More advance chapters on P@treon.com/Saintbarbido.
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The corridors of the League's fortress were quiet, save for the soft echo of distant footsteps.
Damian sat on the balcony outside his new chambers in Talia's Quarters, mentally preparing for Talia's test.
Once you reached Master class in the League, you were entitled to a separate compound.
Talia's was like a small mansion and sat only below the Demon's Head own manor, overlooking the vast landscape of Infinity Island.
It had been 2 months since Shiva's loss, 2 months since she and Cassandra had left the Island on a long mission, a week since he had officially come under Talia's tutelage.
And already, he felt the change.
Shiva had been a storm—relentless, furious, and undeniable. She had shaped his body into a weapon, sharpened his instincts through combat.
But Talia was different. The first thing she'd told him when they saw each other was that, she wasn't here to forge him through endless battle.
She was here to refine him, to teach him the art of subtlety—the mastery of shadows, deception, and the elegance of a kill without a trace.
This wasn't just about combat anymore. It was about efficiency and self-reliance. And Damian would master it all.
Talia's lessons began with the simplest yet most crucial skill: blending in.
(-2 months ago-)
"You've spent your life standing apart from the world," she told him as they walked through the her personal training grounds. "You exude strength, command attention—it's in every movement, every glance. And that makes you easy to track."
Damian raised a brow.
"So you're saying I should make myself...less? Pretend to be weak?" He almost growled.
Talia gave him a faint smirk, unbothered by his attitude. "Not less. Just unseen when it matters."
She led him into one of the manor's darker corridors. A long hallway, torches flickering along the stone walls.
"Walk to the other side of the corridor without me noticing," she instructed, stepping back into the shadows. "Disappear."
Damian almost scoffed. He had undergone stealth training before, first by necessity in Gotham's underground, then through MI6.
Blending into a crowd, escaping notice—it was something he had learned instinctively. But this was different. This wasn't about hiding. This was about erasing himself.
He took a step forward. Silent, calculated. The weight of his own movement registered in his ears. The sound of his foot brushing the stone, the slight rustle of his clothing. His jaw clenched in self-annoyance. Talia would hear that.
Another step. He adjusted the way his feet met the ground, rolling onto the balls of his feet rather than stomping down. Better.
He blended into the dark corners, moving with precision, keeping to the shifting shadows.
He controlled his breathing, making it shallow and controlled, timing each movement with the flicker of the torchlight.
It was like his instincts knew what to do. Almost like he was a creature of darkness, loved by shadows.
By the time he reached the end of the corridor, Talia was still standing where she had been, arms crossed.
She smiled. "Better than I expected. But you're not invisible yet."
Damian gave a curt nod. Not good enough was not enough for him.
The next days were filled with more lessons, refining every motion.
Talia took away his shoes, forcing him to learn the nuances of weight distribution, to remove the sound of his own presence entirely.
She blindfolded him, forcing him to rely on his other senses, making him feel the air shift around him, hear the faintest noise of movement.
He was taught the delicate art of tracking without being noticed—learning the breathing patterns of his targets, synchronizing his own movement with their footsteps.
By the end of the first month, Damian no longer simply moved through shadows. He became part of them.
As for their relationship, he was surprised to find that she wasn't as annoying or bothersome like he was expecting.
The final test came at end of the second month.
Basically, yesterday Talia summoned him in the evening to her bed chambers.
"Tommorrow you will follow my father. Do not get caught." She informed him, softly brushing her long dark hair in a red robe that he had to admit looked good on her.
Still, Damian barely kept his surprise from showing. Ra's al Ghul was the League of Shadows. A man with centuries of experience, heightened senses, and an awareness of his surroundings that made him near impossible to track unnoticed.
Talia's smirk was faint but knowing. "If you fail this test, I'll know you weren't ready for the next lesson, my cute Alpha."
Shit. While the nickname she'd taken to calling him irked, A true Alpha never failed.
"Consider it done."
