The training floor was silent except for the distant drip of water leaking through the temple's fractured roof. Flickering torchlight cast uneven shadows on the cracked stone walls of Nanda Parbat's arena, where centuries of warriors had tested their mettle. In the center stood a boy—blindfolded, barefoot, shirtless, motionless as stone
Marek
His breathing was steady, his body relaxed but coiled like a spring. The black cloth tied tightly over his eyes blocked all vision—his senses relied solely on sound, smell, and instinct
Twenty-five shadows encircled him—ninjas moving like smoke, synchronized and fluid. Their breaths were controlled, their footfalls soft but present, a faint rustle on the ancient floor
The command came, a single word slicing through the silence:
"Begin"
Suddenly, the arena exploded into motion
The first ninja lunged from behind, a flash of steel aimed for Marek's neck. The boy twisted just in time, feeling the strike graze his shoulder. His hands shot backward, fingers closing like a vise around the attacker's wrist. A sharp crack echoed as bones shattered beneath his grip. With a swift pivot, Marek hurled the assailant into the cold stone wall, the impact silencing the man
A second attacker charged from the front, sweeping low with a blade. Marek dropped into a spinning backflip, clearing the arc of the strike. His feet landed lightly on the attacker's chest, propelling him backward with brutal force
But the challenge had only begun
Ninjas attacked in waves now — three at once, then five, then two—each strike more unpredictable. Marek's body became a blur: a daredevil dance of spins, flips, and rolls. His bare feet scraped the floor as he leapt, kicked, and twisted through the swarm
A double somersault to avoid a flying kick, immediately followed by a twisting elbow that slammed into a midsection. A cartwheel carried him under a spinning staff, leaving the wielder's balance broken. His hands caught a flying shuriken mid-air, and without breaking rhythm, he hurled it back, hitting the attacker's shoulder
He vaulted onto the wall, pushing off with a powerful spring, flipping over a cluster of ninjas. Mid-air, he twisted, landing cat-like behind them. A series of rapid-fire punches struck nerve points—jaw, ribs, temple—crippling his foes without pause
Marek's senses were razor sharp. The faintest breath, the softest shuffle of feet on stone, the subtle shift in air pressure—each became a cue to his next move. He ducked under a knife strike, rolled forward, and swept a leg, sending his opponent crashing
When a pair attacked from both sides, Marek spun with inhuman speed, a whirlwind of limbs connecting strikes with devastating precision. His movements flowed like water—always forward, never wasted, an elegant chaos
One attacker feinted left but swung right. Marek twisted just enough to catch the blade in his forearm, gripping the wrist and snapping it with a sickening crunch. Another ninja tried to overwhelm him with a flurry of punches, but Marek stepped inside the flurry, delivering a spinning knee to the chest that knocked the air out of the man
The battle intensified. The ninjas began to coordinate, attempting traps and ambushes. Marek responded with equal cunning—vaulting over collapsing pillars, somersaulting through openings, hiding momentarily in the shadows cast by the flickering torches
At one point, he dove forward and grabbed a loose hanging chain. Swinging like a pendulum, he crashed into a line of attackers, knocking several down like bowling pins. Landing lightly, he rolled to absorb the impact, then sprang up to evade a low sweep kick
Breathless but undeterred, Marek used the arena itself—the broken columns, the uneven stones, the pools of water—to his advantage, sliding through pools with silent glides and disappearing momentarily behind collapsing walls
Finally, one last ninja charged, blade raised for a killing blow. Marek sidestepped with the grace of a dancer, grabbing the attacker's wrist and twisting. The man crumpled, disarmed and incapacitated
The silence returned
The floor was strewn with groaning, broken, and unconscious bodies. Marek stood tall, chest rising and falling evenly, still blindfolded
From the balcony above, Ra's al Ghul emerged from the shadows, arms folded behind his back. His eyes burned with cold calculation, barely concealing a flicker of something close to respect
"Twenty five", he said softly, more to himself than anyone else, "Bruce struggled to survive eight in his first trial"
He turned to Lady Shiva, who watched with narrowed eyes
"You see it too, don't you?" Ra's said. "The edge. The fury beneath the control. He's not just instinct"
Shiva nodded once
Ra's al Ghul smiled faintly, then, his voice dropped, "What of the Harper clone?"
Shiva glanced toward him, "Still unstable. The genetic material degraded after the third iteration"
Ra's nodded slowly, "A pity. I had hoped for more… continue the project. Our partners await"
His eyes drifted back to Marek, who had now removed his blindfold and stood silently, sweat glistening on his thin frame
"Have the boy bathed and fed. Then bring him to me. I believe it's time he understood what it means to be more than a weapon"
——————————————-x
The boy was carried silently from the training floor to a small chamber bathed in soft, golden light. A thin veil of incense curled through the air, its scent a mixture of sandalwood and jasmine
A woman awaited him there. Her movements were fluid, deliberate, and wordless. She was mute, her face concealed beneath a veil. Her hands, delicate but sure, began the ritual cleansing
Marek sat quietly as she knelt before him, dipping her fingers into a basin of warm water infused with crushed herbs. She carefully traced the lines of his bruised body, wiping away the grime and sweat from the day's brutal trials
The water spilled gently onto the cold stone floor, carrying away remnants of pain and blood. She moved slowly, washing each limb, his face, his hair
As she worked, Marek's chest rose and fell in rhythm with the soft chanting that drifted through the chamber from unseen lips
'This place changes you', the boy thought
The mute woman finished the ritual, bowing her head once, then rising silently. Marek's body felt lighter, cleansed—now it was time to meet the Demon's Head