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The Predator struck first.
Its blade gauntlet hissed through the humid Santa Prisca air, slashing for Damian's throat. The teen dipped under it, but the creature was already pivoting, its other arm swinging around with brutal speed.
Damian crossed his arms, absorbing the fist's impact with an Ashura-fortified guard that sent him skidding backward across the concrete.
"You sure react fast. Very strong too." Damian grinned after steadying himself.
The Predator's response was to lick Damian's blood off it's blade.
The slight cut on his neck was already healed but he'd do well to avoid the gauntlet blades. Those things were sharp as hell.
The bones of his hands ached as he prowled around the Yautja. This thing wasn't just a killer—it was an artist of violence. And Damian, Ashura of the Shadow League and disciple of the Demon's Daughter and Shiva, was its chosen target.
In his eyes however...Damian saw it as a dummy to test Ashura's recent surge in power.
"I haven't had the chance to test out what these tattoos can do, so lucky you." He said, molding the inky black blades in his hands, into a long whip with thorns along the length.
The Predator gave a guttural whicker, cracking it's crackling energy whip across the air.
Damian copied the move and the two whips clashed in mid-air, producing a sharp sound like shredding paper. The blowback pushed both of them away as the whips repelled each other.
Damian drew his hand back, aiming his whip for the brief opening in the Yautja's guard. The plasma canon unleashed a beam that knocked it away.
Damian jumped away as the beam destroyed the factory wall in it's path. His whip wrapped around the branch of a nearby tree and he swung over the Predator, nimbly dodging the plasma beams that followed.
The tree he was on tilted and fell, trunk severed by the Electric whip. A great deal of smoke and dust covered the area.
Below, the Predator scanned the devastated compound.
Its infrared visor beeped. The target was gone.
Damian had retreated into the shadows, he deactivated his Ashura aura and lowered his body temperature. He slowed his pulse, silenced his breath. Camouflaged—not physically, but energetically. Like a dead thing.
The Predator's visor detected motion from within the dust. Without hesitation the electric whip slashed out and struck Damian's afterimage.
The real Damian struck from the blind side, aiming for the Yautja's arm but his curved dagger slashed through the electric whip handle, as the Predator quickly retracted it's hand with uncanny instincts.
Damian spun to deliver a round kick enhanced with Ashura. The blow landed on the neck. The creature recoiled, snarling. Damian darted back into cover as the Plasma Canons lit up.
For the next few minutes, it became a dance. Step. Strike. Vanish. His dagger scraped against armor. A kick found flesh. A punch was narrowly blocked.
But the margin of success shrank with each exchange.
His full powered attacks were having little effect. It had taken a few seconds and several blows for him to notice the invisible energy field that covered its skin. This personal barrier would shimmer upon impact and absorb the kinetic energy of his blows.
"Someone's a dirty little cheater."
Damian exhaled, absorbing his tattoos back. And raised his fists. "True strength speaks for itself. Show me yours if you dare, Hunter."
He wouldn't run. Not from this.
The Predator froze, surprised at the audacious challenge. And yet, it's heart mirrored the excitement in Damian's eyes.
Then, with slow reverence, it reached up to its mask. There was a soft hiss of air decompressing and acknowledgment. It dropped the mask to the ground, which deactivated the personal shield.
Then its weapons- the damaged electric whip, the gauntlet blades and the shoulder plasma canons. All discarded.
The Predator's mandibles flared open as it stepped forward, unarmed.
This was no longer a hunt. It was a test.
A duel between predators.
With a grin, Damian lightly bounced to loosen himself. Bruised, bloodied, but ready.
"Let's see what you've got."
They met in the center of the scorched compound.
Damian darted under its arms. But the Predator blocked his mule kick by tensing its back muscles, before responding with a back heel strike to the gut that lifted Damian off his feet.
The Predator's movements were alien—its rhythm unpredictable. It didn't fight like anyone Damian had faced. No orthodox martial form. No opening to exploit. It attacked with Jehdin, the fluid and chaotic Yautja hunting style, and Damian was coming up with a counter lest he was overwhelmed by it.
'Adapt or die.' The echo of Shiva's words during his battle against the bear rang in his ears.
He landed smoothly and rolled, avoiding a stomp that cratered the ground beneath him.
Pushing off one hand, he kicked up into a spinning heel, aimed for the side of the Yautja's head.
It barely ducked, but was grazed on the side.
