Damian Wayne: Dark Son Chapter 42: The Final Conflict.

Chapter 42: The Final Conflict.

(General P.O.V.)

Damian’s heel slammed against the jagged tunnel wall, a shockwave cracking stone as he propelled himself forward.

His heart hammered, each beat pumping adrenaline fused with Ashura through his veins, a boiling current that reinforced tendon and bone. His grip tightened on the twin Tattoo blades, their scarlet edge glowing with an unsteady, hungry light. He slashed upward in a clean, direct cut aimed at Richard’s neck.

Richard met the strike without hesitation. His palms, sheathed in luminous green energy, angled inward like hooks. The block was perfect, sharp, insectoid in precision—Damian recognized the form instantly. Mantis technique.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

The clash rang like iron against iron, each blow driving sparks and fragments of rock from the tunnel walls.

Crimson and emerald streaks cut through the darkness, zig-zagging in deadly bursts. The air quaked with every impact, and chunks of earth broke free overhead, collapsing into the void below as the fight surged forward.

A final impact blasted them apart. Damian skidded back against the rough stone floor, while Richard hovered effortlessly in the air, suspended by wings of corrupted green energy that stretched out like a grotesque imitation of a celestial being.

Damian’s eyes narrowed.

Richard looked down at him with a sneer, voice calm, mocking.

“Your martial skill has grown sharper, Damian. A week ago, you couldn’t have left even a scratch on me.”

Damian’s gaze flicked to Richard’s forearms. Shallow wounds crisscrossed the hardened skin, remnants of the Tattoo blades’ strikes. They bled for only a breath before sealing shut, green vapors curling around them like stitches made of poison.

Richard flexed his hands and spread his arms wide. “But in the end, it makes no difference. You can read me. You can even touch me. But match this?” He gestured at himself, at the monstrous form. “Never. The Raksasha body adapts. Changes. Becomes whatever it needs to be. Tell me, Damian—what is a boy with a borrowed horn compared to a true demon?”

Damian answered without words.

He shifted his stance, pressing one foot into the shattered floor before vaulting upward in a spinning motion. His blades carved crescents of Ashura light as he twisted, the arcs slicing through the air like thrown scythes, eager to reap Richard's life.

The tunnel walls shrieked in protest as his strikes cut through stone. Dust cascaded downward in choking waves, fragments of debris falling into the hollow levels below.

Damian shut his eyes.

The world dimmed, the colors stripped away until only muted shades of gray remained. Through that silence, his Alpha Instinct spread outward like ripples in still water. He felt everything. The Lazarus cave behind him, where Batman and the others fought to finish off the last of the Batalons. The churn of water below the cave entrance. The pulse of the underground itself, breathing with heat and pressure.

But there was no sign of Richard. Not above in the vertical shute. Not in the tunnel. Not even in the air.

Damian’s horns vibrated violently, every nerve in his body seizing in warning. His eyes snapped open just as a blazing sphere of green light broke through the dust above him. It wasn’t simply chi. It was a monstrous fusion—lava, ice, lightning, water, air—all blended into a condensed sun falling straight for him.

His chest tightened. If it detonated, everyone in the cavern would die.

The Tattoo blades vanished from his hands as Damian brought his palms together. Ashura surged, burning scarlet fire tearing across his tattoos as his voice broke into a guttural yell.

Black ink poured from his skin. It bled outward, molding, shaping, forming a massive demon construct that towered fifty meters high. Veins of crimson laced across its inky body, pulsing like arteries, its bulk solidifying into armor thick enough to crush mountains.

Inside its core, Damian floated weightless, fused into its very being.

“Ashura… Ultimate.”

The giant construct reached upward and caught the descending sphere. Heat and cold licked across its fingers in equal measure, lightning running down its arms as the weight of the sun threatened to tear it apart. In the same motion, it plunged its hand over the edge, into the underground water below the cave entrance.

Then the world erupted.

The elemental sphere detonated in a cataclysm that shook the bedrock. Stone ceilings fractured. Cavern walls crumbled. The water roared upward like a breached dam.

