The Man And The Hood

Caught off guard by the sudden attack, he tried to react, but his feet felt rooted to the ground. There was no time to dodge. Instinctively, he threw his arms up as his muscles tensed, bracing himself for the incoming tackle at the very last second. His eyes squeezed shut in preparation for the impact.

But it never came.

The mountain wind howled past him instead, cold snow swirling through the air as silence settled around him once more. Slowly opening his eyes, he found nothing there.

No attacker. No movement. Just endless white snow and the bitter cold biting against his skin.

'I must be hallucinating again,' he thought grimly to himself, fully aware that his fractured mental state was beginning to worsen. Too much caffeine, with severe sleep deprivation, and days of exhaustion were finally catching up to him. At this point, he could no longer tell whether the shadows stalking him were real or simply the result of a mind on the verge of collapse.

A helicopter would have made his journey and the climb through the mountain range much faster, but he had deliberately avoided using one. Hiring a chopper—or worse, stealing one—would only create a trail. Right now, he was doing everything possible to erase his movements and leave behind as little evidence as he could.

Eventually, he arrived before a massive faded red gate standing tall against the snowstorm. Two enormous statues rested on either side like silent guardians, their forms carved into the likeness of ancient deities watching over the entrance.

Finally, he had reached the base where he last met Talia.

Though the area appeared deserted, the feeling crawling across his skin told him otherwise. He could sense eyes on him from somewhere beyond the walls.

"I'm here seeking Talia," he called out loudly, pulling off the scarf and head warmer shielding him from the cold. The freezing wind immediately struck his exposed face as he revealed himself openly.

No response came.

He remained standing there in the snow, unmoving as the silence stretched on for several long seconds before the gates finally creaked open from one side.

Without hesitation, he stepped through the narrow opening and was immediately greeted by several masked figures dressed in black.

"Jase?" one of them asked uncertainly as he stepped forward.

Jason gave a small nod in confirmation, and the others quickly removed their masks as recognition spread through the group almost instantly. They were fellow assassins—men he had once trained beside under Talia's guidance whenever he wasn't being personally instructed by Ra's or Lady Shiva.

"It's Jason…"

The words quietly echoed among them as more faces turned toward him in disbelief and recognition.

"This way," the former assassin said without another question, already turning to lead him deeper into the base.

Jason was escorted to a room fashioned in a traditional Japanese style, something born from Ra's al Ghul's refined tastes. In the center of the room sat a low table surrounded by cushions, and Jason lowered himself onto one of the pillows in the same disciplined manner Ra's had always insisted upon during his lessons. The familiar setting stirred an unexpected wave of nostalgia within him, drawing his thoughts back to the man who had carried him through what had easily been the darkest period of his life.

Ra's had given him purpose when he had none. He had taught him, guided him, and sharpened him with the patience of a father rather than the cold detachment of a master training another disposable assassin. Even now, surrounded by the quiet atmosphere of the room, Jason found himself remembering the countless hours spent meditating in silence beside him.

The sliding door eventually glided open, breaking him out of his thoughts as the assassin from earlier stepped inside carrying a steaming cup of herbal tea. Without a word, the man approached and offered it to him, his eyes briefly studying Jason's worn appearance.

"Here."

The exhaustion weighing Jason down was obvious enough for anyone to notice, though the assassin remained unaware that it ran far deeper than physical fatigue. It wasn't merely his body that was drained, but his mind as well.

"Thank you." Jason accepted the tea with practiced courtesy, the etiquette returning to him naturally after years of Ra's instruction.

As the warmth spread through his hands, something about the moment made him feel strangely young again, like a boy returning home after being gone for far too long.

"It's really good to see you again," the assassin admitted honestly as he sat across from him. "I still can't believe you're actually here. After what happened at Lian Yu, all of us believed you died after that insane stunt you pulled."

Jason lifted the cup for a slow sip before answering. "The last thing I remember was getting shot and falling into the ocean. After that… nothing. I don't even know if I managed to finish Deathstroke." His expression darkened slightly. "The next thing I knew, I woke up in Gotham with no memory of the last three years."

