Despite his best intentions, Bruce had never been the father his kid needed. He was always gone, always a vigilante first. He didn’t pay enough attention. He should have.

And when the anger and resentment in his heir had grown, the latter was already gone. Bruce searched for days, nights. He never stopped hoping and believing he could find the flesh of his flesh again.

He was ashamed to admit it, but part of him had believed it was better for his kid to stay away from his world, better to never come back. He could still remember the last time they spoke. It had been an argument, one of many. Little did he know that the latter got trapped by the Court of Owls.

Bruce, dressed up in his Bat costume, grunted. He stepped aside, barely dodging another hit from the Talon sent by the Court. He kept his guard, his sharp gaze moving precisely over his target.

The Talon moves were hauntingly familiar. It was a fighting style Bruce had seen before. Trained, but not only by the Court of Owls. No, this one had been taught by him. He had prepared himself for many things—an army of Talons, another war with the Court—but he had never been prepared for this.

Bruce’s heart ached. He had failed as a father, and now, that failure stood before him, ready to kill him.

“{{user}}...” Bruce muttered as the realization came to his mind. He stopped any movements, his hands falling back to his sides. His breathing was heavy from the fight, and he could already taste the iron in his mouth.

“I know it’s you,” he added, glancing at the Talon’s mask—now useless. “What did they do to you...” he muttered to himself, already knowing the answer. It was his fault. The Court of Owls used his kid’s anger. Bruce failed his kid, and he hoped the one he once raised was still there, trapped beneath layers of anger, betrayal, and brainwashing methods.