Tell me your favourite original novel.
Btw, you can read 40 extra chapters on [email protected]/annihilator009.
___________________________
She had never known true friendship nor trusted confidantes. Loneliness had been her constant companion, and as a result, Talia carried within her the burden of mistrust. She trusted no one but herself.
"I admit, we were too harsh with you," Talia said at last. Her words were calm, but beneath the calmness lingered calculation. "But you wouldn't dare steal the League's greatest asset because of that… would you?"
"Why not?" I countered immediately. "Your hospitality has been atrocious. I am bitterly disappointed. Do you know they didn't even give me the Wi-Fi password? Really, in the twenty-first century? How can you expect civilized conversation without it?"
A small chuckle slipped from Miss al Ghul's lips. "You're amusing. Sandra spoke often of your sense of humor. She was right—you seem unafraid of anything. Always ready with a mockery, even here, on the precipice of your own death. But…" Her tone darkened. "Unfortunately, this is not the moment that inspires laughter."
"Really?" I shrugged loosely, flashing a grin. "I find the moment rather favorable. I'm surrounded by three beautiful maidens—each transfixed by me. What more could any man desire?"
My remark earned only stony silence. Their gazes remained fixed, sharp as blades. No softness, no allowance, just poised fury ready to tear me to shreds at the slightest provocation. Three maidens, yes—but far from kind. Their every breath sang of menace.
A sigh pressed past my lips. "So unfriendly, these maidens…"
And in my head, lines of parody twisted themselves into verse—an echo of Pushkin, darkly fitting:
Three maidens spun beneath the window in midnight's haze.
"Were I the queen of shadows," mused the eldest in hidden phrase,
"I would teach assassins' tongues to bend and shape to speech."
"Were I the queen of the Pit," her mother vowed with breach,
"I would scour mankind's trace, wipe it clean from earthly face."
"And I," the third one whispered—her silence a broken seam—
"Queen of tomorrow's sorrow, gave birth to a father's dream…"
A bitter laugh tightened in my throat. Pushkin would have slapped me for the corruption of his work. But the irony was impossible to ignore.
One daughter had indeed borne a child for the centuries-old monster—Ra's al Ghul—granting him the perfect heir, a puppet instrument for his plans. Another daughter, twisted by that same ancient hand, had grown venomous at the world itself. And the third? A victim of silence, robbed of voice since birth, carrying pain that weighed heavier than any blade. A sorrowful triad—more tragedy than poetry.
Then Talia's eyes narrowed, sharp as daggers. Her voice slipped into my ears smooth as poison, seductive as a succubus's charm. "Alex," she purred. "We all wish to know—who told Bruce? Who told him he had a son? I had planned to reveal it myself, when the time was right. Instead, he discovers not only his heir, but that Jason lived again—at the worst possible moment. Was it you?"
My brow arched. "Rumors? Are there such things?" I avoided her trap without affirming or denying.
Her stare deepened. "How did you know?" she pressed, her voice hardening as she convinced herself it was me.
"You're chasing the wrong thread," I dismissed lightly. "It isn't about what I know. What matters is how blind you are to me. You know nothing. Whereas I know far too much about you. All of you. More than you can imagine. Perhaps… more than you even know yourselves."
"Who are you?" she asked, echoing the same question Lady Shiva had spat at me minutes earlier.
"Is that really so consequential?" I chuckled. "You never tire of asking that. If we are to be honest, I do not mind telling you something about myself. What harm is there in a little intimacy? Sandra and I, after all, have grown surprisingly close. Perhaps one might even call us friends… though only by stretching the truth until it might snap." I nodded toward Cassandra, silent shadow incarnate. "She and I have also crossed blades, peered into one another's spirit. She speaks little, yet what she reveals does not require language at all. But with you, Lady Talia, there is a void—an empty space where understanding should be. Perhaps now is the exact moment to fill it."
She giggled—not kindly, but in a way that revealed expectation, like a cat toying with prey. "I don't mind that prospect in the slightest." Her hand drew a slender katana with a smooth metallic whisper.
Sandra's daughter followed, unsheathing her blade in practiced silence.
Lady Shiva remained unarmed, standing as still as a monolith. But her lack of steel made her no less dangerous. On the contrary, her very presence radiated mastery so keen it overshadowed the younger Valkyries flanking her. She did not need a weapon. Shiva was the weapon.
Their eyes locked on me: three predators, waiting.
"Dear beauties of Nanda Parbat," I said, raising my hands in faux innocence. "Why such haste?"
"As you said," Talia replied on their behalf, her voice cool steel. "The void must be filled. Perhaps one day, when we look back on this moment, you and I will cherish the story. Shouldn't we at least ensure it is not a boring one?"