The assassin stared at him for a moment, visibly caught off guard by the revelation. For a few seconds, he seemed unsure how to even respond.

"You've really been through hell," he finally said quietly.

'I certainly feel like it.' Jason thought as he simply remained silent, letting the room speak for him.

"We never found Slade's body," the man continued. "Only blood. An unbelievable amount of it near the cliffs where the two of you fought."

His tone carried both respect and lingering disbelief before it eventually softened into something more sincere.

"But what you did that day… avenging the Head of the Demon after he fell to that traitor and his cowardly tricks…" He shook his head lightly. "You gave the League closure. The battle at Lian Yu became legendary among us, and your role in it placed your name among those the League truly respects."

The assassin looked directly at Jason then, the gratitude in his voice was unmistakable.

"Thank you for avenging the League."

The words carried genuine weight behind them, as though he wasn't merely speaking for himself, but for every assassin who believed Jason Todd had sacrificed his life for Ra's al Ghul as everyone of them would. Except taking on Slade was who was once an high ranking league member, was equivalent to suicide.

"There's no need for that. It was my choice to take on that role and avenge my teacher," Jason replied quietly.

His gaze lowered toward the surface of the tea as he brought the cup closer to his lips, only for his movement to abruptly stop. Reflected within the dark liquid, the corners of his own mouth slowly stretched into a sinister smirk that he himself wasn't making.

Jason immediately lowered the cup back onto the table with controlled restraint before lifting his eyes away from it, pretending not to notice what he had just seen.

"I came here looking for Talia," he said instead, steering the conversation elsewhere.

"I heard," the assassin replied. "Unfortunately, she isn't currently at the base."

The response hit Jason with a flicker of disappointment that settled heavily in his chest, but before it could fully sink in, the man continued speaking.

"Word was already sent ahead though. She'll return as soon as she can." That single reassurance eased something inside him almost instantly.

Ever since returning to Gotham, Jason hadn't felt even the faintest sense of belonging or family. Everything there had felt cold, distant, and hostile. Except his alone times with his emotionally challenged girlfriend.

Yet somehow, sitting inside this quiet room with a warm cup of tea between his hands stirred something he hadn't realized he missed. The heat seeped slowly through him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he could feel the constant tension in his nerves beginning to loosen.

"Thank y—"

"But not soon enough."

The sudden voice interrupted his words.

Jason's body stiffened as his eyes snapped upward, instantly locking onto the figure standing directly behind the seated assassin.

The Todd That Never Was.

The hallucination stood there with that same unnerving expression, looming over the man completely unnoticed like some malicious spirit that had crawled out from the darkest corner of Jason's mind.

"Are you okay?" the assassin asked, his concerned voice pulling Jason away from the edge of the daze threatening to consume him. He studied Jason carefully now, no longer able to ignore how off he looked. "You don't seem right."

The hallucination chuckled softly.

"You really think these people can help you escape me?" the figure mocked. "That's like trying to outrun your own shadow."

Jason subtly glanced toward the assassin again, watching closely for any sign that he could see the figure too, but there was nothing. No reaction. No alarm. Just concern directed solely at him.

"It's nothing," Jason answered calmly, forcing the words out as he reached for the cup of tea—taking a sip while doing everything he could to ignore the thing circling him like a predator savoring its prey.

Still, despite the torment clawing at the edges of his mind, he noticed something strange. The tension in his body really had eased somewhat. At first, he assumed it was simply because of the hot tea after traveling through the freezing mountain paths, but the feeling growing inside him was deeper than ordinary warmth.

It felt familiar.

Nostalgic.

The sensation reminded him of the herbal tea Ra's used to prepare before their meditation sessions long ago. Slowly, steadily, his body felt heavier, calmer, and more relaxed with each passing second.

Looking right at the man before him, Jason narrowed his eyes slightly and asked, "What's in this tea?"

