I'll be good

What is lost can never be saved

It had been almost a month.

Ra's al Ghul watched from high above, sat in an almost throne-like chair like some regal god, his daughter situated next to him, as chaos ensued amongst the chosen contenders in the pit. A smirk sat upon his lips, his green eyes darting back and forth, keeping them trained on one fighter in particular.

His grandson and heir, Damian al Ghul was unmatched in the arena. His speed and agility truly outshone the rest of the chosen assassins he fought against, as did his skills with a sword. Damian had a fire inside him, and Ra's could see it blazing in all its glory at that very moment, only made stronger by the effects of the water of the Lazarus pit. It made him smile with pride, the boy truly was a force to be reckoned with.

Damian fought with expert ease, disarming his opponents and only drawing blood when deemed necessary. The objective of this task was not to kill. He knew his grandfather was watching him, and only him. Damian could practically feel the uncomfortable burn of Ra's' gaze upon him. It only made him work harder, determined to impress him. He knew he would win the challenge, how could he not? He was the best of them all, he always had been, even when he tried so hard not to be.

There was no more pretending after the talk with his grandfather all those weeks ago. There was no more playing the role of the little boy who just wanted to be good, it was time to kill that part of him and become who he was destined to be.

He remembered how it felt to hold the sword in his grip again, the perfectly balanced weight of it in his palm. It felt right, like it had always belonged there.

His mother had been proud of him that day.

Now, he sprinted across the length of the darkened room to his final opponent, that same sword held tightly within his grip. The pair of them locked blades, both as unrelenting as the other and very eager to win the title of champion in their leader's eyes.

The girl was good-- best of the many he had beaten today-- but he was better, faster, and clearly, more advanced. He disarmed her easily, nicking her hand in the process. The girl bled instantly, but she didn't otherwise react to the wound that had cut deep into her hand.

There was no room for weakness here.

She accepted Damian's offered hand, and he helped her to her feet, returning her blade to its owner before she left him standing alone in the arena, all eyes now upon him.

There was no round of thunderous applause or shouts of praise, but of course, Damian expected none. Instead, the eyes upon him, faces he both recognised and didn't recognise, lowered significantly to the ground in a bow of respect to their heir-- to the boy who would one day lead them all to greatness.

Damian eyed them all wearily until his eyes finally landed on his grandfather who simply grinned at him. That sinister smile Damian used to hate so much. Ra's was proud of him, though, Damian knew it. He could see it perfectly, breaking through the evil that lurked in his grandfather's eyes. He nodded smoothly at him, raising his jewelled glass in a quiet toast to the boy's victory.

Damian smiled back, lifting his hand to wipe someone else's blood from his cheek as he sheathed his now stained sword.

Oh yes, Ra's was very proud of the monster he was creating, sculpting him to perfection until there would be no humanity left to save.

***

It had been almost a month.

A long, exhausting, agonising month. But, in the end, time did not matter. Sleep did not matter-- not that it happened on a regular basis anyway. The only thing that mattered to them was finding out where Talia and her assassins had run off to -- which proved to be a not so easy task-- the rest could wait.