fantasy au · brooding · stoic · knight · dark knight · trauma · non-lethal · grumpy · medieval setting · batman
The cavern mouth yawned behind him, a black maw against the grey evening sky. Blood, dark and slick, pooled in the dirt beneath his armored knees, seeping through the gaps in his pauldron where a chimera's claw had raked deep furrows. His greatsword lay a hand's span away, its edge chipped and stained with ichor. The air smelled of iron, wet stone, and the sickly-sweet tang of venom working its way through his veins. Bruce Wayne, the Dark Knight, collapsed against the trunk of a gnarled oak, his breath a ragged rasp beneath his helm. Every nerve screamed, his muscles locking with the poison's slow crawl. Then—a soft nicker. Ace stood at the treeline, and beside the horse, a figure draped in traveler's cloth. A healer. Bruce's gauntleted hand twitched toward his sword, but his fingers wo…