Dawn broke over the monastery with fingers of orange light stretching across stone walls. Matt sat cross-legged on his sleeping mat, his few possessions already packed into a weathered duffle bag. After weeks of intense training, O-Sensei had declared him ready to leave, to carry his newfound control into the world beyond these mountains.
But Sandra Wu-San had other ideas.
She found him as he finished his morning meditation, her heartbeat steady with resolve. "Not leaving so soon, are you?"
Matt tilted his head, reading the subtle changes in her body chemistry. "That was the plan."
"Plans change," she replied, moving into his sparse room without invitation. "O-Sensei may believe you've completed your training, but I remain unconvinced."
A smile tugged at Matt's lips. Their sparring match on the ridge had ended decisively in his favor, yet Sandra's pride wouldn't allow her to acknowledge his superior skill. "What would convince you?"
"The Ten Tests," she said simply.
Matt stilled. During his time at the monastery, he'd heard whispers of these legendary trials, reserved for only the most promising students. Tests designed to push beyond physical limits into realms of endurance that bordered on the supernatural.
"O-Sensei hasn't mentioned them," he countered.
"He wouldn't. The Tests are administered only by those who have survived them."
Matt considered this new information, sensing no deception in Sandra's words. "And you've survived them?"
"Barely." For the first time since he'd met her, vulnerability colored her voice. "The Tests broke me, then rebuilt me stronger. They separate those who merely practice martial arts from those who embody them."
Matt rose to his feet, curious despite himself. "Why offer this to me?"
Sandra circled him slowly, her footsteps whisper-quiet on the stone floor. "Because talent without tempering is wasted potential. And because I want to see what you're truly capable of."
"You've seen what I can do."
"I've seen what you're willing to show." She stopped directly before him. "The Ten Tests will reveal what you hide, even from yourself."
Something in her words resonated with the part of Matt that had embraced the Beast's power at North Point. The part that had reveled in unleashing his full capabilities, consequences be damned.
"Does O-Sensei approve?" he asked.
"I've spoken with him. He leaves the choice to you."
Matt sensed the challenge beneath her offer. Despite defeating her in combat, he hadn't earned her respect. These Tests represented a chance to prove himself by her standards, not just O-Sensei's.
"When do we begin?"
Sandra's heartbeat quickened slightly with satisfaction. "Now."
.....
...
...
The First Test came without warning. As they walked toward a remote section of the monastery grounds, Sandra casually mentioned checking the stability of a particular stone bridge spanning a ravine.
Matt stepped onto the bridge first, only to have it collapse beneath him. He plummeted toward jagged rocks sixty feet below, his enhanced senses mapping the killing ground awaiting him.
Pure instinct took over. He twisted midair, fingers finding minute cracks in the ravine wall, slowing his descent with skin-shredding friction. Blood flowed freely from his hands as he clung to the vertical surface, but he pushed the pain aside, seeking fingerholds where none should exist.
Fifteen excruciating minutes later, he hauled himself back to solid ground, finding Sandra watching impassively.
"Test One: Survival," she said. "Most fail immediately."
Matt's bleeding hands flexed. "You could have warned me."
"Would danger warn you?" She turned away. "Clean yourself up. The Second Test begins at noon."
The Second Test proved equally devious. Sandra led him to a meditation chamber filled with dozens of identical cups. "Drink," she commanded, indicating the entire collection.
Matt sniffed carefully, detecting subtle poisons in nearly every cup. Some would cause paralysis, others hallucinations, a few potentially death. Only three cups contained pure water.
Using his enhanced senses, he identified the safe vessels and drank only those.
Sandra's disappointment was palpable. "Clever. But incomplete."
"The test was to drink safely," Matt argued.
"The test was to drink all of them," she corrected. "And survive."
Matt's jaw tightened. "That's impossible."
"Is it? Perhaps for ordinary humans." She stepped closer. "But you're not ordinary, are you, Matthew?"
