DC: My Name Is Not Billy Batson [New]

Today marked the death anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne.

Although person responsible for their tragedy had never been found, Bruce never failed to honor them.

Behind Wayne Manor, on a solitary hill, a place housed the remains of the Waynes. It was a place of somber quiet, rarely visited by Bruce except for this yearly ritual.

As he approached as sense of unease settled over him. He wasn't deeply familiar with the site, but something felt unmistakably wrong. The unease gnawed at him—a creeping darkness that made him anxious.

Leaving Alfred behind, Bruce dashed toward the tomb with urgency.

When he entered, the sight before him left appalled. Moments later, Alfred, out of breath and struggling to keep up, arrived. Though he was no longer young, the shock of what he saw made him forget his fatigue.

"… how is this possible?" Alfred stammered, staring wide-eyed at the scene.

The coffins that once held the remains of Thomas and Martha Wayne were gone. In their place were two empty pits.

Bruce's expression darkened. Without uttering a word, he pursed his lips and stormed out of the chamber. Worried about Bruce's condition, Alfred quickly followed.

That evening, Catwoman found Bruce changing into his Batsuit.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

But Batman said nothing. He climbed into the Batmobile and sped off.

"What's gotten into him?" Catwoman muttered, concerned by his uncharacteristic demeanor.

She turned to Alfred for answers, but he simply shook his head. "This is a private matter of the Wayne family," he replied, withholding further details.

Elsewhere, Barbara Gordon was preoccupied with Nightwing and unavailable to help. Determined to get to the bottom of things, Catwoman borrowed a Batcycle from the Batcave and set out to follow Bruce.

Back at the manor, Damian Wayne observed the commotion with a furrowed brow. He saw Catwoman speeding after his father and scowled.

Bruce had never been a good father, Damian thought bitterly. Suspicious, emotionally distant, and borderline obsessive, Bruce had been wary of Damian from the moment they first met.

"If it weren't for Alfred," Damian mused to himself, "I'd have left this place ages ago."

He couldn't understand why his mother, Talia, had fallen for someone like Bruce. Handsome? Sure. But beyond that? Suspicious, crazy, and infuriatingly controlling.

In the League of Assassins, at least his mother and grandfather had shown him genuine care. Here, he felt like an outsider. Damian's brooding was interrupted by a call. Seeing the caller ID, his expression changed momentarily before turning stoic.

He answered, listened briefly, then ended the call. Without a word, Damian returned to his room. From his closet, he retrieved a sleek nanosuit, a gift he had kept from someone he'd rather not name. Donning the suit, he was no longer Damian Wayne, the disillusioned son of Batman. He was now the Little Assassin.

With a flick of his web Laucher, he vanished into the shadows of the night.

At the newly rebuilt ACE Chemicals plant, Damian arrived silently.

"Welcome back, my dear grandson," a chilling voice echoed from the shadows.

Startled, Damian spun around, only to find non.

"Let's see if your skills have dulled," the voice taunted, now from behind him.

Damian turned again, just in time to catch a foot aimed squarely at his face. Ignoring the instinct to preserve his composure, Damian leaned back, narrowly dodging the attack. With a fluid motion, he used his hands to push off the ground in a backward flip, creating distance between himself and the assailant.

The nanoparticles in his suit shimmered, forming two short sword Gripping the hilts tightly, Damian struck back, his blades slashing toward the attacker.

The man, unarmed, displayed no sign of panic. His hands moved with practiced ease, blocking and deflecting the blades, decisive movements. His counters were not complex but executed with such precision that the sword edges seemed to miss by mere millimeters each time.

The duel was brief but intense. After only a dozen exchanges, the man suddenly clasped his hands together, catching Damian's twin blades mid-strike.

Damian's eyes widened as the man's grip tightened like a vice. With a sharp twist of his wrists, the attacker snapped the short knives in two.

