The wind howled like a wounded beast as Jason crested the ridge overlooking the League of Assassins’ stronghold. The obsidian fortress, carved into the mountainside, was usually a bastion of impenetrable silence.

Today, it burned.

Smoke coiled into the blood-red sky. The scent of charred wood and iron filled the air. Distant shouts echoed—orders, screams, the clash of steel. 

They’re already inside. 

Jason’s grip tightened around the artifact in his pack. 

He didn’t have much time. 

– – –

Back within the dimly illuminated corridors, Ra’s al Ghul walked through with extreme caution as he held his sword in a readied stance while he made his way through the dimly lit hallway.

Some might wonder why the Head of the Demon cautiously made his way through that dimly lit hallway when he was currently the most skilled person at that base.

That’s because he was fully aware of how dirty and dishonourably those mercenaries fought, he also had a suspicion of who might have led them, for an utter outsider wouldn’t have been able to launch such an attack on his home.

Sensing their presence within the darkness, he made a swift turn just as the mercenary soldiers came out of hiding for a surprise attack from behind.

The muzzle of a rifle was right up his face but unfortunately for them, his eyes had well adjusted to the dark already.

Metal shrieked as the rifle’s barrel split cleanly, severed before the trigger could be pulled. 

The first man fell, his throat opened before he could scream. The second barely had time to widen his eyes before Ra’s drove the tip of his blade through his heart. 

He was utterly surrounded by enemy forces, all wielding guns while he had nothing but his trusty sword in hand.

Ra’s slashed, stabbed and cut his way through every intruder that dared to make an attempt for his head.

The space was too narrow for them to simultaneously open fire, and it didn’t help that Ra’s kept getting in range of their allies.

If there was any misfire, it could take out their own men.

His sword became a whirlwind of death, parrying the sporadic gunfire that came his way, each deflection ringing like a death knell.

He moved like a specter, slipping between them, his blade drinking deeply as it carved through flesh and bone. Blood painted the walls in macabre strokes, pooling on the floor beneath their fallen comrades.

One mercenary, braver—or more foolish—than the rest, charged with a roar. 

Ra’s sidestepped, using the man’s momentum to impale him on his own sword. As the body slumped, two more opened fire. 

He yanked the corpse up as a shield, feeling the bullets thud into lifeless flesh before surging forward. A swift decapitation sent one man’s head rolling; a reverse slash split the other from shoulder to hip. 

The survivors faltered. 

Then, with a collective snarl, they rushed him—forcing him backward through a Shōji door. The delicate paper screen tore like flesh beneath their assault, its wooden frame splintering as they spilled into the meditation chamber beyond. 

The room was serene, untouched by the carnage outside. A single mat lay in the center, the same one where Jason had spent hours in silent contemplation. Now, it was a battleground. 

Ra’s found himself surrounded, a ring of steel and gun barrels tightening around him. The mercenaries’ eyes gleamed with the certainty of victory. 

“Die, old man!” one spat. 

Gunfire erupted. 

Yet Ra’s did not fall. 

His sword became a blur, deflecting bullets with impossible precision, the clang of steel on lead filling the room like some hellish symphony. He moved with preternatural speed, his footwork a dance of death, his blade an extension of his will. 

Two soldiers, firing wildly, found their bullets buried in each other’s chests instead. They collapsed, their expressions frozen in shock. 

Silence. 

“Hold your fire, he’s mine.”

A voice came from behind as a masked figure stepped forward—taller than the rest, twin blades in his possession, one stealthed at his back and the other drawn. 

He had his mask raised over his head, leaving his face in total exposure.

“You’ve grown reckless, Demon’s Head,” the man said, his voice distorted. 

Ra’s didn’t flinch. “And you’ve grown bold. A fatal mistake.” 

‘It seems the boy was unsuccessful with his mission. No. Considering the timing of this attack, it’s most likely the boy missed him.’ Ra’s thought to himself.

“Confused Old man?” Deathstroke asked as he tried to make sense of what went on in Ra’s’ mind.

“Slade, what is the meaning of this?” Ra’s asked, his tone demanding for an immediate answer.

“I call it a hostile takeover.” He deadpanned.

“Your arrogance emberasses me and shames you.” Ra’s stated, the other mercenaries stood by to withhold the impending showdown.

“Yet here I am, so close to taking over this legacy of yours and making it mine.” He stated, not bothered by the prio comment.

His eyes squinting as they locked on to Slade, he spoke without the slightest hint of accusation in his voice. “I know you stole the artifact.” Certainty clearly audible in his tone.

“Oh, that.” Slade casually admitted to the accusation with such nonchalance that confirmed Ra’s’ suspicion of Jason not having met Deathstroke at the base where he was to assassinate him.

“You will never be able to decipher what’s within and get a hold of the information inside.” Ra’s said with a stern tone.

“Only I have the knowledge to decipher what’s within, and it would be utterly impossible getting it out of me.”

“Hmmm. Well, that’s where you are wrong, old man. I don’t need you, there’s someone else on this very base that I am certain you must have thought of how to do so.” Slade replied as a wicked smirk crepted to the side of his lips.

“You will never have your way, boy.”

“I see you still have some spring in your steps, let’s see how you do against a real swords man, come and get some. Old man.” He taunted Ra’s into combat before him and his team ran out of time.

