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A cold wind brushed across Damian's face as he stood blindfolded at the rocky shores of Infinity Island.
Waves lapped against his boots, salt clinging to his tongue. Somewhere behind him, the low thrum of the League boat that had dropped him on the beach was already retreating across the water, headed for the main harbor.
No more handlers. No allies. Just prey, and a single target: the Demon's Head Castle atop the mountain in the center of the island.
The rules were simple. Reach the castle. Be one of the first two.
But Damian Wayne had no interest in reaching the finish line first.
That would be too easy.
He slipped off the blindfold and blinked into the rising dawn light. The dense jungle canopy ahead shimmered in the heat, casting long shadows over the mossy trees and vine-draped cliffs.
Somewhere out there, the other nine were already making their way through the terrain—killing, hiding, ambushing.
But Damian wasn't hunting the castle.
He was hunting them.
All because of—her.
Cassandra.
The only person he considered a rival.
He hadn't forgotten her afterimage and the phantom step. The vanish-and-reappear trick that defied every law of combat and timing.
He'd replayed the move a hundred times in his head throughout the night, and still couldn't piece together how she'd done it.
So he would use the others as training dummies. Learn what he could from fighting them. Pit their strategies, techniques, and deception against the Phantom Step puzzle in his memory.
And then after gaining that final piece… he'd confront her.
He couldn't wait wipe to away the smug look on her face.
"No one outshines me." A growl left him as he moved like smoke through the underbrush, gliding across tree limbs and shifting from shadow to shadow.
His breathing was silent. His Ashura energy a low thrum. Just enough to enhance awareness and movement—too much would cause a commotion.
After an hour of silent tracking, he found a sign—trampled grass, broken twigs, and the faintest scent of copper.
A clearing ahead. Two of the candidates were locked in fierce combat, blades flashing as they danced across the field.
Rank 7 and 8 maybe? He couldn't remember their names but that wasn't the reason he frowned.
Their battle...was too rhythmic.
Too neat.
Then he saw it—their footwork, the positioning, the perfect back-and-forth.
'They're faking it.'
Hands in the pocket of his hoodie, he dropped from the tree canopy and landed silently just behind them.
"You're good," Damian said casually, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. "The footwork alone might've fooled someone dumber."
The two combatants—Reika and Fen—froze mid-motion. Reika's crimson war paint glinted in the light, while Fen's hand hovered near the hilt of his blade.
Damian continued, voice calm, almost amused. "Pretend to fight, wait for someone to attack, then spring your trap. Smart. Classic bait tactic."
Both turned to face him, weapons slowly rising.
Damian tilted his head. "So where's your third?"
A shadow gleamed among the trees.
Whoosh! whoosh!
Followed by a shower of kunai screaming through the air, aimed straight for him.
Damian didn't move.
The daggers clinked harmlessly off his skin—no penetration, not even a scratch. His veins lit up faintly with red as his activated Ashura mode pulsed.
"Found them," he said.
From the tree line, the third assassin emerged—Zhen, crouched low, short blades drawn.
Rank 6. He remembered her for her ferocious eyes. She was probably the one who came up with the baiting plan.
Damian's grin widened. He pulled a single dagger from his hip and twirled it once between his fingers.
"Three-on-one," he said, eyes flashing. "Now this… this might actually be fun."
The three assassins leapt at Damian, weapons gleaming as the morning light filtered through the canopy.
Reika struck first, her twin blades slashing in a spinning arc aimed at his shoulders. Damian twisted low, letting her swing pass above, and drove his elbow into her ribs, sending her crashing into a tree trunk.
"Too eager to impress," he tutted, catching Fen's kick without looking. "And you—telegraphing your attacks."
He swung Fen like a sack of grain into Zhen, who had been flanking him with kunai daggers raised. The two collided mid-air and hit the ground in a tangled heap.
Flashbombs exploded around him before he could finish them, white light flooding the clearing. Shadows shifted violently as Reika recovered and lunged again.
Damian closed his eyes.
The world slowed.
He moved through the chaos like a shadow given form, striking them with ruthless efficiency.
A heel kick sent Zhen's jaw snapping sideways.
A disarm throw flipped Fen onto his back. Reika screamed as Damian caught her wrist mid-strike, twisted, and dropped her to the ground with a single, practiced sweep.
The fight lasted barely a minute.
And when the smoke cleared, the three were lying in the dirt, gasping, bruised, and unable to stand.
Damian knelt beside them, flipping his dagger once before stabbing it into the soil next to Zhen's head.
"You relied too much on group strategy," he said, tone clinical. "There was no fallback plan if your ambush failed. Reika, you went first without even confirming the hit. Zhen, you stayed in cover too long. Fen, you let your emotions rush you."
The three groaned, but one—Zhen—spoke, coughing.
"Then why not… kill us?"
Damian rose, brushing dirt from his pants. "A lion doesn't hunt calves. It waits for the bull with the biggest horns."
Zhen's brow furrowed. "You mean… we're too weak to kill?"
Damian turned slightly, his lips curling into a cold smile. "Does that piss you off?"
She nodded slowly. Her brown eyes meeting his sight without falling.
"Good," Damian said. "I hope you get stronger. I hope you come for revenge one day."
The wind shifted. A chill brushed his spine.
His instincts screamed.
Without a thought, Damian spun around and drew his dagger, channeling his Ashura energy into the blade for the first time.
CLANG—CRACK!
The world paused for a breath.
He had split a bullet in two.
The halves flew past, their deadly momentum redirected. One fragment struck Fen in the neck. The other clipped Reika's shoulder. Both fell limp. One Alive—the other dead.
Only Zhen remained conscious, eyes wide with disbelief.
