Damian slides the paper back into the envelope and addresses the table. “There is a tournament on Infinity Island, my mother and grandfather wish me to attend.”
Immediately tension fills the room, everyone glancing at Bruce, sitting at the head of the table. “Damian, can I see the letter?” Damian nods and passes it to Bruce. The wax seal that Damian broke bears the symbol of the Al Ghul family. He pulls the letter out and begins reading.
Habibi,
The Tournament of Gladiators will take place on Infinity Island in 1 week. I understand you expressed a desire to participate in this year's games, but I have spoken with father and we have both agreed you are still too young. However we would be pleased if you attended the festivities with us. We would also like to take the opportunity to extend the invitation to your father. You may also bring along Grayson, Cain, Brown and Drake if you so choose.
Please get back to me soon, so I may have the servants make up your rooms.
Your mother,
Talia Al Ghul.
Bruce passes the letter to Dick, who reads it, then passes it to Tim and Cass who read it together. “What is the tournament of Gladiators?” Tim asks.
Before Bruce can tell him, Damian says, “ A tournament of the most prestigious members of the League of Assassins, to show off their skills in combat and other areas. Only the most talented are allowed to participate, the winner is granted a boon from my family, and the favor of my grandfather. It is a spectacular event. I have gone with my mother to Infinity Island every year to see it.” Damian, upon realizing that he had interrupted his father, shrinks back a little. But Bruce just smiles at him displaying the comfort it takes to do that.
“And this tournament, is it… to the death?” Dick askes hesitantly.
“Not in theory.” Damian responds, “But there are usually casualties every year. Some challengers refuse to surrender until they are killed.”
Dick nods and glances at Cass, who seems to share his concern.
Damian looks at Bruce with barely restrained hope, “May we attend father? It is a wonderful spectacle, I would even be willing to bring the Pretender.” He glares at Tim briefly before going back to staring at Bruce.
“Whoa, thanks Demon Brat.” Tim sighs.
“Boys.” Bruce stops them before they can begin to fight. “Damian, let me think about it some. I will tell you when I have an answer.”
Damian nods, obviously disappointed at the idea of having to wait.
They finish breakfast and Damian and Tim are shuffled to the car, where Alfred will drive them to school. Dick leaves for work, and Cass disappears somewhere into the house. Bruce sighs, and heads to his study, pulling out his phone.
When Damian had first arrived, he had given Bruce Talia’s personal phone number, for emergencies regarding their son. Though it might not count as a full emergency, Bruce felt it was important to call her.
The phone rings only once before Talia picks it up. “Beloved.” Her smooth voice says over the phone.
“Talia, what’s this I hear about the Tournament of Gladiators?” He cuts to the chase.
“Ah, yes the tournament, what about it?” She asks.
“Why have you invited, Damian, and the rest of the family?”
“It’s tradition, the Al Ghuls always attend, I wanted to extend the offer to Damian. I knew you would never let him go on his own, so extending the offer to the rest of you seemed like the most practical idea.” She tells him.
“And Ra’s? How does he feel about all this?” Bruce isn’t all that worried about Talia, obviously she is dangerous, but she sent Damian to them herself, and has been checking in on Damian frequently. Ra’s is a bit more worrying.
“Father was the one who suggested inviting all of you.” Talia says.
Bruce nearly chokes on his own breath. When Bruce had first become acquainted with Ra’s, all those years ago, he had been desperately searching for an heir, seeing Bruce as the perfect candidate in many ways. As Bruce’s unwillingness to kill grew, Ra’s instead began looking for opportunities to push Talia and Bruce together, like some sort of demented matchmaker. Of course it worked, in some ways. But the more time Damian spends in Gotham, away from the League, the more hesitant he seems about the idea of becoming the Demons Head when his grandfather finally passes.
In quiet moments of vulnerability, few and far between as they are, Damian has spoken about the fits of mania that sometimes over takes his grandfather. There were always procedures to help when it happened, but it was nonetheless scary, hearing his grandfather scream and shout about any number of nonsense. He had said he didn’t want the pit to do that to him.
Bruce had always been nervous about the day Damian finally refused his birth right. He is the only male heir. He fears Ra’s may come for him, might even level Gotham to the ground, destroying their truce to get to his grandson.
“Your father?” Bruce clarifies.
“Yes, he thought it would be a good opportunity for unity between our families.” Talia tells him. There is no lie in her voice, but when has there ever been?
