Advance chapters on P@treon.com/Saintbarbido.
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(General P.O.V)
Floating in a green liquid, Damian's consciousness stirred. He was aware, which was odd. Death should have silenced his thoughts, yet here he was, musing about his own demise.
'So, this is it, I'm dead.' he thought, the irony not lost on him.
He and Cassandra had killed each other, a mutual destruction fitting for warriors of their caliber.
The battle had ended without a victor and Damian was still eager to prove that he was better, but Cassandra had his respect. He was still the undisputed Alpha and if she still refused to acknowledge it, he'd force a rematch and beat her senselessly. For now though, he floated in the very substance that had resurrected others before him.
The Lazarus Pit.
He wondered if madness would claim him, as it had others. Would he emerge a shadow of himself, his love for combat dulled, his skills eroded? The thought was unsettling, yet he found a strange comfort in the uncertainty.
But something was different. He could think, reason, reflect. His cognitive functions remained intact, defying the typical effects of the Pit.
Then, he felt it—a stirring within.
The Red Vapour, his Ashura, began to swirl, reacting to the Lazarus liquid. His body started absorbing the glowing green substance, drawing it in like a sponge.
In the Hall of the Shadow Temple below the Demon's Head Castle, Talia and Shiva sat in meditative poses before two of the 6 Lazarus Pools. Within each, their students floated, suspended in the restorative liquid.
"Your daughter's technique was impressive," Talia remarked, breaking the silence.
Shiva nodded. "As was Damian's resilience. You did good with him. They pushed each other beyond their limits."
She reached into her robe and produced a gourd of vodka, acquired from a brief stay in Russia.
"We might be here a while," she said, offering it to Talia.
Talia accepted, taking a sip.
"To our legacies," she toasted.
Suddenly, the surface of Damian's Pool rippled. A vortex formed, and the liquid began to drain rapidly.
An overwhelming presence filled the room, pressing down on them with palpable force. Both women sprang to their feet, weapons drawn, instincts on high alert.
Then, the pressure vanished. In its place, standing in the middle of the now empty pool was Damian, transformed.
His physique was leaner, muscles defined. His eyes glowed red, a single horn protruded from his forehead, and flame-like tattoos adorned his arms.
"Hey, check this out," he said, grinning. The tattoos writhed, morphing into two long and curved obsidian daggers in his hands. "Cool, right? Now I can kill people with tattoos."
Talia and Shiva exchanged bewildered glances, unsure of what to make of this new development.
Before they could respond, Cassandra's own Pool glowed, before the liquid exploded outwards, splashing both women.
"Nice curves." Damian threw a thumbs up at the naked Cassandra. The latter ignored him in favor of the bundle of clothes behind their tongue tied masters.
(An hour Later)
The mess hall of Infinity Island rumbled with nervous tension and anticipation.
The Master Rank competition had concluded yesterday, but the winner was yet to be revealed. No one had expected the two finalists to ressurect so quickly and with no side effects. Meanwhile the other dead candidates were yet to leave their Lazarus pools.
At the long center table, Damian and Cassandra sat side by side—though that was probably the only cooperative thing about them.
Plates towered. Bowls emptied. The floor around them, was a battlefield of fallen chopsticks and torn bread.
Damian picked at a drumstick. Cassandra slurped her sixth bowl of noodles.
Several shadows watched on from across the hall, more from the walls and rafters, whispering in awe.
"He's already gone through five trays."
"She's still catching up. Bet she wins."
The tension snapped when Cassandra reached for the last spring roll—at the same time Damian did.
They paused. Looked at each other.
And then?
Cassandra bit into it before he could blink.
Damian blinked.
"Oh, so it's like that now?"
He reached over, grabbed a handful of rice off her plate, and shoved it into his mouth.
Cassandra's chopsticks twitched.
In seconds, it devolved into chaos.