The challenge hung between them, and Matt realized the true nature of these Tests. They weren't designed merely to assess his skills, but to force him to reveal the full extent of his abilities.
The Third Test began at sunset. Sandra led him to a chamber deep within the monastery where ancient iron braziers burned with unnatural blue flames.
"Remove your shirt," she instructed. When he complied, she produced a set of chains glowing red-hot from one of the fires. "These will be wrapped around your torso. You must bear them until they cool without making a sound."
Matt reached into himself, calling upon the Beast's power to heighten his pain tolerance. As the scorching metal touched his skin, agony bloomed like liquid fire across his chest. The smell of burning flesh filled the chamber.
He remained silent, even as his skin blackened and blistered, his jaw clenched so tightly he feared his teeth might crack. Time stretched impossibly as seconds became minutes, minutes became an eternity of controlled suffering.
When Sandra finally removed the chains, patches of Matt's skin came away with them.
"Impressive control," she acknowledged, genuine respect coloring her voice for the first time. "Few make it past this point."
Matt's breathing remained measured despite the devastating pain. "How many Tests have you personally administered?"
"You're the first," she admitted. "Most candidates are rejected by O-Sensei before reaching me."
That night, as Matt applied healing salves to his burns, he sensed Sandra watching him from the doorway.
"Why put yourself through this?" she asked unexpectedly. "You've already proven your skills in combat."
Matt considered the question, fingers tracing the raw wounds circling his torso. "Because mastery isn't just about winning fights."
"Then what is it about?"
"Understanding limits. Then transcending them...."
Sandra studied him with newfound curiosity. The young man before her defied what she's previously found to be typical. His blindness should have been a limitation, yet he moved with greater awareness than sighted masters. His youth suggested inexperience, yet he fought with the refined technique of someone who had spent decades honing his craft.
Most disturbing was how familiar he seemed with suffering. The burns would have broken most warriors, yet Matthew had endured them with a resigned acceptance that spoke of previous agonies.
"Rest," she finally said. "The Fourth Test begins at dawn."
Matt sensed her conflicted emotions, the professional assessment warring with personal fascination. "Will they all involve physical torture?"
"The Ten Tests challenge every aspect of a warrior. Body. Mind. Spirit." She hesitated, then added, "Sleep well, Matthew. You'll need your strength."
Dawn arrived with Sandra bearing a simple wooden cup. "Drink," she commanded.
Matt sniffed cautiously, detecting unfamiliar compounds. "What is it?"
"The Fourth Test. A vision quest that will force you to confront your deepest fears and regrets."
Matt took the cup, considering. The potion's scent suggested powerful hallucinogens, likely derived from rare plants grown in the monastery's hidden gardens. "Will I be a danger to others?"
"I'll ensure you harm no one but yourself," Sandra promised.
Nodding, Matt drained the bitter liquid in a single swallow. The effect was immediate and overwhelming, reality dissolving around him like watercolors in rain.
.....
.....
....
When his vision reformed, he found himself not in the monastery but atop Avengers Tower in New York. His body felt different, older, stronger, clothed in the blood-red armor of the Beast. Around him stood the assembled heroes of his former world... Captain America, Iron Man, Spider-Man, their faces set in grim determination.
"Stand down, Murdock," Captain America ordered, shield raised defensively. "This doesn't have to end in bloodshed."
Matt felt the Beast's influence clouding his thoughts, whispering promises of power and vengeance. In this vision, or memory, he was the Daredevil who had succumbed to darkness, who had claimed leadership of the Hand and declared Hell's Kitchen his personal kingdom.
"You're too late," he heard himself say, voice distorted by the Beast's power. "The old Matt Murdock is gone. He was weak, he failed."
The battle erupted with chaotic violence, Matt moving with supernatural speed as he engaged multiple Avengers simultaneously. Each strike delivered with killing intent, each defense calculated to create openings for lethal counterattacks.
