11615ft. The longest shot ever made by a sniper on record. That's approximately 3.5kms away. A Canadian soldier was responsible for this monumental feat. Ten seconds – Yes, it took ten seconds for the bullet to actually hit the target.

Deathstroke's range was twice as long on the worst day. If wind, distance, and temperature were on his side then he could extend his range even further. To put that in perspective 'The Terminator' cannot miss a shot even from a distance of 7kms. Provided he had a sniper rifle that capable.

With his custom-made rifle that shot bullets faster than the speed of sound – there wasn't a thing he couldn't hit from a distance. Nothing. Until now.

The master assassin's finger caressed the trigger of his rifle. He exhaled, steadying himself. The cold wind of the night hit his digits like needles. There was a familiarity to his action which only a few could achieve – he seemed one with his equipment. He seemed at peace. Almost.

When he sent Rose after his target he expected it to be a normal job. Something his daughter could handle with ease. Just how could she screw up an assassination of a simple boy? But after seeing what he had seen 'simple boy' didn't do his target justice.

From what Carmine Falcone told him his target appeared to be nothing more than an upstart. Falcone was wrong. He had underestimated this boy. Severely.

Deathstroke frowned. His lips slanting in displeasure.

Damian was dangerous. He blinked through the scope as the boy shut down his berserker daughter with one single punch to her solar plexus. It was quick, brutal, and above all efficient. Everything he respected. For a moment he felt something akin to pity – the boy could've had a great future.

Deathstroke's gaze turned to his daughter's beaten form. Useless, he thinks, Absolutely useless. What's the point of all that training if you're just going to act like a common animal?

She was disappointing just like her mother. He frowned. He would've to increase Rose's training if this is the kind of performance he had to expect from her.

He exhaled, trying to get his mind off his daughter and divert it towards his target. Damian... no last name.

Deathstroke's eyes narrowed. How did he never hear about him? Who trained him? And he was trained, there was no doubt about it. He could see it in the way the boy moved – Damian was a predator. Even if the boy didn't realize it at this point.

It wasn't like he couldn't do what the boy did. Despite all the training, Rose still had ways to go before she could be counted amongst the big leagues.

Damian's speed was impressive but it was not what made his hair raise. It was the skill with which the boy executed his attack. He had a fraction of a second before Rose would've reduced Sportmaster's daughter into a literal pulp.

Within that short span, Damian was able to close the distance and then put enough power behind his punch that it would drop Rose like a sack of potatoes. It was impressive by any standards. Real impressive, considering Rose could take a punishment. Even more impressive was the fact that he himself barely noticed the attack.

He turned to his daughter once again who was struggling to even take a single breath. You handled the entire thing like an amateur. It was inexcusable.

Deathstroke took another deep breath, readying himself to take the shot. His digit tightened on the trigger, like a death hook.

He was about 2kms away from the target in an elevated point. Far enough to be out of his target's sight but close enough to confirm the kill personally after he took his shot.

It was the ideal position.

However, there was one single problem. He was sure that the second he pressed the trigger; the boy would move to dodge his bullet. It would be a child's play for someone who moments ago stopped all the bullets from her daughter's Glock in the very air with a sniper rifle.

It was the crux of the problem.

Damian had a spatial awareness which was unprecedented. Was he a meta? Deathstroke wondered. The boy was better than him and he was enhanced by Mirakuru.

Another deep breath. And the scope stabilized, giving a clear view.

The speed of sound was 343m/s. His bullet moved at twice the speed of sound so that's 646m/s. The approximate distance of the target, 2km away. It would take close to 3 seconds before the bullet hits the target.

That was three seconds too many. It would never hit Damian. His target was better than that. So, how to take down someone who can see you coming, a mile away.

It was simple… elementary even.

Deathstroke turned his scope towards Sportmaster's daughter. The assassin's lips curved and he pulled the trigger – without any hesitation.

