The Hindu Kush is among the highest mountain ranges in both Asia and the world—a testament to nature's raw grandeur and enduring mystery.
When the first rays of dawn strike these peaks, it's as if the earth itself is showing off its most guarded masterpiece, a vast, stoic world standing vigil over countless generations. For those who lay eyes upon their jagged silhouettes pressing against the sky, it's easy to believe that mountains are living entities—silent keepers of ancient secrets, their histories encrypted in stone and snow, never quite yielding to the passage of time.
Each of these peaks feels like a self-contained universe, a world forged in solitude, where untold wonders and dangers lurk in shadowed crevices.
Hidden deep within this forbidding realm—circled on all sides by nature's barriers—sits a fortress so well-concealed that it's become something of a legend among those who traffic in secrets. The League of Shadows makes its home here, their citadel an architectural feat built into the very marrow of the mountains themselves. Not just a base but a monument to patience and secrecy, it seems to exist simultaneously inside and outside of time. When I was brought here—to Nanda Parbat, spoken of in half-whispered tales as a mythical sanctuary—I truly felt as if I had stepped across the threshold of myth. Time did not simply pass here; it drifted, pooled, and wound around you in inexplicable ways, blurring the hard edges of reality.
For all its legends, my mind immediately darted to the possibility—and the hope—that such a sacred, hidden land would be suffused with mystical energy. Ever since I'd discovered the so-called Wisdom attribute, I found myself inexorably tuned to the subtleties of my environment, sometimes catching the barest whiff of magic in the most mundane moments. It was a new and peculiar sense, more enigmatic than sight or touch—a tingling awareness whispering at the threshold of comprehension, hinting at currents around me I could not yet see.
So it was with some anticlimax that, when I first crossed the threshold of the League's fortress, I sensed nothing unusual. Despite standing in a place that practically bled history and spiritual significance, the air felt stubbornly ordinary, resolutely devoid of anything sacred, much less magical. Was the place nothing but a shadow of its legend, a relic hollowed out by centuries of mortal struggle?
The question pricked at me as I wandered the labyrinthine halls, each step echoing softly against living rock.Yet, as I climbed higher, following stone stairways that seemed to coil forever upward, the atmosphere shifted.
Mana, or some close kin to it, began to gather, draping itself around me in a growing cloak of possibility. By the time I reached the upper terraces and finally stepped outside, the transformation was overwhelming.
The instant I exposed myself to the elements atop that soaring citadel, a tsunami of mystical force erupted. It cut through every layer of defense and skepticism. The sensation was so abrupt, so absolute, that I shuddered and slipped into a momentary trance. The trance lasted only a heartbeat—a flickering instant—but the world I returned to felt richer, deeper, and infinitely more alive.
For that brief span, I understood why mystics, monks, and madmen alike had devoted lifetimes to seeking places like this. Here, the very air was thick with possibility.
If I ever hoped to unravel the mysteries of the Earth mages and claim mastery over their teachings, returning to a land so saturated with potential would be non-negotiable. I found myself musing about Kamar-Taj, wondering how the threads of magic snaked around the seat of the Supreme Mage, or how they twisted through the hallowed halls of Salem, home to the Tower of Faith and overseen by the enigmatic Lord of Order.
The urge to visit these places and see with my own evolving senses became nearly irresistible.
Amidst all this beauty—all this dense, intoxicating power—something broke the spell: a sight so unexpected, that it pulled me forcibly back to the present.
A runway, paved atop the fortress, had been transformed into a silent battlefield. Bodies lay everywhere, disjointed and scattered as though swept up in a violent storm. Most were unmoving, faces slack or twisted in unconscious agony. Yet I could feel, deep down, that their souls had not departed; they were still alive, barely though.
Here and there, a few groaned or moved feebly, the simple will to fight having deserted them at last.
Standing amid the chaos—unhurried, unflinching—was the lone figure of a man in a black cloak. Batman. The predator moved among the fallen with the measured grace of someone who never wasted a motion. It was apparent to anyone with eyes that the horror visited on the League today was his doing.
It was shocking enough to witness the aftermath, but what truly startled me was knowing that this was all the result of one recent change—Batman's exposure to a super-soldier serum, something that had elevated him far beyond even his own mythos. I remembered, vividly, how much time it had taken me to even get accustomed to a sudden increase of strength—days of gradual learning, missteps, and near disasters.
Bruce, however, had absorbed it all as if he'd spent his life preparing for this exact metamorphosis. He was already in total control, dispensing stunning violence while never once crossing that sacred line into lethality.
Not one of Ra's al Ghul's men had died, though several had been left in a state that might make death look merciful. In these times, simply surviving an encounter like this was a triumph in itself.
"Wow... Looks like I missed the best part," I found myself muttering with a low whistle, skirting the path of Batman's final, airborne opponent. The body careered past me, crashing to the earth a few meters away. Tatsu and Bordeaux stood just beyond the line of carnage, silent observers more than participants for this stretch of the fight. Their own battlefields—marked by neatly arranged, unconscious foes—told the story of their prowess. Even Batman, supercharged or not, could only handle so much.
As Batgirl and I advanced, there was a brief, reverent quiet. Yamashira broke the silence, her voice both sharp and warm.
"We've been waiting for you," she said, holding out her hand for the Soul Stealer. I read the silent request and obliged, feeling the tension melt from her frame as she reclaimed her sword. Even in places like this, small comforts meant everything.
"You were gone awhile," Batman said.
"Had some time to serve. Just got released," I replied, fists finding my trouser pockets out of habit.
"What for?" he pressed, never quite letting the mask slip.
"Grand theft," I shrugged.
"Serious stuff, huh?"
"None more so. And from the looks of things, you've been anything but bored." I gestured at the trail left behind, the League broken and scattered. A ripple marked the arrival of Ra's al Ghul himself—cool, calculating, but momentarily unsettled by what he saw. Surprise flashed in his eyes, but only a small frown gave him away; otherwise, he was as inscrutable as ever. The fighter Batman had launched in my direction staggered upright again, blood on his lips but still brimming with lethal intent.
His white garb, half-hidden face, and imposing frame marked him as utterly unlike the League's rank and file. Here was a man shaped for war, his eyes burning with the certainty of killers.
"David Cain?"
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Thanks for reading, uploaded one extra today, will upload one extra tomorrow as well. (The promised 8 instead of 5)
I've the chapters ready and I could've uploaded them now only but then I'll have to set up the chapters on p@treon as well and I'm really lazy to do so for 4 chapters.
So I'll upload extra tomorrow 😂
Btw, vote on the Spider-man fic and I'll upload extra chapters this week as well.