"It doesn't matter who I am… what matters is my plan," I declared triumphantly. My lips curved into a sly grin as my gaze pierced into my interlocutor.
"Getting captured was part of the plan too?" Shiva asked coldly, edging closer.
"Of course." I shifted a couple of steps sideways, maintaining a cautious distance from the scowling woman. "I knew sooner or later you would leave me unsupervised, since I posed no real threat to the League. I assumed you might torture me—truthfully, I was counting on it. Because in that case, I would have been given a chance to slip free of your scrutiny, even if only for a brief moment. And all I ever needed was a little time."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you simply agree to join the League? It would have been less painful, less dangerous. You'd have ended up here regardless."
"Ah, but that would have been such a limited life," I replied sharply. "Do you honestly think you would have allowed me to roam freely within your clan's nest? No, my movements would have been more restricted than if you had shackled me outright. So my choice is justified… Besides, you have often asked me to speak my mind. And I always do—truthfully, even when I lie. As you can see, this is my choice!" I spread my arms flamboyantly, basking as though in the glow of my own brilliance.
"You worked very hard," Shiva admitted warily. "You hid your true strength, waited until we lowered our guard, then slipped into this place. You even drew the Dark Knight's attention to divert our main forces. But one thing I still cannot understand…" Her eyes sharpened. "How did you escape? No… not just that. How did you bypass the restrictions and use the spatial pocket? Or were they never restrictions for you at all?"
"You could say that." I shrugged lightly. "You're simply too narrow in perspective. You assumed I was a random mutant, or some magician lucky enough to stumble upon a few tricks. But reality is never that simple. This world harbors mysteries beyond human comprehension. Even those who have walked it for centuries have barely scratched the surface."
"Indeed," Shiva murmured, her sharp gaze drifting toward the Lazarus Pit. Visible relief flickered across her black eyes. Perhaps she believed that since I had not yet touched the life-giving waters, she still had a chance to prevent my purpose.
"And what is the next part of your plan?" she asked.
"As soon as I take what is mine," I muttered, allowing my gaze to flicker toward the eerie green pool, "I'll ascend to the surface, where I'll reunite with my allies. Together, we'll soar into the blazing light of dawn…"
Shiva's laughter rang out, harsh and mocking, sending a chill down my spine. "I am ashamed to admit it, but you truly surprised me. Stronger, more cunning than expected. Yet not nearly enough to leave here alive—let alone steal the League's greatest treasure. You are physically gifted—I've seen as much." Her eyes flicked to the groaning guardians lying around us. "But did you truly believe that was enough to deal with me? After defeating mere guards, have you grown cocky?"
Her words cut deep, for they were painfully true. "Your tattered clothes alone betray the truth," she continued mercilessly. "Burnt edges, ragged tears—they speak plainly of your reckless fighting style. Such an approach works against small fry. Against me, it will fail. You may be strong, but you are far from skilled. Physical superiority is not enough to defeat Lady Shiva, the highest assassin of the League."
I swallowed. Inwardly, her words echoed my own self-doubt. My prowess in battle indeed fell short of even some rank-and-file League assassins. I had leaned entirely on my newfound strength, speed, and reflexes. That had been more than enough so far. But not now. A true master stood before me, and my abilities, raw and unrefined, seemed pitiful in comparison.
Still, I fought to hold confidence. "Do not judge me too harshly," I said inwardly to myself. "I've only trained seriously for six months. And in that short period, I've achieved what few dare dream of. But I am not foolish—no mortal can achieve mastery in mere months. That exists only in movies, where so-called heroes defeat lifelong warriors with laughable montages. Reality, however… reality is harsh."
Aloud, I forced a grin. "You never know until you try," I shot back cheerfully, clinging to optimism as one clings to a lifeline.
Even as I spoke, a new unease stirred within me. I felt the presence of others approaching—not guests, but hosts. Silent, precise, their steps masked from all mundane senses. They were women—or so my instincts told me. I had not heard them. The failure wasn't mine. In this fortress, silence was second nature. Every assassin lurking in the shadows had mastered it from childhood.
Still, thanks to Batman's teachings, I too had acquired the art of silence. My senses sharpened enough to perceive their approach. Beside me, Shiva's insight was equally sharp; she already understood who came next.
I had no time to ponder further. Within seconds, two figures burst into the cavern.
The first I recognized instantly—Sandra's daughter. Her sudden strike caught me across the head. Pain flared white-hot as I staggered. I pretended unconsciousness, though her blow was no laughing matter.
The second figure was unknown to me, though her identity required no guesswork. A green-eyed brunette with cascading dark hair, she assessed the chamber and the Lazarus Pit with swift precision. Her League uniform hugged her figure, accentuating both grace and strength. She moved like an agile lioness, ready to pounce on any threat.
"Lady Talia," I greeted the daughter of Ra's al Ghul with open admiration. "An honor to finally meet you. More beautiful even than the legends."
"How kind of you to say," she replied smoothly, feigning embarrassment with a delicate gesture toward her cheek. "I've long wanted to meet you. But Sandra always resisted. Who would have known our paths would cross here of all places?"
"The irony of fate," I chuckled, stepping back. My foot disturbed a pebble, sending it tumbling into the Lazarus Pit. The stone hissed and dissolved the instant it touched the glowing water, vanishing as if devoured by acid. The violent contrast jolted me. So ordinary in appearance, yet this pool held unimaginable power. A reminder, perhaps, that appearances deceive.
Shaking off the distraction, I focused again on the young woman before me.
Talia al Ghul: daughter of Ra's al Ghul, heir to the Demon's Head, bearer of contradictions. Damian's mother. A woman whose heart had been forged in cold discipline and sharpened cruelty. As a child, she was deprived of her father's affection, raised in luxury devoid of warmth. To Ra's, she was a pawn, a player in endless schemes. Yet, despite the bitterness, she loved him still, standing at his side more often than not. Love entwined with resentment, loyalty knotted with rebellion. With Batman especially, her loyalties blurred.
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