Not a fight—yet—but a competition of chewing, shoveling, devouring. Cassandra's speed was machine-like. Damian's appetite was a vortex. By the time it ended, they leaned back, stomachs full and glares sharper than ever.
"I win," Damian said, picking his teeth.
Cassandra scribbled a message on a used napkin: 'You cheated by inhaling.'
"You're just mad I finished your signature dish. Again."
Tch.
"And salty that I copied your move and did it better."
Cassandra stood, boiling with frustration.
Damian followed.
Across the mess hall, chairs were scraped away. Shadows stopped eating. A few started backing up toward the walls.
"You wanna go again, Cass?" a grinning Damian cracked his knuckles.
Her glare said yes.
Their auras snapped awake—Ashura for Damian, red and boiling, and Chi for Cassandra, white and razor-edged.
The mess hall shook.
"Enough!" Sensei barked from the high steps of the hall's upper floor. He descended like thunder, robes flaring behind him. "This is a sacred place of nourishment, not—"
Damian's and Cassandra's auras collided.
Silverware flew.
Tables cracked.
Sensei's beard curled from the force.
His eyes bulged.
"THAT'S IT!"
He turned to the shadows who now hovered on the edges like uncertain wolves.
"All of you. Restrain them. I don't care how. HURT THEM."
Damian smirked. "Finally. A workout."
Cassandra stretched her arms and gave him a sideways glance.
Shadows charged in. They'd swat the flies first and then continue their 'conversation'.
-
The midday sun hung above Infinity Island, casting long shadows across the stone steps leading to the Grand Hall.
Outside its towering doors, two figures sat side by side on a cold stone bench, awaiting judgment.
Damian leaned back, legs stretched, arms crossed. He'd periodically scratch the small red horn on his head, still getting used to it.
Cassandra sat upright, quiet, unreadable as always. Her sheathed sword sat across the lap.
Before them, standing like disappointed deities, were Talia al Ghul and Lady Shiva, arms folded in unison, expressions fixed in that uncanny mixture of disappointment and weary amusement.
"You understand what you've done, don't you?" Talia asked sternly.
Cassandra tilted her head slightly.
Damian shrugged. "We reminded the extras where they belong."
"You broke twenty-one Shadows," Shiva said. "Three concussions. Two with dislocated jaws. One Master… stabbed with his own weapon."
"And Sensei has two black eyes," Talia added, arms tightening.
There was a pause.
Then—
"Pfft—ha!" Damian cracked, trying and failing to hold it in. "Two! Both eyes? You punched him too?"
Cassandra reluctantly gave a nod, her own lips struggling to stop a smile.
Damian's laughter rolled out loud and raw, shoulders shaking as he threw his head back. "And he was yelling about discipline five minutes ago."
Cassandra allowed a faint chortle, disguised as a cough.
As if summoned by their amusement, Sensei appeared at the foot of the stairs, walking stiffly with two black eyes and a bandage wrapped around his temple.
A limping Master followed him, trailed by a small collection of bruised, limping Shadows, all of whom kept their gazes rooted firmly to the ground when they passed the stone bench.
Damian's grin widened. "Panda eyes," he muttered under his breath.
"I heard that, you insolent brat. I'll get you back for this." Sensei growled without looking.
Shiva leaned toward Talia and whispered with far too much amusement, "He really does look like a panda."
Talia pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're not helping."
Shiva straightened, chuckling, then nudged Damian with her eyes. "Stay put. No more antics."
"And no more fighting outside the designated zones," Talia added, sharper. "The Main Hall is convening to discuss your punishment. You'll be called when it's time."
With a final warning glance, the two Masters turned and entered the Hall, doors closing behind them with a deep, echoing thud.
The two culprits were left alone on their bench.
Opposite them, the Shadows they'd humiliated sat as well, all bandaged in some way, all visibly flinching when Damian casually glanced their way. None of them dared meet his eyes. His smirk only deepened.
"Look at them," he said to Cassandra, nodding toward the silent group. "They're scared stiff."
