AUTHOR'S NOTE: This season on the Eternal Universe is going to be a blast! We have two new series, Superman: Eternal by @Generation Sect and Red Hood and the Outlaws: Eternal by @Takumeme666420, as well as the continuation of Green Arrow: Eternal by @Eeveechu151! I'm excited to see the Eternal Universe expand. This season should be a lot of fun- I know Batman has a cool story ahead of him.
14 YEARS AGO…
Bruce glanced up to the tall man. The man had sunken cheeks, and dark, misted eyes. His skin was sun-dried and dusty. His nose hooked down over the black hair that sprouted from under his nostrils, and curved under his mouth, dipping off of his chin. Gray bushes of hair stuck out from the sides of his head, cloaking a gash on his left ear. Faded scars covered his battered face, and crawled over his puckered lips.
The man wore a green robe, with golden shoulder plates. Rings decorated his pencil-thin fingers, and they sparkled despite the low light. At his side was a sword that hung limp, nearly scraping the rocky floor.
“Stand,” the man ordered, speaking in Arabic. Bruce took his knee off of the ground, and stood face to face with the man. Well, not exactly. The man was slightly taller, so Bruce had to tip his head up.
The man’s eyes softened, and his ancient lips curled into a smile.
“Do not look so… uptight,” the man advised. Bruce nodded, and relaxed his tense shoulders. Or, he tried to. It was hard to calm down.
Bruce Wayne was a twenty-year-old man, but he felt like a child. He was speaking with a man over one thousand years old.
Ra’s al Ghul.
“Come, Khafaash,” Ra’s said in a voice that seemed all-too-smooth for a man as old as he, “Rise.”
Ra’s exited the cave they were standing in. Bruce breathed in. Out. In. Out. His chest raised and lowered, stretching and shrinking scars.
He had been training with Ra’s al Ghul, with the League of Assassins, for two years. Those two years had changed him. Gone were the days of chasing women with his friend Ozzy and Tommy (at age 16, nonetheless!). Gone were the days of spending money frivolously to fill the void that the death of his parents had created. Gone were the days of comfort. Of security.
Now were the days of strength. Resilience. Purpose. Life.
Bruce tightened the cloth that helped keep up the baggy black pants up to his waist. He rubbed his hands together, and exited the cage.
“KHA-FAA-SH!” the crowd chanted together, “KHA-FAA-SH!”
Khafaash. That was his name. Here, Bruce Wayne did not exist. Only Khafaash. Arabic for “Bat”. Khafaash. Huh-fuh-huh-sheh was the pronunciation.
Why Khafaash? Why Bat? Bruce (Khafaash, not Bruce- only Khafaash) wondered the same thing. Maybe a superstition. Bats had been involved in every part of his life. From when he wandered off too far into the forest near his house, and followed to a bat home. Or when bats swirled overhead as his parents dropped dead. Or when he had left Gotham, and had been sent off with a fleet of bats. It seemed fitting that bats would be a part of this life.
Khafaash (or was he Bruce, deep down?) stared up at the crowd around him. The sun blasted his retinas, and he squinted. The crowd came into focus. Robed individuals with no discernible features cheered him on. His foot dragged across a white line of chalk, that traced a rectangle over the rugged terrain. At the other end of the battlefield sat Ra’s al Ghul. He was propped up on his glittering throne, with his sword lying across his lap. On both sides of him were women.
One woman, his daughter, Talia al Ghul, was gorgeous. Her acorn hair was pulled back into a delicate braid, while a crown made on woven gold sat on her head. Not even a hint of scar was noticeable anywhere on her exposed, tan skin. A red robe fell from her shoulders to her feet, leaving only her hands in the open.
The other woman was Lady Shiva. Her jet black hair was also pulled back, into a simple ponytail. She had a black cloth pulled around her slim figure, and the same baggy pants that Khafaash (bruce… bruce was still there… somewhere...) wore.
