THE DEATH KNELL

Talia carried a secret, one she kept hidden even from Ra's al Ghul. She had defied his direct orders and continued to interact with Batgirl in private. No one else in the League of Assassins had the privilege of slipping in and out of Gotham freely—but Talia did, as long as Batgirl was at her side.

It wasn't that Batgirl trusted her. Quite the opposite.

Their philosophies were starkly different, as if drawn from opposite ends of a battlefield. Batgirl was unlike Batman in many ways. While Batman believed that true strength came from one's will, their ability to conquer fear, Batgirl had a far more pragmatic outlook. She saw strength as something measurable—defined by combat prowess and the ability to dominate. To her, fear was simply a tool.

By Batgirl's standards, few in Gotham could be considered truly strong. Batman didn't qualify, bound as he was by ideals and an unshakable moral code. Ra's al Ghul, for all his legendary reputation, fell short as well—his strength marred by fear of change and the world itself. Even Talia, with all her skill, wasn't exempt. Deep down, she feared her father's judgment. And Batgirl? She, too, had her demons.

Ironically, the only people Batgirl truly respected were those who refused to feel fear at all: the jesters, the assassins, the ones who thrived in chaos without hesitation. Slade Wilson made the list. So did a handful of criminals, like the Joker—a creature of pure, unrelenting madness.

Even the Scarecrow, master of terror, had crumbled before his own toxin. Batgirl had watched him inhale a dose too potent, only to break down into a sobbing wreck. The sight had amused her. Had she not been wearing the cowl at the time, she might have laughed openly.

But Talia and Batgirl's differences didn't stop them from finding each other. Whenever Talia had business in Midtown or Star City, she found herself drawn back to Gotham. She ignored Ra's al Ghul's warnings—that Gotham was a festering wound, a place of rot and corruption where the world's downfall would begin. Talia disagreed.

Gotham was alive.

Yes, it was unpredictable, filled with masked lunatics that came and went like an endless stage performance. But after years of enduring the cold, sterile halls of Nanda Parbat, where silence reigned and nothing ever changed, Gotham was a spectacle she couldn't resist.

She knew how to draw Batgirl out. A visit to the GCPD rooftop, a brief appearance near Vienta—before long, Batgirl would arrive, as silent and unshakable as a shadow, her piercing gaze filled with scrutiny. Watching. Waiting. Making sure Talia wasn't up to anything sinister.

Talia welcomed the attention.

Their conversations were never about trust. She would talk about the world's shifting tides, the latest League assignments, and even discuss Gotham's latest theatrics—the ever-rotating roster of criminals and their chaotic performances. It was a game, one where Batgirl always remained cold and distant, never confirming or denying Talia's musings.

And yet, despite everything, Talia was fascinated by her.

She had lost to Batgirl once, long ago. A decisive defeat, one that should have ended with her death. Yet, Batgirl had spared her. To Talia, that was an enigma.

Why fight if not to kill?

Mercy, in the League of Assassins, was a weakness. A fight was meant to end with finality. But Batgirl had chosen otherwise. It baffled Talia, just as it intrigued her.

The Joker had once remarked that Batgirl was no different from him. That she thrived on fear, much like he did on chaos. But where he delighted in breaking minds, she reveled in breaking bodies.

Batgirl didn't kill—because death was too easy.

She left her enemies shattered. Broken limbs, twisted spines, paralyzed bodies that would never heal. She forced them to live with their fear, to wake up every day knowing they could never escape it.

Death was mercy. Fear was eternal.

That was why Jim Gordon and others still called her Gotham's heroine. But Batman never did. He saw her for what she was—a vigilante who had turned her own trauma into violence. Gotham wasn't a city she protected. It was her hunting ground.

Maybe that was why Gotham attracted so many masked figures. They saw something familiar in her—a reflection of their own chaos, their own pain.

Even Batman's tactics had begun to shift over time. The presence of the Joker had changed everything.

No matter how many bones Batman broke, how many times he left the Joker mangled and bloodied, she always came back laughing. No injury ever lasted. Some twisted miracle always brought her back, whole and grinning. And she wasn't the only one.

Gotham had become a haven for the unstoppable.

Victor Zsasz, once a childhood friend of Batman's, had become a monster—but he remained one of the world's foremost medical minds. His ability to patch himself up bordered on supernatural. He had no need for mirrors, no hesitation when operating on his own flesh.

Batgirl had defeated him countless times, but he always returned.

Then there were others—Dr. Hugo Strange, Professor Pyg, Mr. Freeze, Scarecrow. Experts in biology, genetics, and medicine. Some were outright mad, but they all shared one thing: the ability to keep Gotham's villains alive and ready for the next battle.

And lurking beneath it all, the Court of Owls. Watching. Waiting. Ensuring the cycle never ended.

It was this endless game that had fueled the city's whispers—that Batman suffered from some deluded sense of morality, allowing criminals to escape and repeat their crimes. Some called her weak. Others claimed she was an enabler, too bound by ideals to end Gotham's suffering.

But Batgirl never argued. She wasn't here to be a hero.

She was here to instill fear.

Still, she knew something had to change. The old methods weren't working. The city adapted too fast. If she wanted to truly instill permanent fear, she needed new tactics. New ways to break her enemies so they never recovered.

She hadn't found the answer yet.

But she wasn't the only one searching.

Talia suspected that even in other worlds, other versions of the Bat faced the same dilemma. The fight was evolving. And soon, the Bat would need to evolve with it.

Talia often mused about this, but Batgirl never responded. She never acknowledged the truth in Talia's words. She simply listened, silent and unmoved, as if she had already accepted what she was.

That, perhaps, was what fascinated Talia the most.

Every time she left Gotham, she found herself restless in Nanda Parbat, already planning her next return.

Ra's al Ghul never noticed her small betrayals. Perhaps he had grown complacent, or perhaps he believed she would never surpass him. But in truth, she already had.

Talia al Ghul was no longer a mere heir to the League of Assassins.

She was its future.

A master in stealth, combat, and strategy. A warrior who had embraced the modern world, weaving technology and firearms into the ancient ways of the League. While Ra's al Ghul clung to honor, she had moved past it, understanding that an assassin's only duty was to succeed.

She was no longer his student. She was his equal. And one day, if fate allowed, she would be his successor.

For now, though, she had Gotham.

And as long as Batgirl remained in the city, watching, waiting—Talia would keep returning.

Because in the end, it wasn't just Gotham that fascinated her.

It was the Bat.