More advance chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
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The salt-filled wind howled through the Island, carrying the crash of waves against the jagged cliffs.
Damian stood at the edge of the training grounds, his fists clenched, his body taut with an energy he couldn't place.
His mind should have been clear, focused, but instead, it was tangled in the events of the past few days.
Hanzo was gone.
Jason. His brother. His only friend. His ghost.
Damian had known the truth before Jason had even removed the mask, had felt it in the way he moved, in the way his presence gnawed at memories Damian had locked away.
And yet, even knowing, it hadn't made the loss any easier. Jason had left. No explanations that mattered. No promises to return.
Just one last conversation that Damian still wasn't sure how he felt about.
His nails bit into his palms. Condescending Jason could leave if he wanted to. Lying Jason could throw away his place here, go crawling back to Gotham, to the man who had let him die.
But Damian would not break. Damian would not waver. He would be stronger. He would be unstoppable. He would prove that his path was not wrong.
Shiva stood in the courtyard, watching as trainees sparred beneath her sharp gaze.
Damian moved toward her, his steps deliberate. He was in control of himself, even if everything inside him threatened to snap.
"Master," he said, his voice cold, steady. "I need more."
Shiva didn't turn immediately, but when she did, her expression was unreadable. "More?"
"More insane training. More impossible challenges. I want to push myself beyond my current limits." His green eyes burned. "Strength is everything."
His master studied him for a long moment. He could feel her gaze peeling him apart, dissecting him the way only she could.
She saw the fire in his eyes, the need, the anger coiled beneath his skin like something alive.
He was ready to be sharpened, to be reforged into something greater.
Shiva nodded with a dark grin. "Very well. If you seek to prove your path, then I will give you the means to do so. But be warned, Damian—what I have in store for you will break you. It will strip you to your core. And if you survive, you will emerge stronger than you ever thought possible."
Damian's lips curled slightly. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
She turned without another word, leading him away from the courtyard.
He followed.
The others watched him go. Some with resentment, others with curiosity, but none of them would interfere. They wouldn't dare.
The first test began immediately, almost as if Shiva had been expecting his demand.
They stopped at the cliffs.
The rocks beneath his feet were slick from sea spray, the ocean below a furious, churning abyss. A boulder, easily twice his weight, sat coiled in heavy chains beside him.
Shiva stood to his back. "To begin, we shall unearth your body's hidden potential. This trial will train your lungs and teach you to master your fear. You will dive into the ocean with this boulder chained to your feet. You will not resurface until I say so."
Damian nodded.
He crouched, securing the chain around his ankles. The metal was cold, unyielding. He took a single breath, memorizing the moment, and then rolled the boulder off the edge.
The fall was brief, but the impact was instant.
The weight of the boulder dragged him down.
Water closed over his head, swallowing him whole. The current pushed against his body, trying to rip him away, but the chain held firm.
The pressure built in his chest. The cold bit into his muscles.
Panic was a foreign thing, something he had crushed long ago. He could feel it scratching at the edges of his mind, but he ignored it.
He let his body settle into the stillness of the ocean floor, the boulder anchoring him as if it had always been a part of him.
The seconds stretched. His lungs ached. His vision blurred. He felt the familiar hum of something deeper inside him, something red and wild, stirring to keep him alive.
'You're not needed.' He blocked himself from using the Vapour or entering Ashura.
After the 3rd minute, he lost track of time as his mind grew foggy from the lack of oxygen.
Just as he was about to pass out, a sharp whistle rang from above.
Damian moved.
His muscles screamed as he entered Ashura mode and wrenched the chain apart with sheer force. Then he launched himself upward, cutting through the water like a spear.
His body broke the surface in a surge of motion, gasping as the night air filled his lungs.
Shiva was waiting at the top. She watched him climb, her face unreadable. He pulled himself onto the rocks, his limbs trembling but his stance steady.
Shiva nodded once. "Again."
Damian grinned as he went back for the boulder, carried it up the cliff and dove back into the ocean.
He did this for 3 days.
On the 4th day, muscles aching and heavy as lead but his breathing easier, she led him to the forest.
A towering oak stood before him, its roots deep and defiant, unmoving against the years. Shiva stood beside him, arms crossed.
"This will train your tenacity and strength distribution," she said. "You will uproot this tree with your bare hands."
Damian rolled his shoulders. Fine.
He stepped forward, fingers digging into the bark. The wood was rough beneath his palms, unyielding. He pushed, pulled, braced his feet against the ground. The roots held.