Damian’s creation screamed without a voice as its hand dissolved, eaten away by Raksasha energy embedded in the sphere.

The corruption quickly spread, veins of green tearing through the crimson-ebony shell, gnawing deeper with every heartbeat.

Damian made the decision in an instant. He severed the corrupted arm before the Raksasha energy could devour the rest. The loss sent shockwaves through his own body, pain so sharp he barely realized he was screaming until his throat cracked.

The backlash hurled him back through shattered rock, tattoos burning away in strips across his chest and shoulders.

When the dust and light cleared, a quarter of his Ashura reserves were gone. Permanently.

The Ashura Ultimate crumbled into smoke. Damian dropped to his knees, clutching Cassandra’s blade into the ground to keep himself upright. His left arm was gone from the shoulder down, blood dripping onto the scorched earth. The drawback had hit with merciless precision—every injury the Ashura Ultimate suffered, his flesh bore in kind.

He breathed in ragged bursts. Green fire smoldered around him, clinging to the ground where the giant’s hand had dissolved.

The unnatural weeds and vegetation caught, burning not into ash but into streams of twisted red and green smoke. The smoke curled upward, sucked into the air above.

Damian raised his head.

Richard was descending through that smoke. His body trembled as though in ecstasy, lips curling in satisfaction. The wings of corrupted chi flared wider behind him.

“The taste of your Ashura…” Richard exhaled, shivering. “Even better than I imagined.”

Damian struggled to rise. He barely pushed one foot under himself before Richard extended his hand. Spikes of crimson-green light shot down like nails, piercing through Damian’s limbs and slamming him flat against the earth.

The pain was unlike any wound. The spikes weren’t just steel—they were made of his own Ashura energy, twisted and stolen, now turned against him.

His muscles burned, nerves fried, every breath caught in a howl he couldn’t hold back.

Richard raised two fingers and snapped. Raksasha energy surged through the spikes, flooding Damian’s body. Veins of green fire traced across his skin, spreading outward until they covered his chest and neck. He coughed once, and black blood spilled across his lips.

Richard's head tilted, voice low, deliberate. His eyes gleamed with manic certainty.

“You’re confused, of course. You don’t yet understand what this battle really is.”

Damian tried to wrench himself free. The spikes only dug deeper, sending fire through his bones.

Richard wisely stayed out of immediate reach; a few meters away, frustrating the Alpha to no end.

“This is not the first time, Damian. It has never been the first. The Ashura and the Raksasha are not mere demons. They are ideologies given flesh. Opposites bound to clash, again and again.”

He gestured with a hand, the smoke curling toward him, feeding into his chest.

“Long ago, we were Generals of the Demon God. When he was destroyed by the Archangels, the throne lay empty. And we—Ashura and Raksasha—fought for it. You, the Alpha without a pack, who cultivated strength alone until no horde could overwhelm you. And me, the shifting hunger, the devourer who adapted to every form, every change.”

Damian spat blood, but his glare never broke.

Richard smiled, almost fondly. “Time and time again we danced. And every time, I lost. Every century, I was cut down, and then you followed, and our spirits slept until the birth of a suitable hosts. Doomed to meet again. Doomed to fight again.” His voice sharpened. “But now, that cycle ends. For no Raksasha before me has been as blessed as I am. Once I devour you—once I claim your Ashura—I will transcend.”

His eyes burned green fire into Damian’s own.

“I will become the Demon God of Combat. The throne will be mine at last.”

Richard pressed his hand harder against the spike, forcing more energy into Damian’s body until his skin split along the veins.

“Don’t look at me with such hate, boy. I’m only taking your life. In return… your Ashura spirit will live on in me. Part of a god.”

Damian’s body was failing him.

The Raksasha energy crawled deeper, twisting into his veins, threading through his tattoos, forcing his own Ashura to turn against him. Every breath scorched, every heartbeat pounded with the weight of corruption. His arms shook violently against the spikes.

Richard’s voice carried down like a verdict.

