Rain hammered down on the shattered skyline of Gotham, each drop like a warning from the heavens. Draven crouched atop a rusted water tower overlooking a deserted district in the Old Quarter, his cloak soaked and clinging to his body like the weight of his sins. His breath steamed in the night, eyes locked on the flickering neon sign of an underground den—one of Black Sun's last remaining outposts in this part of the city.
But tonight wasn't about Black Sun.
It was about her.
He turned slightly as Nyx stepped from the shadows behind him, her boots silent on the slick metal. Her gaze was unreadable, but the storm reflected in her eyes said more than words ever could.
"You said we'd find something here," Draven said, voice low.
Nyx didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stared at the city below, her gloved hands tightening around the hilt of her blade strapped across her back.
"Not something," she said softly. "Someone."
Draven watched her profile—sharp, elegant, marred by years of pain she kept buried. He didn't press. Not yet. Silence could be more honest than questions.
She finally spoke again, her voice laced with old fury. "Years ago, before the shadows swallowed me, I was Valeria Kade. Daughter of Anton Kade—head of Project Halcyon's civilian front. On paper, he was a philanthropist. In reality, he sold us—his family—for data."
Draven stiffened.
"I was twelve when I overheard him trade my mother's medical records to a Halcyon officer in exchange for their experimental treatment. He called it a 'test phase.' She died six weeks later. Something in the treatment rotted her from the inside."
Draven lowered his head slightly. "And you?"
"I ran," she said. "But not far enough."
She pulled up the sleeve of her suit, revealing faded scars running down her forearm in a pattern that looked almost surgical.
"They found me. Used me. Injected me. Trained me. I escaped during the Blackout Riots. I've been fighting ever since."
Her voice trembled—not with weakness, but with rage too long caged. She looked at Draven then, not as an assassin, not as Nyx—but as Valeria.
"I didn't come back to Gotham for redemption. I came to bury the last ghosts."
Draven stepped toward her, the distance between them charged, electric. "Then let's bury them together."
She blinked at that—perhaps the closest thing to vulnerability she'd shown since they met. He extended a hand. She stared at it for a second, then clasped it.
Before anything more could be said, Evelyn's voice crackled in his earpiece.
"Draven—Valeria—you've got incoming. Pulse is back."
The words felt like ice down Draven's spine.
"He's entering the warehouse below. Not alone this time—looks like he brought an entire strike team."
"Then let's give them a welcome party," Nyx growled.
They descended like phantoms into the decaying stairwell leading to the warehouse's upper gantry. From the shadows, they saw Pulse—tall, armored in black tech armor with streaks of cobalt energy crackling around his arms—march into the building. Behind him, a dozen men in hybrid Halcyon gear, carrying plasma rifles and sound grenades.
Pulse's voice echoed in the chamber below. "Secure the test subjects. And if the vigilantes show up—bring me their hearts."
Draven exchanged a glance with Nyx. "Ready?"
She smirked. "Always."
The ambush was swift. A flash grenade rolled from the rafters, detonating with a shriek of white light. Before Pulse's men could react, Nyx was already in motion, blades slicing through armor like paper. Draven dropped behind her, fists striking with bone-crushing precision.
Screams echoed. Gunfire lit the warehouse like strobe lightning. Draven moved through the chaos with brutal focus, dodging a plasma bolt and driving his elbow into a soldier's throat. Nyx danced through enemies with lethal grace, her pain fueling every strike.
Then came the hum.
Pulse stepped into the chaos, his body glowing with stored kinetic energy.
"You should've stayed dead, Shadow," he snarled, hurling a blast of force that sent Nyx crashing into a wall.
Draven lunged at him, catching Pulse's jaw with a spinning kick. The impact barely staggered him.
Pulse laughed. "Still trying to play hero, Draven? You're no Batman. You're just a failed experiment."
Draven growled, activating the surge in his gauntlets. "Then let's test what a failure can do."
The two clashed—fists, force, fury. Every punch echoed like thunder. Cracks split the warehouse floor beneath them. Draven's rib ached from a hit, but he kept going, landing a blow that sent sparks flying from Pulse's armor.
Pulse retaliated with a blast that sent Draven tumbling through a stack of crates.
He groaned, dazed—until he saw her.
Nyx was bleeding, struggling to stand. But she didn't look afraid. She looked determined.
"You're not alone," she hissed.
She tossed a small EMP grenade toward Pulse.
Beep. Beep. CLICK.
A shockwave ripped through the room, short-circuiting Pulse's armor. He stumbled.
Draven surged forward with the last of his strength, leaping onto Pulse's back and ripping a cord from the base of his neck. The man screamed and dropped to his knees.
"You'll regret this—" he choked.
Draven slammed his fist into Pulse's temple, knocking him cold.
Silence fell.
Blood. Smoke. Ash.
Draven turned to Nyx. "You alright?"
She nodded weakly. "I've had worse birthdays."
He smirked, stepping forward to steady her. For a second, they leaned on each other—not out of weakness, but shared survival.
Evelyn's voice returned. "I intercepted a transmission. Joker's symbol just appeared on three different surveillance feeds across the city. He's not done."
Draven's jaw clenched. "He's never done."
He looked at Nyx. "We're just getting started."