“I didn’t attend the tournament when I was training with the League.”
“You were so focused on your training. The Tournament of Gladiators is supposed to be a celebration, we didn’t think you would want to attend.” She says. “Think about it, then tell me your answer.” She hangs up.
Bruce sighs. He sits down and leans back in his chair. Damian has been with them for less than a year, and has made great strides to acclimate with both the family and Gotham as a whole. But there were still some major issues, one of which being that Damian doesn’t kill because Bruce doesn’t want him to, not because he believes that the lives of those people are important. He sees it on his son's face sometimes, when they shut down trafficking rings and drug dealers that deal with children, that he would much rather run them through with his sword than wait for the GCPD.
But he also knows Damian is homesick. It is the kind of weakness that Damian despises, and pushes down in himself whenever he can. But Bruce sees it in subtle ways. He sketches scenes from his home, pictures of his mother. Sometimes he asks Alfred to make specific dishes from the League. And so many other things that Dick and Alfred tell him about, little things that he might not have picked up on without them.
He dreads the idea of letting Damian go back to the League of Assassins, even if only for a special event. But… they would all be going together. Besides, if what Talia said was right, and it would keep Ra’s happy and not inclined to invade the city, then it was at least worth considering.
“This is a crazy idea. How do you know they won’t try to kill us when we get there?” Dick asked, throwing his bag on the couch next to Tim’s.
“The Tournament of Gladiators is one of their oldest traditions, going back to its founding, before it was even called the League of Assassins. It could be considered a holiday for them. Active League members are recalled from all over the world if they are able to attend. Former League members do too. They wouldn’t disrespect one of their oldest traditions just to kill us. Not even Ra’s.” Tim said, typing away at his computer.
“Studying up?” Steph asks as she enters the room.
“I figured it would be worth knowing a bit about it.” He shrugged.
“I still think it’s a bad idea.” Dick reiterates.
“No.” Cass says from behind him, causing him to jump. The room's attention turns to her. “Homesick.” She points out the window overlooking the back lawn at Damian, walking Titus before they leave.
Dick sighs, nodding.
Bruce and Alfred enter the room last, Bruce with an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. They are speaking in hushed tones. Bruce addresses the room as Damian comes in, letting Titus off his leash. “Is everyone here?” They all nod. “Does everyone have everything?” They all nod again. “Are we ready to go?”
They speak their confirmation and grab their bags from the couch, heading down to the Cave, where the BatPlane waits for them. When they get down, Oracle is already on the large screen, ready to see them off. “Have fun, try not to be beheaded.”
They laugh it off, and Bruce walks over, moving her to a smaller screen. “Are the patrol routes all covered?”
“Yes, the Birds of Prey, minus Cass and Steph are ready to take over for you guys, and a few friends are on call if you need an emergency extraction from Infinity Island. We’re all good here.” She tells him.
Bruce doesn’t look particularly pleased with her answer, and she says, “B, stop looking for reasons not to go. This will be fine. Go.” She smiles at him.
He cracks a smile at her as well and boards the plane. As far as the public knows, Bruce and the family are headed to somewhere in the middle east for a vacation. Not too far off from the truth that they will be able to keep with the lie easily. Dick takes the co-pilot's seat, Damian, Steph, Tim and Cass all in the seats in the back, Cass looking out the window, Damian sketching something, Steph napping and Tim working on some sort of project.
They take off after final safety checks from Alfred. The flight to Infinity Island is long and the kids mostly sleep through the ride.
By the time they land, it’s well past morning the next day. Bruce and Dick had traded off sometime half way through the flight so the man could get some sleep. Infinity Island Dick can clearly see is much more active then he has ever seen it. He’s been a few times, both under peaceful pretenses and not so peaceful pretenses. It has never looked so busy.
Shadows carry materials deep into the forest outside the compound. From above, Dick can clearly see the shape of the arena in the woods. It is massive, even from up in the air.
Bruce takes over the plane and they land on the air strip outside the League base. People clear out of the way and they land safely. Dick holds his breath for a moment, not sure if he’s waiting for bombs to go off or for Shadows to surround the plane, but either way nothing happens and he sighs thankfully.
He sees a tall woman approach the plane with an entourage of Shadows and servants behind her. Her dark hair shines in the sun as it swishes around her shoulders. She is in a tight tactical suit, over which she wears her League robes.
