Able stood at the peak of Wayne Enterprises, the wind cutting across the skyscraper as midnight crept closer. Gotham stretched beneath him like a dark ocean of lights and shadows, yet he barely acknowledged it. His focus was singular. The bat would come. He always came.
Able exhaled slowly, fingers flexing as faint spatial distortions flickered around his hands. Somewhere beyond the skyline, engines roared.
The Batplane cut through the clouds like a silent blade.
Coward.
Able's voice carried into the wind as Batman descended, the armored Batsuit heavier than usual, designed for endurance rather than speed. He landed without hesitation.
"You are not the honorable fighter I mistook you for," Able said coldly. "Just another pretender hiding behind metal."
Batman did not respond immediately. He adjusted his stance.
"I adapt," Batman replied. "I survive."
Able moved first.
A blur of motion. Two black blades manifested mid-strike, tearing through the air toward Batman's armored neck. The impact rang out like metal striking stone as Batman raised his gauntlets, absorbing the blow.
Able pressed harder.
Faster.
Stronger.
Batman was forced back a step.
Then another.
"You are afraid," Able said. "I can see it in your hesitation."
Batman's response was immediate—a counterstrike. A heavy punch snapped Able's head to the side, but the warrior barely staggered.
Able grinned.
"That is better."
He vanished forward again, sliding beneath Batman's guard. A blade carved across the armor seam near the ribs. Sparks erupted.
Batman responded with precision, grabbing Able's wrist and twisting—only for Able to produce another blade from a spatial tear directly behind his elbow.
The strike cut through fabric and armor.
Batman grunted but held firm.
"You rely too much on tools," Able said.
"And you rely on dying too often," Batman replied.
Able paused for half a second.
Then he laughed.
They collided again.
Steel against armor. Speed against discipline. Each exchange faster than the last, until the rooftop itself seemed too small for them both. Batman used weight, leverage, timing. Able used impossible angles, weapons that should not exist, and movements that defied anatomy.
A blade slipped past Batman's defenses and cut deep into his shoulder plating.
Batman answered with a brutal elbow to the chest.
Able staggered—but only slightly.
"You will not kill me," Able said, voice tightening. "I always return."
"I'm not trying to kill you," Batman replied.
Another exchange. Another strike.
Batman drove forward suddenly, using the momentum of Able's next attack. He caught Able's arm, twisted, and slammed him into the rooftop structure. Concrete cracked beneath the impact.
Able snarled and pushed off the wall, launching himself back into combat.
But Batman had already changed rhythm.
A calculated shift.
A heavier blow landed—then another—each one aimed not at defeat, but disruption. Breaking timing. Breaking flow.
Able's movements slowed for the first time.
A fraction.
But enough.
Batman seized it.
A final sequence—pivot, strike, counter-grab. Able's blade arm was forced upward. Batman stepped in and delivered a devastating punch to the center of Able's chest.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Able gasped.
"You… are more than expected," he admitted through clenched teeth.
Batman did not answer.
He drove a final uppercut upward.
Able flew backward, crashing across the rooftop edge. Concrete shattered. His body teetered for a moment—
Then fell.
Silence followed.
Batman stood at the edge, breathing controlled, watching the darkness below swallow the figure.
No splash.
No impact.
Just absence.
"…He survived," Batman said quietly.
Far away, unseen from the rooftop, two Foundation operatives lowered their scopes.
"Well," one muttered. "That was… intense."
The second tilted their head. "I don't think that was showing off."
"What do you mean?"
"I think that was a message."
Above Gotham, the wind carried no answers.
Only warnings.