Cassandra didn't respond at first. Then, quietly, she turned to him, eyes flicking from his Tatoos to the horn. "You changed."
Damian's smirk faltered slightly. "Yeah… Lazarus'll do that."
"Your energy- Ashura feels...louder. Wilder. Like...a furnace about to burst."
Damian tilted his head, amused. "And you? You think I didn't notice yours? Your Chi's sharper. Denser. Like a spear instead of a river."
Cassandra stared ahead, then asked softly, her speech a little stiff, "Did you...see it too?"
Damian frowned. "See what?"
"The Dragon." She raised her hand slowly.
Damian's eyes widened slightly as her pale skin shimmered and morphed—green scales now coated her knuckles. From her fingertips, obsidian claws glinted in the sunlight.
"It told me...I was chosen. That I carry the blood...of its breath. Destiny."
Damian's expression darkened. "Destiny, huh?"
He scoffed, looking away. "You don't owe anything to fate. Dragon or not. That power's yours. You sharpen it. You wield it. Don't let anyone—not even some oversized lizard—decide how you use it."
Cassandra looked at him for a long time.
Then nodded once.
The heavy doors creaked open at last.
A Shadow leaned out and cleared his throat. "Damian. Cassandra. Enter."
They rose and walked into judgment.
The grand hall of the Shadow Temple was cloaked in a heavy silence, its ancient stone walls bearing witness to centuries of trials and tribulations.
At the center, Ra's al Ghul sat upon his elevated throne, his gaze piercing and unreadable.
Flanking him were Talia and Shiva, their expressions a blend of concern and stoicism. Before them stood Damian and Cassandra, their postures defiant yet composed, awaiting the verdict of their actions.
A shadow operative stepped forward, his arm in a sling, voice trembling. "Damian told me, 'Petty tricks are nothing in front of absolute power,' before he struck me down with my own bo staff."
Another, limping with a swollen nose, added in a husky tone, "He said, 'Your lack of suffering makes you weak. And weak people get their asses kicked,' before breaking my leg."
Damian, unfazed, cleaned his ear with his pinkie, a picture of boredom.
Sensei, his face still bruised from the earlier altercation, addressed Damian sternly. "Do you have anything to say for harming your fellow Shadows?"
Damian shrugged, his tone indifferent. "Why am I the main culprit when Cassandra was equally involved?"
A hush fell over the hall as another Shadow whispered, "No one could see Cassandra. She moved like a ghost, taking us out before we even knew she was there."
Sensei turned to Ra's, his voice rising with frustration. "They've disregarded our rules, harmed their comrades, the league's valuable assets. They must be made examples of, especially that white haired brat, whose arrogance knows no bounds; openly looking down on his fellow shadows."
Damian interjected, a smirk playing on his lips. "But I am better than everyone. It's surprising anyone thinks otherwise. Get your facts right old man."
Talia sighed, shaking her head, while Shiva chuckled softly. Sensei's face turned a deeper shade of red, his anger barely contained.
"Enough," Ra's commanded, his voice echoing through the hall. The room fell silent instantly.
"The punishment for blatant insubordination and disrespect towards a master is exile or death."
Sensei's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, while Talia and Shiva tensed, the latter's hand inching towards her weapon, ready to defend her daughter and former student. Even if it meant betraying the League.
"However," Ra's continued, "Damian and Cassandra are no longer elite Shadows. I hereby promote both to Master Rank."
Gasps echoed around the hall. Sensei's triumphant expression faltered, replaced by disbelief.
"As Masters, they are too valuable to be exiled or executed. Their punishment will be to complete two master-level missions alone." Ra's stood, signaling the end of the trial. "They are to report to my Castle tomorrow for the Master Ceremony and mission assignments."
Damian and Cassandra exchanged glances, a mix of surprise, pride and anticipation in their eyes. The path ahead was uncertain, but they were the type to embrace the challenge.