Chapter 1
1239words
The hotel room was a pitiful sight—wallpaper peeling to reveal patches of mottled mold beneath. A single desk lamp teetered on the table, casting a pale halo over his arsenal. Silver darts lay neatly arranged on velvet cloth, each tip tempered with holy water—enough to instantly paralyze the nervous system of most lesser nocturnal creatures. Beside them coiled a slender chain coated in sacred oil that would sizzle against cursed flesh—an old Order formula, cruel but damn effective. Most striking were the custom tranquilizer rounds with tips glowing faintly blue, loaded not with ordinary sedatives but an alchemical mixture designed to suppress supernatural metabolism. Each weapon cold and lethal—the only language he spoke in this endless hunt.
He glanced up at the cracked mirror. A handsome face stared back—deep blue eyes, lips pressed tight with focus. It was a face that easily earned trust, and when he smiled—which was rare these days—it could melt any defense. In the Order, he'd honed himself into the perfect weapon, calm and professional as an unsheathed blade. Yet only he knew that behind those seemingly tranquil eyes brewed a storm capable of devouring everything. That storm had a name: Bruce.
A faint electrical buzz cut through his thoughts. The encrypted communicator in the corner flickered pale green—Alfred's private channel, established at enormous expense to bypass the Order's monitoring network. Dick took a deep breath and accepted the call.
"Master Dick."
Alfred's voice, despite the encryption, carried unmistakable weariness, as if each word was painfully squeezed from his soul. These past two years had etched deeper lines on the loyal butler than the previous decades combined.
"Alfred." Dick's voice dropped to a whisper, as if protecting the name from the filth of his surroundings. "Any news?"
"Yes." A brief silence hung on the line, as if Alfred needed to gather strength for what came next. "The sonar detectors I deployed across Europe… last night they captured a strong energy fluctuation in Germany's Black Forest region."
Dick's fingertips traced the sharp edge of a silver dart, the cold bite keeping him alert. "Be more specific."
"That activity pattern, that decay rate of energy trajectory," Alfred's voice trembled despite his best efforts, "…matches over ninety-nine percent with Master Wayne's final signature before his disappearance from Gotham two years ago."
The number hit like a bullet to the softest part of Dick's heart. For two years, he'd chased countless false leads and hunted bizarre creatures, each time nursing a desperate hope only to sink deeper into disappointment. Now, this near-certainty brought no relief—just an invisible fist clenching around his heart.
"I know the Order's mission is 'elimination,'" Alfred's voice filled with pleading—this dignified man who'd lived by principles of elegance and restraint now begging like a supplicant. "But Master Dick, please… find him, but please… remember who he once was. He was Bruce Wayne."
"I know." The words scraped from Dick's throat like sandpaper. He needed no reminder; he understood the weight of that name better than anyone alive.
He cut the connection. The room plunged into deathly silence, the electric hum replaced by the thunder of his own heartbeat. He stood motionless, letting the flood of memories wash over him.
That rainy night in Gotham two years ago. Cold raindrops hammered against Wayne Manor's windows like desperate fists. Bruce had just returned from hunting an ancient creature that had wandered into the city. He'd succeeded, but at a price—claw marks deep enough to expose bone carved across his chest, wounds no modern medicine could heal, their edges tinged with an unnatural darkness.
Everything changed after that night. Bruce grew more silent, more volatile than ever. He locked himself in the deepest recesses of the Bat Cave, swallowed by shadows, emanating a… wild aura. When Dick tried to approach, he was driven back by the fury blazing in eyes that once held only trust and warmth.
Their final meeting came on another rainy night. Dick broke through Bruce's defenses and found him in the Cave. Bruce stood with his back turned, body trembling with barely contained rage, like a caged beast.
"Bruce, let me help you." Dick's voice carried a plea he didn't even recognize.
Bruce whirled around, eyes flashing with terrifying red light in the darkness, face contorted with pain and struggle. "Help me?" he growled, voice so hoarse it barely sounded human. "The best help would be to get out!"
He seized Dick's shoulders, shoving him back with astonishing strength. Dick could barely keep his footing.
"Stay away from me! Never come back again!"
Bruce's roar echoed through the empty cave, his gaze—a mix of profound love and primal fear—seared into Dick's soul like a branding iron. In that moment, Dick saw not his mentor or "father," but a desperate soul being torn apart by some terrible force. Three days later, Bruce Wayne vanished from Gotham without a trace.
Dick closed his eyes. When he opened them, all vulnerability and memory had been sealed beneath an icy mask. He expertly stowed each weapon—chains coiled at his waist, throwing stars tucked into arm guard compartments, tranquilizer gun secured in his thigh holster. Every movement precise to the millimeter, without a hint of hesitation.
Night fell. The moon hid behind thick clouds as the Black Forest sprawled like a dormant beast waiting for prey. Dick entered the ancient woodland alone, his figure swallowed by boundless darkness. The Order's training let him move like a ghost, senses heightened to capture every unusual vibration in the air.
Decaying leaves crackled softly beneath his boots. He needed no light, relying on enhanced night vision to find his way. Soon, he discovered the first sign.
An enormous oak—so massive it would take two people to encircle—had been violently snapped at waist height. Jagged splinters pointed skyward like accusing fingers. Dick touched the broken surface with his gloved hand, feeling the residual savage energy. No machine did this—only pure, primal brute force.
He pressed forward, vigilance at maximum. Not far ahead, in a patch of damp soil, he found what he sought—massive, wolf-like footprints. Each print larger than a man's palm, sunk deep into mud, soil edges forced upward by tremendous pressure. He crouched, examining their direction and depth, mentally calculating the creature's build, weight, and speed.
A powerful odor hit his nostrils—complex and oppressive, mixing earthy rain-soaked soil, musty rotting leaves, and an aggressive musk a hundred times more intense than normal. The smell hung almost tangible in the air, announcing the territory of an apex predator.
Dick rose slowly, hand falling to the chain at his waist. The cold metal touch steadied his racing heart. He knew that all the waiting, all the searching, would end tonight.
He wasn't far from the "Night Bat" now.
Or rather, he wasn't far from Bruce.
He raised his head toward the deeper darkness. In his blue eyes, beneath their icy calm, magma finally began to churn. He quickened his pace—not as a hunter but as a seeker—stepping into the battlefield fate had prepared for him.
