Talia Al Ghul's POV:
I drive the sleek black Mercedes through Gotham's rain-slicked streets, my hands gripping the steering wheel perhaps more tightly than necessary.
In the rearview mirror, I can see them - Samael Luthor and his bodyguard, Cassandra Cain - seated in the back, a careful distance between them despite the intimacy I've observed in their interactions.
My throat aches as I swallow, the bruising still fresh despite the salve I applied earlier. Unconsciously, my fingers rise to touch the tender skin, remembering how easily he had closed off my airway. How effortlessly he had dominated me.
I, Talia al Ghul, daughter of the Demon's Head, heir to an ancient legacy of death and shadow, reduced to a gasping, helpless thing in seconds.
The memory rises unbidden, vivid and humiliating.
---------------------
"Our Mother?" Samael had repeated, his pleasant expression never wavering though something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "How very interesting. I wasn't aware I shared one with you."
I had maintained my composure, years of training under my father allowing me to project calm confidence despite the tension in the room.
The clone - Adam, they called him - lay unconscious at my feet, the Kryptonite device on his chest emitting its sickly green glow.
"Asherah," I explained, my voice steady. "The Queen of The Heavens. Mother of Angels. She has returned from her imprisonment and wishes to meet with you, her youngest son."
Samael tilted his head slightly, an oddly birdlike gesture that reminded me of something predatory. "Fascinating," he murmured. "And she sent you to deliver this invitation? How... quaint."
"I am her chosen emissary," I confirmed. "She has taken residence within my mother's body - Melisande al Ghul. A suitable vessel preserved by the waters of the Lazarus Pit for three decades."
"Your mother is possessed by my mother," Samael clarified, his tone conversational. "What a delightfully dysfunctional family dynamic. Tell me, did she mention why she's suddenly interested in a maternal reunion after all, she doesn't know me."
I opened my mouth to respond, to deliver the carefully prepared explanation Asherah had given me, but never got the chance.
Between one heartbeat and the next, Samael vanished from where he stood - and reappeared directly before me.
His hand closed around my throat, lifting me effortlessly as he slammed me against the wall with enough force to drive the breath from my lungs.
"But there are more pressing matters at hand," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr as he towered over me. His eyes, previously a normal human black, now burned with hellfire.
"What matters?" I managed to ask, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the pressure on my windpipe.
"Normally," Samael continued as if I hadn't spoken, "I don't like putting my hands on a woman, especially one as beautiful as yourself. But you've touched what is mine."
His gaze flicked briefly to the unconscious form of Adam on the floor, then to the damage throughout his home. "How should I punish you for that, I wonder?"
I met his gaze defiantly, refusing to show weakness even as something primal within me trembled. It was instinctual - Asherah explained it before sending me, to be careful - a fear coded into all of Creation to recognize and fear divine wrath.
To fear the archangels, God's weapons.
"I could break every bone in your body, one by one," Samael mused, "I could strip the skin from your flesh. I could show you horrors that would drive you mad."
He leaned closer, his breath cool against my ear. "I could make you experience the torments of Hell without ever leaving this space."
I remained silent, refusing to beg or plead. Death had been my companion since birth; I would not dishonor my legacy by cowering before it.
"But no," Samael decided, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "I think I'll take something more... valuable from you."
"And what might that be?" I challenged, my voice hoarse from the pressure on my throat.
His smile widened, becoming something terrible and beautiful. "Your cover."
Before I could process his meaning, his grip on my throat loosened, but only so his hand could plunge into my chest - not physically breaking skin, but phasing through it.
Pain erupted through my entire being. Not physical pain, but something far worse - the agony of having one's very essence touched, manipulated, violated.
I heard screaming and distantly realized it was my own voice, tearing from my throat in a sound I had never before produced.
It lasted an eternity. It lasted an instant.
When Samael withdrew his hand, my legs gave out. I slumped forward, my body betraying me as I collapsed against his chest, gasping and coughing.
His arm caught me, almost gentle now, supporting me as I struggled to regain control of myself.
With what dignity I could muster, I pushed away from him, leaning against the wall for support. "What-" I gasped, "what did you do to me?"
Samael flexed his wrist casually, as if he'd merely exerted himself with some minor task. "I touched your soul," he said simply. "And claimed you as mine."
Horror washed through me as his words registered. "What does that mean?" I demanded, my voice still raw.
"It means," he explained with terrible gentleness, "that from now on, light will always follow you. My light. It will mark you as mine, always follow you, never allow you to exist in darkness, as you are now under my... 'protection.'"
His lips curved in a smile that held no warmth. "It also means you cannot disobey a direct command from me. Your soul is bound to mine now, little assassin."
