Trickery (A Damian Wayne Story)

Diamond Sword

My room is exactly as I left it. There's nothing to see as Mother leads me inside, nothing except a brand new sword she had custom made for me.

"It's a gift," she says. "A welcome home gift." I walk to the bed and lift the thing up. It's light, but has a sturdiness to it that's both wonderful and menacing. The handle is the perfect size, wrapped in a thick leather cord for comfort. I unsheath the blade, finding it polished to perfection. "The edge of the blade is cut from diamonds. It will slice anything you encounter." I can tell Mother is proud, but it all seems misplaced. Perhaps Mother has spent too much time without me, the perfect soldier. I beginning to believe that she has succeeded. That now, after training for over a decade with two masters, and the brainwashing she's done, has she molded her son into the perfect specimen.

I don't bother saying thank you. Thank yous are given in weakness. Words don't express gratitude, actions do. So I swing the blade up and out expertly, cutting through the walls like a plate of soft butter. I stare at the sword in awe. This must be the greatest weapon that has ever been crafted. I'm facing away from Mother so she can't see my expression. Expressions are also signs of weakness. Never let your enemy know your emotions, and to me, my mother has always been my enemy. When I'm around her I am to be on full alert, constantly practicing the things she and Grandfather have taught me in order for them to eventually come naturally. Even when I feel I've made progress, when the emotionless expressions have become the norm, it's not good enough. Always practicing. Always training.

"Will I get the chance to use it?" I ask her.

"Of course," she says. "I've set up practice dummies for you, made from numerous materials for you to test out your new weapon." It's almost like she's trying to please me. Does Mother think her son superior to her? Once the idea pops into my head the evidence starts to pile up in favor of the theory.

"I mean," I say sharply, meaningful in my inflection of the words, "will I get to use it."

I can practically hear Mother crack a smile. "Of course," she repeats. "In due time. We must be patient."

Satisfied that I've said the right thing, I turn and head out the door, with Mother following at my heels like a lost puppy. I make my way down to one of the lower levels, where I had spent a majority of my days training with Grandfather. There are dummies set up all around the space, rigging systems, designed for sneak attacks, hold others back. They're made from strong metals and stones, molding into the forms of the average man. I don't waste time cracking one's head open, slicing my way from the top of his brow to the tip of his toes.

The lighting in the practice room dims, becoming only a soft glow. Mother's shadow shifts across the space, moving to the side where a control system is located. This is a test, then.

The game begins suddenly. Mother is trying to catch me off guard, but it won't happen. I'm sharper than I once was, I have moves that she's never even heard of. She shoots arrows at me as I weave between the statues, pressing the correct buttons that make the floor disappear from under my feet, revealing a pool of fire below. Heat blasts up around me, the light casting ghostly expressions on the dummie's faces. She lets lose the figures that hang from the ceiling, sending them swinging at me like wrecking balls. I spin, dodge, jump, and slice until each statue is nothing except the shell of what it once was. When they're all finished I turn to face her. She has a broad grin on her face for the first time in her life.

"Welcome back, son," she says. She lets the floor come back into place and sets the lights to their full brightness again. She comes around and takes my hand, "I want to show you something."

-

"Yeah I'm bringing him dinner now," Tim says into his phone, walking through the manor with a tray in his hands and a deep scowl weighing down his lips. He opens the door to Damian's room and stops short. The boy is standing by the window, hands neatly behind his back, gazing directly at Tim. It's eerie and sets Red Robin's nerves on fire. "All call you back," Tim says, and hangs up the phone. He sets the tray down on Damian's bedside table, "I brought you food." Damian just stares at him, the hint of a smile on the kid's face.

"Awesome," he says, breaking into a full grin now. "I'll have dinner and a show." Damian nods, almost imperceivably, at something behind Tim and he whips around, but too late. An assassin jumps out from behind the door and sends a taser into Tim's chest. The older bat's body convulses, straining to rid itself of the electricity, before Tim falls unconscious and drops like a stone to the floor. Damian looks at him, "Take his body to the library. I'll get the other four."

The assassin complies, tying expert knots around Tim's ankles and wrists, finally binding his arms to his sides to further immobilize him.

Damian paces out the door, hands still behind his back, looking around at the manor's hallway decorations curiously. He checks the room Jason usually stays in, finding it empty, then moves on. He finds Bruce in the Batcave, speaking with Alfred. Damian sneaks silently through the door that connects to the manor and sends sleeping darts into their necks. He waves his hand as he turns away, almost boredly, back into the well lit hallway. Two more assassins drop down from their hiding places and pick up the bodies, following their leader out and to the library.

Damian has the three of them tied into chairs, leaving Alfred to the side as it would ruin the Bat image. He may be their butler and Bruce's closest friend, but he's not a superhero. He's just an old man, an extra. Not the prize. Those deserve to be displayed beautifully for his mother to see. He wants her to be proud of him for accomplishing his task.

Damian snaps his fingers, "Find the Hood," he commands. A few assassins break off to scour the manor and the surrounding grounds. Damian sets up another chair for the incoming Jason Todd, stabbing a sleeping dart into Tim for good measure. He winds ropes around all three chairs, securing more around the limbs of the bats and their stupid butler. He finds his way to the computer, logging in with Bruce's fingerprint and setting it to display all cameras. He wants to know when Dick will be back, when his mother will arrive, and he doesn't want to be surprised.