(-Flashback End-)
At dawn of the following day, Damian was already in position outside Ra's quarters.
He observed as the Demon's Head left his Manor, moving down the mountain with an elegance few could match, his steps measured yet effortless.
Damian trailed him, blending into the shades of the shifting environment, his heartbeat steady, his breathing controlled, just like he'd learned.
He followed as Ra's walked through the fortress halls, past the gardens where assassins trained under the rising sun, down the carved stone corridors that led deeper into the mountain. Hours passed and day broke.
Damian remained unseen.
Ra's met with his advisors, oversaw training, and spent long moments standing at the highest balcony of the fortress, staring into the endless sea.
Damian watched from the shadows, every step of the way. His body still, his presence erased.
By the time the evening gave way to darkness and the night was at its deepest, Damian could feel exhaustion creeping in—not physical, but mental.
Keeping oneself hidden for so long took a toll, requiring absolute focus. Still, he endured.
Then, just as the test was coming to an end, he made a mistake. It was small. A movement so slight it shouldn't have mattered. But it did.
Hidden at the corner of Ra's office in the main fortress building, Damian flicked his wrist, checking the small watch he had strapped to his arm.
And in that fraction of a second—Ra's turned. It wasn't a casual glance. It was instinct, sharpened by centuries of experience.
His eyes swept across the shadows where the light of the lantern couldn't reach, searching.
For a moment, Damian didn't breathe. He willed himself into nothingness. Ra's gaze lingered.
Then, finally, he looked away. Damian exhaled softly, clenching his fists. He had been close. Too close.
Talia was waiting for him at the manor when he returned, nursing a glass of red wine.
She studied him for a long moment before speaking. "You did well," she said.
Damian sighed, tiredly walking past her. "But not perfect."
Talia smirked. "No. But you lasted longer than most. Your only mistake was not realizing I was following you like you were following him."
He hated that.
"One more thing." She stopped him and stepped close enough that he could smell her flowery scent.
Talia tilted her head as she regarded him. "Do you know why father almost sensed you?"
Damian didn't hesitate. "I got careless."
Talia gave a slight nod. "You let your mind drift. That's why you you don't get a perfect score."
Damian exhaled sharply. He should have known better.
"Still," Talia continued, "the lesson was learned, concluding the Art of the Perfect Shadow." She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder—a rare gesture of approval. "You're ready for the next stage."
Her voice turned softer, almost teasing. "Now, let's see if you can kill as well as you hide."
The training for The Art of the Perfect Assassin was about to begin. And Damian would not allow himself to be anything less than perfect.
The following night, the moon was high over Infinity Island, casting pale silver light over the fortress.
Damian stood before Talia in the training hall, ready.
Talia's eyes gleamed with something colder, something sharper.
"It is not enough to walk unseen," she begun, her voice smooth as steel over silk. "A perfect shadow is nothing without a blade in the dark."
Thunk!
The blade in her hand pierced through a nearby punching bag before stabbing into the stone wall, perfectly nailing a rat that was scurrying about in the heart.
The air in the room shifted. This lesson would be different.
"This is the art of killing," Talia continued. "Not the crude butchery of common assassins, not the simple executions you're already accustomed to. This is the art of death as an unseen force. This is how you learn to kill without ever being suspected."
Damian had taken lives before. He had done it once in Gotham's underground fights as self defense, and as an MI6 agent. He had done it as a test under Shiva.
But this… this was something else entirely. The part of him that enjoyed caving into his bloodlust was stoked. He had a feeling, this was going to be fun.
Contrast to what he was expecting, Talia's first lesson was less about blood, guts and cutting people apart and more about studying.
"Anyone can kill with a blade or a gun," she told him as she set a row of vials next to a stack of books on plants, biology and chemistry on the library table before him. "But real power comes from killing a man without lifting a finger. Under Shiva, you learnt how to sharpen your innate potential into a weapon, now I will teach you the knowledge to wield that Weapon as a Tool."