The attack came at midday, when the sun hung mercilessly overhead and the mountain path offered no shade. Matt sensed them first, nine heartbeats positioned at strategic points along the rocky outcropping above. Professional spacing, disciplined breathing. These weren't bandits or desperate thieves.
"League remnants," Sandra murmured, her hand moving to her concealed weapons.
"Different movement patterns," Matt corrected, reading the subtle differences in their approach. "Split faction, maybe."
As if summoned by her name, a figure descended from the heights with liquid grace. Nyssa al Ghul landed on the path ahead of them, her dark hair catching the mountain breeze. She wore practical climbing gear, but Matt could smell the steel hidden beneath the fabric.
"Matthew Gordon," she said, her voice carrying both respect and barely controlled fury. "The man who killed my father."
"Among other things," Matt replied calmly. "You planning to make an issue of it?"
Nyssa studied him. "Ra's al Ghul was many things. A visionary. A tyrant. A man who believed himself immortal." She paused, and something like satisfaction flickered across her features. "He was also someone I both feared and despised."
Sandra raised an eyebrow. "Nyssa, I have to say I'm impressed. This isn't going where I expected."
"My father ruled through terror and manipulation," Nyssa continued, circling them slowly. "He believed himself above human limitation, above consequence. You proved him wrong in the most definitive way possible."
Matt sensed the conflict in her heartbeat, genuine hatred for her father warring with ingrained loyalty to his memory. "So what do you want, 'Nyssa'?"
"To understand how someone so young could accomplish what generations of assassins failed to achieve." Her eyes fixed on his sightless gaze. "To see if my suspicions are true."
"What suspicions?"
"That you're something more than human. That you fight with the fury of demons and the precision of angels." Nyssa's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "That you could lead the League to greatness it never achieved under my father's rule, if I'm correct..."
Sandra stepped forward slightly. "She's not wrong," she said, addressing Matt directly. "The leag-."
"We are the veil of the nine..the League of Assassins died with Ra's al Ghul.."
So they're a sub-faction...
Matt considered this. In his previous life, he'd commanded the Hand, an ancient organization of assassins with global reach. But that had ended in corruption, in compromises that destroyed everything he'd tried to build. If he was going to create something new, it would need to be different. Better.
"I'm listening," he said finally.
Nyssa smiled, the expression transforming her austere features. "I propose an alliance. Your skills, our resources. Together we could reshape—"
She was cut off by the sound of weapons being drawn. Three of her assassins dropped from concealment, anger overriding discipline.
"Enough talk!" one snarled, leveling a crossbow at Matt's chest. "He killed the Demon's Head! He must pay!"
"Stand down, fool!" Nyssa commanded sharply.
"We followed you out of respect, not subservience," another assassin replied, twin daggers gleaming in his hands. "Ra's al Ghul's death demands vengeance!"
Matt sighed. "There's always someone who can't let sleeping dogs lie."
The crossbow bolt fired. Matt tilted his head fractionally, letting it whisper past his ear. Before the archer could reload, Matt was moving.
Matt flowed between the three assassins like water through a broken dam, each movement economical and devastating. He gave them chances to surrender, called out warnings they ignored in their rage.
When the first assassin refused to yield after being disarmed twice, Matt's patience evaporated. He took the man's sword and ended him with a single, precise thrust through the heart. The blade moved so fast the others barely saw it, the assassin dropping to the rocky ground with a look of surprise frozen on his face.
"Last chance," Matt offered the remaining two, sword dripping crimson in the mountain sun.
They charged him together, coordinated but desperate. Matt cut them down with movements that seemed almost casual, one throat opened with precision, the other heart pierced through a gap in armor that shouldn't have existed.
The entire encounter lasted less than thirty seconds.
"Impressive," Sandra said, genuine appreciation in her voice. "Though messy."
Matt wiped the blade clean before tossing it aside. "They made their choice."
Nyssa stared at the bodies of her former followers, then at Matt. Her heartbeat had accelerated during the fight, but not from fear, from excitement. This was..it..her chance...
"You gave them opportunities to live," she observed. "More than my father ever would have."
"....I'm not your father."
"Exactly," she agreed, stepping closer. "That's the point...."
The remaining Veil assassins emerged from concealment, weapons lowered but ready. They looked between their fallen comrades and the blind man who had killed them, uncertainty evident in their postures.
Nyssa raised her voice, addressing her followers. "You've seen what I've seen. This man, while blind, bested Ra's al Ghul in single combat. He just gave three of our best warriors chances to surrender before ending them with techniques none of us could match." She paused, letting that sink in. "We can continue following a dead man's vision, or we can embrace something new."
One of the assassins, a scarred woman with graying temples, spoke up. "What are you proposing?"
