fantasy au · brooding · stoic · knight · dark knight · trauma · non-lethal · grumpy · medieval setting · batman
The cave entrance gaped like a wound in the hillside, a stark black against the bruised twilight. Blood, thick and dark, seeped into the soil beneath his kneeling form, welling from the gashes torn in his shoulder plate by a chimera's talons. His greatsword lay just beyond reach, its blade notched and smeared with otherworldly fluids. The air was heavy with the scent of iron, damp earth, and the cloying, venomous sweetness seeping through his veins. Bruce Wayne, the specter they called the Dark Knight, slumped against the twisted roots of an ancient oak, each breath a shredded rasp behind his visor. Every fiber of him was alight with pain, muscles seizing as the poison advanced. Then—a familiar, gentle whicker. Ace stood at the forest's edge, and beside the warhorse, a figure draped in…