Life's tough, kid: wear a helmet."
With those last words, I chuck my red helmet at him, and Damian dodges it just in time. The kid's got good reflexes. After my distraction does its job, as I come in with a jump kick, he blocks the blow fairly well. He almost loses his balance, but he absorbs most of the kick pretty damn well for his size.
He comes at me, his sword cutting at my torso, slicing part of the top of my kevlar armor. I figure, why not. Make the kid think he has a fighting chance. Give him a few blows, some real good blows that look like if they were any closer or more accurate, he would've dealt some serious damage. Then, when his confidence is boosted, knock him back to realty with a punch.
Yea, I think this is going to go over very nicely.
This is
bad.
Considering the ease with which Jason dodged both of the earlier kicks, the boy can only conclude that the man
allowed the sword to strike his torso. The question was... was that faith or overconfidence in his armor? Or was it a maneuver to counter exactly what Damian had attempted, to lure the other into making a mistake. The idea that this Jason Todd was patronizing him was as infuriating as it was... disconcerting. Damian did well enough in his own right, having learned to best a number of League trained ninjas. But good wasn't good enough. Damian wasn't to the level of his father. And now he feared that he wasn't to the level of Jason Todd, either.
The trepidation that he felt only drove the adrenaline which fueled a renewed offensive. Damian could be beaten, but he would not be
defeated. The boys falls silent as he focuses on the effort to push his attacker back. With speed and agility as his greatest assets, Damian knew that he needed distance. Grappling became a battle of strength, one that his preteen body was going to lose badly. The sword strike earlier had been intended to drive Jason back, thus allowing room for the acrobatics that Damian relied on in order to set-up his attacks. By stepping into the attack, Jason had rendered the point of the move moot. One thing was clear from the start: Jason Todd was the one in control of this fight.
If there was ever a time that father was going to play the caped crusader and save the day... now would have been a convenient time for him to show up. Hell, Damian would have even settled for Bimbo Brown or, grudgingly, Timothy Drake.
Okay, so maybe Damian wasn't
that desperate yet. Between death or Drake... it would have to be a toss of the coin to decide which was worse.
The more desperate the situation looked, the harder that Damian pushed himself. He was landing blows, but he was no fool. Each victory glanced
just off target. Each punch landed was suspect, as though Jason were luring the boy into a sense of security and Damian knew he had no choice but to play right into that ploy. At least until he had an alternative, but fighting on the open street this late at night there was no place to run... and no traffic to use as either obstacles or for escape. No choice but to stand his ground and fight until he can't fight on anymore. Which, already Damian could feel his arms and legs start to grow numb with fatigue. He was beginning to slow down. Beginning to lose his edge.
This was
very bad.
When Jason finally attacked, it was delivered in the form of a punch that came straight at the child's face. He couldn't block it and he couldn't dodge it either. But he wasn't about to take it at its zenith either, so instead Damian actually smiled. What was the expression,
grin and bear it? Smirking with the same arrogance that he'd begun the fight with, the boy thrust forward so that he intercepted the punch... in effect headbutting Jason's fist. It probably looked stupid, but by connecting with Jason's arm before it was fully extended, the hit that Damian took was substantially less powerful than it would have been at its apex. Which didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell.
In truth, it didn't hurt. At least, not right away. There was a blistful minute... or possibly
minutes... where Damian blacked out. Even when he came to, finding himself on the ground at Jason's feet, there were several seconds before pain like his face having been cleaved in two arrived with all the subtlety of a mack truck. Did he have a concussion? Probably.
If that punch had hit him at full force, it probably would have cracked his skull. Ironic, coming from Jason Todd. Damian refused to give the *****e the pleasure of seeing him clutch his head in pain, instead he very calmly
attempted to get back to his feet. His entire body was shaking, legs visibly trembling as the child stumbled.
"Is... Is that... all... all you've go--" Damian began, before collapsing to his knees and vomiting.
Correction. Did he have a concussion?
Definitely.
Coughing up bile and struggling to catch his breath, the child peered through a blur of stars and saw his katana several feet away, well beyond reach. He tried to push himself back up from the ground and found the dizziness ready to swallow him up in a second black out. He could barely crawl.
So this was it. This was how the real son of Batman was going to die... at the hands of one of father's brain damaged wards. ****ing
beautiful irony. Gritting his teeth, Damian craned his head back to look Jason in the eyes and give the last great act of defiance.
He raised his right hand, fist upturned, and extended his middle finger.