Red hood Legacy

Chapter 9: Shadows and Showdowns

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The night’s chill bit against their skin as Jason and Izuku leapt from rooftop to rooftop, keeping pace with the Batfamily’s distant figures, their silhouettes fading in and out of view in the mist that blanketed Gotham. The city’s skyline was a jagged sea of concrete and steel, each rooftop a silent witness to the swift, relentless pursuit beneath the cloak of darkness.

“Keep up, Izuku,” Jason called, his voice firm but carrying a trace of pride. Izuku could feel the weight of Jason’s gaze, an acknowledgment of the night’s revelations, but also a warning—a reminder that they weren’t alone in this, that the Batfamily was more than just another team. They were legends, shadows sculpted by Gotham’s darkness.

“I’m with you,” Izuku replied, determination pushing him forward, matching his father’s pace. Each jump, each calculated step, was laced with adrenaline, his pulse thrumming in sync with the city’s heartbeat. They were closing in, the Batfamily’s movements leading them deeper into the maze of the city.

As they drew closer, a figure broke away from the rest, pausing on a rooftop just ahead—Nightwing, watching them approach with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Jason motioned for Izuku to go ahead, and as he reached Nightwing, he felt the older man’s gaze appraising him, assessing not just his form, but his intentions, his resolve.

“So,” Nightwing said, his voice softer than Izuku had expected, though it carried an edge of wariness. “Jason’s son. That’s… quite the surprise.”

Izuku nodded, his heart pounding. He felt the weight of the moment, the expectations hanging in the air, but Nightwing’s expression softened, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“I see a lot of him in you, you know,” Nightwing continued, his gaze steady, as if searching for something hidden within Izuku’s eyes. “The same fire, the same… stubbornness.”

Izuku chuckled, his tension easing slightly. “Guess it runs in the family.”

Nightwing nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Jason’s a good man, even if he’s had to take the hard road more times than he deserved. Just… remember that he’s not the only one looking out for you here. We all are, in our own way.” He extended a gloved hand, his eyes holding a silent promise. “Welcome to Gotham, Izuku.”

Izuku grasped his hand, feeling a flicker of hope. “Thank you. I… I’ll do my best to prove myself.”

But the moment was shattered by a scornful voice that cut through the night like a blade. “Oh, isn’t this sweet?” Damian sneered as he stepped forward, his expression a mask of disdain. “The son of Jason Todd, thinking he belongs here. The irony is almost amusing.”

Izuku felt his anger rise, the tension of the night coiling within him like a spring ready to snap. “Enough, Damian. I didn’t come here to pick a fight. But I’m not going to stand here and let you insult my father.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, his stance shifting into a fighting posture. “You think you’re worthy of his legacy? Of any of this?” he spat, fists clenched, the disdain in his gaze turning cold and sharp. “You’re nothing more than a sideshow—a cheap imitation of a real hero.”

Izuku felt his hands clench, his pulse spiking. Every slight, every dismissal of Jason’s legacy fueled his resolve. Without another word, he activated his quirk, Arsenal, summoning a sleek katana into his grip, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Damian’s expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and annoyance. “So you think you can best me with a sword? Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got, ‘son of Todd.’”

With a sharp breath, Izuku lunged forward, his katana slicing through the air with precision as Damian deftly blocked with his own weapon, the clash of steel echoing in the night. They moved like shadows, weaving and striking, their movements a fierce, silent dance across the rooftop.

Izuku’s focus sharpened, his mind calculating every step, every strike. He pushed harder, his frustration spilling into his attacks, the blade arcing toward Damian’s shoulder—only for Damian to sidestep, his counterstrike quick and brutal, disarming Izuku with a sharp twist that sent the katana clattering to the ground, the blade cracking as it fell.

Undeterred, Izuku called upon his quirk again, summoning twin pistols into his hands, their weight familiar and steady. He dropped into a stance, mimicking his father’s fluid, tactical movements, aiming each shot with careful precision. Damian dodged, weaving through the bullets with a speed and agility that left no room for error.

In an instant, Damian closed the distance, his fist colliding with Izuku’s jaw in a burst of pain. Staggering, Izuku quickly adjusted, letting the guns dissolve as he summoned a combat knife into his hand, his stance shifting to Krav Maga, the brutal efficiency of his moves honed by hours of training with Jason.

They clashed again, each strike more intense than the last, the air between them charged with a raw, unspoken tension. Damian’s attacks were swift, precise, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, while Izuku’s movements were calculated, his anger controlled, focused. But he could feel the weight of Damian’s resentment, the scorn in every jab, every sneer.

“You’re not worthy of this family,” Damian hissed, his tone laced with venom. “You’re just another shadow trying to claim the light.”

Izuku’s grip tightened on the knife, his voice low and steady. “You don’t get to decide that, Damian. My father… he deserves respect. And I’m going to earn it, whether you like it or not.”

With a surge of determination, Izuku lunged forward, his movements fluid and relentless, his knife slicing through Damian’s defenses. For a moment, he saw a flicker of uncertainty in Damian’s gaze—a crack in the armor.

Damian faltered, his stance slipping as Izuku pressed the advantage, pinning him against the edge of the rooftop. The two of them locked eyes, their breaths heavy, chests heaving with the intensity of the fight. And in that silence, Izuku saw something shift in Damian’s gaze—a grudging respect, a flicker of acknowledgment.

Slowly, Damian lowered his fists, a sneer still lingering on his lips, but the hostility in his eyes tempered by something else, something unspoken. “You’re not as weak as I thought,” he muttered, almost grudgingly.

Izuku took a step back, letting his knife dissolve into nothingness, his heart pounding. “I don’t need your approval, Damian. But I’m here, whether you accept it or not.”

Nightwing stepped forward, his expression torn between amusement and exasperation as he looked between the two. “Well, that’s… one way to get acquainted, I guess.”

Jason approached, a hint of pride in his eyes as he glanced at Izuku. “Looks like you held your ground. Not bad, kid.”

Batman’s shadow loomed from the edge of the rooftop, his gaze flicking between the two boys, his face unreadable. “Enough. We’re done here for tonight,” he announced, his voice carrying a weight that left no room for argument. But as he turned away, Izuku caught a glance—a fleeting moment of approval in the Dark Knight’s gaze, a silent acknowledgment of his determination.

The Batfamily disappeared into the night, leaving Jason and Izuku alone once more. Izuku felt the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder, a steadying presence amidst the tension still lingering in the air.

“You did well,” Jason murmured, his voice warm with pride. “Standing up for yourself… and for me. That’s more than I could have asked for.”

Izuku nodded, a small smile breaking through the fatigue and pain. “I… I wanted to prove myself. Not just to them, but to you.”

Jason’s grip tightened, his eyes softening. “You already have.”

And as they stood together, the shadows of Gotham closing in around them, Izuku felt a sense of belonging, a connection to the legacy he had chosen to embrace. Damian’s respect, grudging as it was, felt like the first step in finding his place in this family, in the city he was slowly coming to understand.

Gotham loomed large before them, a maze of shadows and light, but Izuku knew he was ready—ready to forge his own path, to carry the weight of his father’s legacy, and to stand beside those who had come before him.