Damian Wayne: Dark Son

More advance chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.

-0-

The air in the warehouse thickened instantly.

MI6 agents went rigid. Eyes locked onto the teenager who had walked into a death trap with a smirk.

Damian's gaze flicked to Barton, sharp and unbothered.

"So…" he continued, voice lazy, dangerous. "Are we doing this, or are you just going to stand there and sweat?"

The silence stretched.

Then Barton fired.

Damian moved before the trigger pulled, pivoting as the bullet ripped past him, embedding into a crate. The warehouse exploded into chaos under the hail of gunfire.

Wood chips and dust filled the air as every gun tried and failed to tag the shadow weaving in and out of view, with a nimbleness that defied their perception.

"Stop! Hold your fire!" Barton ordered. "Form up! Let him come to us!"

In response, the MI6 agents converged in a circle, covering all their blindspots.

A mistake. Their target landed right in their middle.

"Yo."

Damian called, sending a chill through Barton as he realized, the kid was already inside their defenses.

"T-"

Words cut off as Damian moved like a ghost, his blade flashed and caught a throat, warm blood spewing against his fingers.

He shoved the body into another agent, disarming him in the same motion. An enhanced kick broke his neck.

In seconds two of them were dead.

"Fucking Brat! He got Jay!" Someone said, pulling the trigger of his automatic rifle.

Gunfire rattled through the warehouse, but Damian was never where they shot.

He weaved between bullets like he could see them coming—because he could. His body reacted before his mind did, instincts so sharp they bordered on inhuman.

Sliding through someone's legs, his blade slashed through the groin, leaving the agent impotent and screaming in horrific pain.

"Stay away!"

A rifle swung toward him—Damian grabbed the barrel, yanked the man forward, and cracked his skull against his knee.

Barton watched, jaw clenched, as his team fell apart in seconds.

Three more rushed him for close combat, guns discarded out of risk of friendly fire.

Damian dropped low, spun like a cyclone—his blade biting deep into muscle and bone. One man gurgled, blood spilling from his severed artery. Another screamed before Damian's heel shattered his jaw.

The last agent hesitated—Damian launched his knife into his throat.

The body dropped.

Silence.

Only Barton remained, staring at his dead men and the smiling kid whose white hair was streaked in crimson, blue eyes filled with an evil glee.

Barton raised his pistol again, hands steady, but Damian could hear the slight tremor in his breath.

"You should've made your first shot count." Damian said, licking the edge of his blade. Something about the blood excited him.

Barton fired.

Damian tilted his head just enough. The bullet whizzed past his ear.

He closed the distance before Barton could fire again, gripping his wrist and forcing the gun toward the ceiling—BANG. A shot rang out.

Then Damian buried his knife in Barton's gut.

Barton gasped, his gun falling from limp fingers.

Damian held him up, twisting the blade. "You shouldn't have betrayed me."

Barton choked on his own blood."You… were a mistake."

Damian considered that."You might be right old man." Then he slit Barton's throat.

The blood sprayed across the warehouse floor.

Damian let the gurgling body fall at his feet, his demon like face reflected on the surface of the pool of warm blood.

For a few seconds he stared at his former boss, maybe even friend. Taking a knee, he closed Barton's eyes with a blank expression on his face.

Within Damian's heart, there was no pity, no regrets or reservations about his actions. As far as he was concerned what he did was necessary.

Barton tried to actively kill him. That's where Damian drew the line.

"Live by the sword, die by the sword." He muttered, getting up to leave.

Then he heard footsteps.

Three of them.

A new presence entered the ruined warehouse.

The first moved with a casual grace, confident but cautious—a dark blue suit, domino mask, sharp blue eyes that had seen too much.

The second was tension coiled into a body. Wearing a red, green and yellow costume that gleamed under the dim lights, a number of gadgets strapped to his utility belt, itching for use.

The third stepped lightly, but Damian could feel her assessing him, processing everything. Yellow cape flowing behind her like a flag in the wind.

Nightwing. Robin. Batgirl.