Boom! The gunpowder lit, sparks flew and the bullet shot out, cutting through the air – chasing death. Deathstroke grunted as the recoil hit him but his eyes never left the scope.

He watched as the boy's attention turned towards him in horror. He watched as the boy snarled and moved towards his companion. He watched as Damian pushed Cheshire down and the bullet pierced through his heart.

Deathstroke smiled through all of it. Finally, his grip on his rifle relaxed.

He always got his target.

Carmine Falcone sat on his chair, his shoulders slacking. A tired sigh escaped his lips. He could hear all the screams around him… he knew that something went wrong with his plan. Drastically wrong. Horribly wrong. Of course, he knew who was responsible. It was pretty obvious.

Damian threatens him a few hours ago and now something is attacking his secret base. It couldn't be more obvious. He didn't know how the boy found him but the fact remained that he did. It couldn't be anyone else. He was old but not senile.

He poured another drink – maybe his last drink. He walked towards the window like a zombie and gazed outside with a forlorn look. His two hundred strong men were getting decimated by one single man.

There were flashes of a male silhouette before his men fell like puppets – their strings cut off. It was incredible, to say the least… whoever this man was, he was moving fast enough that his naked eyes couldn't even begin to comprehend.

For a moment, he thought it was the freak from Star City. But it couldn't be. For some reason, all the meta heroes avoided Gotham like the very plague.

Another flash and few more of his men fell. It was enough to crush any hope of escape. Enough to crush any hope to come out of this – a winner. A single boy was doing this to him.

Carmine took a single sip when he heard his door getting slammed in. He didn't even bother to move or take a single step. What was the point? It's not like it would change a damn thing. It was not like he would succeed where two hundred of his men failed.

"Carmine Falcone…" The figure said

He didn't answer.

"Are you not going to resist?"

Carmine turned back… a little surprised by the velvety voice which greeted him. He expected the man to sound harsher considering how brutally this person had destroyed his people.

Instead, it was a man who looked as if he was taken straight from the pages of a fashion magazine. Chiseled cheeks, long eyelashes, nimble frame… not something you would expect from a man who was this dangerous. And he was wearing a Greek Armor? Or was it Roman he wasn't sure.

History wasn't his strongest subject.

"Are you here to kill me?" Carmine asked.

"No," the man replied, "You are to come with me. My master, demands it."

"Who's this master of yours?" Carmine raised one of his eyebrows.

"I think you are already aware of who he is." The man's replied with a clipped tone.

Carmine frowned letting out a growl, "Why would someone like you follow a child like him?"

The man didn't answer.

Carmine then looked at his defeated men once again. Every last one of them didn't move a single muscle. A look of pity crossed his face, "Did you kill them? All of them?" he asked.

"No. They're just unconscious." The man sighed, "My master was adamant about not killing any of your lackeys."

"So only I am to die."

The man didn't answer.

Jade's breath hitched as her face twisted into pure horror. One moment she was dismantling her opponent thanks to her training with Chiron. And the next thing she knows Ravager grows insane from a single stab wound.

It was like looking at a wild animal. The madness in her single eye was enough to freeze her for a moment. Ravager took advantage of that. A single brain rattling punch to her brain broke her sturdy polycarbonate mask into pieces. If she hadn't been wearing that then she would've been dead.

Another punch and that would've been the end. But before Ravager could do a thing she was taken down so fast that if she had blinked then she would've missed it. One single punch that's all it took. One single punch from Damian – and Ravager was down for the count.

So then why was she holding his bleeding body right now!?

She was struggling to figure out what the hell had just happened! She tore her sleeve and pressed it over his chest to stem the flow of blood. Frantic. He was gasping for breath. "Hold on Damian… Just hold on. Please don't die on me."

This was all her fault. Jade's eyes glistened. It happened because she stayed with him. The bullet was supposed to pierce her chest but it went through Damian because he pushed her out of the way. If only she listened to him and had gone home then this wouldn't have happened.

"Cheshire Cat." A voice spoke and Jade stiffened.