Ra’s held up his hand, and the spectators hushed. Without making a sound, he slid a golden ring off of his finger. The golden threads snaked around a golden gem in the middle. He held the ring out in his palm. Lady Shiva slipped it onto her left ring finger. A symbol of marriage. In this case, the marriage was not a marriage of love, but of power. Lady Shiva was the advisor of Ra’s al Ghul. Bruce (NO! KHAFAASH, NOT BRUCE!) was battling for that position. Ra’s requested it himself, but due to ancient League traditions, the spot must be won. Ra’s nearly forced Khafaash into this spot.
Ra’s let his hand rest, and Lady Shiva crossed the barrier of chalk. Khafaash pressed his palms together, and bowed respectfully. Lady Shiva didn’t fidget.
Khafaash sprinted at Lady Shiva with the speed of a wolf. He kicked off of a boulder, and threw a punch downwards.
PRESENT…
Klak! Swick! Thik!
Damian got to his feet shakily. It was hard to believe that only a few months ago this boy had showed up on Bruce Wayne’s doorstep, not an ounce over seventy pounds. Now, muscles roped around his bones. His hair was cut short, and pushed forward.
Bruce was sparring with him, using the same Escrima sticks that Dick Grayson used to use. Dick Grayson was… well, Bruce didn’t know where he was.
Damian readied his sticks, and swung at Bruce’s head. Bruce bent at the waist, letting the stick zoom right above his nose. He snapped back to a standing position, planning to headbutt Damian. He did not, however, account for Damian’s shortness. His head flew right over Damian, and Damian used the opportunity to flip Bruce over by his legs.
“Seven hundred ninety-six wins me, one win you,” Bruce grumbled, getting up off of the ground.
“Another round!” Damian demanded. His blue eyes seemed dim in the pale light of the Batcave.
The Batcave wasn’t as fancy as many of Batman’s allies believed. It was simply a hollowed cave with a platform beneath a huge computer and a place for the Batmobile and the Batplane. Tim sat at the computer, running a simulation about the relationship shared by time, space, and the fabric between.
“I need a break,” Bruce said.
“What? You cannot take lose?” Damian asked in broken english.
“I’ve taken plenty,” Bruce retorted. He walked up behind Tim.
“Enjoying your training?” Tim asked, without taking his eyes off of the screen.
“Didn’t you hear? The boy took me down.”
Bruce twinged in guilt when he called Damian “the boy”. He wasn’t any old boy. He was…
“Improving,” Tim mused. Well, yes, he was improving. But he was also…
“Hungry,” Damian said, twirling the Escrima sticks. He wasn’t the greatest English speaker. One word sentences were common.
Damian was improving, and hungry. Neither of those were as important as the fact that he was…
Damian Wayne. And Damian al Ghul.
Whaaaaaaaaat?
Crazy.
Three months ago, Damian Wayne, or Damian al Ghul, depending on who you asked, appeared on the steps to Wayne Manor. He was a fugitive, fleeing the League of Assassins. The same place his father, Bruce Wayne, had trained many years ago. He was the son of Ra’s al Ghul, and the Heir to the Demon.
Now, there is an explanation needed here. Ra’s al Ghul was not a person. Ra’s al Ghul was never a person. Ra’s al Ghul was a title. The title for the leader of the League of Assassins. When Bruce had trained with the League, Ra’s al Ghul had been a man. Now, Ra’s al Ghul was a woman, who was the old Ra’s daughter, Talia.
Still following?
Talia al Ghul bore a son, the child of Bruce Wayne. She had raised him secretly, never revealing to Bruce that he had ever been conceived. Bruce had abandoned her, and the League. He was busy saving Gotham as Batman. He had no need for her or Damian.
She brought up Damian without telling him about his father. She lied, and told him he was a valiant warrior who had died. And in her heart, that was true. She had loved Khafaash, not Bruce Wayne. Bruce killed Khafaash in an internal battle. Damian grew up in a reborn League of Assassins- one that worked even more covertly than the original League. He trained with his sister, Nyssa, whose father was a man named Henri Ducard.
His relationship with Nyssa was strained, to say the least. According to League rules, the title of Ra’s al Ghul would pass to the eldest child, being Damian. Nyssa desired the title. The only way for her to come into the throne would be through Damian’s death. Obviously, she could not outright kill her own brother. It would be treasonous. But she never stopped trying to weaken him. Ra’s had tried to keep the peace, but it was futile.