"That we kneel," Nyssa said simply. "That we acknowledge a new leader worthy of our loyalty.
Matt felt every heartbeat on the mountainside spike with shock. In the League's thousand-year history, no al Ghul had ever bent the knee to an outsider.
"....Nyssa," he said quietly, "think carefully about what you're doing."
"I've thought of little else since learning of my father's death." She looked him in the eye, her own blazing with conviction. "You're not Ra's al Ghul. You won't lead through fear and manipulation. But you will lead, won't you?"
operatives, global resources, centuries of accumulated knowledge. In the right hands, it could be a force for genuine justice rather than the twisted vision Ra's had pursued.
"If I accept," he said slowly, "things will be different. No more children recruited from birth. No more killing innocents. We target those who deserve it—traffickers, tyrants, those who prey on the helpless."
"A noble goal," Nyssa replied. "One worth serving."
She dropped to one knee on the rocky path. The gesture seemed to unlock something in her followers, and one by one, they knelt as well. Even Sandra, after a moment's hesitation, inclined her head respectfully.
Sometimes, life gives you apples. and sometimes...it gives you apples again. Here stood Matthew Micheal Gordon, once again, a leader of an ancient organization.
And...Matt embraced it.
"The League of Shadows dies here," Matt declared, his voice carrying across the mountainside. "What rises in its place will be something new. We are the Red Sanctum, and I am Red."
The name felt right as he spoke it. Not Daredevil, not Matthew Gordon, but something that bridged his past and present identities.
"Rise," he commanded, and they obeyed as one. "Nyssa, I'm placing you in operational command. Sandra will serve as my lieutenant. Establish safe houses, gather intelligence on our first targets. But remember, we don't murder. We kill. We execute justice."
Nyssa smiled, "As you command, Red."
Within an hour, the Veil had transformed into a supply convoy, providing Matt and Sandra with cold-weather gear, additional provisions, and detailed maps of the treacherous path to Shao-La. As they prepared to continue their journey, Nyssa approached Matt privately.
"You could have killed me as easily as the others," she said. "Why didn't you?"
"I don't believe in sins of the father," Matt replied. "And because everyone deserves a chance to choose who they want to be."
She nodded slowly. "I won't disappoint you."
"See that you don't."
________________________________________
The path to Shao-La proved even more treacherous than O-Sensei had warned. Three days of climbing through passes that barely qualified as trails, fighting altitude sickness and weather that changed without warning. The extra supplies helped, but nothing could prepare them for the bone-deep cold or the way the thin air made every step feel like running a marathon.
On the second night, huddled around a small fire in a cave that offered minimal shelter from the howling wind, Sandra did something completely unexpected.
She started talking.
"I killed my first person when I was eight," she said, staring into the flames. "A rival sensei who challenged my teacher to a duel. My master was sick, could barely stand, but his honor demanded he fight."
Matt listened without interrupting, sensing this was the first time she'd shared this story with anyone.
"So I went instead," Sandra continued. "Dressed in my master's robes, challenged the man myself. He laughed when he realized who he was fighting. Stopped laughing when I broke his neck."
"No one suspected?"
"My master took credit. Let everyone believe he'd fought through his illness." She smiled bitterly. "He died three days later. Natural causes, but I always wondered if the stress of covering for me helped kill him."
Matt shifted closer to the fire, studying Sandra's profile in the flickering light. "You blame yourself."
"I blame everyone," she corrected. "Him for being too proud to admit weakness. The other sensei for being too arrogant to take a child seriously. Myself for thinking I could solve everything with violence."
"And yet you kept fighting."
"What else was I supposed to do? It was the only thing I was good at." Sandra's voice grew thoughtful. "Until I met you."
"I'm not that different from you," Matt said quietly. "We're both people who've had to make impossible choices."
"Maybe. But you gave those assassins chances to surrender. You could have killed them all, Nyssa included. But you chose to lead her instead." She looked at him directly. "That's not something I would have thought to do."
"You followed O-Sensei's teaching about balance," Matt pointed out. "You're more than just a killer, Sandra."
She was quiet for a long moment. "We'll see."
...
...
Shao-La monastery clung to the mountainside like a bird's nest, its ancient stones somehow merged with the living rock. Prayer flags fluttered from impossible perches, and the sound of distant chanting carried on the wind.
Matt and Sandra approached the main gate just as the sun reached its zenith, casting stark shadows across the courtyard. The massive wooden doors stood closed, bound with iron bands that looked older than civilization.
"Travelers are not welcome here," a voice called from above. A monk appeared on the wall, his robes the color of dried blood. "Turn back while you still can."
"We seek sanctuary and knowledge," Matt replied, following the traditional formula O-Sensei had taught him.
"Sanctuary is earned, not given. Knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands." The monk's voice carried absolute certainty. "Leave this place."