"You're right," I smacked my forehead with a palm, mock-regretful. "How could I have overlooked that? A good tale cannot be allowed to end blandly. Which is precisely why I must not lose face." Taking my time, inch by inch, I reached into the invisible spatial pocket—a hidden sheath between realities. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled forth my blade.
"A katana," I smirked, holding it with affection. "My favorite, in fact. Cuts cleaner than a surgeon's scalpel. One might say it makes me tempted to commit hara-kiri just to savor its embrace."
"Soul Eater!" Sandra's voice cracked, sharp fury in her tone, as her eyes locked on the black sword in my hand.
"Indeed," I replied with false brightness. "Straight from Tatsu herself—though she didn't quite lend it willingly. Imagine my surprise when it proved useful tonight."
Her fury transformed the air, but before she could leap, Talia interjected, her tones suddenly frigid. "That cursed blade belongs in the League's vault. It—and everything else you've stolen—shall return to us." The mockery in her earlier voice was gone. Now she was the Heir of Ra's, cold and imperious.
"What?" I feigned offense. "And I thought they'd make a fine dowry…"
But though I postured, every fiber of me focused. Against these women, even carelessness spelled death.
"Since fate insists we take this path," I continued lightly, "at least let us walk it with music."
My left hand opened. There, an icy-blue orb shimmered, sprouting delicate mechanical wings. It buzzed into the air like an excitable bee. The ball resembled the golden Snitch from Harry Potter, except this one sang music instead of catching seekers.
Batman's reconnaissance drone—once his, now mine. Stolen, modified, transformed into a fluttering stereo system. My personal battle anthem.
"I never waste time," I laughed. "I prepared for this moment long ago, and wrote a suitable tune just for it. If one must stride into chaos, it is only proper to do so with accompaniment."
The orb flashed.
The rhythm ignited.
Sweet, electric notes spilled across the cavern, pulsing like a war drum disguised as pop. My stolen stereo blasted its joyfully sinister song—an anthem with teeth. The lyrics flowed, curling like smoke within stone walls, echoing against ancient rock. It was Sweet Dreams (Are made of this)
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I've traveled the world and the seven seas
Everybody's lookin' for something
Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused
And so, it began.
Talia struck first—her blade slicing the air at the speed of lightning, invisible to any mortal eye. Enhanced though my reflexes were by serum, survival remained barely in reach. Instinct alone kept my head attached.
The strength of Ra's al Ghul's daughter surpassed human limits. Born of Lazarus waters, bathed repeatedly in their unnatural essence, her body had transcended. Evolved. Mutated. Faster, stronger, deadlier than any human could dream.
And yet… still not my equal.
I blocked, Soul Eater biting steel. Sparks flared. The cursed weapon sang in my hands like a thirsty demon begging to consume. I tried stepping back for distance—but Talia snapped a vicious kick into my chest, forcing me two, three steps farther than I intended.
My heart pounded. My body was mightier than theirs, yes—but only in sheer brute force. In combat skill, each of them towered above me. On that battlefield, I was the novice among queens.
The music throbbed louder—the mocking chorus unfurling, mantra-like, around us as the cursed dance began.
Some want to use you,
Others want to be used by you.
Some want to abuse you,
Others want to be abused…
I lunged and slashed toward Shiva, but the predator queen flowed sideways, avoiding the Soul Eater entirely. Not from fear of my skill—but from wisdom. One scratch, one graze of that sword was death itself. She knew better than to allow even the faintest touch.
The Soul Eater's curse devoured flesh and essence alike. Its cuts festered instantly, rotting foes from within. That fact alone served as my chief advantage, restraining them—not in fear, but in caution. Even the mightiest warriors respected curses that lingered beyond skill's reach.
Sandra pressed in. Talia followed. I crossed steel with the first, but felt another sharp presence at my blind spot. Cassandra. Her sword hummed toward me like judgment itself. Without thought, I heaved a slab of stone into her path. Metal rang against rock like a temple bell.
But Talia clung to me, refusing me space, claws of flesh and blade alike. The pressure mounted. Cassandra struck again. Her hilt smashed against the back of my skull—again.
Stars exploded in my vision.
"Cassie," I wheezed, even as pain fogged me. I turned, forcing a grin despite the blood trickling down my temple. "That hurt. But not as much as you hoped, did it?"
Shock widened her eyes. She remembered how easily her strike had dropped me before. How swiftly I had fallen. She hadn't known—it had been an act.
The truth: to defeat me now, she would need three, four times greater force.
"You really are strong," Shiva murmured, voice as smooth and cold as sharpened obsidian. "I wonder just how much damage your body can endure before it caves entirely."
"We'll find out soon enough," Talia answered with a sadistic glimmer in her eyes. Her lips parted in a cruel smile.
I could only laugh bitterly.
"Oh, my life," I muttered, "is just one giant tin can…"
And the battle raged on.
.
.
.
Thank you all for your support. Please vote with power stones to support this fic.