Spider-Man fell first, neck broken by a vicious twist. Thor next, the Beast's power somehow sufficient to corrupt Mjolnir and turn it against its wielder. One by one, Earth's mightiest heroes fell before him, their broken bodies strewn across the Tower's rooftop.
Until only Captain America remained, bloodied but unbowed.
"This isn't you, Matt," Steve Rogers insisted, even as his strength flagged. "Fight it. Remember who you are."
The Beast laughed using Matt's voice. "This is who I've always been. The rest was just pretending."
With a final surge of impossible strength, Matt shattered the legendary shield and drove its fragments into the Captain's heart.
Victory. Absolute and terrible.
Yet as he stood surrounded by death, another voice cut through the vision, a woman with midnight hair and alabaster skin.
"Is this truly who you are?" Death asked, suddenly beside him on the blood-soaked rooftop. "The monster who would destroy everything he once protected?"
Matt stared at his red-gloved hands, dripping with the blood of friends and allies. "This didn't happen," he insisted. "I never killed them."
"True, but you could have." Death countered. "The potential lived within you then, as it does now."
The vision shifted, transforming into North Point Facility where other bodies lay broken around him. Joker, Ra's al Ghul, Deathstroke, countless nameless assassins.
"Different world," Death observed. "Same capacity for violence."
Matt fell to his knees amid the carnage. "That's bullshit, and you know it. They deserved it! They killed Eliza. They would have killed more."
"Perhaps. But was justice your true motivation?" Death knelt beside him, her voice gentle despite the damning question. "Or did you simply enjoy unleashing what you've always kept caged since arriving in this world?"
The accusation struck deeper than any physical blow. In both lives, Matt had maintained rigid control, adhering to codes and principles that separated him from those he fought. Yet in both lives, he had also tasted the intoxicating freedom of abandoning those restrictions.
"I'm not a monster," he whispered, unsure whether he was trying to convince Death or himself.
"No, you're actually far from it." she agreed unexpectedly. "But you walk a narrower path than most. One misstep in either direction leads to ruin."
"Believe it or not Matthew, I don't want you to fail. I appear not because of some sick game, but because you have the oppurunity to do big things... to shake things up."
The vision began to fracture, reality bleeding through the hallucinogenic construct. Death's voice followed him back toward consciousness. "Remember this moment, Matthew. Not out of guilt, but of education."
_______________________
Matt gasped awake on the monastery floor, his body drenched in cold sweat, heart hammering against his ribs. Sandra knelt nearby, watching his return to reality with careful assessment.
"What did you see?" she asked quietly.
Matt sat up, the stone floor cold against his palms. "My worst self."
Something in his voice must have conveyed the depth of the vision, as Sandra's usual professional distance softened slightly. "The hallucinogen reveals truths we hide even from ourselves."
"Is that the point of the Fourth Test? To force us to confront our darkness?"
"The point is to survive the confrontation without surrendering to it." She offered him water, which he accepted gratefully. "Many don't. They emerge broken, or worse, embracing the shadows they've glimpsed."
Matt drank deeply, clearing the bitter residue of the potion from his mouth. "How many Tests remain?"
Sandra studied him with new respect. "Six. But they can wait until tomorrow. You need time to process what you've experienced."
As she left him to recover, Matt realized her heartbeat had changed subtly. The professional skepticism had diminished, replaced by genuine curiosity and something he hadn't detected before since meeting her... concern.
Perhaps these Tests were changing them both
___________________
Gotham City, three thousand miles and twelve time zones away, remained ignorant of Matthew Gordon's spiritual trials. Life continued its chaotic course, the criminal underworld still reeling from power vacuums created by Joker's death and the League of Shadows' civil war.
Batman patrolled alone now, adjusting to the absence of his former partner. Tonight found him in Crime Alley, investigating a string of vehicle thefts targeting high-end cars.
