Damian Wayne: Dark Son Chapter 38: Descent.

Chapter 38: Descent.

(General Pov)

Mount Justice was silent but not still.

The old League headquarters had long been abandoned, stripped of tech, purpose, and hope. What remained was concrete, steel, and shadow—perfect for what they had in mind.

Damian stood in the center of the training chamber, blood already crusting on his brow. Across from him, Lady Shiva stood relaxed, arms at her sides, yet radiating menace. Batman was at the control station, cueing in the next round of training drones.

Shiva said nothing. Just moved.

Her strike was a blur. Damian didn’t react fast enough.

The blow landed squarely in his gut. He collapsed.

“Get up.”

He did.

And so continued the trial.

No sleep. No food. Not until he landed five consecutive hits on Shiva, even while being hunted by combat drones firing stun blasts and delivering crushing blows. Every time he failed, the count reset.

The purpose of the training was to ingraine the decades long experience Dragon had into Damian's instincts. That meant forcing his body to adapt to omnipresent danger all without using his powers, a rush and harsh endeavor impossible for anyone else...except him.

By the end of Day One, he was limping. By Day Two, he was crawling. His knuckles split open. His lips bled from biting back screams.

On the third day, just before dawn, he landed five hits in a row. Shiva stopped. Her eyes didn’t show approval—only recognition.

“You’ve earned a meal,” she said.

They gave him a protein bar. A cot.

He slept for thirty minutes.

Then the nightmares began.

Cassandra screaming. Cassandra fading. Her Chi being ripped away piece by piece while he stood frozen, broken.

He woke up soaked in sweat, heart pounding.

He didn’t ask for more sleep. He asked for harder training. His body could handle it. And even if it failed, his spirit would endure. That was his mindset. That was his hope.

Day Four escalated.

Now, the drones came armed with blades. Plasma knives. Damian couldn’t afford to get nicked. Not even once.

Day Five brought bullets.

Real ones.

The drones fired in controlled bursts, and Damian had to survive them with nothing but his Ashura aura and movement. As if that wasn’t enough, Batman activated siphon nodes and energy wave disruptors around the chamber—machines that pulled at the Ashura energy inside him, weakening him with every second.

“You have to control the pain,” Batman said from the booth, a notable edge of concern in his voice. “Don’t let it consume you Damian. Acknowledge it's presence and focus through it. I know you can, son.”

Damian didn’t respond. His eyes were bloodshot. His feet dragged. But he kept moving.

Day Six broke him.

Literally.

Hand stuck in the chasis of a combat drone while surrounded by the metal remains of even more, he reacted too late as another drone struck him mid-dash. He skidded across the floor, coughing up blood. One arm was limp. His aura dimmed as his Ashura reserves reached an all time low.

He collapsed.

Shiva didn’t move to help. She watched him.

Batman did. He stepped into the chamber, glaring at Shiva.

“I told you he was not ready.”

“He will be,” Shiva answered. “You interrupted.”

“You’re going to kill him.”

“If that’s the price—”

“He’s MY son!”

Their voices were knives scraping metal. Damian tried to shut them out, but something inside him snapped. Maybe it was annoyance, maybe stress.

He screamed.

Ashura energy exploded out from him in every direction.

The room shattered.

Lights burst. Drones were obliterated mid-air. Siphon nodes melted into slag. Even the reinforced walls cracked under the force.

And then—

Silence.

Damian lay unconscious, chest rising and falling, his body steaming like molten iron cooled too fast.

When his eyes opened 10 hours later, everything felt different.

Sharper. Stronger.

Alive.

He sat up slowly, wincing. Around him, the chamber was a wreck—walls scorched, machines torn apart, floor cratered beneath where he had lain.

Batman stood a few feet away, eyes narrowed. Shiva watched him as if reevaluating something sacred.

Damian’s voice came out hoarse. “What… happened?”

“You did,” Shiva answered simply.

Before anyone could say more, the comm unit crackled.

Jason’s voice, serious, urgent: “We’ve got a situation. You need to get back. Now.”

Damian stood. Bones creaked. Muscles burned.

But he was done breaking.

Now, it was Dragon’s turn.

-

When Damian stepped out of the Batwing, his legs were steady—too steady. A week ago, he’d have called it resolve. Now, he knew it was survival instinct barely holding together scorched nerves and aching bones. Shiva walked beside him, posture regal, silent as always. Batman was just ahead, already removing his gloves as they descended into the heart of the Batcave.

The lights hummed to life in sequence, revealing the familiar gothic underbelly of Wayne Manor. But today, it felt... different.

Batgirl was already there, pacing in front of the main console. The second she saw them, she turned. “We found him.”

Damian froze mid-step. “Where?”

Batgirl tilted her head. “Let me back up. Credit goes to Jason.”

Jason, lounging against the edge of the Batmobile, raised a hand in greeting. “You’re welcome.”

Damian glanced at Nightwing and Red Robin, both standing at the briefing table. The former gave a nod. The latter didn't even bother. Red Robin's arms were crossed, mouth set in a flat line, his eyes barely hiding the contempt when they landed on Damian.

Figures.