The tensions between Damian and Nyssa only increased when they learned that Talia was dying. The Lazarus Pits that had kept Talia alive had ceased their magic. For months, they searched for reason, only to find nothing. No logic. It was simply Talia’s time.
Talia passed. Damian was crowned Ra’s al Ghul, while Nyssa stood idly by, riddled with hatred.
One day, when assigning missions, Damian came across the profile of Wayne, Bruce T. He felt some sort of unexplained connection, and researched him further, eventually stumbling upon the fact that he was his father.
Damian was furious. A hole in his life had been a lie all along. His father was still alive, and had no clue he existed. Talia had hid this from him. Damian’s trust in the League vanished. If he could not trust his mother, who could he trust? No one, he decided, and set off to find Bruce Wayne. That was five months ago. It had taken two months to get to Bruce Wayne.
The trek was difficult. He had been pursued by assassins, sent by Nyssa. Since he was now technically a deserter, Nyssa had a reason to kill him. Damian finally made it to Wayne Manor, and (in butchered English) explained everything to Bruce.
It had taken Bruce a while to adjust to the fact that he had a son. Really, he still wasn’t adjusted. Batman wasn’t meant to have a son. There was no way he could effectively be a father and Batman at the same time. Luckily, Damian had the makings of the next Robin. Small and spry, quick and strong. He was perfect. Tim gave him the go ahead, and Bruce began training Damian.
It was somewhat of a spiritual rebirth for Bruce. The whole ordeal with Scarecrow had been all about how everyone close to him seemed to get hurt in some way. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. He wouldn’t fail Damian. He wouldn’t fail his own son.
Either way, Damian would have needed to train. Nyssa was coming after him. And she was out for blood.
14 YEARS AGO…
Lady Shiva’s hand shot up over her head, and snatched Khafaash’s fist. She flicked it over, and sent Khafaash to the ground.
Khafaash got to his feet, only to be met with a heel to the face. He reeled backwards as blood sprayed from his nose. Lady Shiva sprung off the ground, and slammed her calf down over Khafaash’s skull.
Khafaash’s world swirled. The rocks around him folded in on themselves. Lady Shiva swaggered toward him, and held her hand rigid, ready for a finishing chop. Khafaash shook his head, and the rocks simmered back into place. He groped a rock, and tugged. It tore out of the ground, and he hurled it at Lady Shiva’s chest.
A loud thud filled the still air of the arena. The use of rocks was a dirty move. Ra’s smiled.
Khafaash began to kickbox with Lady Shiva, until Lady Shiva leaned forward to strike a blow to Khafaash’s neck. Khafaash put a hand around his neck, and gasped for air. Lady Shiva spun in the air, giving her momentum, and landed a clean blow on Khafaash’s cheek.
Khafaash spun a bit himself, but it was out of dizziness, not malice. He collapsed, and Lady Shiva went to town on him. She rained punches on his bare back. She hoisted him into the air. The crowd snickered.
“This is who you desire as your advisor, Ra’s al Ghul?” Lady Shiva asked, incredulously, “This boy? I am his superior.”
Khafaash felt a growling sensation in his throat. But he emitted no sound. He let his elbow fly back and hit Lady Shiva in the crease between her breasts. She winced, and loosened her grip momentarily. He whipped around, and put her in a headlock
“I am no boy,” Khafaash whispered into her ear, “I am Khafaash. Advisor to Ra’s al Ghul.”
Lady Shiva pawed at his arm to no avail. Her cheeks swelled and turned purple, until she patted the ground, ashamed. Khafaash let his arm go limp, and Lady Shiva heaved loudly, trying to regain her breath.
Khafaash turned to Ra’s al Ghul in all his glory, and bowed. Ra’s let out a soft chuckle, signaling that it was okay for the rest of the crowd to make noise once more.
The crowd erupted in both cheers and jeers. Lady Shiva sulked away, dejectedly.
“Get my advisor his robes,” Ra’s ordered. Talia nodded quickly, and jogged off.
“I knew you would be able to win, Khafaash,” Ra’s smiled, “Never did a doubt enter my mind.”