The Batfamily. F*ck.

Damian wiped the blood from his knife and smiled. "A welcoming party? I didn't know Gotham was so hospitable."

Nightwing's stance remained controlled, but his gaze flicked to the bodies.

"These men. You killed them?"

Damian arched an eyebrow. "That's usually how this works."

Robin scoffed, stepping forward. "This guy thinks he's funny."

"I don't think, Red," Damian said lazily. "I know."

Robin(Tim) flexed his fingers near the staff on his utility belt. "Why'd you kill them?"

"They tried to kill me first. But I was better." Damian shrugged.

Batgirl's gaze sharpened. "Who are you?"

Damian studied her, lips quirking. "Cute of you to ask, but if we're being honest? Not important."

He was leaving Gotham anyway. Possibly forever. But before that...

He turned his head slightly, not even pretending as he studied Nightwing. The resemblance to some of the old photos back at Wayne's mansion was obvious.

Interesting.

Robin's patience snapped. "Answer the damn question."

Damian sighed. "Relax, Batbaby. Your anger issues are showing. Seems to me he didn't take your training as seriously as these two."

Robin lunged.

Damian sidestepped effortlessly, grabbed his wrist mid-swing, and slammed him into the floor.

Tim cursed, twisting to recover, but Damian was on him again, driving a knee into his ribs.

Robin barely rolled away in time, and he glancing blow still had him wheezing on the ground.

Nightwing moved between them instantly.

"Enough," Nightwing ordered, voice sharp. "Stand down, both of you."

Robin wiped the blood from his lip. "T- this asshole—"

"He's not our priority," Nightwing interrupted. His eyes locked onto Damian. "We don't even know who he is."

Damian stretched. "And yet here you all are, acting like I'm your problem."

He was almost ready to walk away.

Then a dagger flew from a location behind him.

A sharp, whipping sound that cut through the air before Batgirl cried out, the blade burying itself in her thigh.

Nightwing spun—Robin's eyes went wide.

"You son of a—"

Damian didn't move. "That wasn't me."

Robin wasn't listening.

He attacked with pure rage, fists flying. Damian frowned as he ducked, twisted, countered, locking an arm around Jason's throat and pressing a knife to his ribs.

It would take half a second to end him.

Nightwing moved faster than expected—his escrima stick slammed against Damian's wrist, forcing him to let go.

They clashed.

Nightwing was faster than most, experienced in a way few were. Damian dodged, countered, meeting him blow for blow.

But he was losing ground, surprising him. Despite their almost similar heights and physiques, Nightwing's body was more conditioned, limber and flexible. Almost like a gymnast with a background in martial arts.

As much as it galled, his only choice was to use his enhanced strength and speed to finish the fight as quickly as he could.

Then Damian saw it—

The shadow above them.

A familiar silhouette, perched in the rafters.

Batman.

Damian scoffed, stepping back. It was time to bail. He didn't have time or the skill to deal with Bruce.

Nightwing hesitated. "Not gonna finish?"

Damian smirked. "Next time? Not even Daddy Bat will be enough to save you."

Then he was gone.

-0-

Damian washed the blood from his hands in the Gotham Bay. The water was cold, numbing, but it didn't bother him.

Footsteps.

He didn't turn. "The guilty party finally shows her face."

"You blame me for the dagger." Shiva said smoothly.

Damian smirked. "It was your style."

After their last fight, only someone as skilled as her could have accurately aimed for Batgirl's thigh and miss her artery. Of that he had no doubt.

She stepped closer. "Yet you don't seem upset by it."

He didn't answer.

She tilted her head. "Admit it. You wanted to fight him. You wanted to see who was better."

Damian exhaled sharply.

"He was better," he admitted.

Shiva's lips stretched into a small grin. Metal rang as she unsheathed her sword. "Then perhaps this time, you will accept my offer. You don't have a choice."

Damian rolled his shoulders. "Make me."

Shiva's smile turned predatory. "I was hoping you would say that."

Then she attacked.

Even if she had to beat him senseless, this diamond in the rough would be hers.