Nightwing spoke up. “We’ve been checking everything. Alleys, hidden chambers, sewer maps from the 1800s—even Blüdhaven. Nothing.”

Jason pushed off the car, walking over. “But then I remembered something Dragon said...”

He paused long enough to make everyone wait for it. Damian’s fingers twitched.

Jason smirked. “He said there were two Lazarus Pits in Gotham.”

Damian blinked. “We found one under Arkham.”

“Exactly.” Jason nodded. “So I thought, what if he wasn’t just lucky? What if he knew where the second one was—or worse, had been trying to dig it out?”

Batgirl stepped in, already pulling up maps on the Batcave’s main display. “Jason talked to one of his contacts in city infrastructure. Said there’ve been weird tunnel sightings popping up over the last year—deep, narrow, like someone was drilling beneath the city but didn’t finish the job.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “We would've caught that.”

“We did,” Barbara countered. “But it looked like erosion. Water damage. No one flagged it.”

“Until now,” Jason said.

Barbara pulled up a layered model of Gotham’s underground topography. “We started cross-referencing those tunnels with old layouts, League of Assassins activity, ancient catacombs—basically anywhere a Lazarus Pit could be.”

Damian took a step forward, eyeing the model. “Wait. Are you saying Richard Dragon is hiding where the second Lazarus Pit is?”

The room went still for a beat.

Then Barbara nodded. “That’s the theory.”

Damian slapped his palm into his fist. “Then where is it?”

Jason laughed, not the mocking kind—but it had that edge. “That’s the best part, D.”

He stepped forward, tapped a blinking red dot on the hologram.

“You’re standing on it.”

Silence.

Shiva arched an eyebrow. Nightwing turned his head slowly toward Bruce, who didn’t move.

Damian stared at the floor. “The second Lazarus Pit… is beneath the Batcave?”

Jason crossed his arms, grinning just a little. “Right under our feet.”

Batgirl flicked through a few more holograms. “Hidden. Shielded maybe. Could’ve been sealed off generations ago. But it’s there. The exotic radiation given off by the pool's chemical composition almost perfectly matches with the topographic data. It all lines up.”

Red Robin scoffed quietly under his breath.

Damian ignored him. He looked at Bruce. “Did you know?”

“No,” Bruce answered, jaw clenched. “But I should have.”

Damian’s eyes flicked to the cave ceiling, then back to the floor beneath them. “He’s under here. Watching. Waiting.”

Shiva placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder—not for comfort, but restraint. “Then we move carefully. We prepare.”

Damian nodded once, fists tightening at his sides. “Then let’s finish this.”

Later on, Damian stood beside Cassandra’s bed. No words. No movement. Just silence.

Her breathing was faint, shallow. Tubes ran from her arms, the soft rhythm of machines the only sound in the room. Even unconscious, she looked like she was fighting— sunken jaws slightly clenched, brows furrowed.

He sat down next to her and stayed.

He didn’t move when the others called for another strategy session. Didn’t answer when Jason dropped by with a sandwich and left it untouched. Didn’t sleep—not really. Just sat there, staring. Waiting.

He didn’t need rest. He needed to fight.

But they’d convinced him to wait. Shiva. Batman. Even Jason. Barbara's drones were still scanning the underground layer beneath the Batcave. The map wasn’t complete. Charging in blind would be suicide.

So he stayed.

Hours passed.

At some point, the moon fell, and morning light bled through the windows, crawling across the floor like a slow reminder that time hadn’t stopped.

Damian jolted awake, grabbing the wrist of someone reaching toward him.

Shiva smiled. “Still sharp.”

He let go.

She was holding a blade.

Long. Balanced. Familiar. Unique. Cassandra’s.

“She’d want you to have this,” Shiva said.

Damian blinked the sleep from his eyes and slowly took the stylized katana.

The weight was right. The grip molded to his palm.

He looked once more at Cassandra, then whispered, “I’m going to kick his ass. You’ll see.”

Then they left. It was time.

The Batcave was alive with quiet motion. The team stood on the edge of a massive open shaft cut into the floor—350 meters straight down. Carved rock. Darkness.

Drone lights glimmered down the hole like artificial stars.

Batgirl stood at the front, tablet in hand. “Drones made it 200 meters before radiation interference kicked in. That leaves 150 we do blind. No visuals. No telemetry.”

Jason grunted. “That’s comforting.”

Batgirl handed out specialized zipline guns to the group. Nightwing holstered his. Robin clipped his to his belt with a scowl. When she reached Damian, he just looked at the gear.

“Don’t need it.”

Then, without another word, he stepped off the edge.

Robin cursed. “You idiot—!”

But Damian didn’t fall.

A black cloak opened like wings at his back- tattoo constructs, slowing his descent.

Jason laughed under his breath. “Show-off.”

Batgirl sighed. “We’re following him, right?”

“Obviously,” Nightwing said, already hooking up his line.

Shiva dropped, also without a zipline gun followed by Batman and the Batfamily, one by one into the unknown, after the boy who had already vanished into the dark.

350 meters down, Richard Dragon was waiting.

And this time, Damian was ready.