"Deathstroke!" Jade snarled. She should've known. She should've fucking known!

"Move out of the way and I don't kill you." His single eye glared in utter apathy.

"Like hell, I will!" Jade roared taking her sai and charging at the man against which she had no hope of winning. It was never her goal to begin with. Her goal was to delay him just enough so that one of the servants can come in and end this fight.

She shouldn't have bothered.

Deathstroke looked behind her with utter fascination, and spoke, "How are you still standing? H-How are you even breathing?"

Jade heard a growl. It chilled her very spine. She slowly turned around, inch by inch – her sight never leaving Deathstroke for a single moment. She gasped – Damian was... standing. His shirt was soaked in blood and his face pale like an albino but he was still standing.

She was sure that one of his lungs had collapsed or worse his heart was ripped apart. He shouldn't be moving a single finger let alone be on his feet already and ready for a fist fight.

"I hope the money you took was worth it assassin!" Damian grits his teeth while Jade took a step back, "Because you're going to wish that you never met me. I swear on that."

Jade whimpered – Damian didn't seem like a human anymore. His eyes were slits, and his posture was stiff. He was staring at Deathstroke like a God waiting to deliver his punishment.

Damian was angry. He was god's honest angry; to the point that he didn't even feel the pain anymore. He gripped his fists until his nail dug into his palms. His lips dripped with blood. Whether it was because his lung collapsed or because his canines were digging into his flesh – that remained to be seen.

He almost got Jade killed over his crusade. He was so confident in his invincibility that he never realized that there were other people also involved in this. People who weren't like him.

This assassin shot at Jade because he knew that he would never get him through traditional means. The dangerous part; it worked with fantastic results. If he was a normal human he would've died on the spot and so would've Jade.

"I hope the money you were paid was worth it assassin!" Damian snarled, "Because you're going to wish that you never met me. I swear on that." He meant every word. After he was done with him, the assassin will never forget him. Never. That is if he decided to spare the man's life. He was glad that Deathstroke came to him... it saved him the time to hunt him.

Deathstroke didn't bat a single eye at the threat. He charged – with his sword in one hand and a gun on another. He was fast and precise.

Damian was faster and most precise – bordering on omniscient.

Deathstroke fired his gun. Damian dodged with his nimble movements – not wasting a single iota of strength. A quick jab and the assassin was rid of his firearm with a wince.

They exchanged few more jabs. Deathstroke swung his sword while Damian danced around it like a master ballet. Grace mixed with the savagery of a sabretooth.

The assassin snarled when none of the connected. Damian got into his guard and delivered one solid jab at his opponent's torso.

The force of the blow went through Deathstroke's Armor to crack three ribs. He released a silent scream. Injured but not debilitated – he moved with purpose.

One swing of a sword at his target's head, gritting his teeth through the pain. Damian dodged under it, "Iaijutsu."

Deathstroke snarled, as Damian started to decipher his styles as he dodged his every last swing.

"Iaidō."

Another swing.

"Kumdo."

Damian turns his head just enough to dodge yet another sword thrust by mere inches.

"Kendo."

"What are you?" Deathstroke whispered, never being so outclassed on sheer skill. "Who are you?" He screamed.

He took another swing but this time Damian caught him by his wrist. Deathstroke used his enhanced strength but it was for naught. Damian pressed on until he heard his would-be assassin's wrist snap like a twig.

"Aaaaargh!" Deathstroke screamed. His grip left his sword but Damian didn't relent he still held on to his wrist in a vice grip.

Damian scoffed and lifted his knee and slammed it on the other side of the assassin's torso. Cracking another three ribs. He didn't even hear the scream. He let go of the wrist and let out few more kicks and punches.

Each, either breaking a joint or snapping a bone in two.

It was a massacre. Like a cattle brought to slaughter. Helpless.

Deathstroke, the famous assassin. The one who always got his target no matter how difficult. No matter the place – was on his knees. Brought down by a child of mere thirteen with a bullet still lodged in his chest. It was so outrageous that it wasn't even funny.