Matt felt something stirring deep within the monastery walls, a power that made the Beast in his soul writhe with recognition. Ancient. Primal. Something that predated human understanding of the world.
"We're not leaving," Sandra said flatly. "Open the doors."
"Then you have chosen your fate."
The attack came without further warning. Monks dropped from the walls like spiders, moving with inhuman speed and coordination. Their martial arts weren't anything Matt recognized, flowing, organic movements that seemed to bend the laws of physics.
He and Sandra fought back to back, their styles complementing perfectly. Where Sandra struck with lethal precision, Matt defended with impossible awareness. The monks were skilled beyond normal human capability, but they faced opponents who operated on an entirely different level.
The fight lasted ten minutes before the surviving monks retreated, carrying their wounded back into the monastery.
"Interesting welcome," Sandra observed, wiping blood from a split lip.
"Best guess...they were testing us," Matt realized. "Seeing if we were worthy of whatever's inside."
As if in response to his words, the great doors swung open with a groan of ancient hinges. A figure emerged, tall, gaunt, with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of centuries.
"Welcome," the figure said, his voice carrying harmonics that resonated in Matt's bones. "We have been expecting you for a very long time....."
The Beast, stirred again, recognizing something in the monk's presence. Matt followed Sandra through the doorway, knowing they were crossing a threshold that would change everything.
A welcomed change...
Behind them, the doors closed with finality.
_____________________
Gotham felt different without the Joker's chaotic presence, most would say better...but new threats always emerged to fill the vacuum. Tonight, Batman and Robin hunted Killer Croc through the sewers beneath Robinson Park, following reports of missing homeless people.
"There," Jason whispered, pointing to a massive shape moving through the tunnel ahead. "Holy shit, he's huge."
"Language," Batman said automatically, though his attention was focused on their quarry. Killer Croc had grown since their last encounter, his reptilian hide thicker, his claws longer and sharper.
"Waylon Jones," Batman called out. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."
Croc's laugh echoed through the tunnels. "Batman. And you brought me a snack."
The creature charged with surprising speed for something his size. Batman moved to intercept, but Jason was faster, diving between Croc's legs and striking at pressure points with his escrima sticks.
"Robin, fall back!" Batman commanded, but Jason ignored the order.
"I've got this!" the boy shouted, landing blow after blow on Croc's kidneys and spine. The creature roared in pain and rage, swinging massive fists that barely missed crushing Robin's skull.
When Croc finally went down, it was Jason who delivered the knockout blow, a strike to the temple that was far harder than necessary for an already stunned opponent.
"Excessive force," Batman noted grimly as they secured their prisoner.
"He was resisting," Jason replied, breathing hard. "Had to make sure he stayed down."
Batman made a mental note to address the boy's aggression during training. Jason's anger was useful, but it needed better control.
______________________
Commissioner Gordon's office felt smaller these days, weighed down by accumulated frustrations and unanswered questions. He sat across from his daughter, both of them staring at the computer screen displaying grainy security footage from a Chinese airport.
"Facial recognition confirms it," Barbara said quietly. "Ninety-seven percent probability match. That's Matt."
The timestamp showed the footage was three weeks old, but it was the first confirmed sighting since North Point. Matt moved through the terminal with confident purpose, no longer the lost teenager who'd disappeared from Gotham months ago.
"He looks..." Gordon began, then stopped.
"Different," Barbara finished. "Harder."
They watched the clip again, studying their son and brother like he was a stranger. Which, in many ways, he was.
"At least we know he's alive," Gordon said finally.
"Do we?" Barbara's voice cracked slightly. "Because the Matt I see in that footage isn't the one who left."
Before Gordon could respond, Batman's voice cut through the speaker system. "We need to discuss bringing him in for questioning."
Both Gordons spoke simultaneously: "No."
"He's committed multiple homicides," Batman continued, undeterred. "Ra's al Ghul, the Joker, dozens of others. Justice demands—"
"What kind of shit are you spouting...justice?" Gordon stood, anger flashing in his eyes. "My son was tortured for three days! He watched his best friend murdered in front of him! If you think I'm going to let you treat him like a common criminal—"
"Dad's right," Barbara interrupted, her voice steady despite the tears on her cheeks. "Matt's not the enemy here."
Batman's silence spoke volumes about his disagreement, but he didn't press the issue further.
As the call ended, Gordon put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. "We'll find him," he promised. "And when we do, we'll bring him home."
Barbara nodded, wiping her eyes. "I just hope there's still enough of our Matt left to come home to."
On the screen, the security footage played again, showing a young man with a baseball cap and glasses, who had walked through fire and emerged as something else entirely. Something that might save the world, or burn it down.
Only time would tell which.