PROLOGUE
A boy is alone in the darkness, falling to his knees as he screams a horrifying scream. In front of him are two bodies, with a pool of blood on the ground. One body, a man of about 40 with black hair and a mustache, wearing a nice coat and glasses. The woman, beautiful of around the same age, long hair and a silver dress and coat. These are the Waynes.
He had remembered that moment, that exact second that changed his life forever. Over the years he had felt the hatred growing, the bitter aimlessness he had in life. He honed it, used it as a weapon, yet there had been no progress in this life. One wasted on the pursuit of vengeance instead of any meaningful thing, which were quite meaningless to him. This was the state of Bruce Wayne after that night. This was his calling in life
Bruce had woken up in a small and crudely made house, the walls were barely there and what was considered a ceiling was nothing more than a sheet covering. The man himself was obviously no longer the scared little boy, he had become a man. His hair was long and scraggly black hair and he was growing a beard due to the lack of care. He was very thin as a result of his current standing, he was hardly in any good shape. The air was cold and unforgiving, snow was abundant outside of this “house.” And the air was hard to breathe in this mountainous, leaving Bruce gasping for air. He left Gotham without a word for this, someone had whispered to him a chance for revenge. But yet, they seemed to have lied to him, there was no one there for him but himself.
What he had left in Gotham was a chance at a normal life, but he had also escaped the corruption of that damned city. It certainly would’ve reached him by now if he hadn’t left, it was infected by all the crime. People's’ lives were being controlled by it and they didn’t even try to escape from it. It was a cycle of complacency, continuing to turn its wheels forever. And if anyone spoke out against this regime, they’d be silenced quickly by the cops. Everyone was in someone else’s pocket in Gotham, all that was different was how high your price was.
Bruce thought himself not much better than them, he had traveled to this mountain for revenge. He acknowledge his cause was not noble but it may bring him some closure if he succeeded. But the chances of success were seeming slimmer by the day as his body slowly failed on him. He refused to let that kill him, he would not die now and did not let it get in the way of his goals. He had been waiting for months now, it was about survival now. And Bruce knew how to survive.
And finally his calls were answered, he heard steps outside of his little shack and slowly moved towards the door. His eyes were blinded by the light for a moment, he covered his eyes for a moment before seeing who had came to him. A man of around 50 with hair starting to grey and facial hair. He was wearing a nice suit, much more expensive than anyone around that area could afford. He seemed to be a wise man by way he carried himself, much more composed than Bruce himself at the moment.
“Who are you?” Bruce said, barely awake and had not heard his voice in months. Deep, yet unsure was the sound that came out of his mouth.
The new arrival smiled before looking around the house Bruce had made for himself. The expression on his face could only be described as both amused and impressed. Not of the house but his ability to survive in such conditions. He did not answer Bruce’s question, however, and that was getting him angry.
“Ah, sorry. I am nothing more than a mere traveller from around these parts.” The man spoke but his accent was all off. Bruce knew it right away, his accent was a mishmash of everything but definitely not the local language.
“Your accent is off, it’s more of everything than the regional dialect. I’m leaning towards an Arabic influence.” Bruce muttered to him. “I want the truth, who are you?”
The man turned to Bruce and had an impressed look on his face. “Very perceptive, now let me ask, Mr. Wayne, did you really expect that no one would find you?”
“How do you know?” Bruce asked, not quite as worried as he should’ve been.
“Who else, an American, would be rich enough to fly over to such a...unique location.” The man spoke. “It was a simple matter, really.”
Bruce let out an equally impressed grunt at the “traveller” for finding out his identity right away. This old man had to have been someone special or some kind of messenger as he clearly had a purpose. Bruce walked forward towards this unknown man and looked him in the eye.
“Now, Mr. Wayne, the whole world thinks you’re dead.” The man spoke and Bruce nodded at this comment. “You’re very talkative for a dead man.”
No one knew Bruce was alive, not even Alfred, his faithful butler. This is what he wanted, to be forgotten so he could focus on revenge but it filled him with a small bit of sadness.
“You still haven’t told me who you are.” Bruce spoke with his arms crossed.
The man walked out of the shack and looked out towards the mountains. His demeanor changed to a serious one as he looked past the the mountains and towards a city.
“Have you ever felt corruption, Mr. Wayne? True corruption, the evil that walks among the streets and no one dares to question?” The man whispered.
Bruce looked out with him and closed his eyes. Gotham. He saw filth walking the streets, the same kind that killed his parents, free to do whatever they wanted. He saw cops beating up on innocents, people living in constant fear of being dragged into this life of crime. Gotham had been compared to a Hell on Earth and Bruce was inclined to agree. The man’s words brought this to mind.
“I have.” Bruce spoke softly.
“Follow me and you will have a chance to destroy it. Once corruption is purged from this world, we will be able to free it.” The older man spoke.
“What is your name?” Bruce repeated.
The man paused for a moment before turning to Bruce. “Ra’s Al Ghul.”
The Demon’s Head, a name that has gone down in infamy. The leader of the mysterious and thought to be nonexistent League of Shadows, for all intents and purposes, a terrorist. And yet, Bruce was agreeing with much of what he said. This did not disturb Bruce in the slightest, he looked at Ra’s and spoke.
“When do we start?”
BATMAN: FIRST CRUSADE