CHAPTER ELEVEN - THE DEMON CONFIRMED

Taylor sat on a bench beneath a skeletal tree, its bare branches rattling softly in the cold breeze. The park, a rare pocket of calm in the chaos of Gotham, was nearly empty—just an older man walking his dog in the distance and a few joggers passing through. For once, it felt like the city had taken a breath, and so had she.

She leaned back, watching her swarm flit quietly between her fingers, hidden beneath her jacket. Despite her training, her body still ached from the raid at the warehouse and her continued training, the bruises on her ribs throbbing whenever she moved. But sitting here, the weight of her mission, her powers, and her responsibilities felt just a little lighter.

The burner phone in her pocket buzzed, shattering the fragile peace. She flinched slightly, then pulled it out. The name on the screen wasn’t one she wanted to see right now. The Informant—a low-level courier she’d coerced into working for her.

He was a recalcitrant man, so this was a surprise. However, whether it was good or bad remained to be seen.

She swiped to answer. “Yeah?”

“Thought you’d want to know,” the voice said, low and rushed, like they were speaking while constantly looking over their shoulder. “You were right. The shipment you and your little Bat-brat friend hit? Black Mask wasn’t the only one expecting it.”

Taylor frowned. “Go on.”

“Word on the street is that it wasn't just a one-off deal. Those weapons—they’re not just for Gotham. They’re part of something bigger. Global bigger. I did some digging into the name behind the shipment—Daric Industries? It’s a front. Tied to the League.”

She sat up straighter. “The League of Assassins?”

“Yeah,” the informant said, his tone dropping into a near-whisper. “You know, the ones with the ninja armies and that eco-terrorist nutcase Ra’s al Ghul? He’s pulling the strings. Gotham’s just one piece of whatever game he’s playing.”

Taylor’s grip tightened on the phone. “Did you find out why they chose Gotham—why they funnelled the weapons here?”

“You kidding? Gotham’s a pressure cooker. Always has been. You flood the streets with firepower, let the gangs go at each other, and then… boom. The whole city’s on fire. And when the ashes settle, guess who steps in to pick up the pieces?”

Her stomach churned. She had been right, even if she wished she wasn't—even if it made sense in a way she hated to admit. From the little she found out, Ra’s al Ghul wasn’t a man of small ambitions. Gotham’s destruction wasn’t chaos for its own sake—it was strategy.

“I thought you were reluctant to help me. Why are you telling me this now?” she asked.

“Because you’re poking your nose in it, and it’s only a matter of time before they notice. You’ve got a death wish, kid, but I don’t. So consider this my last favor: New shipment. Dock 17. Midnight. High-priority cargo. You’re on your own from here.”

The line went dead before she could respond.

It was a lead—her suspicions had been confirmed, both by her investigative work and now this, so maybe, it was a chance to do something about it. But it was also a risk. Ra’s al Ghul didn’t seem like the type to tolerate interference, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think she could outplay him on her own.

Still, she couldn’t back down now. Not when the consequences of inaction were this high.

. . . . . .

The docks were eerily quiet when Taylor arrived, the air heavy with the smell of saltwater and rust. She kept to the shadows, her hood pulled low over her face, her baton strapped to her thigh. Her swarm skittered ahead of her, slipping through cracks and vents, their tiny movements feeding her a steady stream of information.

Dock 17 was bustling with activity. Men in black tactical gear moved with military precision, loading crates onto a sleek, unmarked cargo ship. Taylor’s heart sank as she recognized the markings on the crates: advanced weaponry, just like the ones from the warehouse.

She crouched behind a stack of shipping containers, her breathing steady. This wasn’t just an arms deal. This was a supply line, a direct link between Gotham’s underworld and the League of Assassins.

Taylor’s swarm moved closer, crawling over the crates and into the ship’s interior. The layout was unfamiliar, but she could sense the sheer scale of the operation. The informant was right; this wasn’t a one-time deal. This was an infrastructure, a machine designed to funnel destruction into Gotham’s veins.

A voice broke through the silence, deep and commanding. Taylor’s pulse quickened as she shifted to get a better view.

A tall man stood near the ship’s ramp, his posture regal, his presence magnetic. He wore a dark coat that billowed slightly in the breeze, and his hair was streaked with gray. Even from a distance, Taylor could feel the weight of his authority.

Ra’s al Ghul?

She held her breath, her swarm carefully retreating to avoid detection. He was speaking to a smaller man in a suit—an intermediary, perhaps, or a lieutenant.

“The city is rotting,” Ra’s said, his voice carrying across the dock. “Its corruption spreads like a disease, infecting everything it touches. This is not destruction, my friend. This is renewal.”

The other man nodded, but Taylor could see the fear in his eyes. “And if… if they interfere?”

Ra’s smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. “They will fail. They always do. Gotham’s guardians cling to their illusions of order, blind to the truth. Sometimes, the forest must burn for the seeds to grow.”

Taylor’s grip on her baton tightened, the worn metal cold against her palm. It wasn’t just the ruthlessness of his words that chilled her—it was the fact that, in some twisted way, she understood them. Worse, part of her even agreed.

Gotham was broken. She’d seen it in every alleyway, every shadowed corner. The corruption, the violence, the endless cycle of despair that seemed to choke the city with every passing day. Black Mask, the Penguin, the mercenaries—they were just symptoms of a deeper rot.

But this? Flooding the streets with weapons, stoking the flames of chaos until the city burned to the ground? That wasn’t the way to fix it.

The conversation ended, and Ra’s turned toward the ship, disappearing into its depths. The dockworkers resumed their tasks, oblivious to the storm brewing around them.

Taylor slipped back into the shadows, her mind racing. What now? Confronting Ra’s directly was suicide. And even if she managed to disrupt this shipment, it wouldn’t stop him. He was playing a long game, one she couldn’t hope to match alone. As stated earlier, she wasn’t naïve enough to think she could outplay him on her own.

But she wasn’t alone—not entirely. Robin would need to know. And as much as it grated on her, so would Batman.

For now, though, she had a job to do.

Taylor melted into the night, her swarm scattering like smoke on the wind. The fight was just beginning.