"Y-You're a monster," Deathstroke spoke, his eyes finally gaining clarity. Like he saw something which should've been obvious from the very start.

Damian snarled, holding his hand out. Deathstroke's sword which was discarded only moments ago flew into his hand. Singing like the instrument of death it was. Screaming even.

Damian swung. He was going to end it. Something inside him screamed to stop. He didn't care. He was going to take the assassin's head off and end his threat forever. This would be the end.

So, then why did he stop? The blade was only inches away from Deathstroke's neck. A little bit more and it would be over. He would never have to worry about this guy anymore. So, why couldn't he do it? Why!?

He heard someone crawl towards him on her belly… he could smell the desperation and fear. It was Ravager. Her single eye glistened. She didn't seem insane or the cold-hearted assassin anymore – just a little girl. "Please, don't." she begged, pulling the end of his pants, desperate, "He's all I've left. Please…"

Damian turned towards Jade – sword still in his hand. Her eyes were wide – pupils dilated and legs shaking like leaves. She was terrified, Did he look that terrifying?

Damian felt his stomach crawl with disgust. The kind he would spend years trying to forget. He almost killed a father right in front of his daughter. He shuddered, his self-loathing paralyzing him for a moment.

Damian growled and stabbed the sword into the ground. He grabbed Deathstroke by his neck bringing him closer… the man didn't resist. It would've been hard considering all his limbs were rendered useless. He removed the assassin's mask with a violent tug.

Rose let out a painful whimper.

"Don't ever come back here. Gotham is under my protection." Damian whispered into his ear, "With me, there is only one chance. I am not Batman. Next time there will be no mercy. You fuck with me and I will hunt you to the very end of the world." Damian spat, "Where can you run where I can't find you?"

The hunter has now become the hunted.

He snarled, turning towards Ravager, "Get him out of my sight!"

Damian walked away without sparring a single glance at his beaten opponents. The screaming in his head had subsided but his heart was still in turmoil. He was sure that he lost a part of his soul today here. Yet the night had not ended.

Carmine Falcone, walked into the very same construction site where he ordered the hit on Damian only hours prior. Each step he took was heavy like lead. Everyone was there. Every last mafia boss who had a stake in Gotham.

He frowned. Most of them were looking a little bit scuffed but otherwise still alive. But all fight out of them has already been beaten away.

He looked around to see seven individuals surrounding them – blocking every exit. Carmine grunted, they had the numbers but they didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell if every last one of them were as strong as the one who got him.

The hopelessness was thick. He didn't blame his fellow colleagues though. Before tonight Gotham was a place where despite the amount of crime there was not a single meta vigilante. But that was the crux of the problem – Damian was not a vigilante. He was mafia. He wanted their business.

This was not a bust but a hostile takeover.

For a moment, Falcone felt regret before he squashed it. All of them knew what they were getting into. They knew what would come for them if they ever failed. Knowing that they chose him as their leader, and he did the best he could with what he had. He did his best.

His eyes roved over these seven beings. And he came to one single conclusion – none of them were human. Not a single one of them could be – they looked far too inhuman to be considered human. He looked at the men first – They all looked like regal warriors except the one wearing glasses. He looked more like a scientist than anything.

Then the women… Ah, the women. They were so beautiful. He wasn't a stranger to them – he knew beautiful women. In his younger years, he had been with countless of them but none – not a single one of them came close to these three.

If everyone wasn't worried about their life then every last man here would've ogled them unashamedly.

He stiffened when the women in black garment turned towards him. She smiled… her ruby red lips curving in a gentle knowing smile. He shuddered. Feeling both intimidated and aroused at the same time. There was something particularly dangerous about that woman. Enough that he turned his eyes away immediately.

"Is this you handling it, Falcone?"

"For once in your life just shut the fuck up, Bertinelli."