2 days passed with no visible progress. Imprints of his fingers covered the bark of the Oak. He refused to quit.
Shirtless, Damian's sweat dripped from his skin, mixing with the dirt beneath his nails. His arms and shoulders burned, his legs trembled, but he kept going.
The other trainees gathered at the edge of the clearing, murmuring among themselves. They wanted him to fail.
He wouldn't.
The sky shifted from gray to deep blue. His hands bled, his fingers raw from gripping, tearing, fighting. Still, the tree stood.
Damian closed his eyes. After 2 days, he'd learned to feel the tension in the roots, the way they pulled against the soil. It wasn't just mindlessly enhancing his strength. It was knowing how to leverage the enhanced muscles.
He adjusted his grip again. Shifted his stance.
And then he pulled, this time from soles of his feet, up his hips to his shoulders and down his arms. His skin blazed with glowing red veins.
A deep crack split the air.
The roots snapped, a chain reaction tearing through the earth. The tree lurched, groaned, and with one final motion—fell.
A cloud of dust and shattered bark filled the air.
Damian stood over the wreckage, his breath heavy, his hands shaking. He felt it—the way all his body parts came together to make everything work.
Shiva watched, her expression unreadable. Then, she turned. "You have more to do."
The third test was even more outlandish.
Damian didn't ask questions as Shiva handed him a shovel.
"This will train your sense of direction and patience," she said simply.
She made him dig a pit.
The hole was deep and narrow and Damian completed it in one day. The very next morning, he jumped in without hesitation.
Then, without another word, Shiva buried him alive.
The dirt was heavy. The darkness was absolute.
He lay still, listening to his own strained breathing. The feel of dust and soil scratching against his nostrils was a torment. But Panic was pointless. Fear was useless.
So he began to dig.
His fingers clawed at the packed earth. The weight of it pressed against his ribs, his lungs. The silence and darkness were suffocating, but he kept moving.
His nails split. His arms burned. But he dug.
Time blurred. He couldn't tell how long he was down there, only that his muscles ached, that his chest screamed for air.
Then, finally, his fingers broke the surface.
He dragged himself out, covered in dirt and sweat.
Shiva barely glanced at him. "5 whole hours. You were slower than expected."
Damian spat dirt from his mouth. "Next time, I'll bury you and we'll see how you do."
She smiled faintly. "Perhaps."
The next trials loomed, but Damian already knew.
He was changing.
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The night was thick with humidity as Damian stood at the edge of the forest, his body sore from the past 3 weeks of unrelenting trials.
His hands were raw, his muscles torn and rebuilt too many times to count. Yet, despite the exhaustion clinging to his bones, he was still standing.
Shiva stood with her arms crossed as she surveyed the dark expanse of trees stretching before them.
"This is your final trial," she said. "The Forest of Death."
The name wasn't just for show. This dense, gnarled woodland section of the Island's jungle was a place of nightmares.
The air was thick with decay, the ground littered with the remains of those who had failed to escape its grasp.
The League used this place for one purpose—to strip warriors of everything and force them to be reborn.
Damian felt the weight of her words, but he didn't flinch.
Shiva nodded to the three masked figures standing behind them. Damian didn't recognize them except the fact that they were Shiva's personal disciples. Elites, just like Jason. The ones who had walked this path before him.
They moved forward without a word, forming a triangle around him.
Shiva spoke again, her voice cold and sharp. "To be a true Ashura, you must be broken—mind, body, and spirit. Only when you are nothing can you rebuild yourself anew. Only then will you be worthy of your own name."
Damian rolled his shoulders, his lips curling. "I don't break."
Shiva smiled, though there was no warmth in it. "We'll see. Kill him."
The moment the words left her mouth, they attacked.
The first strike came from behind, a near-silent rush of movement.
Damian ducked, twisting on instinct, barely avoiding the blade that passed over his head. He spun and caught a glimpse of a second figure lunging toward him, their fist aimed at his ribs.
He blocked—but barely.
The force sent him skidding back, his feet digging into the soft earth. They were fast.
The third disciple struck from above, their heel slamming toward his skull. Damian barely had time to roll away before the impact shattered the ground where he had stood.
And skilled too.
The forest swallowed them, shadows twisting in the dim moonlight.
Damian moved with them, his instincts sharper than ever. His eyes allowing him to see their movements before they fully committed. And his reflexes able to dodge the killing strikes that came from everywhere.
But it wasn't enough.
They were better than him- a result of longer learning under Shiva's teaching methods and their own talent.
