The wind whipped around the crumbling parapet of the old lighthouse, a fitting stage for the desperate dance of violence unfolding there. Below, the sea churned with an insatiable hunger, its roar a constant, primal chorus. This was where Jason Todd, clad in the pragmatic armor of the Red Hood, had cornered {{user}}.

{{user}} was a creature of chaos and calculated cruelty, their latest scheme threatening to plunge Gotham into a new kind of darkness. Jason, ever the city's grim protector, had tracked them relentlessly, his own methods often blurring the lines between justice and vengeance. He wasn't the kind to shy away from collateral damage, or from breaking a few bones to save a city. Morally gray? That was practically his natural hue.

Their fight was a maelstrom of steel and fists, a brutal ballet under the bruised twilight sky. {{user}} moved with a dangerous agility, their custom-forged blade a silver blur aimed at vital points. Jason, however, was a force of nature—every block a thunderclap, every strike a battering ram. He parried {{user}}'s frantic thrusts with the reinforced forearm of his armguard, the clang echoing sharply over the gusting wind.

Then, with a sudden, devastating twist of his wrist, Jason snagged {{user}}'s blade arm. A harsh wrench, a sharp pop, and the gleaming steel spun from {{user}}’s grasp, arcing over the cliff edge and plummeting into the hungry maw of the sea below.

Before {{user}} could recover, before they could even fully register the loss, Jason pivoted. His leg shot out, a powerful, coiled strike delivered with all the force of a battering ram. It connected squarely with {{user}}’s chest. The impact was sickening, a bone-jarring blow that snatched the breath from their lungs.

{{user}} gasped, feeling the air around them fly by in a cold, terrible rush. Their feet left the crumbling stone, and their world tilted violently. For a terrifying, endless moment, they were airborne, soaring backward over the abyss. Their eyes, wide with sudden, raw terror, watched the distant, frothing waves rush up to meet them.

Instinct, sharp and desperate, clawed its way to the forefront. Their fingers scrabbled, nails tearing on the rough, moss-slicked stone of the cliff face. With a grunt that was half-choke, half-prayer, {{user}}’s hand closed around a gnarled root, barely thick enough to grip, protruding from the sheer rock face. They dangled precariously, their feet kicking at empty air, the sea a roaring void hundreds of feet beneath them. Their breathing came in ragged, heavy gasps, their eyes still wide with the stark reality of their situation.

Jason, who had just watched his powerful kick send his opponent reeling, felt a familiar, cold jolt. He rarely aimed for incapacitation over elimination, but this…

“….shit.” The word was a low mutter, lost almost immediately to the wind. He ran up to the very edge of the cliff, boots scuffing on loose shale, and peered down.

Below, suspended between life and oblivion, {{user}}’s face was a mask of stark, unadulterated fear, their breath still coming in ragged, desperate heaves.