The Black Dragon Dojo - Outside Gotham Limits
The dojo was silent, save for the wind rattling the bamboo chimes.
Bruce Wayne stood in the center of the mat. He wore a simple white gi. He looked thinner than usual, the muscle mass from his prime gone, replaced by lean, scarred tissue.
Sitting on a throne at the far end was Lady Shiva. The deadliest assassin in the world.
She sipped tea, watching him with predatory amusement.
"You move like an old man," Shiva noted. "Your spine is healed, but your spirit is stiff. You are afraid to break again."
"I'm not afraid," Bruce lied, tightening his belt. "I'm cautious."
"Caution is for the living," Shiva stood up. "In this room, you are already dead."
She threw something at him.
Bruce caught it. It was a mask. A Tengu mask—a red, long-nosed demon from Japanese folklore.
"Put it on," Shiva commanded.
"Why?"
"Because 'Bruce Wayne' is a cripple. 'Batman' is a memory. If you want to defeat the pretender in your city, you must become something else. You must become a demon."
Bruce looked at the mask. He looked at me, standing in the corner holding his towel.
I nodded slightly. "It is a metaphor, Sir. Do not overthink it."
Bruce put on the mask.
"Good," Shiva smiled. She clapped her hands.
From the shadows, seven figures stepped out. They were not ordinary thugs. They were Grandmasters. One held a bo staff. Another, nunchaku. A third, a chain whip.
"These represent the seven sins of martial arts," Shiva announced. "Sloth. Greed. Pride..."
"Seven against one?" Bruce's voice sounded hollow behind the mask.
"You wish to reclaim Gotham?" Shiva drew a small dagger. "Prove you are worthy of it. Defeat them. If you fall... you die."
The Gauntlet
The first master lunged with the bo staff.
Bruce dodged, but he was a fraction of a second too slow. The wood cracked against his ribs.
"Weak!" Shiva shouted. "You rely on your armor! You expect the Kevlar to save you! There is no Kevlar here!"
Bruce grunted, rolling away. He had to stop thinking like a tank. He had to think like water.
The second master swung the chain whip. It wrapped around Bruce's wrist.
Bruce didn't pull back. He stepped in. He used his recovery momentum to elbow the man in the throat.
The master gagged and fell.
"One," Bruce counted.
The third and fourth attacked together. A flurry of kicks and punches.
Bruce took the hits. He felt the bruises forming instantly. But the pain... the pain was clarifying. It woke up the nerves that had been asleep for months.
He blocked a high kick. He trapped the leg. He swept the other leg.
CRACK.
The third master went down with a dislocated knee.
"Good," Shiva whispered, circling the fight like a shark. "But you are holding back. You could have broken his neck. Why didn't you?"
"I don't kill," Bruce panted, throwing the fourth master over his shoulder.
"Then you will lose!" Shiva shouted. "The pretender kills! Bane kills! If you do not embrace the edge, you are just a man in a costume!"
She signaled the final three. These were the deadliest. They drew swords.
Real steel. No practice weapons.
"Show me the monster, Bruce!" Shiva yelled. "Show me the Bat!"
Bruce looked at the gleaming blades. He felt the Tengu mask on his face.
He remembered the feeling of his back breaking. He remembered Shondra's empty eyes. He remembered Jean-Paul turning the city into a police state.
Something cold clicked into place in his mind.
He didn't need to kill. He just needed to be terrifying.
Bruce dropped into a stance Shiva had never taught him. A stance I recognized from the League of Shadows.
The swordsmen charged.
Bruce didn't dodge. He moved through the blades.
He caught the first sword between his bare palms—the "shiraha-dori" technique. He twisted the blade, snapping the steel. He drove the hilt into the man's solar plexus.
The second man swung. Bruce ducked, grabbed the man's sash, and hurled him into the wooden pillar with such force the beam cracked.
The last man hesitated. He saw the red demon mask staring at him. He saw the speed.
He dropped his sword.
"I yield," the master whispered.
Bruce stood in the center of the unconscious bodies. He was bleeding from a dozen cuts. His white gi was stained red. But he was standing tall.
He ripped the Tengu mask off and threw it at Shiva's feet.
"I am not a demon," Bruce rasped. "I am the Batman."
Shiva looked at the mask. She looked at Bruce. A rare look of respect crossed her face.
"You are ready," Shiva said.
She bowed.
"Go take back your city."
The Return
We flew back to Gotham in a private jet. Bruce sat in silence, stitching his own wounds.
"That was quite a display, Sir," I said, pouring him a glass of water. "I believe you broke the third one's ego permanently."
"Jean-Paul is next," Bruce said. "Where is he?"
"He has fortified himself in the Batcave," I reported. "He has sealed the entrances. He has built a fortress."
"He thinks the Cave is his power," Bruce said, tightening a bandage around his forearm. "He thinks the suit makes the man."
"And you intend to prove him wrong?"
"I intend to evict him."
Bruce stood up. He walked to the back of the plane where his gear was stored.
"Sebastian."
"Sir?"
"Call Tim. Call Dick. Call the Cat."
I raised an eyebrow. "The Cat, Sir? Miss Kyle is currently... liberated."
"She hates Jean-Paul as much as I do," Bruce said. "And we need someone to get past the automated sensors. She's the best thief in the world."
"Very well. The Robin, the Nightwing, and the Cat."
Bruce looked out the window as Gotham came into view. The red searchlights of Azrael's drones swept the sky.
"The Knights are gathering," Bruce whispered. "Time to end this."
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