A New World

Chapter 15: Demons & Words

Merida stood at the edge of oblivion, her toes hanging over the edge. At the sound of his footsteps hitting the dark clouds beneath them, she turned, her expression hard. In her hand, she held his sword and it stained the clouds red.

"Who are you?" she asked.

Damian licked his lips and glanced behind her. "Does it really matter anymore?"

"Our identities always matter. Who we are born as, who we are raised as, and who we are now... it is the structure upon which we build who we shall one day be. So who are you and who have you been?"

Damian shook his head. "I've changed. I'm not the person I once was."

"You will always be the person you once were," Merida stepped forward and wiped the flat of the blade against his cheek, leaving a trail of cold blood. "The past cannot be erased. This blood can never be unspilled."

She forced the handle into his hand and took a step back, her heels teetering over oblivion. "Tell me how you expect to become any more than you already are. A killer can't unlearn his ways. You cannot build a strong house on a weak foundation. Whatever this facade is, know that you are lying to yourself and it will not last."

Lightning struck beneath them, causing the clouds to shake. Merida cried out and fell back, but Damian lunged forward and caught her wrist. The atmosphere changed the moment their skin made contact and scars crawled out of her skin, digging into his. Damian hissed, but did not let go. Merida looked him in the eyes with hatred.

 "You will never change, demon's head."

He dropped her.

Merida made no sound as she plummeted into oblivion. Damian looked over the edge as she faded into nothing and sheathed his sword. His expression turned cold and his suit changed from reds and blacks to the greens and golds belonging to Ras al Ghul. To himself.

Damian opened his eyes slowly, struggling to force his limbs to move as they tensed and froze. In retaliation, Damian jerked his thumb inward and then swung over the side of his bed, landing on the ground silently. He raised a hand to his brow and wiped a layer of cold sweat away.

Flinching back at the sight of blood, Damian tripped over the table and landed on his back. The blood turned back to clear sweat and he frowned before wiping at his face again. Just sweat.

What was wrong with him? To let something as simple as a nightmare unnerve him.

Damian scoffed to himself and made his way to the small bathroom that connected his room to Jaime's. The older teen usually slept like a rock and would not wake up until two hours after Damian, so he didn't bother being quiet in turning on the sink. The facet spewed out crystalline water and Damian reached down before splashing it up onto his face and wiping away his weariness. Still, when he dried his face, something felt... off.

Returning to his room, Damian slipped on his suit and then left. The hallways were empty, per usual, but they were brighter. Narrowing his eyes, Damian slipped a hand into his belt and removed a small knife, his gut churning with a premonition. His other hand preoccupied itself with wiping away another layer of sweat. Why was it so hot?

A set of footsteps approached and Damian sped up, pressing himself flat against the wall. He listened closely. The footsteps belonged to a tall, adult male who was moderately light on their feet. An intruder.

When they were close enough, Damian whirled around and jabbed the knife toward their shoulder. The man let out a surprised grunt before catching Damian's wrist and pinning him against the opposite wall.