But worse, they were relentless, almost desperate to kill him. And while that desperation would have been a weakness to exploit, their attacks coordinated in a way that left no openings.
If he evaded one attack, another was already in motion. If he blocked, he left himself exposed to another assault.
They didn't speak. They didn't need to.
Damian's breathing was measured even after 10 hours of fighting.
He was noticeably faster than them, stronger. But they were precise. Calculated and Stamina beasts.
They knew exactly how to push him, how to corner him without making it seem like he was trapped.
The realization hit him like a blade to the ribs.
They weren't just trying to kill him. They were trying to exhaust him in the process.
Shiva wasn't looking for victory—she was looking to see how far he could go before he got tired and started making mistakes.
The answer was, 22 hours without Ashura.
A sharp pain exploded in his side as one of the disciples landed a kick he'd been too slow to dodge. His body twisted with the force of it, but he turned the momentum into a counter, his elbow slamming into their face.
Blood sprayed into the air. The disciple stumbled.
'They're tired too. This puts us back on even ground.' Damian thought with a battle hungry smirk.
They gave him no time to recover.
Another attack. Another blow to his ribs. His vision blurred for a split second before he righted himself, gritting his teeth against the pain.
His body was screaming for rest.
He ignored it.
He pushed forward, breaking their formation, lashing out with brutal efficiency. His movements became less about technique and more about survival.
The air around him grew heavy, thick with the pressure of his own savagery. The ground beneath his feet trembled as his Ashura power flared unintentionally, his muscles burning with raw force.
"Respond in kind!" Shiva announced and the Disciples activated their Chi, a shroud of white energy thinner than Shiva's covered them.
"Come!" Damian taunted. He wouldn't lose.
One of the disciples lunged—Damian caught their wrist mid-air, twisting it with enough force to dislocate it. A muffled cry left their lips before Damian slammed them into the ground.
Another came from behind—too slow.
He dodged and countered with a vicious knee to their stomach.
The third disciple hesitated. Only for a moment.
Damian pounced.
His fist struck with brutal precision, and they crumpled.
The clearing was silent.
Damian stood in the center, chest heaving, his fists clenched. He had won.
Shiva stepped forward, regarding him with something that almost looked like approval.
"You lasted longer than I expected," she said. "But you are still incomplete."
Damian wiped the blood from his lips, smirking. "Then finish it."
She tilted her head. "I already have."
The ground beneath him tilted.
His vision swam.
Poison.
Not enough to kill him. Just enough to drag him into the abyss.
Damian hit the dirt, his limbs too heavy to move. The last thing he saw was Shiva's proud gaze before everything went black.
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When he woke, he wasn't in the forest anymore.
The air was thick with something unnatural, something alive. The scent of burning incense and minerals clung to his skin, seeping into his lungs with every breath.
His body was submerged, floating in a pool of green liquid that pulsed with energy.
The Lazarus Pit.
He should have been in agony. He had heard the stories—the pain, the madness that came from the Pit's power.
But all he felt was clarity.
He emerged from the water, his movements eerily smooth, his muscles tight with newfound strength. His skin felt alive, his veins thrumming with something deeper than his Ashura power.
He rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly.
Something had changed.
A voice called to him from the shadows.
"Well, that was impressive."
Damian turned, his sharp gaze locking onto the figure standing at the edge of the Pit.
Talia al Ghul.
She looked him over as if seeing him for the first time, her dark eyes filled with something unreadable. Curiosity. Recognition. Possession.
"Impossible," she murmured, stepping forward. "No one emerges from the Pit like this."
Damian didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Talia circled him slowly. "You're different now. More than I expected." Her lips curled into a faint smirk. "You are a child of the League in every way, but you can be so much more, Damian."
Damian tilted his head. "And?"
Talia met his gaze, her expression turning sharp. "I will be challenging Shiva for the right to be your master."
He said nothing.
She took another step forward, till they were barely an inch apart. Her head craned up, green eyes meeting his own, as her finger lightly traced the outline of his pec. "It is a tradition in the League—the stronger mentor shapes the next prodigy."
Damian lowered his head, whispering to her ear. "Then you'd better not lose."
Though her chances of beating his master were less than 10%, he admired the confidence.
Talia chuckled, amused by the sarcasm. "Oh, don't worry, my dear." Her eyes darkened, filled with quiet certainty. "I never lose."
Damian sidestepped her with a snort.
He turned toward the exit, his voice low.
"Then prove it."
The war of queens was about to begin. And he was the Prize.