The implications crashed over me like a wave. Light. Always light. For an assassin raised in shadow, trained to move unseen through darkness, it was a death sentence to my craft.
And the binding - to be unable to disobey, to have my will subjugated to another's...
"You can't," I whispered, hatred and fear warring within me.
"I already have," Samael replied simply. He glanced at the bodyguard - Cassandra - who had remained utterly still throughout the exchange. "Check on Adam," he instructed her. "Make sure the Kryptonite hasn't done any permanent damage."
As she moved to comply, Samael turned back to me. "Now then, Talia al Ghul. You're going to take me to this 'mother' of ours. And you're going to do it without any further attempts to harm what is mine. Understood, sister?" he finished, the last word filled with mockery.
I wanted to spit in his face. To drive a blade through his heart. To watch him bleed.
Instead, I heard myself say, "Yes."
The binding was already working.
-----------------------
The memory fades as I guide the car through the gates of an exclusive estate on the outskirts of Gotham.
My father had acquired it decades ago - one of many properties maintained by the League around the world, known only to our highest-ranking members.
"We've arrived," I announce, my voice carefully neutral despite the storm of emotions churning within me. Me and my damn need to test him.
In the rearview mirror, I see Samael's eyes - mercifully normal black now - studying the surroundings with casual interest. "Charming," he comments. "Very 'secret society meets old money.' Your father has taste, I'll give him that."
I don't respond as I park the car. There's no need to - he's not expecting an answer, merely amusing himself with observations. I've learned that much about him in our brief, painful acquaintance.
The binding on my soul pulses with warmth as I exit the vehicle, a constant reminder of my new status.
I can feel it like a physical presence - a soft, persistent light that follows me, its intensity depending on the surrounding light, enough to always make me the center of attention, never to be able to hide when not alone.
It's more than just light. It's a brand. A mark of ownership.
I hate him for it with every fiber of my being.
And yet... part of me cannot help but respect what he did. Not the act itself - never that - but the principle behind it. He protected what was his. He demonstrated power and control. He did not hesitate or show weakness.
These are values the League has instilled in me since childhood. Values my father holds sacred.
As I lead Samael and Cassandra toward the main house, I notice the subtle changes in the environment. The gardens, once meticulously maintained in traditional Japanese style, have transformed.
Flowers bloom out of season, their colors too vibrant, too perfect. The air itself feels different - charged with something that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
Asherah's presence has altered this place, just as it has altered everything she touches.
We enter through the front doors, where two League assassins stand at attention. They bow deeply to me, then lower their eyes as Samael passes.
Word has spread quickly about our "divine visitor." The fear in their postures - from their instincts warning them - is evident to someone trained to read body language as I am.
"This way," I say, leading them through the mansion's opulent interior to the rear terrace, where I know they are waiting.
The terrace overlooks meticulously landscaped grounds that slope down to a small lake.
Two figures occupy the space - my father, seated in a high-backed chair near the balustrade, and Asherah, standing at the far end of the terrace, gazing out at the water.
They maintain distance from each other, I note. Father's wariness has not abated, then.
As we step onto the terrace, Asherah turns.
The body is my mother's - a face I know only from photographs, preserved in eternal youth by my father's dedication.
But the being within is something else entirely. Power radiates from her in palpable waves, and her eyes glow with an inner light that is decidedly not human.
The moment she sees Samael, everything changes.
"My son!" she cries, her voice resonating with emotion that seems to vibrate the very air.
Before any of us can react, she moves - not running, but simply appearing before Samael in a blur of motion.
Her arms wrap around him in an embrace so swift and unexpected that I see him stiffen, clearly forcing himself not to react defensively.
"My baby boy," she murmurs, holding him with a tenderness that is at odds with my image of her, "My beautiful, perfect son."
She pulls back, her hands rising to cup his face as she gazes at him with undisguised adoration. "My little Demiurge," she whispers, her voice filled with wonder and love.
And in that moment, watching this reunion of cosmic beings wearing human forms, I understand something that sends a chill through my soul.
This is not merely a meeting between mother and son.
This is the beginning of something much larger, much more dangerous.
This is divine politics playing out on Earth.
And I, bound to his damned will by his touch upon my soul, am now irrevocably part of it.
Damn my father for agreeing and damn my mother for her weakness.
----------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
Do tell me how you found it, as well as Samael's punishment for Talia, I found it appropriate, a bit of that biblical wrath that we all know and love.
He as explained took away what Talia prided herself in, her ability to be the perfect assassin as well as her independence.
Also, do tell me, what do you think about Asherah calling Samael, "her little Demiurge." Now, why Demiurge? The hints are already spread out during the fic, so do tell me why you think he is called that.
Though I'll give a final hint, before it is revealed in the coming chapters, Michael is half of the Demiurge.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)