“Thank you for your faith, my lord,” Khafaash smiled back.
Talia reappeared, holding the red robe that belonged to the advisor to Ra’s al Ghul. Khafaash was the advisor now.
14 YEARS AGO…
Bruce glanced up to the tall man. The man had sunken cheeks, and dark, misted eyes. His skin was sun-dried and dusty. His nose hooked down over the black hair that sprouted from under his nostrils, and curved under his mouth, dipping off of his chin. Gray bushes of hair stuck out from the sides of his head, cloaking a gash on his left ear. Faded scars covered his battered face, and crawled over his puckered lips.
The man wore a green robe, with golden shoulder plates. Rings decorated his pencil-thin fingers, and they sparkled despite the low light. At his side was a sword that hung limp, nearly scraping the rocky floor.
“Stand,” the man ordered, speaking in Arabic. Bruce took his knee off of the ground, and stood face to face with the man. Well, not exactly. The man was slightly taller, so Bruce had to tip his head up.
The man’s eyes softened, and his ancient lips curled into a smile.
“Do not look so… uptight,” the man advised. Bruce nodded, and relaxed his tense shoulders. Or, he tried to. It was hard to calm down.
Bruce Wayne was a twenty-year-old man, but he felt like a child. He was speaking with a man over one thousand years old.
Ra’s al Ghul.
“Come, Khafaash,” Ra’s said in a voice that seemed all-too-smooth for a man as old as he, “Rise.”
Ra’s exited the cave they were standing in. Bruce breathed in. Out. In. Out. His chest raised and lowered, stretching and shrinking scars.
He had been training with Ra’s al Ghul, with the League of Assassins, for two years. Those two years had changed him. Gone were the days of chasing women with his friend Ozzy and Tommy (at age 16, nonetheless!). Gone were the days of spending money frivolously to fill the void that the death of his parents had created. Gone were the days of comfort. Of security.
Now were the days of strength. Resilience. Purpose. Life.
Bruce tightened the cloth that helped keep up the baggy black pants up to his waist. He rubbed his hands together, and exited the cage.
“KHA-FAA-SH!” the crowd chanted together, “KHA-FAA-SH!”
Khafaash. That was his name. Here, Bruce Wayne did not exist. Only Khafaash. Arabic for “Bat”. Khafaash. Huh-fuh-huh-sheh was the pronunciation.
Why Khafaash? Why Bat? Bruce (Khafaash, not Bruce- only Khafaash) wondered the same thing. Maybe a superstition. Bats had been involved in every part of his life. From when he wandered off too far into the forest near his house, and followed to a bat home. Or when bats swirled overhead as his parents dropped dead. Or when he had left Gotham, and had been sent off with a fleet of bats. It seemed fitting that bats would be a part of this life.
Khafaash (or was he Bruce, deep down?) stared up at the crowd around him. The sun blasted his retinas, and he squinted. The crowd came into focus. Robed individuals with no discernible features cheered him on. His foot dragged across a white line of chalk, that traced a rectangle over the rugged terrain. At the other end of the battlefield sat Ra’s al Ghul. He was propped up on his glittering throne, with his sword lying across his lap. On both sides of him were women.
One woman, his daughter, Talia al Ghul, was gorgeous. Her acorn hair was pulled back into a delicate braid, while a crown made on woven gold sat on her head. Not even a hint of scar was noticeable anywhere on her exposed, tan skin. A red robe fell from her shoulders to her feet, leaving only her hands in the open.
The other woman was Lady Shiva. Her jet black hair was also pulled back, into a simple ponytail. She had a black cloth pulled around her slim figure, and the same baggy pants that Khafaash (bruce… bruce was still there… somewhere...) wore.
Ra’s held up his hand, and the spectators hushed. Without making a sound, he slid a golden ring off of his finger. The golden threads snaked around a golden gem in the middle. He held the ring out in his palm. Lady Shiva slipped it onto her left ring finger. A symbol of marriage. In this case, the marriage was not a marriage of love, but of power. Lady Shiva was the advisor of Ra’s al Ghul. Bruce (NO! KHAFAASH, NOT BRUCE!) was battling for that position. Ra’s requested it himself, but due to ancient League traditions, the spot must be won. Ra’s nearly forced Khafaash into this spot.
