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Damian groaned. It was very much an involuntary sound as showing weakness like that was.. Well a weakness he usually didn’t suffer. His thoughts flitted through his brain the same way one flits through a deep, muddy marsh, They didn’t. It was a struggle to pull up any useful information. Where was he? Captured, he thinks. What was the last thing he remembers? Like a dream, he couldn’t pull up where he had been before waking in… in midair.
He tried to move, descend, anything really, and managed a rather pitiful attempt, the sturdy chain dangling him not budging almost at all. His arms did not move from his sides either. Restraints. What a fool he had been for not even considering that his abductors would do the thing all abductors do. Even that thought was more of a soft poke than the stabbing chastisement it should have been.
Damian vaguely registered multiple people talking in unison and a single voice at a lower volume. The sound of that one kept punching Damian’s ears, as if the violence would somehow unleash his burdened thoughts so that he may fully regain his senses. It was just worsening the dull throb of whatever had caused him unconsciousness.
“Damian.” He loathed whoever was calling out his name. They could give him a moment to compose himself on his own. Certainly if it was one of his brothers, they’d know that yelling at him would make a concussion worse.
“Damian.” It was more of a whisper than he thought. Perhaps he was too quick to judge.
“Ngh.” It was supposed to be a ‘no,’ as he wanted whichever brother was calling him to leave him to his own devices while they took care of the threat. Oh well, his hearing and sight was clearing a bit now, so he should probably assist them. No doubt they needed it.
Though everything was still blurry he managed to turn his head in the direction of the voice. Judging by the size of the white and black blur of the man, it was Dick. But the white concerned Damian. He managed to squint a little, barely making out that Dick had been stripped to his white underclothes, his Nightwing gear nowhere in sight.
A sense of alarm ran through Damian and he quickly glanced at Dick’s face, the rapid eye movement sending stabbing pains that he ignored. His domino was still on.
Damian sighed in relief. He may also be in underclothes, stripped of his Corax gear, but at least they had not connected the Waynes to the city’s vigilantes. That was when Damian started to realize who ‘they’ were.
“The Darkest Hand” was a very efficient magical cult in Bludhaven, Gotham, and several other sister cities. The bat clan had been following them, had tried infiltration, and still had been coming up short.
Now, several of their members were standing around an altar, partially obscuring it as Damian’s vision finally settled to ‘sufficient,’ and chanting. The words they spoke were unfamiliar to Damian, but they settled in his bones like an enemy he so dearly missed.
The members filed orderly out of the summoning circle, excluding an older man that stood behind it facing Damian. The members clearing gave Damian a good look at who was on the altar. A child. Black hair, clearly several years younger than Damian, maybe fifteen or sixteen. His face was turned away, so Damian focused elsewhere. There were burn scars on his exposed shoulders and he was dressed in a similar tank top and shorts, but black.
Damian got a brief glimpse of a domino as the kid stirred. Echo. It was his apprentice - no matter how much Bruce wanted to claim Echo was as much his as the other previous robins. No, this kid snuck up on HIM on patrol. He may have asked to ‘join the bats,’ but he was Damian’s. He was never a Robin.
It was an odd thing to see his apprentice without his usual medieval knight inspired bat armor. It was terrifying to see the kid that none of them could touch in practice and had never been hurt on patrol was unconscious on a stone slab being prepared as a sacrifice. For that is surely what he was as the man behind him raised an ornate knife high above the kid’s chest, chanting louder.
Damian screamed, voice entwining with Echo’s pained wail, as the dagger sunk into his heart and the cultists stopped their chanting.
It was utterly silent for a moment as the dagger sunk into his disciple, disappearing into his chest as toxic green light emanated outwards. When the dagger was fully swallowed the wound closed over it and the light. Echo’s eyes glowing brightly even through the darkened edges of the mask.
Damian had missed the cultist leaving the circle, but not the altar being absorbed into the floor and the marks glowing the same green creating the containment of the circle. Echo’s body did not follow it. It levitated where it was, completely still, unlike Dick who was swinging in a desperate attempt to get the thick chain holding them to swing far enough to reach the boy.
‘Echo’ floats, tilting to right himself in midair. His eyes glancing over Damian, sending a shudder through him, removing the aforementioned discomfort. When the cultist spoke, Echo’s attention was drawn to them, and he frowned.
Time had already stopped for Damian. He had already stopped hearing Tim and Dick screaming at his sides, his headache - concussion - was still throbbing in his skull but he had stopped noticing it when Echo’s domino slipped, seemingly unable to bare the death magic radiating off his body, while look straight at him and Damian recognized him even further.
It was impossible not to recognize Danny’s, as Duke would put it “iconic,” bangs. The wavering light of the circle did not sufficiently hide the newest Wayne’s high cheekbones and chin sharp as a knife.
Even though Damian had been thoroughly avoiding the kid, trying not to upset the delicate balance of ‘safety’ as outlined in the ghost king’s deal of providing the kid safe shelter, it was literally impossible not to recognize him. How had he not already noticed Danny’s lighthearted personality in the ever-goofy meta? How had he never noticed Danny had meta abilities? Had anyone else?
“High King Pariah Dark,” The cultist bowed low with his hands out, his deep voice filled with awe. “If your eminence would have us, we, your humble servants, have worked tirelessly to free you from your sarcophagus.”
The being’s smile was almost cruel on Danny’s face, mocking them, mocking Damian. It leaned down towards them, chin resting on his relaxed fist.
“Old Pariah can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Cause he’s dead!”