Talia stops just outside the plane. Dick reluctantly presses the button to open the hatch. He turns around just in time to see Damian rush out of the plane, stopping just short of hugging his mother. Instead he bows to her, smiling up at her. She bows as well. The servants and Shadows around them kneel at the presence of the heir. She smiles down at him, the kindest Dick can remember seeing her.
Dick remembers his childhood, when Bruce and Talia had still been doing their dance. Constantly pushing and pulling at one another, Bruce wanted Talia to leave the League and the life of an assassin behind. Talia wants Bruce to abandon his crusade and become her father’s heir. In the end it was Ra’s that had driven them apart, just as he had driven them together in the first place. But Dick always knew it wasn’t going to last.
The rest of them shuffle out of the BatPlane and servants immediately try to take their bags. Being the paranoid vigilanties that they are, they don’t let them and the servants step back.
Talia greets them, “Welcome, Beloved, to Infinity Island. I’m pleased you could all make it.”
Bruce nods, as do the others. Cassandra looks distinctly uncomfortable to be back on Infinity Island, but Steph and Tim beside her help her discomfort.
“Some servants will take you to your rooms to drop off your bags, then you’ll get changed and taken to dinner, to dine with father and I.” She tells them, gesturing to a nearby servant to lead them away. She gives Damian’s shoulder one last squeeze and leaves them to the servant to take them.
They are led through the winding hallways and stone passages of the League compound. They are taken to a set of rooms much nicer than what a regular member of the League could expect. Extravagant beds and furniture.
“There is clothing left in your rooms, Lady Talia has requested you change. I will return to collect you for dinner in an hour.” The servant says in accented english, before bowing and walking off.
The family, minus Damian, who decides to take a nap before dinner, gather in Bruce’s room, given it’s the largest.
“So, B? What do you think? Should we be worried?” Steph asks.
“I don’t think so.” Bruce says. “Everyone we’ve passed seems too relaxed for this to be an ambush, and there are no Shadows following us.”
Cass nods at his words and they all sigh in relief. “I still don’t trust this.” Dick tells them, and Tim nods with him.
“Agreed, there is definitely some other motivator, they might not be planning to kill us, but something is going on.” Tim says.
“So, we’re all agreed, we play it cool, keep everything close to the chest and see where this leads us?” Dick inquires. Everyone, including Bruce, nod and head back to their separate rooms.
The formal clothing they find hung up in their closets for dinner are similar to League robes, but much more flowy and made out of much nicer material. The cuffs and necks of the robes are all embroidered with bits of gold thread. They are even color coded, which Dick does think is a fun touch. His are a dark midnight blue. When they gather again in the hall, waiting for the servant to take them to dinner, he sees the others have their colors as well. Steph’s robes in a deep lavender, Tim in red, Damian in green, Cass in pitch black, and Bruce in a slightly lighter shade than Cass. The clothing all fits exactly, which Dick finds uncomfortable, but pretty par for the course with the League. Damian’s robes are clearly different, marking him as an Al Ghul, while the rest of them are simply honored guests.
The servant from before returns to collect them exactly an hour later. They lead the family up towards the top floor of the compound, and into a grand dining room, overlooking the training of Shadows in the grass below them.
At the head of the table sits Ra’s Al Ghul, sipping a glass of wine. Dick notes that he’s aged, since the last time he ran into the Demon’s Head, more than Dick might have thought. He knew Ra’s was getting weaker, but usually when Ra’s started looking that old, he dunked himself in the pit for a bit of revitalization. Beside Ra’s is Talia, in her beautiful green robes. Ra’s doesn't look to be in anything formal.
The servant gestures for them to sit and other servants around the room rush over, pulling out chairs. Bruce sits at the end opposite Ra’s, Dick and Cass on either side of him, Damian sitting across from his mother and next to his grandfather, despite Dick trying to subtly move Damian away from him. Steph sits uncomfortably in between Talia and Cass, and Tim beside Damian and Dick. There are many different kinds of drinks in ornate golden pitchers set out over the table, some full of tea or juice, others full of wine or other alcohol.
As they have sat down and made themselves comfortable, servants bring out large serving plates for them. Pulling off the domed lids, Dick sees all kinds of food, mainly Arabic in origin, but he also sees dishes from Hong Kong, Jewish dishes, and classic Roma dishes.