“After you, boy.” Ra’s retorted as he glared at Deathstroke who seemed to be in need of some serious ass whooping to put him in his place.

Yet, Ra’s did not underestimate how dangerous his prey was as he remained on guard and cautious.

‘I might as well fulfill the task I sent Jason on. For this you have done Slade, your head shall be mine.’ Ra’s declared in his thoughts while taking on a sword stance.

Seeing the glare in his eyes, Deathstroke reached for his second sword behind his back. He wielded a twin blade.

The traitor lunged. 

Steel met steel in a furious exchange, sparks flying as Ra’s parried and countered with inhuman speed. 

Deathstroke swung both swords down at Ra’s who successfully blocked both, but the wound in his arm slowed him—just enough for Deathstroke to go in for a counter.

Ra’s avoided he kick then went in for an attack, their swords clashed once more

“How could you have pushed me out!?” Deathstroke yelled in a fit of rage, their swords pressed against the other in a deadlock of blades. “I was your right hand.”

“Your actions decided for you.” Ra’s deadpanned, not needing to explain himself to the brat who was in way over his head.

As the fight raged on, a masked mercenary soldier far behind, noticed Ra’s was well invested in the fight. “He’s in position.” He reported into his comms. 

As if having received confirmation from the other end, they evacuated the scene, leaving the two to battle.

Slade ran out of the space, making way towards the hallway. 

He does this while maintaining appropriate distance with Ra’s who would cut him down from the slightest slip up. 

The Demon’s Head closed in on him, his emerald robes whispering against the ground. 

His sword caught the pale light, its edge glinting like a serpent’s fang. His eyes, cold and ancient, locked onto his prey with the patience of a predator who had hunted for centuries. 

“You flee like a cornered rat. I expected more from the world’s deadliest mercenary. To think you aspired to become my right hand man.” Ra’s stated the last bit with disgust and disappointment in his voice.

A smirk appeared on the mercenary face, fingers flexing around the hilt of his blade. There was no fear in his stance—only calculation. 

“Fleeing?” 

He wasn’t running, but luring.

He came to a stop as steel flashed. The mercenary struck first, his sword a silver blur aimed for the throat. 

The clash of metal rang through the hallway, sparks erupting as their blades ground together. 

The older man deflected with ease, twisting his wrist to send a vicious upward slash toward his opponent’s ribs. The mercenary barely pivoted in time, the edge grazing his armor. 

“You cannot outthink centuries of battle, boy.” 

A feint—left, then right. The mercenary’s boot lashed out, kicking a broken pillar toward the robed figure, forcing him to sidestep. In that split second of distraction, the mercenary turned and bolted down the ruined hallway, his footsteps echoing against the stone. 

A snarl twisted the older man’s lips. 

“Running again?!”

He gave chase, his robes billowing behind him like the wings of some avenging specter. 

Then—the mechanical roar of engines. 

The Demon’s Head halted, his sharp ears catching the sound of a chopper from the far end of the hallway’s entrance too late. 

His eyes flicked behind him just as the chopper descended to the balcony’s level at the far end of the hallway, launching missiles right into it. 

It was a straight line through the hallway right to his current location and Slade was already making a run for it.

The missiles screamed toward them. 

The Ra’s turned, instincts honed over lifetimes screaming at him—but his opponent was already moving. 

Fire erupted behind him, a rolling inferno devouring stone and air alike. The heat lashed at the Demon’s back, searing his robes, but he ran, his ancient body pushing through the pain. 

The mercenary sprinted for the edge of the hallway which led to space below.

At the edge, the mercenary leapt—his augmented muscles carrying him effortlessly across the gap and unto the edge of a balcony across the yard.

The older man followed, but the flames overtook him. His robes ignited, the fire biting into his flesh as he let out a loud and agonizing scream. A choked gasp escaped him as the ground vanished beneath his feet. 

The mercenary stood at the far edge, his face unreadable. 

“Insurance.” 

He muttered, his words a dirge as he watched the Demon’s body drop to the ground below with an audible thud.

– – –

[The Fallen Demon] 

He crashed onto a lower ledge, his body wreathed in smoke, his sword skittering away into the darkness. Pain lanced through him, but he stifled a groan that threatened to escape. 

With his body burnt to a crisp, Ra’s had just one option if he wished to survive, but time wasn’t on his side and he needed to act fast. 

The pit.

He tried crawling his way there, he extended an arm in front of him so he could pull his body along the ground.

Then—a boot pressed down on his back 

The mercenary loomed above him, his sword resting against the older man’s throat. His eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction. 

“Centuries of battle… and you still didn’t see the missile play coming?” He taunted. 

Slade kicked his side with enough force to flip him over on his back.

A cough. Blood on his lips. But the smirk remained, defiant even in ruin. 

“A clever gambit… but you forget—” 

A flash of steel—the hidden dagger in his sleeve slashed across the mercenary’s thigh. The younger man staggered, but his reflexes were inhuman. His fist snapped forward, cracking against the older warrior’s jaw. 

Blood filled his mouth. His vision swam. 

The mercenary pressed the blade harder, his breathing steady despite the wound. 

“Any last words, old man?” 

The Demon’s Head glared up at him, his eyes burning brighter than the flames that had engulfed him. 

“This… is not over.”

– – –

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