Ra’s let his hand rest, and Lady Shiva crossed the barrier of chalk. Khafaash pressed his palms together, and bowed respectfully. Lady Shiva didn’t fidget.
Khafaash sprinted at Lady Shiva with the speed of a wolf. He kicked off of a boulder, and threw a punch downwards.
PRESENT…
Klak! Swick! Thik!
Damian got to his feet shakily. It was hard to believe that only a few months ago this boy had showed up on Bruce Wayne’s doorstep, not an ounce over seventy pounds. Now, muscles roped around his bones. His hair was cut short, and pushed forward.
Bruce was sparring with him, using the same Escrima sticks that Dick Grayson used to use. Dick Grayson was… well, Bruce didn’t know where he was.
Damian readied his sticks, and swung at Bruce’s head. Bruce bent at the waist, letting the stick zoom right above his nose. He snapped back to a standing position, planning to headbutt Damian. He did not, however, account for Damian’s shortness. His head flew right over Damian, and Damian used the opportunity to flip Bruce over by his legs.
“Seven hundred ninety-six wins me, one win you,” Bruce grumbled, getting up off of the ground.
“Another round!” Damian demanded. His blue eyes seemed dim in the pale light of the Batcave.
The Batcave wasn’t as fancy as many of Batman’s allies believed. It was simply a hollowed cave with a platform beneath a huge computer and a place for the Batmobile and the Batplane. Tim sat at the computer, running a simulation about the relationship shared by time, space, and the fabric between.
“I need a break,” Bruce said.
“What? You cannot take lose?” Damian asked in broken english.
“I’ve taken plenty,” Bruce retorted. He walked up behind Tim.
“Enjoying your training?” Tim asked, without taking his eyes off of the screen.
“Didn’t you hear? The boy took me down.”
Bruce twinged in guilt when he called Damian “the boy”. He wasn’t any old boy. He was…
“Improving,” Tim mused. Well, yes, he was improving. But he was also…
“Hungry,” Damian said, twirling the Escrima sticks. He wasn’t the greatest English speaker. One word sentences were common.
Damian was improving, and hungry. Neither of those were as important as the fact that he was…
Damian Wayne. And Damian al Ghul.
Whaaaaaaaaat?
Crazy.
Three months ago, Damian Wayne, or Damian al Ghul, depending on who you asked, appeared on the steps to Wayne Manor. He was a fugitive, fleeing the League of Assassins. The same place his father, Bruce Wayne, had trained many years ago. He was the son of Ra’s al Ghul, and the Heir to the Demon.
Now, there is an explanation needed here. Ra’s al Ghul was not a person. Ra’s al Ghul was never a person. Ra’s al Ghul was a title. The title for the leader of the League of Assassins. When Bruce had trained with the League, Ra’s al Ghul had been a man. Now, Ra’s al Ghul was a woman, who was the old Ra’s daughter, Talia.
Still following?
Talia al Ghul bore a son, the child of Bruce Wayne. She had raised him secretly, never revealing to Bruce that he had ever been conceived. Bruce had abandoned her, and the League. He was busy saving Gotham as Batman. He had no need for her or Damian.
She brought up Damian without telling him about his father. She lied, and told him he was a valiant warrior who had died. And in her heart, that was true. She had loved Khafaash, not Bruce Wayne. Bruce killed Khafaash in an internal battle. Damian grew up in a reborn League of Assassins- one that worked even more covertly than the original League. He trained with his sister, Nyssa, whose father was a man named Henri Ducard.
His relationship with Nyssa was strained, to say the least. According to League rules, the title of Ra’s al Ghul would pass to the eldest child, being Damian. Nyssa desired the title. The only way for her to come into the throne would be through Damian’s death. Obviously, she could not outright kill her own brother. It would be treasonous. But she never stopped trying to weaken him. Ra’s had tried to keep the peace, but it was futile.
The tensions between Damian and Nyssa only increased when they learned that Talia was dying. The Lazarus Pits that had kept Talia alive had ceased their magic. For months, they searched for reason, only to find nothing. No logic. It was simply Talia’s time.