The assassin shifted awkwardly at the question before answering, "Uhh, I noticed you seemed heavily sleep deprived, so it's an herbal blend meant to help calm and relax you. You should already be feeling the herbs taking effect by now."

"Yeah," Jason muttered as he slowly lowered the cup onto the table, his fingers lingering against the ceramic for a second longer than normal. "I'm definitely feeling something."

"It should help you relax while you await The Demon's Head," the assassin explained, sounding oddly satisfied with himself, as though he believed he had done Jason some kind of favor. Unfortunately for him, Jason didn't look remotely grateful.

Instead, Jason's expression hardened. The subtle exhaustion in his eyes suddenly carried a sharper edge as he looked directly at the assassin. "Okay, until The Daughter of the Demon arrives, I need you to listen carefully and follow my instructions exactly if you care about the safety of everyone inside this base."

The assassin frowned immediately, confusion flashing across his face at the sudden seriousness in Jason's tone. "What do you mean?"

"Get some sturdy chains over here right now and bind my limbs," Jason ordered, his voice sounding firm with urgency. "Then chain me to a solid pillar."

The assassin blinked at him. "Why would—?"

"There's no time to explain," Jason cut in sharply, irritation slipping into his voice as he rubbed at his forehead. "Just do what I'm telling you if you want everyone here to stay alive." He exhaled slowly before grimacing. "Shit… I'm starting to get really sleepy."

The urgency in Jason's voice finally got through to him. The assassin hesitated for only a brief moment before giving a stiff nod. "Okay." Turning toward the doorway, he quickly called out to one of the guards stationed outside the room.

As the door slid open, the assassin immediately began issuing orders for chains, locks, and an extra man to be brought over at once. There was enough urgency in his voice that the guard outside didn't waste a second questioning him, quickly hurrying off to complete the task.

The assassin turned his attention back toward Jason, silently searching his face for confirmation that this was truly necessary. Jason answered with a slow nod, though it looked increasingly difficult for him to even keep his eyes open. His eyelids had grown heavy, his focus unsteady, and whatever exhaustion he'd been suppressing for days was finally beginning to crush him all at once.

"Chain me up as fast as possible," Jason forced out, his voice sounded rougher as he struggled to stay conscious. "And don't let me free after I wake up saying I'm okay. Even if I…" He paused briefly, fighting through the haze clouding his mind. "Even if I ask you to let me out… don't do it."

The assassin frowned deeply at the warning. Used to carrying out strange orders without question, he still wanted enough information to understand the situation before it spiraled completely out of control. "If that's the case," he asked carefully, "when exactly are we supposed to release you?"

"I can't…" Jason started weakly, intending to explain that he had no idea when—or even if—he would wake up as himself again. But before the sentence could fully leave his mouth, his body finally gave out beneath him.

He collapsed onto the floor unconscious.

The tea had done exactly what it was intended to do. After days of operating on constant tension, paranoia, and almost no sleep, Jason's nerves had finally relaxed for the first time in a while. The sudden release of all that physical and mental strain hit him like a hammer, completely shutting his body down and knocking him out cold.

Moments later, the others returned carrying heavy chains and locks alongside a few more assassins. The one who had been speaking with Jason immediately moved toward him and crouched down beside the unconscious man, quickly checking for a pulse. Feeling the steady beat beneath his fingers, he let out a quiet breath before looking back at the others.

"He's alive," he confirmed. "Bind him. Quickly."

They worked quickly, binding Jason's wrists tightly behind his back before wrapping heavy chains around his upper body to pin his arms in place. Every movement was restrained as much as possible, the assassins making sure there would be little room for struggle once he eventually regained consciousness.

But just as they moved to finish securing his legs, Jason's eyes suddenly snapped open.

"He's awake," one of them immediately warned, tension flooding his voice as the room's atmosphere shifted in an instant.

"Hurry!" the assassin Jason had spoken to earlier barked at the others, urgency replacing whatever calm remained.

