From Camp Half-Blood to Gotham (Nico x Batfam)

Resurrected (66)

The halls grew darker and darker the further he went in. Burnt-out bulbs barely hanging on to the last flickers of life. It totally wasn't ominous at all. Not at all. And the utter lack of any noise except for his own footsteps wasn't helping.

On a whim, he turned and peered into a room he knew faced into the cliff. The air felt colder here, and every nerve in his body screamed that he shouldn't be doing this alone. But he had to. Something wasn't right.

Nico squinted into the darkness and his heart stopped. The wall was shredded, jagged edges of metal bent inward around a gaping hole that seemed to endlessly spiral downwards, burrowing deep underground.

He swallowed hard, staring at the darkened opening. The tunnel seemed like it had been dug with unnatural precision as if something had sliced straight through the steel and rocks like they were made of bubbles.

A chill ran down his spine. He turned quickly, ready to go back and grab Leo, but his feet froze in place.

Because standing right in front of him, blocking the way back, was a man. A man in a black and orange mask.

Nico's breath caught in his throat. His hand instinctively tightened around his sword, but Deathstroke didn't move. He just stood there, staring at Nico with that single unblinking eye.

His heart pounded so loudly it felt like it might explode out of his chest. He forced a shallow breath in, and then out, his fingers trembling around the hilt. His mind raced, but there wasn't time for thinking. He had to act. He had to move before Deathstroke moved.

Without thinking he lunged forward, his blade slashing through the air, aiming straight for the split between the two colors. Deathstroke dodged like it was nothing, of course he did, it was a reckless move, and they both knew.

"I'm saddened." His voice echoed from behind that mask, and before Nico could react, the metal hand shot up from underneath him, landing hard against his diaphragm. "I had assumed this would be a fair fight. You have become rusty."

Nico rolled to the side, ignoring the burning feeling of all the air being knocked out of his lungs. He forced his legs upwards with all the muscle power they had left. Again, Deathstroke was too fast for him, leaping back several steps and dropping into a low position, the hand still made out of flesh reaching for a new and probably improved, staff strapped into an 'X' against the man's back.

He closed his eyes, forcing his lungs to inflate just like an Ares kid had taught him all those years ago. With a single flip, he was back on his feet, sword adjusted correctly in his grip, and ready to fight back. "I still find it funny how you compare yourself to me, a child."

"Do you really think of yourself like that?" Slade tilted his head slightly, the black of his mask disappearing into the dark as he slowly prowled closer and closer. Nico knew to bide his time. "A person who is no better than a child?"

It happened almost too fast for Nico to parry. A scythe barely inches away from his left eye, only stopped by the very tip of his own weapon. "Nice upgrade," Nico grunted, his arms aching with the effort of trying to keep the blade away. This was hard, too hard. Deathstroke had never been this strong. A human couldn't be this strong. Tartarus, demigods weren't even this strong.

His knees threatened to give way under the sheer pressure, but his instincts kicked in. Before Deathstroke's blade could slice him clean in two, Nico hurled himself forward, sliding between the man's legs with a burst of adrenaline. As he passed beneath, he aimed a jab at the inside of Deathstroke's knee with the butt of his sword.

Deathstroke's body waved for a nanosecond before the arch of the blade rocketed toward his face again. "You had so much potential. You still do. Maybe if you would just accept me like you know you should, you wouldn't be so... sloppy."