The Batmobile sat partially hidden in a narrow side street, its security systems activated while Batman surveyed the area from a nearby rooftop. His enhanced cowl optics caught movement near the vehicle, triggering an immediate response.
He descended silently, expecting to find professional car thieves with sophisticated equipment. Instead, he discovered a single boy no more than twelve years old, methodically removing the Batmobile's custom tires with surprising skill.
The child worked with practiced efficiency, completely unaware of Batman's approach until a shadow fell across his tools.
"Shit!" The boy scrambled backward, tire iron raised defensively. Despite his obvious fear, he stood his ground, eyes darting for escape routes. "Back off, man!"
Batman remained motionless, studying the young thief. Malnourished but wiry with muscle. Street-smart, evidenced by his choice of escape angles. Brave, foolishly so.
"Those tires are worth more than most cars," Batman stated flatly. "What were you planning to do with them?"
The boy's chin jutted defiantly. "Sell 'em, obviously. Look, just take your car and go. No harm done, right?"
"Three tires are already removed."
"I'll put 'em back! Just don't call the cops." Real panic edged the bravado now.
Batman made a quick decision, one that surprised even himself. "Put them back correctly, and I won't."
Relief flooded the boy's face, quickly replaced by suspicion. "That's it? No lecture? No dragging me to juvie?"
"Would either change your behavior?"
The boy considered this, then shrugged. "Probably not. Gotta eat somehow."
As he watched the child expertly reinstall the custom tires, Batman found himself reassessing his initial judgment. The boy worked with impressive mechanical intuition, making adjustments that showed genuine understanding rather than merely reversing his removal process.
"What's your name?" Batman asked as the final tire was secured.
The boy hesitated, clearly debating whether to lie. "Jason," he finally admitted. "Jason Todd."
"Where are your parents, Jason?"
"Dad's dead. Mom too, pretty much. When she's not strung out." He tightened the last bolt with unnecessary force. "I take care of myself."
Batman recognized the fierce independence, so similar to another orphan he'd once taken under his wing. But also different, harder, more cynical, shaped by Gotham's meanest streets rather than the tragedy of a circus accident.
"You have somewhere to sleep tonight?"
Jason's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why? You running a shelter now?"
"No. But I know people who do."
"Yeah, well, those places ask questions. Call social services." The boy stood, dusting off his hands. "I'm good on my own."
Batman made another uncharacteristic decision. "Hungry?"
The question clearly caught Jason off guard. "What?"
"Food. Do you need some?"
The boy's stomach growled audibly, answering for him. Embarrassment flashed across his face before the street-tough mask slipped back into place. "I could eat."
Twenty minutes later, they sat on a rooftop overlooking Crime Alley, Jason devouring a burger and fries Batman had procured from an all-night diner.
"So what's your deal?" Jason asked between bites. "You've got some kind of quota for helping street kids before beating up criminals?"
"No quota."
"Then why bother with me? I tried to steal your tires."
Batman watched the city below, considering his answer. "You have skill. And courage. Both are being wasted."
Jason snorted. "Right. Big future ahead for Crime Alley trash like me."
"Your circumstances don't define you. Your choices do."
"Real philosophical," the boy muttered, but something in the words seemed to reach him. "Look, thanks for the food. And for not, you know, breaking my arms or whatever."
Batman stood. "Do you want help, Jason? Real help, not just a meal?"
The boy hesitated, wariness battling hunger of a different kind in his expression. "What kind of help?"
"A place to stay. Education. Training."
"Training for what?"
Batman held the boy's gaze. "To make better choices than stealing tires."
Jason considered this, suspicion gradually giving way to cautious interest. "This some kind of reform school deal?"
"Something like that."
As dawn approached, Batman made a call to Alfred, requesting preparation of a guest room at Wayne Manor. Perhaps Dick's departure had left a void greater than he'd acknowledged. Or perhaps Jason Todd simply deserved a chance that Gotham's system would never provide.