It was already too late.

With a sudden violent kick, Jason lashed out with both legs, the sheer force behind the movement sending the assassins around him flying backward and crashing hard against the floor. The chains rattled loudly as the room fell into stunned silence. For a brief second, nobody moved, too shocked by the raw strength behind the attack and the abruptness of it all.

Slowly, Jason sat upright.

His movements were unnervingly calm, almost lazy as he tilted his head slightly to the side. A series of sharp cracks echoed from his neck while he rolled it loose, like someone waking from a deep and satisfying sleep rather than collapsing unconscious only moments earlier.

Then came the smile.

It was subtle at first, just the faint curl of one corner of his lips, but there was something deeply wrong about it. Cold. Sinister. Amused. The expression alone was enough to make the assassins instinctively tense where they stood.

The assassin from earlier stared at him carefully and got a somewhat understanding as to what Jason had tried to warn him about.

This wasn't the same man he had been speaking to before.

The Hood had come out to play.

- - -

If you'd like to read several chapters ahead or support the story....

Patrn— Da_suprememaverick

[Batcave]

That evening, Bruce sat alone before the massive central monitor, its pale glow spilling across the Batcave while the surrounding screens bathed the cavern in shifting light. Streams of information moved across the displays—GCPD reports, news coverage, surveillance footage, and data pulled from his own network of sources. The cave felt quieter than usual, the low hum of machinery doing little to fill the silence hanging over him.

The elevator doors eventually slid open behind him, drawing his attention as Alfred stepped out while guiding a wheelchair down into the cave. Barbara sat in it with an unimpressed look already on her face as her eyes swept over the dark cavern around her.

"This place looks as gloomy as ever," she remarked dryly while Alfred pushed her toward the main console. As they moved closer, her gaze drifted toward the old Batgirl suit preserved behind glass nearby. The sight of it held her attention for a moment longer than she probably intended.

"Thanks for coming," Bruce said quietly.

Alfred guided the wheelchair up the slight sloped panel leading toward the computer platform, the same reinforced incline usually meant for heavy equipment. Barbara could have easily rolled herself the rest of the way, but Alfred continued without complaint, every bit the gentleman he had always been.

"I'll get some tea ready," he announced once they reached the platform. With that, he turned and calmly walked off deeper into the cave.

Barbara rolled closer to the wall of monitors, her attention already shifting toward the data on-screen. "Not being able to help fight crime has been torture since the accident," she admitted. "So I'm glad I can help somehow. Honestly, it's about time I made a return anyway. I miss the thrill of it."

Bruce remained silent, though her words lingered heavily in the cave between them. Barbara had offered more than once to become their eyes and ears—to operate from behind the screens like an Oracle—but each time he had pushed the idea aside and told her to focus on recovering first. Yet after weeks of getting nowhere in the search for Jason, Bruce couldn't deny that her skills might finally help uncover something he had missed.

The fact that he still hadn't been able to put an end to the matter felt like a slap to the face. For a man widely regarded as the world's greatest detective, the lack of progress was frustrating in a way few cases had ever been. Yet Jason wasn't an ordinary opponent.

He was a kid Bruce had personally trained from the ground up, someone who knew how he thought and operated. As if that wasn't enough, Jason had also spent years under the tutelage of Ra's al Ghul, learning warfare, strategy, and deception from one of the most dangerous minds on the planet.

"What's this thing with Jason anyway?" Barbara asked as she positioned herself in front of the central console while Bruce rolled his chair aside for her. Her fingers immediately moved across the keyboard, pulling up files and cross-referencing data with habitual ease. "I understand he's taking a different approach to fighting crime—obviously the wrong approach—but why are the body counts getting higher every week? The Red Hood's leaving corpses behind like he's trying to send more than a message."

Bruce watched the screens silently for a moment before answering. "Not entirely." His voice remained calm, though there was a heaviness beneath it. "Jason once said crime could never truly be stopped. Only controlled."