They are all set purposefully, the food from Hong Kong near Cass, Jewish food near both Bruce and Tim, and Roma dishes set out for Dick. He nearly spits out his water when he sees chili dogs and tacos set in front of Steph. Damian looks pleased at the food choices, obviously happy there was effort put into the menu for the night, to make them all feel at home. But Dick catches Bruce's eye. It is clear they have the same thought. Ra’s is buttering them up. Trying to get them to loosen their guard.
Ra’s says, “Eat.” He gestures out at the food and people begin filling their plates.
Beside Dick, Tim uses a little sleight of hand trick, slipping some of the matzo ball soup into a small portable poison tester. Dick waits until the little device blinks green and starts to eat. He nearly chokes when he sees Ra’s looking right at them, but he doesn’t say anything.
None of the alcohol is touched by Bruce and Dick, the only two people in the family old enough to drink. Well, maybe Cass, but it doesn’t really matter. Talia and Ra’s both pour glasses of wine for themselves.
“Welcome, Detective.” Ra’s says. “I’m pleased you could make it here for the tournament.”
Bruce nods, “I’m happy that we were invited along with Damian.”
Things are tense as they eat. At Ra’s end of the table, he and Talia ask Damian all sorts of questions about his life in Gotham. Ra’s particularly seems interested in Damian’s art, which Dick knows Ra’s used to hate. He had always told Damian it wasn’t a hobby the heir to the Demon’s Head should have. It’s too soft for an assassin. But now he asks Damian all sorts of questions, asking to see any art he has pictures of. He also asks about Damian’s large zoo in the Batcave. He seems particularly amused by BatCow.
Looking at them, one might mistake Ra’s for a normal grandfather. But Dick knows something is going on here. They must be buttering Damian up, trying to lure him back to the League by acting like things have changed.
But men like Ra’s al Ghul don’t change.
About halfway through dinner Damian asks his mother, “Where is the General, I assumed he would eat with us?”
Across the table, he mouths ‘ general?’ at Cass, but she just shrugs, as unsure as he is.
“He is preparing for the Tournament tomorrow.”
Damian leaps up and slams his hands on the table, but Dick doesn’t think he’s angry, “He’s competing this year!?” Dick glances over at Ra’s nervously, that kind of display being one that would have gotten Damian punished before, but he just seems amused, sipping his wine with a smile on his face.
“Yes, Damian, he will compete.” Talia says, with an amused smile similar to Ra’s.
“You said we weren’t allowed to!” Damian exclaims, annoyance tinting his voice.
“Damian, darling, you are still not of age. Your brother is nineteen, he is ready.” Talia tells him.
Brother?
“Excuse me? Brother?” Steph asks, “Damian has a brother?”
Everyone looks at Damian. At Bruce and Dick’s gaze, he shrinks a bit, saying, “It was one of the requirements for me to be allowed to come to Gotham. I wasn’t allowed to mention him.”
Bruce’s eyes go wide and he whips his head to look at Talia, his mouth open wide. She smirks a little at his expression, “Don’t worry, Beloved, he is not related to you.” Bruce sighs in relief, but still looks very concerned.
“Okay, wait, he’s Damian’s older brother?” Tim clarifies. Talia nods. Dick has no idea what Tim is thinking, but he assumes it’s important.
It seems Cass picks up on it, as she directs her attention to Ra’s, asking, “Damian is not your heir?”
Dick, Steph and Bruce all choke on air. “Yes, Damian is the second son. His responsibilities as heir no longer tie him down. He is free to pursue whatever future that pleases him.” Ra’s smiles gently at his grandson.
“Damian, you knew you wouldn’t be inheriting the League?” Dick asks.
“Yes, but you believed me to be my mothers only son, so I had to allow you to believe I was also my grandfather's heir.” He looks a bit ashamed as he says, “I’m sorry that I had to deceive you all.”
Cass reaches across the table, and takes Damian’s hand, squeezing for a moment before letting go. He smiles tiredly at her, and she smiles in return. Silence falls for a very long time, before Ra’s jumps right back into asking Damian every question he can think of about his life. Now that they know the truth, Dick can see the weight that has left them. Without the presence of binding force of the Demon’s Head legacy, Damian and Ra’s can act like a regular grandson and grandfather. It makes sense, like Ra’s said, as the second son, there are much fewer obligations on Damian.
