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This story contains characters from not only the Assassin's Creed game franchise, but also from the DC universe. I donot claim ownership over any character from either universes.

Grudge Match[]

11:33 PM , Gotham Museum of World History, Gotham City, 2011

Batman looked at his opponent grimly.

Slade Wilson. Mercenary. Cutthroat. A man ruled by both animalistic instinct and a very human cunning. The man known now only as Deathstroke.

Both men looked at each other. They stood in a museum. Behind Batman was a glass display containing a small ball covered in engravings. They stood barely three metres apart.

"Leave, Wayne. As much as I'd like to show you your place, I'm not here for you. Get out of my way." Said Deathstroke.

Batman did not answer.

Deathstroke's face was invisible behind his one-eyed mask, but Batman could feel his smile. "Looks like I'm getting a bonus tonight." Then, he struck.

With the speed and fluidity of a snake, Batman leaned back, and grabbed Deathstroke's hand, pulling the mercenary into a headlock.

Deathstroke's leg came whistling out of nowhere, catching Batman across the shin so hard that he felt dull pain blossom through his body kevlar armour. As Batman threw the man away, Deathstroke twisted midflight, throwing a trio of curved knives at the caped crusader.

Deflecting them with his cloak, he looked up just in time to avoid getting impaled by Deathstroke's sword. He kept weaving between the other man's attacks, until an unexpected flashbomb dazed him.

Just as his attention wandered, Deathstroke sought to land with a solid jab to the gut. However, an instinctive parry using his gauntlet saved Batman. Deathstroke then struck his foe with a small dagger that managed to perce his armour.

As Batman fell back, Deathstroke charged, realizing the danger too late. Batman had already dodged the blade, and countered with a powerful backhand to Deathstroke's face, that left gauntlet marks on the mask, before hammering his knee into the other man's abdomen.

Deathstroke managed a sweeping kick at his foe, intending more to drive back his foe than to do damage. Batman jumped back, throwing two batarangs at his opponent. One he deflected with his sword, but the other caught Deathstroke in the shoulder, drawing blood.

Both men caught their breath. Though Deathstroke had been struck more of the two, Batman knew how fast the mercenary recovered and how little he let pain bother him. Batman drew out the mercenary's dagger, wincing slightly, while Deathstroke wrenched out the batarang from his shoulder with contemptious ease. Bastard, thought Batman.

Once more they locked horns, but now Deathstroke was in control. He drew blood again, once from a shallow sword cut at the vigilante's chest, and a shuriken that had struck him slightly below his knee. Deathstroke was almost oblivious to any injury he took, and now he kicked him twice hard in the ribcage, before striking with his sword with all his might.

Just in time, the Batman raised both gauntlets, but the force of the blow was so great, that he flew back in a shower of sparks, crashing into the glass display which held the artifact Deathstroke had been hired to steal. As glass flew every where, Deathstroke watched in horror as the ball hit the marble floor.

But it did not break. Instead, it began to gleam with light, light that enveloped both men, and then they were gone...


2:13 PM , Maysaf , The Library , 1191

Batman, real name Bruce Wayne, opened his eyes groggily, and squinted as he felt lances of light strike his retinas.

"Tell the Mentor he's awake." he heard a voice say, followed by crisp steps as someone walked away.

Wayne didn't move. Even as his body was still, his mind was racing like hell, reliving his scuffle with Slade, and the mysterious ball that had flashed and then... he was here.


He opened his eyes wider, noticing that most of the light came from the windows directly opposite to him. He was lying on some sort of makeshift bed, and was surrounded by books, ancient tomes that looked as if they'd been whisked right out of his own personal study. He couldn't see the covers, but he could see that they weren't in english.

He could hear someone walking towards him... probably the voice that had sent it's companion to fetch the 'Mentor'. Wayne let the man come as close as he was going to let him, before leaping out, towards the sound of the footsteps.

Oh, he was fast. The young man in the white hood somehow dodged Wayne's attempt to grab his neck, but didn't notice it was just a feint, till a iron hard knee smashed into his groin.

The man fell to the floor, Wayne on top of him, one palm on the hooded man's throat.

"Talk. Where am I? Who are you?" he growled.

Then he felt the barest prickle of cold, hard steel at the back of his neck.

"Leave him." the words were cold, and brooked no argument.

He let himself rise, careful not to impale himself on the blade at his neck. Then, a hand with a steel grip turned him.

Wayne found himself looking at a man of asian appearance, clad in a white hood like the young man on the floor, who was even now rising. Hawklike black eyes glared at him from under the hood, like some bird of prey.

"I am Altaïr, the Master of the Order of the Assassins, and you are going to tell me what I want to know, which begins with who you are, and why you were found naked and unconcious mere metres from the village." said the man called Altaïr, as his young companion warily seized Wayne, still wincing.

"I don't know." said Wayne, noticing that he was wearing soft woolen trousers instead of his suit.

Altaïr raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. Leave us, Zamir," he said to the other man, who nodded and walked out of the library.

"Now," said Altaïr, "We talk."

The Batman[]

3:31 PM , Maysaf , The Library

"... I see." said Altaïr, as Wayne stopped talking.

"So you say that you are... from the future? A time where masked men battle to save or damn humanity?" he said, almost to himself.

Wayne nodded. Close enough.

Altaïr snapped out of his thoughts. "This... sphere that you saw... would you recognize it if you see it again?"

"I don't think I can ever forget it."

Altaïr nodded once in reply, before rising from the wooden chair he'd been sitting on.
He gestured Wayne to stay.

As the man left the library, Wayne browsed the old books. As he'd suspected, they were not in English. He recognized two languages, Arabic and Persian, and they were both in old dialects he was not fully familiar with. He picked up an old book, covered in leather, and looked at the words on the binding. They said, The Wisdom of Thy Brotherhood. Another book roughly translated as Call of the Brotherhood of True Assassins.

Assassins. Hashashin.

"You are well versed in our language for a stranger."

He turned around in a defensive posture, seeing Altaïr standing there. He didn't relax.

"You said you were Scholars." Said Wayne, low and menacing.

"Indeed we are."

"No, you are assassins. You are the Hashashin!"

"Indeed we are. We are both. We do what we do for the greater good."

Wayne still did not relax, but allowed the Assassin to speak.

"Perhaps you do not know the true story. So listen, my friend...


Since the dawn of time has our Order fought for mankind. We have fought to preserve mankind's free will, killing oppressors and their allies, and we continue to do so.

But you must understand, we are not like this Deathstroke of yours; we fight for ourselves, and for freedom. And we are no barbarians to find and pave a path of blood to our enemies. We obey no law, but we all believe and practice one Creed.

  1. "Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent."
  2. "Hide in plain sight, be one with the crowd."
  3. "Never compromise the Brotherhood."

But not only we work in the shadows. Even as we fight to free, our enemies fight to enslave, to chain, to bind mankind...

The Order of the Templar, the rogue company of RIchard's army. They too, like us, strive for peace in all things, but our conflict is the means.

We belive that only by exercizing their own free will can people find peace. But the Templars seek to wither free will, and force peace upon the people. Indeed, their cause is just, but their means are not.

And so we continue to fight, never surrendering, never bowing to the other, and perhaps shall continue to do so till the end of time...