“Don’t fight it. The Refining hurts more when you resist. Let go. At least with your death, our endless cycle dies too. You should look at the bright side. Helena’s body was useful for this very technique—you should be thankful to her. I certainly am.”

Damian’s jaw clenched. His voice rasped from between bloodied teeth.

“You’re a piece of shit. You’ll pay… for Cassandra. For Helena.”

His fury rose, a last blaze of Ashura surging through his body. It flared brilliantly for a second—then sputtered out, leaving only more of Richard’s corruption embedded in his flesh. His head drooped, sweat running into the dirt.

Richard’s steps echoed as he approached closer and crouched, calm and steady to meet Damian’s half-lidded glare.

“Everything I’ve done was necessary. Helena’s death wasn’t what I wanted—but if I had another option, I would’ve taken it. You should blame her weakness, Damian. And blame your own weakness, too. Too weak to save her and Cassandra. Too weak to stop me.”

Damian’s body tensed, breath ragged.

Richard's tone changed to something almost soft.

“We’ve been here before, you on your knees, broken. But do you know the difference this time? I won’t be sparing you, kid. This is the end. And it’s time you understood the gap between us.”

Damian chuckled. Low at first, then sharper.

“Gap? What gap?”

Before Richard could react, Damian’s tattoos burst alive. Black chains of ink lashed outward, wrapping around Richard’s arms and torso, binding him mid-motion. Damian jerked forward, grabbed Richard by the head, and yanked him close.

The spikes pinning his limbs suddenly erupted outward, reversing their flow. Ashura lances drove into Richard’s chest and shoulders.

Richard’s eyes widened. “What—”

Then his smirk returned. “Doesn’t matter. My regeneration—”

The thought cut off in a scream. Damian’s teeth sank into his neck. Ashura flooded into Richard’s veins like molten lava, burning a path through every channel of chi in his body. Richard fell to the ground convulsing, claws raking uselessly against the stone as his wings shattered into fragments of green smoke.

Damian pulled himself to his feet. The spikes dissolved back into pure Ashura, surging into his body, stitching his wounds with crimson light. He wiped the blood from his mouth and stared down at Richard.

“You’re confused why you can’t use your chi, aren’t you? That heat in your veins… it’s my Ashura. Eating you alive.”

Richard’s eyes went wide in shock. Then narrowed, seething with rage.

Damian chuckled darkly. “Don’t glare at me like that. This is your fault. You got cocky. You told me everything I needed to know. Now it's my turn to monologue.”

He touched his forehead, where a faint glow began to form. His second horn pushed through, sharp and clear.

“My first horn warns me of danger. My second?” His grin was sharp. “It amplifies my control over Ashura. When you stole my energy, the horn resonated with it. All I had to do was get you close enough. The rest… was sabotage.”

Basically the Ashura in Dragon's body had turned into a deadly poison.

Richard froze, realization dawning too late.

“You didn’t lose because of fate,” Damian continued. “You lost because you pissed off an Alpha by going after his pack.”

Flames erupted from Richard’s skin. His body warped and crackled, consumed by red liquid fire that peeled away his form layer by layer. Still, his laughter carried through the blaze, wild and cracked.

“I’ll be back… Ashura…”

Damian’s boot came down hard on his head. Skull bone crunched. The laughter ended.

“No you won’t.”

Richard Dragon's burning body unraveled into a swirl of broken energies—raw chi stolen from countless lives, all unbound in his death. The mass of power rushed into Damian, dragging his breath from him as Cassandra’s Chi wrapped around her blade, glowing softly at his side. Dozens more flows pulsed inside him: ice, fire, steel, poison, voices of battles that weren’t his.

He staggered. Even with the second horn channeling control, he felt swollen to bursting, his core straining. One wrong slip and it would rip him apart.

So he sat down. Grounded himself. Focused on breathing.

That was when he heard the faint echo from deeper in the cave.

“Damian!” Jason’s voice, cutting through stone and smoke.

The others were leaving the Lazarus cave, calling his name.

He wiped the blood off his chin, forcing himself upright. His fight wasn’t over yet. He had Cassandra to save.