Dinner ends after two hours, Ra’s practically falling asleep in his chair. Again, a servant comes to collect them, leading them back to their rooms. Tim and Steph fall into step with the servant and start asking questions, “Who’s the General? What can you tell us about him?”
She glances at them nervously, a little bit uncomfortable. “Oh, um, he is very skilled, I have heard. He is the champion of the League.” There isn't much else she says. Obviously, the General, whoever he is, does not want people to know anything about him.
Once she leads them back to their rooms, she leaves them. Once again, they gather in Bruce’s large room.
“Damian, is there anything you can tell us about your brother?” Bruce asks, as gently as he can manage.
Damian looks uncomfortable. “He was adopted. For a great deal of my childhood I was expected to become the Demon’s Head one day. But then Mother found Ahki and adopted him. My grandfather was uncertain at first whether he would become his heir or if it would be me. My brother proved himself in every way, and grandfather named him his heir.”
“Can you tell us about his training?” Tim asks.
“He went through standard League training, but he also asked mother for the best teachers in the world. He wanted to be trained by the best. Deathstroke, Richard Dragon, Lady Shiva, Bronze Tiger. He was also trained by the All-Caste, a group of warriors that protect the world from demons.” Damian tells them.
“I remember the All-Caste from my time with the League. Ra’s said I wasn’t ready to train with them, that I might not ever be.” Bruce adds.
“Damn, that’s impressive.” Steph whistles.
Damian stands straight as he addresses his family, “I know how you all feel about the League, and about my family, but my brother is a good man. I’m here to watch him compete, not fight with him, or my family.”
“Oh, Damian, we’re not trying to start a fight with your brother, we just want to make sure you have all the information we need. You know us Bat’s are paranoid.” Dick reassures him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Very well.”
After that, Bruce sends the children to bed. Settling for sleep as well, he dreads the thought of the tournament tomorrow, having a feeling things are going to go wrong.
The next morning, every Bat is standing outside their rooms. They were all given new clothing, robes similar to the ones they wore at dinner the night before, but much lighter and a little less ornate. Still the color’s mark them as different from the rest of the Shadows. Damian is the last one to leave his room. He opens the door with a big grin, absolutely thrilled to be sharing such an honored tradition with his family.
Bruce feels something uncomfortable curl in his gut. The feeling that today is going to go wrong is choking him, but he puts on a neutral expression, and follows the servant with the rest of the family. They follow her out of the compound. The sun shines down on them and the wind runs through their hair. The perfect weather for a tournament.
They are led into the woods. Around them, Shadows and other assassins walk in the same direction. The people around them seem much lighter and relaxed than usual. Bruce supposes Tim was right in calling it a holiday. They break through the tree line and come face to face with a gigantic arena, reminiscent of the arena’s in Greece.
They enter a different door then the one the rest of the Shadows do, walking up multiple flights of stairs. They get to another door and it opens to a large balcony. Ra’s and Talia are already there, waiting for them. On a large table, fruits, pastries and drinks are set out. Two servants stand next to the door, and the servant they had been following moves to stand with them.
“Detective,” Ra’s croons, gesturing to the comfortable couches and seats waiting for them. The Bat’s all sit down. Steph, Tim, and Cass all sit on the low couch right in the middle, Dick sits in the chair next to them. Bruce sits next to Ra’s and Damian sits next to Talia.
After only a few minutes of uncomfortable small talk, Shadows enter the arena, most in regular black League robes, some clearly not members of the League, but competing anyway. When the final person enters, Bruce knows it must be Talia’s son. The General.
He is tall, probably almost as tall as Bruce, and just as muscular. He is draped in deep red robes, with the gold detailing that marks him as an Al Ghul. On his back is a set of swords. He wears a cloth mask over the lower half of his face, and a pair of goggles. His hair is pitch black, with a shock of white at the front of his curls.
The competitors around him give him a wide berth, obviously hesitant to get too close to him.
In the balcony, Ra’s stands and goes to the railing, the attention of the arena lands on him immediately. He raises his glass of wine. “Welcome! To the Tournament of Gladiators!” uproarious cheers fill the arena. “Let’s begin!”
From what Bruce gathers, the tournament is structured like any other competition, one on one fights eliminating fighters until only two are left, to determine the winner. As the arena is prepared, Bruce sees Cass peering over the railing intently, looking at the competitors with intense eyes.
“Cass? What is it?” Tim asks from beside her.
She tilts her head slightly, “Where is Shiva?”