Holding the broken pieces, the man inspected them briefly, his expression unreadable.

"You've got some interesting toys," he remarked with curiosity.

With a flick of his wrist, he hurled blades sent a razor-sharp wind slicing through the air, narrowly missing Damian.

Damian countered with the remaining half-blade. The moment the two pieces met, the nanoparticles reassembled seamlessly, restoring the sword to its original form.

The man raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Interesting."

Damian pulled back his mask, revealing his face. "Grandfather…"

The attacker stepped into the faint green glow of the factory lights, revealing his identity: Ra's al Ghul. Leader of the League of Assassins. A man whose near-immortality spanned centuries.

His sharp features, slightly softened by age, bore an expression of stern authority. but his presence remained imposing. Despite his usual grim demeanor, there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes as he looked at Damian.

"Your technique has regressed, my grandson. Perhaps you've grown too reliant on your technology," Ra's observed with smirk.

Damian rolled his eyes, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "As if I could defeat you without it, Grandfather."

Ra's chuckled softly. "You're honest, at least. But don't sell yourself short. You've inherited the strength of two great lineages."

Damian crossed his arms. "Is my mother here?"

Ra's gestured toward a glowing pool nearby. Damian followed his gaze and spotted a graceful woman standing by the edge of the eerie green light.

"Talia…" Damian muttered. His mother stood tall.

Despite the brief family reunion, Damian's attention was drawn to the strange pool beside her. The glowing liquid swirled ominously, exuding an aura of power and mystery.

"The Lazarus Pit… How is it here?" Damian asked with suspicion.

Ra's studied his grandson's expression, a trace of amusement in his eyes. "You are truly Bruce's son. You question everything, just as he does."

"I'm not like him," Damian retorted firmly.

Ra's chuckled again. "Even your denials sound like him."

Damian clenched his fists but chose not to respond.

Ra's shifted his tone, offering an explanation. "This is not the full Lazarus Pit. It's merely a fragment—combined with unique chemicals to retain its restorative properties. I brought it here for a specific purpose."

"And that purpose is?" Damian asked.

Ra's smiled faintly. "A friend gave me some advice. I chose to follow it, which has led me back to Gotham."

"Why?" Damian pressed.

"To revisit the city that once tasted my failure, to see my most promising heir…" Ra's stepped closer, his gaze hardening. "And to meet, once more… Batman."

As he finished speaking, Ra's didn't bother to hide the shadow of malice on his face, his lips curling into a sinister smile.

Meanwhile, Damian silently synthesized two small smoke bombs with his nanosuit. Keeping his calm, he spoke quietly:

"So your goal is still Gotham… and Batman?"

"Yes, Batman."

Ra's seemed lot of patient when addressing his grandson.

"I've realized that Batman is a stumbling block—one I must remove to rid this city of its corruption. This city is a cancer, and he is its enabler."

He paused briefly, his smile widening.

"The plan my friends have given me is both feasible and elegant. I'm confident it will succeed."

Ra's leaned in slightly, his piercing gaze fixed on Damian. "But for it to work, I need your help, my grandson."

Hearing this, Damian's grip on the smoke bombs tightened. His instincts told him it was time to act. But as he prepared to release them, he looked up and froze.

Ra's was smiling at him—calmly, knowingly.

Before Damian could react, an invisible force coursed through his body. He gasped as his muscles locked up, his nanosuit stuttering and failing in response to the sudden surge.

The smoke bombs fell from his paralyzed fingers, and Damian collapsed forward onto the ground, his body unresponsive.

Struggling to lift his head, he glared at Ra's al Ghul with a mix of anger and disbelief.

"An EMP…?" Damian managed to croak.

Ra's arched an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"You accuse me of relying on technology?" Damian growled, his voice weak but defiant. "You're the hypocrite here!"

Ra's chuckled softly, his expression one of quiet triumph. "Sometimes, my grandson, you must fight fire with fire."