Gotham breathed smoke and secrets.
Rain slicked the rooftops in the Narrows, pooling on iron vents and cracked skylights. Lightning stitched the clouds overhead, but thunder stayed silent—as if even the storm held its breath.
Far below, a limousine pulled into the underground garage of the Kincaid Building, escorted by six armed men. They wore earpieces, armored vests, grim expressions. Former soldiers, now mercs. Trained to expect ambushes.
They didn't expect him
High above, Marek crouched
No cape. No crest. Just black cloth wrapped tight across his form. A katana across his back. And eyes—red and spinning
He was not a boy tonight
The first guard went down without a word.
Marek dropped from the ceiling girders, palm pressing the man's throat to silence him. A twist. A flick behind the ear. Unconscious. Gently lowered to the floor
He dragged the body into a shadow and disappeared again
Second and third—patrolling the outer hall. They found only flickering lights and a brief, cold breeze. Then one turned—too late. A flash of red eyes. A whisper of motion. The back of his skull struck marble and he dropped. The third spun, raising his rifle—
Gone.
Something slithered around his leg. He fell. Breath stolen from his lungs by a perfect stomp to the diaphragm. Vision faded into black
The building's security cameras caught nothing
Not a blur. Not a glitch
Inside the penthouse, Gareth Kincaid poured himself a drink. The lights were low. Gotham's skyline blinked through floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. He didn't hear the whisper of the balcony door unlatching. He didn't feel the sudden stillness of the air
But, close by , Batman did
His patrol had gone cold. Something had changed
A pattern broken
He stood on a rooftop across from the Kincaid Building and watched
Then he saw it
A figure
Perched sideways along the glass like a spider. A boy—no, a shadow shaped like a boy. Red eyes faint in the reflection. No tech could explain it. No League file matched it. It moved with a fluid wrongness, like something the light didn't quite trust
And then—it was gone
Inside the penthouse, Kincaid turned at last, sensing something wrong
Too late.
Marek was already behind him.
He moved without breath. Without malice. Only purpose
One hand reached for the katana hilt—
"Enough"
The voice was low. Harsh
Not Kincaid's voice.
His.
The Batman stepped from the shadow like it birthed him.
Cloaked. Towering. Eyes white, unblinking
Marek didn't flinch. Didn't speak, but the blade stopped halfway from its sheath.
For a moment, Batman didn't move. Didn't attack, he studied the boy. The way he balanced. The silence of him. The way the air seemed wrong around him
Not normal. Not safe
"You're not ready to make this choice," Batman said at last
Marek didn't answer, yet he faded
Batman turned to Kincaid
Still alive
——————————————————————————————————-x
The rooftops screamed past beneath them.
Rain slapped down hard now, turning the city slick and silver. Marek leapt the gap between buildings with a practiced grace—but behind him, the Bat followed. Not silent anymore. Not hidden. Hunting
Marek landed low on a gargoyle's back, then dropped into a roll. He sprinted, breathing even. No panic. But the weight of the dark knight behind him—it felt like gravity made flesh
Then the impact came
Batman crashed down in front of him like a meteor in black
Marek slid to a halt, katana halfway drawn
"You don't run from a conversation," Batman said, voice gravel and thunder. "Not in my city"
Marek didn't speak. Just exhaled
And struck
The exchange was brutal.
Marek lunged with a precise, serpent-inspired flourish—elegant and invasive. The katana moved like a whip. Batman blocked with his gauntlet, sparks flying, and answered with a sweeping backfist
Crack
Marek skid back
His ribs burned
Batman advanced, relentless
Marek dodged low, slashing upward in a crescent arc. Batman twisted, catching the blade between reinforced gauntlet teeth and twisting it free. Marek flew backward—disarmed
Pain screamed through his shoulder. Blood on his lip, and his bones aching.His Sharingan spun.
The second round came faster. Marek moved like liquid now. Fewer wasted steps. His strikes more refined. Still wild—but sharpening with each exchange.
Batman noticed, 'Dangerous'
"Adaptive reflex. You're reading me," he growled, blocking a high kick and shoving the boy back. "Who trained you?"
Marek ducked under a punch and swept low. Batman jumped. The boy twisted mid-air, caught the edge of a vent, and used it to whip himself upward with impossible torque.
Batman grunted. Had to block for real this time.
A few seconds passed in silence
Rain poured between them.
Finally, Batman spoke again.
"Who are you?"
Marek stood tall despite the bruises. Rain dripping from his chin. His Sharingan pulsed red through the haze
"I am Marek. A legacy villain. Trained by shadows. Marked by crows"
Batman watched him. The boy wasn't posturing
"You don't have to follow them, Marek. There's another way. I can get you out. Teach you better"
Marek looked down at his hand—shaking, bloodied; Then up again.
"Not yet." His voice was quiet. "I still have a lot to learn from the League. From their cruelty. Their silence"
"Someday", he whispered more to himself
Batman advanced slowly, cautious now. Marek wasn't fleeing. He wasn't even defending. Just standing there, eyes glowing faint red
'A trap?', The Batman thought, 'No'
Marek whispered something under his breath. Barely audible through the rain, and a flutter of feathers echoed across the rooftop
Batman's hand twitched near his belt
Then—screams
Not Marek's. Ghosts. Phantom sounds echoing off the walls. Distant cries, like tortured memories. The scent of smoke. Gunfire. The thud of a people falling
A hallway Batman remembered—but had never walked again
Illusion
'Damn it', he activated his HUD's thermal overlay—only to see six Mareks, all radiating heat, all standing in different stances
They spoke in unison, "you are a good man, Bat, but you never kill. I wish to kill my father for all he did. Wish to kill my mother for what she made me do"
The six identical boys shifted in murders of crow, then fluttered away as one. The illusion snapped back, and the voices stopped—— the rooftop was empty again
No heartbeat. No trace. No silhouette
Marek was gone
Only a single black feather spiraled down and landed at his boot