The Demon's Gambit
Inside the lavish interior of a private jet, Claus Valentina-Britannia—better known now as Ra's al Ghul—sat reclined in a high-backed chair upholstered with crimson velvet. The aircraft's interior shimmered with elegance: gold-inlaid paneling, a private bar with rare vintages, and soft classical music humming beneath the quiet hum of jet engines.
With one hand, he lifted his ornate mask just enough to take a sip from a crystal goblet filled with aged red wine. "I must admit," he mused, voice calm yet calculated, "I do enjoy this flight. Wouldn't you agree, old friend?"
Across from him sat one of his most trusted companions, Bane, clad in dark tactical wear, his face partially obscured by his iconic mask. He leaned back, lifting his mask slightly to gulp from a thick glass of dark beer.
"The ride's smooth," Bane muttered, his gravelly voice unamused. "But this music? It grates on me. Would it kill you to put on some rock?"
Ra's let out a deep chuckle. "You should learn to appreciate the classics, my friend. After all, the old ways often hide the greatest truths."
On the table between them lay scattered photographs—surveillance stills of Zero. Ra's carefully examined one under the low golden light.
"According to these images, Zero stands approximately 178 cm… perhaps 56 kilograms in weight."
Bane scoffed, picking up one photo and plunging a combat knife through it, pinning it to the wood. "Why do we care about his height and weight? We put a bullet in his skull, problem solved."
"Perhaps," Ra's responded coolly. "But to defeat an opponent, one must know more than their tactics. You must know their essence. Their dreams. Their fears."
He shifted his attention to a series of stills taken during Zero's rescue of Suzaku Kururugi, the man once framed for fratricide.
"Suzaku was accused of killing his father—our brother," Ra's whispered. "But Zero confessed. That confession, however, felt less like a boast and more… like a diversion."
He rose from his seat, walking toward the window, watching the moonlight ripple across the ocean below. "Bane, do we have anything on Kururugi?"
Bane picked up a leather folder and began to read aloud.
"Suzaku Kururugi, born July 10th, 2000. Son of Genbu Kururugi, the last prime minister of Japan. The father died—officially ruled a suicide. The son became an Honorary Britannian and joined the military."
Ra's narrowed his eyes. "Genbu… I remember him. A man of principle. He wouldn't have ended his life over political loss."
He turned back to Bane. "I want a full profile on both father and son. Every detail. I don't believe Zero saved Suzaku for spectacle. I believe they share a bond."
Bane raised an eyebrow. "And if they do?"
Ra's walked back and poured himself another glass of wine. "Then Suzaku becomes a lever. A fulcrum we can use for Operation Reclamation."
Both men raised their glasses in unison.
"Hail Ra's al Ghul."
Area 11: Capital District
When the jet touched down, Ra's and Bane exited onto the tarmac. They were greeted by a disciplined formation of League of Assassins operatives, their heads bowed in reverence.
A Britannian officer rushed forward. "It's an honor to see you, Pr—"
"Ra's al Ghul." The voice was cold, commanding. "Never use that other title again."
The officer stiffened, nodding in fear. As they walked toward the G-1 facility, Ra's inquired, "And where, might I ask, are my sisters?"
The officer stammered. "Princess Euphemia is otherwise engaged. Lady Cornelia is currently leading an operation in the Saitama Ghetto."
Ra's stopped dead in his tracks. "Repeat that."
The officer faltered, realizing his error.
Saitama Ghetto
The scene was chaos. The Britannian military swept through the ghetto, leaving carnage in its wake. Civilian bodies littered the rubble. A unit of soldiers cornered a group of trembling women and children.
"Aim!"
The children shut their eyes, bracing for death.
"Fire!"
But the shots didn't come from Britannian rifles. Instead, the soldiers collapsed, slain by silent, precise gunfire. Standing among the smoke were darkly-clad League operatives, blades drawn, weapons at the ready.
A woman covered her child's eyes. When she dared to look again, a tall, blonde League assassin extended a hand to her.
"You're safe now," she said gently.
"T-thank you… who are you?"
"We are the League of Assassins."
Elsewhere, a League Knightmare tore through a Britannian Sutherland, its customized armaments tearing metal like paper. Over comms, a Sutherland pilot screamed, "We're allies—stop fir—!" before being silenced by a high-caliber round through the cockpit.
In the wreckage of a destroyed building, League operatives moved like wraiths. Grenades disabled squads in moments. The technologically superior weaponry overwhelmed Britannian lines.
Cornelia's Forward HQ
Cornelia, confident moments before, stared at the comms screen as reports flooded in.
"Delta 3 is gone!"
"Rhino Squad: KIA!"
"Half our forces are dead!"
Cornelia's bravado faded. "Prepare my Sutherland—I'll finish this myse—"
"All Britannian forces, evacuate immediately. This is a direct command from Ra's al Ghul. Noncompliance will result in execution."
She clenched her fists. "Him…"
Gilbert and Andreas followed her outside, only to witness a massive mobile base descend, its insignia—the Demon's Head—painted proudly across its hull. The doors opened.
Ra's al Ghul emerged, flanked by Bane.
Cornelia stormed toward them. "What do you think you're doing!? We were about to capture Zero! You've undermined everything—"
SLAP.
Cornelia reeled, clutching her cheek, shock painted across her face.
"You ignorant child," Ra's spat. "Zero is mine. Your reckless operation turned the people against us. I had agents embedded, earning trust. Now, that trust is shattered."
He grabbed her collar. "You've destroyed months of covert work with this... massacre."
Gilbert stepped forward. "You will not lay hands on the princess!"
Ra's didn't flinch. Bane stepped in, amused. "Careful, noble. Blood ruins expensive fabric."
Cornelia shouted, "Our plan was sound! We recreated the massacre that made him attack—!"
"And you forget what happened to our brother the last time he made that same mistake?" Ra's replied coldly. "I'm not threatening you, Sir Andreas—I'm educating her. If you speak again, Bane will end you. That is a threat."
He stepped back, hands behind his back.
"You think war is won with firepower and arrogance. But this war—this crusade—requires stealth, precision, and vision. Qualities you lack."
He turned away. "And drop the absurd title 'Goddess of Victory.' You look like a fool."
Hours Later — G-1 Base
Ra's al Ghul sat upon his throne, arms crossed, listening to the familiar voice in the shadows.
"You were harsher than usual, Ra's. Aren't you worried she'll retaliate?"
A chuckle.
"I doubt it. But if she does… I have the might of centuries behind me."
From the darkness, a figure emerged—Talia al Ghul, her hooded cloak blending into the gloom.
"If you want," she said, examining the tip of an ornate dagger, "I could remove her. No one would ever know."
"Tempting. But no. Not yet. We still need her."
Ra's rose. "Is he ready?"
Unknown Mountains — Area 11 Perimeter
A small compound high in the mountains remained untouched by Britannian hands. Inside, a man calmly cleaned his blade. His eyes remained focused even as a shadow approached.
Without a word, he struck. The intruder parried, and the two danced in deadly precision until both stepped back and bowed.
"Not bad," the newcomer said. "You're ready."
"Good," replied the other. He turned, donning a dark combat suit adorned with sleek, deadly gear. He pulled a black mask over his face.
The other followed, and together they strode into the night.
They were no longer brothers by blood—but by blade.
Red Hood and Nightwing—reborn assassins of the League, sworn to bring Britannia to its knees.