Before Bertinelli could unleash his vitriol, the door opened and the man of the hour walked in with a woman in green garb. Everyone shifted uncomfortably. Carmine stood tall – his back unbending. If he was to die today he will do so with dignity – like the mafioso of the old. He earned that.

"Damian, what are your terms?" Carmine asked, "That is if you're willing to give any."

The boy didn't answer instead he threw a mask right on the table – startling every last person. An orange mask with a single eye hole. It still had blood on it.

Utter silence. The message was clear. Some gasped while others shriveled in fear. Carmine just shook his head in disappointment. Realizing that he had lost any leverage he previously had.

"You still have a few hours left before my terms expire." Damian replied, his tone was impassive but the threat was clear, "I'm willing to forgive your earlier transgressions if you bend."

"And you think we will just listen to you." Bertinelli snarled, slamming his hands, "That we will just hand over our empire into the hands of a boy who doesn't even have his pubes. Is that what you think!?"

"I am enough of a man to handle every last one of you. As I proved earlier." Damian retorted, "And I'm talking to the man in charge. Not to you."

Bertinelli growled but didn't make any further comments. Suitably humbled. Carmine would've laughed if they were not in such dire situation.

"So, what's your answer, Don Falcone?" asked Damian.

"Are you not willing to negotiate?"

"I already am. Despite the assassin, you sent after me."

"So, you're willing to divide East Gotham with us?" the old don asked, "There is a lot we can achieve together." His gaze moving towards the seven individuals who stood behind Damian like sentries.

"You misunderstand." Damian replied, shaking his head, "I am not negotiating on Gotham. My negotiation only extends to all of your lives. Gotham is and will be mine – in its entirety. There will be no negotiation. There will be no demands."

Falcone's eyes widened in incredulity.

Bertinelli roared and jumped at the boy intending to strangle him. A swipe of the sword and his right arm fell off – cut from his body like an appendix. "Aaaaaargh!" he screamed.

"If anyone else tries that then it will be their head!" Kiyohime spoke. More like spat. Her speech so thick and inhuman that nobody understood. But the intent was delivered clearer than ever. No longer looking the silver-haired beauty she was – but a berserker. Her slitted eyes only furthered the image.

Bertinelli screamed until his voice was hoarse. Carmine Falcone looked at the display, with equal parts disgust and fear. He looked towards Damian and even the boy seemed surprised by the sudden bout of violence. Even if it was only for a moment.

None of the other mafia bosses dared to move neither did the servants. Kiyohime looked far too bloodthirsty to antagonize. Kiyohime's gaze moved from the mafiosos to her master who looked back with utter impassiveness.

She quietly moved back and took her earlier place behind Damian with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.

"Fuck!" Jade whispered. Glad that her voice was drowned into the screams of Bertinelli.

"Jade..." Damian whispered.

"Yes?"

"Get this man out of here and see to it that he gets proper medical attention." Damian replied, "His medical bill will be on me."

Jade immediately got to work. Glad that she wasn't in the room with that psycho of a servant who was still glaring at the pitiful form of Bertinelli Family Head.

"Now," Damian replied, "What's your answer, Falcone? You answer for all of the mafias in East Gotham."

"If you're not willing to negotiate or divide what is left of Gotham, then why don't you just kill us?"

There were some murmurs amongst the sitting mafia heads but one look from Damian and they shut themselves up. The entire mafia intimidated by a single boy…

"Because I'm a man of principles." Damian replied with a raised eyebrow, "I gave you twenty-four hours to surrender so you shall have it. If you bend in the allotted time you live."

Damn his principles! Carmine thought gritting his teeth. Damn my principles. He sighed. His shoulder slumped, all fight left him. Leaving only the old husk of a man who now only had his life to lose, "And if we don't surrender at the allotted time?"

Damian's eyes turned towards the blood on the floor and then at Carmine and rest of the mafioso, "What do you think?" Every last one of them let out a shudder. Their spine shaking as if the very devil had given them the ultimatum.

