The fight that followed wasn't just about martial prowess—it was a battle for Damian’s soul. Every strike Bruce parried was a lesson in restraint; every lunging attack Damian made was a cry for independence. The Talon watched from the gargoyles, a puppet master waiting for the son to strike down the father to prove his worthiness to the Court.
"He offers what you won't, Father," Damian’s voice crackled over the comms. "Justice without the hesitation of your 'code'." The fight that followed wasn't just about martial
Gotham City was freezing, but the air in the Batcave was colder. Bruce Wayne watched the monitors, his eyes tracking a blur of red and green through the Narrows. Damian—his son, the current Robin—wasn't just fighting crime anymore; he was hunting. "He offers what you won't, Father," Damian’s voice
In the final moment, with his blade at Bruce’s throat, Damian saw his own reflection in the white lenses of the cowl. He saw the pain he was causing and the monster he was becoming. He lowered the sword. He lowered the sword.