Talia passed. Damian was crowned Ra’s al Ghul, while Nyssa stood idly by, riddled with hatred.
One day, when assigning missions, Damian came across the profile of Wayne, Bruce T. He felt some sort of unexplained connection, and researched him further, eventually stumbling upon the fact that he was his father.
Damian was furious. A hole in his life had been a lie all along. His father was still alive, and had no clue he existed. Talia had hid this from him. Damian’s trust in the League vanished. If he could not trust his mother, who could he trust? No one, he decided, and set off to find Bruce Wayne. That was five months ago. It had taken two months to get to Bruce Wayne.
The trek was difficult. He had been pursued by assassins, sent by Nyssa. Since he was now technically a deserter, Nyssa had a reason to kill him. Damian finally made it to Wayne Manor, and (in butchered English) explained everything to Bruce.
It had taken Bruce a while to adjust to the fact that he had a son. Really, he still wasn’t adjusted. Batman wasn’t meant to have a son. There was no way he could effectively be a father and Batman at the same time. Luckily, Damian had the makings of the next Robin. Small and spry, quick and strong. He was perfect. Tim gave him the go ahead, and Bruce began training Damian.
It was somewhat of a spiritual rebirth for Bruce. The whole ordeal with Scarecrow had been all about how everyone close to him seemed to get hurt in some way. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. He wouldn’t fail Damian. He wouldn’t fail his own son.
Either way, Damian would have needed to train. Nyssa was coming after him. And she was out for blood.
14 YEARS AGO…
Lady Shiva’s hand shot up over her head, and snatched Khafaash’s fist. She flicked it over, and sent Khafaash to the ground.
Khafaash got to his feet, only to be met with a heel to the face. He reeled backwards as blood sprayed from his nose. Lady Shiva sprung off the ground, and slammed her calf down over Khafaash’s skull.
Khafaash’s world swirled. The rocks around him folded in on themselves. Lady Shiva swaggered toward him, and held her hand rigid, ready for a finishing chop. Khafaash shook his head, and the rocks simmered back into place. He groped a rock, and tugged. It tore out of the ground, and he hurled it at Lady Shiva’s chest.
A loud thud filled the still air of the arena. The use of rocks was a dirty move. Ra’s smiled.
Khafaash began to kickbox with Lady Shiva, until Lady Shiva leaned forward to strike a blow to Khafaash’s neck. Khafaash put a hand around his neck, and gasped for air. Lady Shiva spun in the air, giving her momentum, and landed a clean blow on Khafaash’s cheek.
Khafaash spun a bit himself, but it was out of dizziness, not malice. He collapsed, and Lady Shiva went to town on him. She rained punches on his bare back. She hoisted him into the air. The crowd snickered.
“This is who you desire as your advisor, Ra’s al Ghul?” Lady Shiva asked, incredulously, “This boy? I am his superior.”
Khafaash felt a growling sensation in his throat. But he emitted no sound. He let his elbow fly back and hit Lady Shiva in the crease between her breasts. She winced, and loosened her grip momentarily. He whipped around, and put her in a headlock
“I am no boy,” Khafaash whispered into her ear, “I am Khafaash. Advisor to Ra’s al Ghul.”
Lady Shiva pawed at his arm to no avail. Her cheeks swelled and turned purple, until she patted the ground, ashamed. Khafaash let his arm go limp, and Lady Shiva heaved loudly, trying to regain her breath.
Khafaash turned to Ra’s al Ghul in all his glory, and bowed. Ra’s let out a soft chuckle, signaling that it was okay for the rest of the crowd to make noise once more.
The crowd erupted in both cheers and jeers. Lady Shiva sulked away, dejectedly.
“Get my advisor his robes,” Ra’s ordered. Talia nodded quickly, and jogged off.
“I knew you would be able to win, Khafaash,” Ra’s smiled, “Never did a doubt enter my mind.”
“Thank you for your faith, my lord,” Khafaash smiled back.
Talia reappeared, holding the red robe that belonged to the advisor to Ra’s al Ghul. Khafaash was the advisor now.