Barbara glanced back at him briefly before returning to the monitors. "So that's what this is?" she asked. "He's cutting away at the underworld piece by piece, taking down the major players until he's the one controlling what's left?" As she spoke, lines of information scrolled rapidly across the screen while she searched for patterns in the data Bruce had gathered over the past several weeks.
Territories, movement reports, intercepted transactions, gang activity—anything that might help narrow down a possible base of operations.

"So far, that seems to be the idea," Bruce admitted. "But Gotham's bigger than street gangs and operating crime lords. Some of these families have been controlling crime since the city was founded." His eyes narrowed slightly as another thought settled into place. "I keep wondering how Jason plans to deal with people like that."

Barbara's hands slowed over the keyboard. "It's not like he can just wipe out every crime family he comes across…" she started to say, but the confidence in her own words faded before she could finish. With the way Jason had been operating as the Red Hood, there was no clear line left between what he would do and what he wouldn't.

"Let's hope he doesn't try," Bruce replied quietly. "Because if he does, he'll ignite the war he's been building toward these past few months." The words carried more concern than anger. Bruce already knew Gotham's oldest predators would never tolerate someone trying to seize control of their city, and if Jason truly intended to force crime into submission, then sooner or later the Court of Owls would inevitably come for the Red Hood.

- - -

Talia al Ghul had received word that Jason was at one of their bases requesting an audience with her. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of the news, but she could not deny the relief she felt upon hearing it. Ever since Damian had informed her that Jason was alive and operating as the Red Hood, she had intended to travel to Gotham herself to see him and speak with him directly. Yet circumstance after circumstance had prevented that meeting from happening.

What concerned her now, however, was the state Jason had apparently arrived in. The report she received urged her to return as soon as possible, claiming whatever reason had driven Jason to seek her aid was serious enough to leave him visibly strained.

According to the assassins stationed there, he had been unusually twitchy and on edge, constantly suppressing restless nerves beneath forced restraint. Jason had done his best to maintain composure, but such things rarely escaped the notice of trained assassins. Reading subtle shifts in behavior, tension, and body language was second nature to them, and whatever was wrong with Jason had been impossible to overlook.

Without hesitation, Talia suspended the matters she had originally set out to handle and immediately began her journey back to the base. The entire trip, a quiet sense of unease lingered in the back of her mind. Jason was not someone who sought help lightly, especially not from the League. For him to come to them in such a condition suggested desperation, and desperation was rarely without consequence.

The moment she arrived, she sensed something was wrong. The base no longer carried its usual atmosphere of cold discipline and seamless coordination. Instead, there was tension hanging heavily in the air, subtle but unmistakable.

Even the guards normally stationed at their posts were absent. Before she could question it further, the sound of a disturbance echoed from somewhere deeper within the compound. Raised voices, hurried movement, and the unmistakable noise of a commotion reached her ears. Her expression sharpened immediately, and without wasting another second, Talia quickened her pace toward the source of it.

"With me," she ordered the assassins accompanying her, a handpicked group made up of some of her finest fighters. Unlike her father, Talia still remained active in the field, refusing to let her position strip her of the duties she had long carried out as Lady Talia. Missions that required her presence were missions she preferred to oversee personally.

As they approached the area Jason had been reported in, she noticed a gathering of assassins stationed outside one of the buildings ahead. Their weapons were drawn, bodies tense, all of them facing the same direction with their backs turned toward her approaching envoy. The sight immediately put her on alert.

Pushing forward to get a clearer understanding of the situation, she was met with an unpleasant scene. Several assassins littered the ground, some unconscious, others very clearly dead. Standing before the remaining fighters was Jason.

A sinister smirk rested across his face, matched only by the dangerous look in his eyes. What immediately caught her attention, however, were the chains restraining him. His arms were completely bound behind his back, chains wrapped tightly around his torso as though someone had gone out of their way to immobilize him.

One of her escorts shifted forward, preparing to engage, but Talia raised a hand to stop him. Observation before action—that was the discipline of a true assassin, and nothing about what she was seeing made sense.

