Son Of The Bat (Son of Batman Reader x Raven)

Chapter 14.0

    A warehouse stood in the docks area of Gotham. Inside there were shipping containers along the walls. And in the middle was a clearing, and scattered across the floor of the compound were unconscious bodies of criminals.

    Some had broken limbs, or bloody noses, tattered clothes, and some had broken weapons in their hands. Some of them were evil people, but some of them were broken just like the bats and sticks and guns at their sides. Some of them came from broken households, and childhood trauma, and were only watching out for themselves and their families.

    But at this moment, to one particular person they were all the same: criminals. The criminals who were responsible for death, her death. And they were just an obstacle between two men. An obstacle that's been in the way of a six month crusade for revenge. The crusade of one man, one boy: Y/n 'Nightwing' Wayne.

    Thuds and sharp clangs echoed throughout what sounded like a large open room. A sword swung down, cutting through the air as it collided with two metal poles. Escrima sticks crossed in an 'X' formation, catching the blade before it reached its target.

    That target was Nightwing. His name was Y/n Wayne, a fourteen year old boy. But you would never know so. He wasn't exactly a kid's height. He was five foot ten, and his dark hair fell in a mess of sweat. His form was athletic, with broad shoulders and lean muscles.

    His features were strong. With a sharp jawline and a brow that furrowed so hard it wrinkled the black mask he wore. He had a long and thin nose, small ears, and his lower lip was fuller than his upper. His jaw clenched so that his jaw ached, and the glowing red eyes of his mask cast a shadow around his eyes.

    The weapons broke connection, and Nightwing circled his opponent. He towered over Nightwing, standing a whole seven inches taller at six foot five. He had broad shoulders and a strong build. His shoulders, forearms and shins were armored in orange. He wore a full face mask, split down the middle into two colors. The left side was orange, and the right was black, both with white eyes staring at Y/n.

    He was Deathstroke, Slade Wilson, and the man that killed Y/n Wayne's mother. He circled the boy, both of them walking around an invisible point, eyeing each other with weapons. "You're new. The old Nightwing had more grace. But you, you have some League of Assassins training. It's jumbled though, who trained you?"

    Nightwing stood silent, just eyeing his prey. Slade began to laugh. "Silent, huh? You got balls, I'll give you that. You put up a fight too. Heard you've been looking for me, pushed through a lot of my guys. Impressive, for the quantity, not quality. A lot of work to go through for one man. So what's your aim, new guy?"

    Nightwing quickly rushed, throwing both of his escrima sticks. They collided with Slade's hands and his swords clattered to the ground. He punched Slade hard across the face, stunning him. He pushed off of Slade's bent knee, wrapping his legs around the man's shoulders.

    The boy drove his elbow repeatedly into the top of Slade's head, but the efforts wouldn't be enough as Slade threw the boy to the side. He clattered to the ground, looking up as he groaned in pain. Slade picked up his swords and advanced towards Nightwing.

    He looked to the left, seeing one of his weapons on the ground. He pushed himself to his knees, rolling aside as one of the swords sparked on the concrete. Y/n stood up, holding the single stick as Deathstroke approached. The man swiped with his sword, Y/n blocked with the escrima stick as Slade came down on him with the other.

    He caught Slade's wrist, pushing against his enhanced strength. The boy was obviously struggling. The odds were stacked against him. Y/n was younger, less experienced, weaker, shorter, and his emotions were in a mess. He was desperate. To win, to finally kill this monster that took his world away.