Ra's al Ghul stood in the silent hall, his stance guarded, his senses heightened. The darkness around him was not an enemy—it was an ally, a familiar companion that had walked with him through centuries of bloodshed. He was no stranger to deception in combat, nor was he unfamiliar with the art of misdirection. Ninjas thrived in the cover of night, manipulating sound to disorient their prey. A voice from an unexpected direction, a whisper that did not belong—it was a tried and tested method of throwing off an opponent's judgment.
But against him? Useless.
Ra's al Ghul was more than a warrior. He was a master of the sword, trained beyond mortal limits, his instincts sharper than any blade. He did not rely on sight alone—no, he could sense the faintest disturbance in the air, the lightest shift in breath, the imperceptible cadence of a heartbeat. Even blindfolded, he would not falter. If anything, he preferred the dark.
Batwoman was different from the assassins he had trained. She had never been a student of the League of Shadows, never bent the knee to its doctrine. Her skill came from elsewhere—her own trials, her own relentless discipline.
Even now, he knew she was near, lingering just beyond his reach. The voice that echoed from behind him was a trick, a feeble attempt at deception.
Ra's smirked.
"Pathetic," he sneered. "Are you women only capable of parlor tricks? Why don't you fight me with honor? Face me, and prove who deserves victory."
"Honor?" Batwoman's voice was calm, unfazed. "Glory doesn't interest me."
She spoke from another direction entirely, and yet—he could tell. She hadn't moved an inch.
A surge of opportunity pulsed through Ra's al Ghul's veins.
If she denied the rules of engagement, then so would he.
Without hesitation, he lashed out. His sword, swift and silent, carved through the darkness in a single, lethal arc. No glint of steel betrayed its motion, no whisper of wind revealed its path. This was a true master's strike—one that required no wasted movement, no second attempt. It was a cut meant to end battles.
But his blade met only empty air.
Ra's al Ghul's eyes narrowed in disbelief. Batwoman had been standing right there. He had felt her presence, measured the rhythm of her breath. And yet—not a thread of her suit had been touched.
"Impossible," he muttered.
From all around him, Batwoman's voice answered. "Perhaps you should ask your daughter," she suggested coolly. "She could tell you how easily heartbeat and breathing patterns can be mimicked—with the right technology."
Realization struck.
Tiny, imperceptible speakers were scattered throughout the hall. Miniature devices, carefully placed in advance, projecting false sounds to deceive even his sharpened senses.
Ra's al Ghul exhaled slowly, regaining his composure. It was a clever trick, yes—but a trick nonetheless. His mind refocused as he turned, his gaze locking onto a new presence.
Batwoman.
She was behind him now, seizing the moment he had wasted. And in that instant, Talia al Ghul was struck down.
Or so it seemed.
Ra's al Ghul's expression darkened. "I heard nothing from you," he admitted. "Your heartbeat… your breath… you are like a corpse."
"Wonder Woman taught me a few things," Batwoman replied. "Ever heard of turtle breathing? It's an old technique from South Asia. Slows everything down, hides what shouldn't be found." Her blue eyes glowed under the mask, unreadable, unwavering. "So, tell me—am I frightening enough now? Will this convince you to abandon your plans for Gotham?"
Ra's al Ghul scoffed. "Delusional bat. You broke into my fortress alone, and you dare to demand my surrender?"
His hand moved in a blur, fingers retrieving a steel sphere from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it through an open window.
A heartbeat later, the mountains trembled.
Fire erupted in the night sky, a blazing signal bursting above the cliffs. The glow bathed the snow-covered peaks in ghostly white light, illuminating the fortress and the miles of frozen wilderness beyond.
This was the signal of the League of Assassins.
No matter where his warriors stood in the mountains, they would see. And they would come.
Ra's al Ghul turned back to Batwoman, anticipating her reaction. He expected urgency, perhaps a desperate attempt to intercept his next move. Maybe even fear.
But she did nothing.
She didn't move, didn't even flinch. Her hand did not reach for a batarang. Instead, she simply glanced at the burning sky, her expression unreadable.
Ra's al Ghul hesitated. If she had interrupted the signal, he had a second flare ready. But something about her nonchalance unsettled him.
Arrogance, he told himself. That was all it was.
"You fool," he spat. "Do you believe you can stand against three thousand assassins? This will be your tomb. I will mount your head at the gates of my citadel."
Batwoman shook her head. "You misunderstand, Ra's." Her gloved fingers flexed as she dropped into a ready stance. "I never said I came alone."
Silence.
Ra's al Ghul's brow furrowed. His assassins should have arrived by now. The nearest of them were not far—but the halls remained empty.
What had happened to them?
The answer came in the form of a sharp impact to the back of his skull.
A crushing force, fast and brutal, sent him reeling forward. His vision blurred, the world tilting as though he had been struck by a wrecking ball. His body, once poised for battle, crumbled beneath him.
His last conscious thought before darkness swallowed him whole was a single, damning word.
Deception.
---
The Lazarus Pit
A hooded figure stood over Ra's al Ghul's fallen form, rolling his shoulders.
"Uh… was that too much? He's, like, 800 years old, right?" The man in the cloak scratched his head. "I didn't kill him, did I? Someone wanna check?"
Batwoman moved past him, kneeling beside Talia. The woman was stirring, but her movements were hesitant—like she hadn't quite decided whose side she was on.
"You can't kill him," Batwoman muttered. "If what you told me is true, then the Lazarus Pit will heal him. He'll wake up faster than we'd like. We don't have much time."
The cloaked man exhaled in relief. "Oh, good. Thought I was gonna have to call an ambulance or something."
Talia sat up, her gaze flickering between them. "…We don't know each other, do we?"
The man shrugged. "I mean, technically?"
Batwoman sighed. "We don't have time for this. Talia, listen carefully. I need something from you." She leaned in, pressing their foreheads together in a silent demand for attention. "The Lazarus Pit. Give us access to it—or we'll take it ourselves."
Talia hesitated, biting her lip.
They were here for the League's greatest secret.
And yet… she found herself nodding.
She led them through the fortress, down a hidden passage, revealing a chamber where red liquid churned in a shallow pool, mist rising from its surface.
"The Lazarus Pit," Batwoman murmured.
The cloaked man squinted. "Huh. Kinda thought it'd be bigger."
Talia sighed. "To resurrect, one must be fully submerged. If you take only a portion, it grants regeneration—but not immortality."
Batwoman filled a silver canister with the red fluid.
Talia hesitated. "You're not going to use it yourself?"
Batwoman shook her head. "No."
And just like that, she turned and walked away.
Talia watched her disappear into the shadows, still unsure whether she had just lost something—or been spared.