Her eyes swept over the aftermath once more. She could see the hesitation in the surrounding assassins, the uncertainty beneath their battle stances. Then her gaze dropped lower.

His boots were stained with blood.

'Don't tell me…'

The realization slowly settled in as she stared at the bodies around him. She found it difficult to believe that someone restrained so completely could inflict this level of damage without the use of his hands. Yet the evidence was laid plainly before her.

Just then, three assassins moved in carefully, circling Jason with their weapons raised and ready to engage.

As the assassins prepared to engage him, Jason suddenly took a sharp step to the side for seemingly no reason at all. A split second later, an arrow sliced through the air and buried itself into the snow past where he had been standing moments earlier.

Taking the failed strike as the signal to attack, the three assassins surrounding him moved at once. Jason immediately dug his foot into the snow and kicked up a heavy spray toward the two charging from the front before lunging backward toward the third assassin attacking from behind with a sword.

Before the assassin could complete the downward swing, Jason drove his forehead forward with brutal force. The sickening crack of a skull echoed through the air as the assassin's grip instantly gave out. The masked fighter collapsed straight into the snow while the sword slipped free from their hand. Without missing a beat, Jason kicked the falling blade upward into the air.

His speed and the sudden violence of his counter caused the two approaching assassins to hesitate for the briefest moment, and Jason used that opening to make another quick sidestep. Another dart whistled past him, narrowly missing its mark.

His eyes immediately traced the projectile's path. With a quick sweep of his gaze, he spotted the attacker positioned atop a nearby structure some distance away, partially concealed against the snowy backdrop.

"Got you," he muttered beneath his breath.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Jason leaped upward. His body twisted midair with habitual precision as he lashed out a powerful kick against the hilt of the descending sword.

The blade shot through the air with terrifying speed.

A moment later, it struck its target cleanly, piercing straight through the archer's head.

'What is this? Is that really Jason?'

Talia stared at the scene before her in growing disbelief, struggling to comprehend how he was moving and fighting in such a manner despite being restrained. Every movement flowed with unnatural precision, every dodge and counter executed with terrifying efficiency.

'What kind of training has he undergone since disappearing three years ago?'

The question lingered heavily in her mind. His fighting style was unfamiliar even to her trained eyes, refined in ways she did not recognize. It left her both perplexed and increasingly unsettled.

More than that, it made her want to end the slaughter of her assassins before the situation spiraled further out of control. Though her forces vastly outnumbered him, the battle looked painfully one-sided, and from the way things were unfolding, Jason clearly held the advantage.

The remaining two assassins attacking him refused to let fear disrupt their focus. A couple more joined in and pressed forward relentlessly, blades flashing through the cold air in coordinated strikes. Jason responded almost effortlessly, sidestepping one attack before weaving past another and ducking beneath a sweeping slash. Despite the chains restricting his body moments ago, he moved with fluidity that bordered on inhuman.

Behind them, five archers remained positioned in a wide semicircle with arrows drawn and aimed directly at him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Earlier, before Talia had arrived at the base, Jason had turned their own tactics against them by constantly shifting positions and forcing missed shots into their allies. One poorly timed arrow had already cost them a man.

This time, however, they believed they had adapted. With Jason boxed in and only three assassins engaging him at once, the risk of accidental casualties had been minimized. All they needed now was a clean opening.

One of the assassins lunged forward with a downward slash. Taking advantage of the League's uniquely sharp blades, Jason twisted his body at the last possible moment and deliberately allowed the sword to strike the chains binding him.

The blade sliced clean through them.

For a brief second, silence seemed to grip everyone present.

"Fuck."

The thought echoed almost collectively among the assassins as the chains clattered heavily against the ground. Horror spread across their faces before they could even fully process what had just happened.

Because if Jason had been this dangerous while restrained—

Then what exactly would happen now that his hands were free?