"You would spare our lives but leave us on the streets with nothing but the clothes on our back." Falcone snarled.

"And too how many have you done the same?" Damian scoffed, "And you won't be begging in the streets of Gotham. My Gotham has no place for any of you. You all will be gone by the coming morning."

"It will take more than a day for us to transfer all of our businesses…" Carmine replied hating how pitiful he sounded.

"What makes you think that I haven't taken control of them already?" Damian's eyes narrowed, "This is only a professional courtesy."

Carmine Falcone felt all strength leave his legs. His hands scrambled to reach the table so that he could keep his back straight. He looked at Damian for a straight minute, looking for a single feature which would say he was lying.

Carmine Falcone finally sighed, "We never stood a chance, did we?"

"You are injured." Arturia frowned.

"Was it that obvious?" Damian asked with a smile, "I think I managed to conceal it very well throughout the entire meeting."

"I should've never left your side…" Arturia turned her eyes away.

Damian leaned in, his hands resting on her shoulders, "It wasn't your fault."

"You think I'm not aware of that?" Arturia snapped, her eyes narrowing, "I hate the fact that I was so easily duped by your schemes. I shouldn't have listened to you in the first place and stayed and done my duty in the first place."

"I'm sorry. I didn't think that the assassin would actually manage to hurt me." Damian replied holding back a wince. As pain shot through his body.

"That's what happens when you put your life at risk." Arturia felt no sympathy, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Damian sighed, "I wanted you to concentrate on getting the Maroni's… that was more important than my life."

"Not to me." Arturia hissed, making Damian blush, "If you're going to risk your life Shirou then I want to hear that from you. Not from some other servant." Oh! She still hadn't forgotten about that smug look Semiramis had given her. She now knew that Semiramis was the one in the first place who pilfered the information but her pride had still stung!

"It's already morning," Damian replied.

Arturia glared, "You're trying to avoid the subject!"

"I am not." Damian replied, "I will never hide anything like that from you again."

"Promise?" Arturia squinted her eyes. Acting surprisingly petulant for someone who never losses her kingly demeanor.

"I promise." Damian rolled his eyes and got up from the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Arturia growled, "We just patched you up!"

"I have an important business to attend to."

Arturia sighed in part frustrations and exasperation, realizing that Shirou was just being Shirou. You can kill him but he won't stop his daily routine over it! "What kind of business?" she asked.

"Family."

"Oh…" Arturia sighed in disappointment, wondering what kind of family business could Shirou have.

"You should come," Damian replied, leaning on the door frame.

"I thought it was family business?"

"You are family, Saber."

Arturia's cheeks colored, she told herself that it was only the heat. "I-I'm still mad at you."

"I know."

Stupid Shirou!

It was dawn. Golden rays hit the leaves falling from the blood red oak painting quite the tapestry. The sap from the plants made sure sweet smell permeated every inch of this place. Autumn truly brought the best out of Gotham. Even if the place was but a graveyard.

He always hated coming here. It reminded him of things that could never be. Things that were stolen from him by a gun-toting maniac.

It has been years, he told himself. But everything he ever did was defined by this… this unspeakable pain… The kind of pain which never leaves just simmers like an infection.

But even knowing the pain it caused him, he would come here whenever something didn't go the way he expected them to.

"Master Bruce, you have spent enough time here." Alfred sniffed, "Anymore and you would be late for the board meeting. You have skipped enough of them as it is in the last two weeks. There's only so much vacation you can indulge in. Any more and they might have a legitimate reason to boot you out of the board."

"Lucius can handle it." Bruce replied, still staring at the two graves in front of him, "He always does."

Alfred sighs, palming his forehead, "You always expect too much from him. There's only so much he can do by his lonesome."

Bruce would've groaned but this byplay between them was nothing new. Nobody knew him better than Alfred. None of the Robins knew his darkness in the way Alfred did. The man had been taking care of him since he was a babe in his diapers.

