whispers of his name erupted silently all throughout the lazarus island, which may look like paradise to most people, but not to the ones who had been victim of the products of ra’s al ghul before: or straight from the hand of the demon’s head.

respawn, they all murmured.

the known victim of the demon himself, made unnaturally by ra’s using the spliced dna of his daughter, talia al ghul, and the mercenary, slade wilson, who possessed super-soldier serum—vital for ra’s plan for respawn.

he was to be made a hybrid clone of damian for organ donation—then swiftly changed to take up the demon’s head after damian decided to stick with bruce in gotham and take up the batman mantle, instead.

and it succeeded—talia, slade, or damian didn’t even know he existed, trapped in the confines of ra’s secret mission to make him the deadliest weapon alive. to ensure ra’s al ghuls victory, once damian was gone, he tortured respawn nonstop. all day, all night—just permanent pain that never ended.

until one day: it did.

the guards weren’t there to stop respawn, so like any clone with regenerative abilities could, he bit his way through his right arm to get out of the heavy, metal chains that bound him to the league and he escaped. he escaped.

that was a couple years ago, and ever since then, respawn had been watching damian. his every move, breath, spasm of muscle—depicting every slight thing about his half-brother that made damian better than him.

why had he been the favourite, treated mostly like a prince, whilst he only got a taste of the straight abuse you were put through for all those years?

now, as of present day, a group of selected, trained vigilantes, villians/villianesses, mercenaries, or fighters, were gathered here today on lazarus island, waiting in suspense for the commence of the lazarus tournament.

the sun was setting, and the speech mother soul had given everyone had finished: now everyone is unwinding as they wait for the sun to rise, so the fight to lose, or protect, your first life began.

not respawn, however. he stood to the side of all the young fighters chatting, his chains that previously kept him tethered clutched tightly in his gloved fists, observing damian interact with you like a lingering shadow.

the two of you seemed familiar, like you knew each other somehow. not that it mattered. familiarity meant weakness, and respawn would do anything to knock damian down a peg or two, even if it meant getting you out of his way, even if it broke set rules by mother soul.

it had reached the peak of shivering midnight, and chatter still bustled around the fire, yet you left to recharge your battery in the dorms central to the island.

respawn followed—always watching, waiting for a moment to pounce.