They barely had time to react before Jason moved. In one swift motion, he grabbed the assassin by the arm the instant the chains fell away.

A swift kick to the side of the assassin's leg caused the limb to bend at a sickening, unnatural angle. The sharp crack of bone was immediately followed by a scream of agony as the assassin collapsed, his knee completely destroyed. Jason was already preparing to follow up with another strike when the archers finally released their arrows.

The other assassins who had been engaging him had wisely thrown themselves out of the line of fire, while the last remained on the ground clutching his ruined leg and writhing in pain.

The arrows tore through the air toward Jason's upper body with lethal accuracy. The archers no longer cared about restraint or caution. Whatever confusion they had over why someone once respected within the League had suddenly returned only to slaughter their own was now buried beneath survival instinct. Their goal was simple now—put him down before more bodies hit the snow.

Jason reacted instantly.

He grabbed the assassin with the shattered knee and hauled him upward as though he weighed nothing, using the screaming man as a shield just as the arrows struck. The projectiles buried themselves into flesh with wet impacts, cutting off the man's cries almost immediately.

Without pausing, Jason hurled the body forward with monstrous force. The corpse slammed directly into the archer positioned at the center of the formation, sending him and two others crashing violently off their feet as the carefully maintained semicircle broke apart in chaos.

At the same moment, Jason bent down and snatched a sword from the ground.

The remaining archers reacted quickly, drawing second arrows with disciplined efficiency before firing another volley. This time, however, Jason met the attack head-on. The blade in his hand became a blur of motion as he skillfully deflected every incoming arrow, steel clashing against steel in rapid succession.

Then came the follow-up.

As he knocked aside the final arrow, something else was launched high into the air above him. The object unfolded mid-flight into a large black net, weighted with metal balls along its edges to increase its speed and force as it descended toward him like a trap closing around prey.

Jason's eyes flicked upward.

In one fluid motion, he swung his blade vertically, then horizontally, the strikes crossing through the air with perfect precision. The net split apart instantly into four shredded sections before it could even touch him, the weighted fragments scattering uselessly across the snow.

Afterward, Jason simply stood there.

He didn't move. Didn't raise his weapon. Didn't even shift his footing.

The smirk that had previously tugged at his lips slowly vanished, replaced by an expression far colder.

"Well… this is disappointing."

The moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere changed completely. The bloodlust radiating from him crashed over the assassins like a physical force, thick and suffocating enough to make several of them instinctively step back while others felt their knees weaken beneath them.

Talia was no stranger to Jason's bloodlust. She had witnessed glimpses of it before, seen the violent edge lurking beneath his anger during his time with the League. But this…

This felt entirely different.

The aura radiating from him was overwhelming, thick with hostility and murderous intent to the point that it felt physically oppressive. Even seasoned assassins around her struggled to maintain their composure beneath it.

"You're kidding, right?" Jason said, his glare smoldering with disappointment and irritation as his eyes swept across the gathered assassins. "There's no way the League of Assassins has become this weak."

The words struck harder than most blades could. Humiliation and tension rippled through the surrounding fighters, but before anyone could react, the bloodlust pouring from him intensified even further. The air itself seemed heavier as several assassins involuntarily swallowed hard, their instincts screaming at them to retreat.

"What is this?" one of them muttered, horror plain in his eyes as he stared ahead. The same expression was mirrored across the faces of those around him, their confidence crumbling by the second. His voice sounded hollow and dispirited, as though the will to fight had been ripped out of him entirely, leaving behind only disbelief and dread.

"I guess you're due for some re-education," Jason continued coldly. "A task I am much obliged to carry out."

Talia immediately understood what that feeling meant.

Everything up until now—every broken bone, every corpse, every display of overwhelming skill—had merely been restraint.

The real slaughter was only just about to begin.

Unwilling to allow things to escalate any further, she finally stepped forward, her voice cutting sharply through the suffocating tension before anyone else could move.

"Enough."

- - -

A/N:—

Good news people, we're finally at Jason's recovery arc.