Damian Wayne stood precariously at the edge of the gala roof, the city's skyline stretched behind him like a shimmering tapestry. He had never intended to be here, but as usual, duty and obligation had twisted with the whims of others, dragging him into the spotlight. The grandiose gala was supposed to be a celebration for the League — a night of unity, laughter, and light. Instead, it had devolved into chaos as a group of armed intruders crashed the event.
The flickering lights from the city twinkled like stars in the night sky, but all Damian could focus on was the gun pointed at him by a masked assailant. The intruder's voice dripped with malice. "Hand over your money, or I'll make you regret it, Wayne."
But Damian had never been one to back down — not from a fight, and certainly not from danger. Instead of panic, he felt exhilaration. He smirked, his usual bravado radiating from him as he leaned back dangerously, gravity beckoning him.
"Seems you've miscalculated," he replied, defiance lacing every word. In one fluid motion, he leaned back off the edge, the world blurring into a dizzying spiral of lights and terror.
But instead of falling to his death, strong hands — warm against the chill of the night — caught him mid-air. Damian blinked in disbelief as he found himself hovering face to face with none other than Jon Kent, a.k.a. Superboy.
"Hello, Mr. Wayne," Jon grinned, his blue costume glinting in the moonlight.
"Fuck you," Damian shot back, though he couldn't quite hide the smirk that crept onto his lips. Despite everything, he was grateful. Jon had been his unexpected savior — as usual.
"You know you love me," Jon remarked, his expression playful, yet shimmering with concern.
Damian rolled his eyes, his heart racing. "Don't get cocky, Kent. I could've handled that."
"Right, because leaning back into oblivion was intelligent," Jon teased, lowering them gently to the rooftop again as chaos continued to bubble below. The muted shouts and the echoing gunshots served as the perfect backdrop for their banter, but this was far from over.
Damian wondered briefly if the League would ever let him live this down; being saved by Superboy of all people. The bond they shared was an intricate dance of rivalry and friendship — one moment they were enemies, the next, allies defending each other against the world.
"Let's go finish this," Damian urged, shifting gears, his eyes scanning for threats. "I won't be the one they remember as the kid who couldn't handle a bunch of wannabe thieves."
Jon nodded, his grin fading into determination. "On it," he said, launching himself into the air.
Damian took a deep breath, steeling himself for the battle ahead. He tightened the grip on his twin swords, feeling the familiar comfort of the hilts in his hands. He dove after Superboy, the wind rushing past his face as he descended into the chaos. The sounds of the party had transformed into a cacophony of fear and panic. Tables and chairs were overturned, and the once-glittering decorations now lay scattered across the floor. The intruders had split into smaller groups, preying on the helpless guests.
The air grew thick with tension as the two young heroes made their presence known. The assailants turned towards them, their eyes widening in surprise. Damian's instincts kicked in, and he sliced through the air with a grace that belied his young age. The blade of his sword glinted as it connected with the first gunman's weapon, sending it clattering to the ground.
Jon, on the other hand, approached with the power of a freight train, his fists flying like meteors. Each punch sent a shockwave through the room, knocking down multiple attackers with a single blow. The intruders stumbled back, realizing they had bitten off more than they could chew.