He sees Talia glance at Ra’s nervously, but the man says like he is discussing the weather, “Oh, Shiva has passed, I thought someone would have informed you, dear girl.”
Cass whips her head around to look at Talia and Ra’s, the rest of the Bat’s looking at them as well. Talia clears her throat primly and says, “Lady Shiva trained my son. At the end of his training, she challenged him to a dual, to ascertain whether he was truly ready. He beat her. When I sent Jason to train with her, the one caveat she had was that if he could beat her in a duel he would kill her.”
Obviously, it’s not nearly the most important piece of information she had just told them, but Bruce chokes out, “‘Jason?’”
Talia’s shoulders go rigid. “Yes, my son, Jason. It was an… unfortunate coincidence. So I decided to avoid mentioning it. I apologize.” She sounded quite sincere, but something in the way her mouth tightens make Bruce think there is more to it.
He glances down at the man.
“Wait, back to Shiva? She’s really gone?” Tim asks, directing the attention back to the matter at hand.
“Yes, Jason, Lady Shiva and I agreed before he began his training.” Talia’s lips quirked, “He protested quite a bit before Lady Shiva layed out her reason. To take a life for no reason, my son finds it quite distasteful, but he understands Lady Shiva’s need for an honorable death and was more than happy to give whatever she asked in exchange for his training.”
Everyone looks at Cass, some subtly, some less so. They all wait with baited breath, well, Ra’s doesn’t he lazily drinks more wine. She turns back around to look back at the arena and says with an even voice, “It is… what she wanted. I would not. She found someone who… would.”
She stares intently at the man until finally he leaves the arena. Not even glaring, just staring at him with the intensity Cass is known for.
The arena is quickly prepped and the first two competitors come out. The first is a tall, muscular woman with a buzzed head. She carries a set of practical scimitars made of dark metal. Her opponent is a dark skinned young man with his hair done in a tight topknot. He holds a heavy looking claymore. They both wear the basic under armor the Shadows usually wear under their robes. They stand on opposite ends of the arena and the stands light up with energy as they both ready their weapons.
Ra’s stands again and leans over the railing. “BEGIN!”
The man shoots out with incredible speed, leaping up and bringing his claymore down on her head. She blocks with her blades and pushes him off. The fight carries on until the young man surrenders, with a blade held under his neck.
The fights go on. There are only two casualties so far. They refused to yield, and their opponents killed them. The blood is left to dry before the next match. The final match for the first round is the General.
He walks into the arena with his arms raised, a short sword in each hand. The crowd roars with excitement, more than they had at any other match so far. Unlike the others, his mask stays on but his goggles are off. Bruce can’t quite make out any details, but he can see the sharp flash of poison green eyes. His opponent is rather nondescript, tall and broad with a thick machete in hand. The second Ra’s yells to start, he is off, attacking his opponent with speed and vigor. He moves more gracefully than someone of his side should, though expected of an assassin. The match is over quickly, completed with brutal efficiency.
On and on the matchs go. Blades covered in blood, the ground being soaked in the sanguine liquid. Everytime the General wins a round, Ra’s claps like a mad man, giving an excited play by play to the servants in the box with them. The Demon’s Head doesn’t look as manic as Bruce has always remembered him, simply like a senile old man overjoyed at the success of his grandchildren.
Damian is on the edge of his seat, chattering to Dick about what he would have done differently in each fight, and what he’ll do when he is finally allowed to participate. Talia’s parenting is usually questionable, but Bruce is thankful she put her foot down about Damian competing.
Finally the final round arrives. The tournament had been going all day, and the sun was beginning to set. Elegant meals had been brought to the family through the day, and Bruce had seen in the stands vendors selling bowls of biryani, rice and paneer, and samosas.
The whole event, in an abstract way, reminds Bruce of baseball games, eating cheap hotdogs and flat sodas, and cheering on whichever team was winning. Bruce didn’t know anything about baseball, so he used to just follow the crowd's energy. Dick had been more interested in gymnastics obviously, Tim wasn’t one for outdoor events, and Damina found the whole sport rather boring. Jason was the only one who had ever had any interest in sports. It was one of the first things they had done together when Jason was adopted. His son had called him a dumbass for not knowing which team they were supposed to be rooting for.
His heart aches for his lost son.
