About 1 year ago,
Damian Wayne P.O.V.
The mission failed. Which of course, meant I had failed. Not something so easily forgiven in the League of Assassins.
Mother had every right to be furious. So did Grandfather. I had disappointed them, and in turn, myself.
And now I find myself here, in front of one of the leagues more... bloodthirsty attack dogs.
And I had received no rest between now and the mission.
Which is always the Perfect formula for getting your ass beaten.
Our swords collided, sweeping arcs of death through the air. My wounds throbbed. Blood trickled from my forehead, and dripped from my arm and hands.
It's painful, but you don't show pain. Not here. Not ever.
The battle lasted for what seemed to be hours, though time is fluid when you are detached from the rest of the world.
But finally, my defence broke, and the clattering of the sword echoed through the vast chamber. I followed my blade to the ground not long after. My ribs ached from the kick.
Barley dodging blows left and right, I backed further and further from my attacker.
Until a new player joined the game.
This one's blade was a gentle glow of golden bronze, their body hidden by the standard armour given to the higher ranks of the league.
The newcomer's movements were slick and precise, dodging every blow like it was the easiest thing in the world.
And then they fought back.
I could barely keep up.
Every blow was fast and powerful, like a cobra striking. Their blades locked together. One simple move, and the interrupter had won.
"That will be quite enough." Their voice was slightly distorted, yet vaguely feminine. I know this person.
Once or twice, I had witnessed them fight while with grandfather. They had no name, but people talked, and they called the mysterious figure 'The Serpent' for they fought swiftly and viciously, akin to a snake.
Watching them up close, you could tell why the lower ranks were terrified.
"Demon's Head wants him. You are dismissed." Continued the voice, withholding emotion.
The doors slid closed, and soon I was supported by them.
The meeting with Grandfather and Mother felt like a fever dream. My mind was elsewhere.
Never once had someone held the sheer audacity to interrupt my 'training'
Eventually, I was brought some bandages a bowl of water and cloth and dismissed to tend to my wounds.
Fun times.
Oh, so dreadfully, dreadfully fun. When your shaking fingers could barley clean and tend to your own wounds.
Every noise made me flinch. I did so when my door opened.
Their footsteps were light, barely detectable. A gloved hand covered my shoulder, and soon I was faced to faced with the Serpent.