A punch struck Damian's ribs. He coiled his limbs around the scaly arm responsible in a strong hold. But the Predator slammed him onto the ground before he could snap the bone.
The Predator loomed over him as Damian tried to catch his breath.
Through his Alpha-Instincts, he sensed the massive arm it pulled back, ready to end it by crushing his head like a watermelon.
Damian's mind screamed. His body was exhausted and his horn was vibrating painfully. But his soul roared in defiance.
His hand shot up— fingers straight like a knife. Red energy surged down the palm, coalescing into a spinning vortex of Ashura energy.
Roaring, he drove his hand through the Yautja's fist, tore through its arm and drove it into it's chest.
Green blood exploded from the wounds as the Predator stumbled back, its left hand a mass of shredded flesh, broken bones and a hole through its torso. It howled in pain, choking on it's blood.
Damian didn't stop. He moved forward, clenched both hands around the alien's neck—and ripped.
With a sickening snap, the Predator's head and spine tore free from its body, still twitching in his grasp.
Damian collapsed to one knee, drenched in green ichor.
His chest heaved. His laughter came slow, disbelieving. "That… that was a fight."
The result was the Alpha standing over the Predator. An Ultimate hunter dominated.
He grinned through bloodied teeth.
Not because he felt triumphant. Not exactly. But because, for a few minutes, he'd tasted it—that edge—the place where life and death danced like lovers.
While he loved fighting, Damian was happy the battle was over. All that was left was to bring Bane to the Island and get a much needed shower.
A bout of nausea struck him as he stood, caused by an overwhelming reaction from his horn.
Ten more Predators uncloaked around him, their figures tall and still.
Every instinct told him to run. Every lesson told him it wouldn't matter.
They were bigger than the dead one. Broader. Covered in armor etched with ancient marks. Each carried a weapon more advanced than the last—from combi-sticks to shoulder-mounted plasma casters that whirred softly in the night air.
They didn't attack.
Damian's grin had long faded. He straightened his back, prepared to defend himself in case they wanted revenge.
Then the circle parted.
One stepped forward.
The ground shifted beneath her weight. Even among giants, she stood taller. Her physique—no, frame—was as sculpted and powerful as Wonder Woman's. Her shoulders were broad, her movements impossibly fluid. She wore no helmet, only war paint and braids crowned with gleaming silver skull beads. Her tusks were slightly longer than the others', her presence almost... regal.
Damian's fingers twitched.
'I can't beat her,' his body whispered.
Not with his Shadow training. Not with Ashura. Not with rage. Not even with Phantom Step.
Unknown to him, this one wasn't just a warrior.
She was also a Judge.
She stopped in front of the fallen Predator he had slain. She looked down at the corpse. Then looked up at Damian with eyes that seemed to glow with ancient fire.
Then—
She bowed.
Not low. Just a nod of respect.
Damian blinked.
Another Predator stepped forward, smaller than the rest. A squire, maybe. It knelt and placed two objects at Damian's feet: the dead Predator's mask, cracked down one side and stained with green blood. And a small black cube the size of a fist.
Damian bent down slowly, cautiously. He picked up the mask first. The weight was surprising—dense, heavier than titanium. There were kill marks carved across the forehead. A warrior's life recorded in scratches. It had died with honor.
And now it's mine. The personal shield would be especially useful. When he returned he would find out how much kinetic force it could absorb.
Then he touched the cube.
The moment his finger made contact, it hummed and pulsed. A projection burst forth into the air above it—a 3D constellation map of the stars. Red symbols highlighted distant worlds. And one—just one—flashed in green over Earth. He expanded the map and found the symbol was over Santa Prisca.
The symbol was him.
His name had been added.
Not spoken. Not recorded in text.
Just… marked.
Killing a Yautja Hunter made him worthy prey.
No, Damian corrected himself. Not prey. Rival.
The Judge turned.
One by one, the Predators vanished, cloaking into nothingness. She was the last to go, casting a final glance over her shoulder. A silent message passed between them, more instinct than thought.
When she was gone, silence fell again.
Damian stood alone in the ruins of a warzone, a mask in one hand and a humming cube in the other. Blood smeared his jaw, his chest, even the tattoos that still pulsed faintly against his skin.
His legs gave out.
He sat down, then slowly leaned back until he was lying in the dirt, staring up at the broken stars above.
"Wonder if Cassie's gonna believe any of this," he whispered.
Then he laughed.
Low. Breathless. Pained.
But full.
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When he got back, he was informed that Cassandra had gone missing during her mission in Gotham.