He heard crisp soil being crushed under the heels of shoes. Without even turning back his instincts kicked in. Before they even reached his location, he knew there were two of them. He knew one of them was a man and another a woman.

He wasn't worried. Not really. It was just his training – impossible to turn off even during the most inopportune times. If anything, he was curious. This part of graveyard exclusively belonged to the Wayne Family. Even the maintenance was done by his own people rather than the ones this place provided.

He raised an eyebrow, they were here – and they weren't what he expected. Both were young. One was but a boy and other was a very young woman not even in her twenties. There was nothing fearsome about them but yet his instincts screamed.

Especially the blonde woman, there was something inhuman about her. Bruce's eyes narrowed and his gaze went towards the boy. He went still.

Emerald eyes, that was the first thing he thought of. Talia… Bruce's mood immediately soured. One of his biggest mistakes if anything. The woman was insane and twisted… but he loved her, almost married her. His taste was always questionable but Talia al Ghul even by those standards was something… One of a kind.

"Oh my, we have some intruders."

The young boy's lips curved in a gentle smile. He looked amused, to say the least.

"Intruders?" Damian's lips curved in amusement, while the butler raised a single eyebrow, "I'm afraid it's not something that exciting. Just well-wishers here."

Damian gently placed the bouquet of flowers on the grave of his grandparents. Grandparents, just thinking about it brought mixed reactions from him. But it was something which he felt he needed to do. They were the first to give everything they had for Gotham and paid for it with their life. And now he was here and he was going to make things better... he felt he needed their blessings.

He closed his eyes as a fresh breeze of wind hit him, making him sigh. His eyes glazed as his gaze roamed the two people who stood beside him.

Damian promised Ra's that he would never turn away from the truth.

And the man standing in front of him was his truth. His maker. His father. They shared blood. Something which the man will never know if he ever had his way.

"Blue Orchids?" asked Bruce.

"They're actually purple."

"Master Bruce," Alfred chastised, "They were your mother's favorite."

Damian smiled at the Butler, "They are my favorite too."

"Who are you?" Bruce finally asked.

"Just one of the many your family helped over the years. Not anyone noteworthy."

He saw his father's smile, but it had an edge to it, "I'm afraid you're a little bit too young to have ever known my parents. They have passed for quite some time."

Damian looked at him. The man who was his father. He was impressed, to say the least. At the least combat wise. Even as he talked to him one of his eyes was always on Saber – like he expected her to attack him any minute. He had damn good instincts – better than even Deathstroke.

Then his eyes turned towards his belt. They were cloaked in some form of illusionary device which belied its true nature. It was a golden belt. The second his eyes gazed through the illusion he wished it hadn't.

Pain. Pain, like he had never known invaded his entire being. Generally, whenever he looked at other people's weapons he would get their memories. While violating in nature, it never hurt him. But this man… his pain was so deep that it infected everything around him. Especially his equipment – the utility belt.

He saw every nasty thing that ever happened to Batman – No, Bruce Wayne. Batman didn't feel pain or regret because there was always a man behind the mask who willingly took the hit – who made the ultimate sacrifice.

There was just so much of it. His every failure was laid bare to Damian. His every regret. Everything. It was all too much. But even in this sea of despair, there was one incident which stood out particularly. The loss of his parents…

Abject pity filled his being. This man… his father, he was a broken man. And this was coming from someone… whose view of the world was so distorted that he had his own reality marble. And then there was respect.

There were many things on which he disagreed with but if anything, he respected the man's drive. The single-mindedness was something they shared in common.

He saw Bruce take a step back, he didn't blame him. He managed to hide his pain – it wasn't new to him. But he didn't quite manage to hide his emotions. He turned towards Arturia, who like always stood beside him – stalwart to the very end.

Lying always came difficult to him maybe because he respected truth far too much to lie outright. Hence, most of the time he would just be upfront and don't tell them or be so vague that even an oracle would be impressed.

Damian shook his head, "It was my father, he knew them. Whenever he was in Gotham he would come and visit the grave. So, I thought I should follow on it."