Unsurprisingly, the General is one of the final two. He had only a few minor injuries from his previous fights. Each of his opponents had yielded when they were beaten, but his swords were still glistening with blood. His opponent is a caucasian of undetermined gender. Their brown hair is tied in a low ponytail. They hold an unremarkable gladius in their hand, their grip loose and unrefined. Trying to focus on their face, to pick out more specific features leave Bruce with the beginnings of a headache, and no clearer vision of what they look like. Bruce tries to go back through the matches, to figure out who they are, but his mind cannot seem to focus on them. Based on the way the other people in the box are tense and uncomfortable, he knows they have noticed the oddity as well.
“Who is that person facing Akhi?” Damian asks, turning to his grandfather.
Ra’s squints down at them, then shrugs, leaning back. “I do not know.”
Bruce doubted Ra’s would be of any help, and instead turned his attention to Talia. She is glaring down at the arena as the two opponents circle one another. The General twirls his swords as he walks. His opponents let their gladius drag on the ground behind them. Finally they stop and the arena holds its breath.
The General looks up at Talia and their eyes meet. Bruce watches a silent exchange between them. Finally Talia nods and sits back down. “Do not be alarmed. He has the situation well in hand.” She says, and gestures for everyone to go back to watching.
Talia’s son holds up his swords in a menacing pose, before twirling them once more, and stabbing them into the ground. His opponent tosses their sword away as well.
Their voice carries through the entire arena as they speak. “Your death will be art, son of the All-Caste. I will paint the walls of your peoples home land with your blood, and decorate the halls with your innards.” As they speak, their body begins to change. Imperceptibly at first, then all at once. It breaks free of its human shell, the body bending so far that it snaps and tears at the mid section. The hole opens wide, and a great monster shoots out of the meat suit. Its true body seems to be made of churning shadow before solidifying into something akin to a monstrous lion or dire wolf. Its razor sharp claws dig into the dusty ground. Large patches of its body are missing fur and instead expose great sections of bloody skin and viscera. Its maw is dripping with a dark liquid, and it licks its chops hungrily and stares down the man with pitch black eyes that shine menacingly in the sun. “You, the last disciple of the All-Caste, shall be my masterpiece.”
It charges at the General. The man doesn’t reach down to pick up his swords. Instead, he crouches, his arms out, ready to intercept the beast.
Bruce takes back everything he ever said, Talia is a horrible parent to sit back as her son is ripped apart by this monster. Bruce thinks of another son, and another monster and stands, ready to leap down to defend the young man. The heir to the Demon, but still only nineteen.
Before he can get far, Talia catches his hand, “He has it.”
“What?” He growls.
“Watch.”
Down in the arena, at the last second before the monster hits him, the General dodges to the side, and the creature crashes into the wall. A flash of light goes up and the General stands with a pair of flaming swords in his hands. The flames flicker and lick at his hands but he doesn’t seem to react. Instead, while the creature regains its balance to charge again, he runs forward, and jumps up, stabbing one of the swords into its back. It lets out a wretched scream that shakes the foundations, and claws at its back, where he holds on tightly.
Something moves under the beast’s skin and from its back shoots a long tail like appendage. It has no fur to cover it, and Bruce can see the way the bones and muscles move together to snatch the General off its back. It holds him by the neck and flings him against a wall. The impact kicks up dust and debris. The beast stalks forward, shaking off the black blood that has begun to drip from its wound.
Out of the dust shoots the man. He is running straight for the monster, when at the last second, he slides on the ground. Using his momentum, he lets his swords drag two jagged lines on the underside of the monster. Black blood covers his red robes and mask. The tacky liquid sticks to his face and mats down his hair, dying the white streak an almost uniform black.
This time, when it grabs him, it holds on tightly to his neck. It smashes him into the ground and Bruce sees the fiery swords dissipate. Talia’s hand, still on Bruce’s arm, tightens. It drags him up, holding him in front of its grotesque maw.
The General hangs limply, and Bruce can see red blood mixing with the black. “Farewell, All-Caste.” It positions him above its mouth and drops him. Before he can be swallowed though, movement bursts from him. One of his flaming swords appears in hand, and he stabs it through the creature's jaw, pinning its long tongue to the inside of its mouth. He uses his weight to push down and the sword, sticking out of its jaw, gets impaled on the floor. The thing howls and shrieks in pain, like a wounded animal. But in between the pitiful sounds are growls and hisses.