Damian didn't move. His glowing dagger still hummed with red heat.
His eyes narrowed. "Sniper."
He looked past the tree line, tracking the bullet's path.
Boom! The ground under his heel cracked.
Already, he was sprinting across branches, leaping from limb to limb, dodging the next round of sniper fire as he drew closer. In turn, each bullet came faster. Each dodge was a razor's edge. Each dagger slash, followed by another swing.
On a jagged cliffside above, a sleek figure pulled back from the scope of a custom long-range rifle.
Black Spider.
The assassin complained, "Tch. Slippery little—"
His rifle clicked. Empty.
He tapped his comm.
"Cheshire. The Demon Brat's headed toward my position."
From a far-off position on the opposite side of the island, a female voice replied smoothly, "Good. Hook and I are prepping to gut Shiva's little pet project. Don't underestimate him."
Black Spider smirked. "When have I ever done that?"
He cut the call.
At his feet lay a fresh corpse—the original sniper, Rank 4, neck twisted grotesquely.
Black Spider looked down at it and scoffed. "Why is everyone so obsessed with some white-haired brat?"
He nudged the body with his boot. "I'm the one they should be fearing. Talia should be on MY d*ck. Literally."
He turned, sliding a much larger clip onto the multipurpose rifle as he eyed the approaching figure."That was just the warm-up kid. This next one is a real killer."
Damian crept beyond the tangled canopy and emerged into the outer ring of the forest.
Right where the shot had come from.
Ahead loomed a jagged cliff—steep, bare, and unmistakably artificial in how well it overlooked the dense jungle below. It was a sentry post for the Shadow's patrol.
One of the others had made it their sniper's nest.
He slid his dagger between his teeth and dropped to all fours. Ashura energy coiled through his limbs, his muscles tensing like a loaded spring. With a sudden push, he launched himself up the cliff face, fingers digging into the stone like claws.
Halfway up, a dull click echoed from above.
His eyes narrowed—too late.
BOOM!
The top of the cliff exploded. Shattered rock and dust poured downward like an avalanche. Damian reacted instantly, springing backwards mid-climb, flipping into the air.
He didn't get far.
Black strands snapped out from the trees like snakes—thwip thwip thwip—wrapping around Damian's arms, legs, and torso.
Within seconds, he was pulled into a cocoon of black webbing mid-air.
Then the boulders came crashing down.
CRACK!
He hit the forest floor with a thunderous impact, completely buried beneath tons of rubble.
The jungle fell quiet.
Then—
BOOM!
Red vapor exploded from the rubble like a detonation, blasting rocks into the air.
A crater formed at the center, revealing Damian rising to his feet, steam curling off his body.
The black webs, once holding him tight, were sizzling into nothing in the crimson aura around him.
He exhaled slowly, eyes glowing with Ashura power.
Across from him, Black Spider swung in on a thick cord of webbing and landed with a flip.
"Damn," Spider whistled, impressed. "That webbing has the tensile strength of steel. Didn't think you'd walk out of that."
Damian looked down at his tattered hoodie, strings of shredded fabric barely clinging to his frame. He grumbled, "That was my favorite hoodie."
With a tug, he ripped off what remained, tossing it aside to reveal a lean, brutal physique honed by years of blood and battle.
Black Spider immediately tensed.
"Okay," he gulped, glancing at Damian's abs. "Sure. Great. Way to make a man feel self-conscious before a fight."
He fired a web.
Damian kicked a loose boulder into its path, blocking the strand mid-air.
Black Spider vaulted upward over the boulder, flipping over Damian's head.
Damian sprang after him, fist cocked.
CRACK!
Their blows collided mid-air—Damian's punch against Spider's heel.
The shockwave blew apart branches below them. Of the two, only one flew back.
Damian hit the ground hard, carving a groove into the rocky soil.
Black Spider landed lightly, hands on his hips. "Surprised?"
He flexed. "Yeah, I can lift ten tons, baby. Unlike your gym show muscles, these are the real deal."
Damian coughed and slowly stood. "Ten tons, huh?"
He rolled his shoulders. "What else can you do?"
Black Spider grinned, eager. "Since you're gonna be a corpse in about five minutes, why not?"
He ticked off his fingers. "Let's see. Run at 120 mph on a good day. Sense danger before it happens. Super-flexibility—watch this."
He dropped into a one-handed handstand, bent his body backward in a full arc, then sprung up into a perfect split mid-air.
Landing again, he added, "Ridiculous agility, precision leaping, strong enough to dodge bullets and pressure plates—oh, and my own martial art: Spider-Fu. Even Sensei has to work when we spar."
Damian nodded slowly, stretching his neck.
"With a resume like that," he muttered, "you should've gone with Spider-Man."
Black Spider's grin widened. "Riiiiiiggghhht? That's what I said! But the Demon's Head vetoed it. Said it lacked intimidation."
Damian wiped dust from his brow. "Maybe he'd reconsider if you were more spider than man."
Black Spider raised a brow. "What, you mean more limbs? A cool idea but kinda gross don't ya think?"
"Not that." Damian deadpanned. "I mean like real spiders. Shooting silk from your—"
"Unfunny and unoriginal," Black Spider snapped. "C'mon, man."
"I wasn't joking." Damian replied. "I'm going to punch you really, really hard and find out."
His feet slid into stance. Ashura energy rippled from his skin again, rising like steam. "No one destroys my shit and walks off alive. Vengeance will be mine."
Black Spider's grin didn't fade. "Ohhhh, I've been waiting for this."
Like two beasts, they rushed each other—one born of venom, the other forged in Demon fire.
The jungle braced for battle. It got a war.