Bruce seemed speechless, "Where are they?"

"Not with me anymore."

That shut Bruce up. "Oh…"

"They haven't forgotten them, you know," Damian replied.

Bruce raised his eyebrow, "Who?"

"The people of Gotham. Look," Damian directed his finger to other bouquets which littered around the late Martha and Thomas Wayne. All written with some sort of good wishes, "Clearly, I am not the only one who comes here."

Both Alfred and Bruce looked surprised, shocked even. They seemed to notice other bouquets of flowers for the very first time. A sense of melancholy took over the graveyard.

"It's harder to notice obvious things when you are in grief," Damian replied.

He saw his father mumble something before the man turned his back to him. "I didn't think people still remembered what my parents did for them. I thought they didn't care…" Damian could've sworn that he saw his father's shoulder shake.

"I like to think people are good… that given a chance they'll surprise you. Given an opportunity, they will rise up above themselves. They only need but an opportunity."

"You're not from around here," Bruce replied. It wasn't a question but rather a statement.

Damian smiled, "Everybody seems to say that to me. But I am from here actually… just have been away for some time."

"So, what do you intend to do now that you're here, young man?" Alfred asked, his voice still thick with emotion.

"I intend to stay." Damian replied, crossing his arms and tilting his head in a thoughtful look, "And give back to the city which has given a lot to me. I think that's what my father would want."

It seemed to visibly shake both Alfred and Bruce to their very core. Damian didn't bother to spend any more time and he simply decided to walk away.

Saber gave them a bow and followed him.

Alfred stared with an emotion he couldn't quite decipher, so he decided for controlled impassiveness. Something he perfected over the years thanks to the dangerous antics of Bruce. "What a peculiar young man?"

"Did you happen to catch his name?" asked Bruce.

"I am afraid that he never saw the need to reveal his name?"

Alfred glanced at the man who was like a son to him in everything but name… And he looked better than he ever had in years. Peaceful even. He seemed to stare at the space where the boy stood only moments ago.

"I think that's not the last we've seen of him."

"I think so too."

Alfred sighed knowing what was coming.

Give back to the city which has given a lot to me. It was too close to both of their hearts to just leave alone. That sentiment lead to the death of both Martha and Thomas Wayne. It was also what created Batman. It was the last thing Thomas Wayne said in his will before everything they owned was turned over to Bruce.

"Must you do this?" Alfred asked.

Bruce didn't answer. He was back to being Batman again.

A man took a deep breath as he roamed through his estate for the very last time. His hands caressed the stones of his home. A home which he built by his own hands – brick by brick. Now, it wasn't his anymore. Taken forcefully away from him like he had done to many in his heyday.

It was a perfect ending as far as he considered. Ironic even.

He sighed. A deep tired sigh. He went into his study – his steps heavy as lead and his longing even thicker. His seventy plus year age hung like boulders on his shoulders. He was hunching… he noticed. It was the posture of a defeated man. Something he realized he has never done before. Not before today.

After all, he had been through… he never bends. Not to anyone. Ever.

It was all because of the boy, he told himself. But Damian wasn't one to blame. It was simply the way of their world. The way of the mafia. They fought and the boy was simply stronger.

Now only one thing remained to end his legacy. Something the boy refused to do even after all he put him through. Maybe that was his principles.

He sat on his chair and then looked out of the window. The sun was coming up… the time the boy gave us was over. Every last one of his colleagues had already left Gotham leaving everything they owned behind. Their pride discarded for their life.

He wasn't like them. His pride was everything. If the boy won't do it then he will.

He pulled a revolver from his desk and jabbed it in his mouth.

BANG!

Carmine Falcone was no more. He died as he lived. A mafioso to the very end.

A/N Well, this is the last chapter of this arc. Now, I will be working on Providence. I will rewrite the entire thing from the ground up for that fic. It wasn't like there was anything significant written only 10000 words for that fic. Thanks, review, follow or whatever. :)