No person should be conscious while in their mother's womb. Moreover, no person should be conscious after death! But one soul in a multidimensional universe managed to hit such a jackpot.
By the will of fate, another soul collided with this one — far more powerful, far larger, yet almost completely dissolved. This mighty soul had spent much more time in the waters of the River, and all that time had struggled to resist its fate.
The souls collided. And if for one soul this was the end — the final point when the last shells surrounding the core flew apart into fragments and dissolved, leaving the core virginally pure — then for the other, less powerful yet far more conscious soul, it was a new beginning. A new beginning with shards of a foreign shell that pierced this "ordinary" soul and dissolved within it.
The soul clearly felt how after the collision the cold vanished in an instant, replaced by nothing. It felt nothing more, as if it no longer existed. But even that strange state did not last long, and in one moment it was replaced by warmth. Pleasant, soothing, enveloping warmth.
Only after several more months, when the body of the child in the mother's womb was fully formed, did the soul understand where it was, and what would follow.
What followed was the painful process of birth. When the entire body was forcefully pushed through a narrow gap, and the pleasant warmth gave way to the cold of the surrounding world — with all its disgusting sounds, bright light, and pain.
A baby's cry rang out across the small, well-lit room, completely drowning out the beeping of numerous medical devices. An elderly woman receiving the birth carefully wrapped the crying, tiny body in a blanket and gently placed the bundle into the arms of the weakened woman.
— You have given birth to a healthy baby boy. — she told the new mother with a smile, her voice crackling with age.
— It couldn't have been any other way. — the tired woman murmured proudly, and looked down at the bundle in her arms with relief — Welcome to the world, Damian.
Upon hearing his mother's voice the child immediately calmed, and his blue eyes — remarkably clear for a newborn — fixed upon the woman.
Suddenly the entrance door opened, and a tall, middle-aged man appeared in the doorway. His sharp, predatory eyes first settled on the midwife, then shifted to the woman with the bundle in her arms.
— How did everything go? — he asked in a stern tone.
— The child was born completely healthy, — the elderly woman answered with a bow — And unusual.
— Unusual?
— He doesn't cry, — the midwife replied with a note of confusion — But he isn't sleeping either.
The man approached the bed and looked at the calm child whose eyes were wandering in all directions.
— So this is what my heir looks like.
The blue eyes examined the man, and flashed with surprise, followed by a hint of realization.
— "Oh for the love of — don't tell me I was born into the damn DC universe?" — a thought sharply surged through his head — "Maybe dying wasn't so bad after all?"
I was reborn! True, that joyful news quickly became less joyful when I realized exactly where I had been born. When I realized exactly which family I had been born into, it became even sadder. But I always told myself things could be worse. I could have been reborn into Warhammer 40,000, or Naruto, or Bleach — though okay, the last one isn't so scary, you just have to stay far away from Karakura Town.
I could have been born into an ordinary family and lived like in my past world, a simple life, until some Darkseid came along and conquered the planet. But as it stands, I am the grandson of Ra's al Ghul — the head of the assassin organization known as the League of Shadows. Why is that bad? Because they'll raise me to be a killing machine, which automatically rules out a joyful and happy childhood. Nothing but endless training. Most likely.
Though okay, I don't know if that's good or bad. Who hasn't dreamed of becoming something greater than just a standard human? I've been given the chance to become a machine of death, to stand out from the grey masses. Again — things could be worse. At the very least there's food, a roof over my head, and there'll be constant exercise. Speaking of food.
A demanding cry rang through the ward, after which I stared at my mother. She immediately reacted, staring back at me. The woman's face began to change — concentrated, tinged with weariness, it slowly melted into a dumb, happy smile, and instead of coldness, sparks of love began to dance in her green eyes.
My cry was correctly interpreted, to my surprise. The hospital gown shifted aside, revealing before me a beautiful woman's breast filled with delicious food. My mouth immediately latched onto the delivery tube for the white liquid, and the mouth apparatus on reflex, without any conscious input, began extracting nourishment. Warm milk flowed into my mouth, triggering an explosion of happy hormones within me.
Since the extraction of milk required no conscious control, I focused on the conversation between mother and her father — that damned Ra's al Ghul.
— You are truly my pride, Talia, — Ra's praised my mother — He will become a magnificent heir to our mission. What name did you give him?
— Damian, — my mother answered with a mixture of emotions.
— Hm, it has a ring to it. I like it. — the grandfather nodded importantly — I'll leave you be. Rest and regain your strength.
He's already made me an heir, the bastard — and nobody thought to ask me? It wouldn't take long to consult my opinion, and never mind that I can't answer — mother there could translate my negative cry into plain English.
Or would it be negative? Do I even want it otherwise?
Hmm, this world is packed with all sorts of guys and girls with superpowers, the gods idle away their time on Olympus, Hell steadily burns somewhere underground — or wherever it is — arm in arm with the afterlife. In space there are at least six space civilizations, not exactly eager to do it but broadly ready to tear our little planet apart for resources; somewhere in the world wander mages capable of doing whatever they want — well, not literally whatever they want, but close; and in a neighboring dimension, Darkseid sits on his throne, drooling over the anti-life equation which is supposedly located on our planet.