The General quickly darts around and up onto its back. He heaves his other flaming sword over its head. It spits threats, barely intelligible around the sword in its mouth. He stabs the sword into the thing's head, right between its beady black eyes. With one final shriek, it goes up in a cloud of black smoke that fills the arena.
By the time the smoke has cleared, the General stands in the center of the arena, with one of his flaming swords raised above his head.
They sit at first in a stunned silence, before uproarious cheers fill the arena. Clapping and shouting fill Bruce's ears. The other (still living) competitors rush back out into the arena to shake hands and congratulate the victor. The red cloth mask, sometime in the fight, must have been damaged or lost, because when the champion looks up at Bruce from the arena, he cannot breath.
Jason Todd stands over the ground soaked with red and black blood.
Talia almost gets away from him in the chaos of the celebration. People file out of the arena in droves. There is drinking and celebration. He does lose the rest of his children in the process of chasing her, but he trusts them to handle themselves. He doesn’t trust Talia not to disappear.
He finally catches up with her back in the compound. He grabs her wrist and spoons her around.
“Explain. Now.” He growls down at her.
“If you’ll let us get where we’re going, I will.” She snaps, pulling her wrist from his grip. She leads him to what Bruce knows is the family wing, where the Al Ghul’s stay when on Infinity Island. He spots Ra’s door at the end of the hall, and Talia pulls him to her room. The servant standing vigil opens the door with a bow, before closing it behind them.
Talia’s room hasn’t changed much since the last time he had seen it. The four poster bed has elegant sheer curtains hung over it, and her sheets are pristine and crisp. All the furniture is made of beautiful dark wood. The book shelves lining the walls are full of ancient scripts and first additions. Her the papers and documents on her desk are stacked primly. Over all, the picture of what you would imagine a queens chambers looks like.
He comes to a photo right next to Talia’s bed, or Damian, only 7 years old, at most, sitting in the lap of the young man, much slighter and paler than in any of the other pictures. His poison green eyes are instead a soft blue color. There is a vacant look in them, but he holds the little boy with the utmost care. He picks the picture up and his fingers ghost over Jason’s face.
“Beloved, sit down, I will explain.” Talia gently leads him to a pair of fashionable emerald arm chairs. Bruce keeps the photo in his grip as she speaks.
She tells him everything. From Jason emerging from his death, to Talia finding him, to the All-Caste and their destruction, to finally Jason’s decision to ask Talia to invite the family to Infinity Island for the tournament.
“Jason asked you?” Bruce croaks. From everything she had said, Bruce was under the assumption that Jason didn’t want to see him. Or else why didn’t he come home?
“Yes.” She smiles lightly, “If we had wanted Damian, I would have had Jason whisk him away to Infinity Island without your knowledge.” Bruce glares weekly at her. “Oh, Beloved, we would have returned him. Jason had been planning to reveal himself at dinner tonight, but that awful creature disrupted his plans.”
Bruce allows Talia to comb her hands through his hair as they used to. “Why didn’t he come home?”
She sighs deeply. “If you asked him, he would spin any number of lies. He was busy, or you were busy, he had training, or just didn’t feel like it. But I think he was scared.”
“Of what?” Bruce already knew. The Joker. And all the ways Bruce has failed him.
“Of you.” She says, “Of your rejection. How could he survive your dismissal again?”
His gut twists at the memory of their final fight in the BatCave. The words that he said, and will never say again. But the damage is already done. “It was a mistake.” He whispers.
“I know.” She whispers back.
“The fuck?”
Bruce jumps up at the voice. Standing in the doorway, in his shredded, and blood soaked uniform, is Jason, staring at them with confusion and mild disgust. “Leave room for Jesus everybody.” He snorts.
“Jason?” Bruce whispers. Hearing Jason is alive is one thing, seeing him down in the arena was one thing, but seeing him so close makes it all the more real.
“In the flesh.” Jason smirks, almost uncomfortably. Before Jason can inject any more snark into the conversation, Bruce is across the room, with Jason tight in his arms. Jason pats his back gently. “Come on, old man, you don’t want to hug me. I’m covered in blood and demon guts. Plus I’m all sweaty.”
“I don’t care.” He squeezes Jason tighter, and his son laughs breathlessly.
“Beloved, you will crush his lungs.” Talia laughs from behind him.
“As long as those lungs are breathing, everything is okay.” Bruce sighs contentedly, tears streaming down his face.