Yes, I definitely need my own assassin organization. They'll find me a way to stop being an ordinary mortal and become an absolute powerhouse. Platinum Kryptonite must be somewhere out there — I'll become a Kryptonian and start chucking evil gods into the sun.
Alright, the plan is set, time to begin execution. Right after I finish eating. And sleep after that — who works on a full stomach anyway? And I need to grow up first, yes.
The next morning did not begin with coffee for me. It began with the sensation of a cool current that washed through my entire body from within. This cool sensation started beneath my heart and spread throughout my body. The further this coolness moved from its source, the less noticeable it became, until it vanished from sensation entirely the moment it entered the limbs and neck.
I hadn't noticed it yesterday — I was busy being born and trying to get my thoughts in order — but now, with everything settled, I could say with confidence that nothing like this had existed in my previous life.
I naturally got to work on the question immediately. All my attention surged toward the cool current, launching a cycle of attempts to bring it under control. It didn't work on the first try. I got hungry.
A demanding cry that woke my mother, then another cry, and a much-desired breast was shoved into my mouth, which I immediately latched onto. And since my consciousness was not required there, I returned again to the interrupted task, which I occupied myself with during all my free time — that is to say, constantly.
One month gave way to another. The little person named Damian gradually grew, surprising his mother and grandfather with his calm temperament — remarkable for a child. Not once did they hear a baby's cry from him, only demanding shouts when diapers needed changing, when feeding was required, or when he wanted company to ease the little one's boredom. For the most part, that boredom was dispelled by watching the training sessions of the assassins during the rare hours when the small body was awake.
— Why does he need a book? — a middle-aged man asked when he came to visit the three-month-old child once again.
— He finds staring at it far more interesting than playing with toys. — Talia answered with a light smile, earning a proud smile from her father.
— "Of course I'd rather stare at it — I still can't maintain a steady flow during movement," — Damian mentally replied. Thankfully, despite his Moscow registration and Russian passport in his past life, he had not neglected the English language — though he was still far from confident conversational fluency.
— Isn't it a bit early for him to be crawling? — Talia asked with doubt, watching her five-month-old child tear across the floor on all fours.
— This is what good genes look like, — Ra's al Ghul answered proudly — You didn't become this energetic until seven months. I think we need to start taking him swimming — we can't hold back his development.
— "And you know why? Because I'm doing great and can maintain the flow even while moving." — Damian mentally replied.
— Walking already, I see. — Ra's al Ghul nodded to himself, watching the eight-month-old child walk slowly and a little unsteadily from one wall of the vast room to the other.
— I'll tell you more — he asks to use the toilet. — Talia al Ghul answered proudly, resting after her afternoon training — Will you join us for a walk this evening?
— Yes, I'll find half an hour to spend time with my grandson.
I love going for walks! Seriously, the beauty here is just — WOW! Nothing but mountains all around, everything blanketed in pristine white snow, not a scrap of urban landscape, pure, untouched nature! And the air? The air is absolute bliss.
— Just look at his satisfied little face. — mother said with a smirk as she carried me in her arms.
I wanted to walk on my own, honestly, but they wouldn't let me. Was all that training for nothing, just to be carried around? Well, no — I was training for something else entirely, to get online sooner, and for that I need to slip away from mother, which is not so easy given her level of professionalism. Every rustle is noticed, every movement tracked, every step controlled. So I get carried in her arms and am not allowed near the edge of the platform. So what if it's dangerous? I want to lean over and see what's down there!
In general, we are currently walking across a massive parade ground situated on a fairly steep mountain slope. Just enormous — the size of a football pitch — a flat concrete slab enclosed on its perimeter by a three-meter stone wall topped with classic Japanese tile roofs. Seriously, they put two slopes over every wall, with the roof corners curving upward. But it's beautiful, there's no denying that.
Anyway, I want to see whether there's mountain below the parade ground, or just support pillars underneath. And I also keep wondering about secrecy. The parade ground is definitely visible from the sky — so why haven't the enemies bombed everything here yet? Well, reasoning from the opposite end — if it hasn't been bombed, there must be some kind of camouflage that's somehow working, but damn, how?
I'd ask mother, but the design doesn't allow for it. I can already walk, yet nothing comes out of my mouth except "goo-goo." The moment I learn to speak I need to bombard her with questions. Like, for example — where are we exactly? Based on fan-fiction and my patchy knowledge of the comics from my past life I suspect we're in Tibet, most likely in the famous Nanda Parbat, but I need precise information. I'm curious.
It's a good thing mother and I have a mental connection, otherwise I don't know how she understands me. Even now, with a single decree of my commanding finger, we walked over to the observation platform that opens onto a simply fantastic view of an enormous valley, the floor of which is hidden behind a white haze of fog. Always! I walk here every day, every day I come to this spot, every day there's fog down there — may it be cursed three times over. And I'm so curious!
— My lord, a report for you. — I was distracted by the voice of a man dressed all in black.
There were many of them here. On the parade ground. Running, doing push-ups, squats, swinging arms, legs, and swords. Some stood on those very observation platforms, monitoring for any clever enemy that might appear in their field of view. Another portion diligently patrolled all the surrounding mountains.
By my rough calculation there were about eight hundred black figures in total. Where does grandfather even get food from. No — put another way — how does he deliver food here? And without anyone noticing to boot. Fascinating.