More Advance chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido
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For weeks, Damian was submerged in the science of death.
He learned about Poisons—fast-acting neurotoxins, venoms, delayed killers, chemical substances that mimicked natural causes like heart attacks or strokes.
He studied their origins from dusty tomes and skin scrolls, their ingredients, brewing methods and applications.
Aphrodisiacs, Cleansing pills & Herbal tonics were also included as part of the subjects. According to Talia, intimacy with death meant sharing the bed with life as well. One could not exist without the other.
That said, they focused more on Aphrodisiacs and love Potions than the rest.
Perfumes that would make a person crave a bitter enemy's kiss, herbal oils that would lower their inhibitions when massaged, forcing targets into submission without them ever realizing they were being manipulated.
The lessons were not limited to the methods of brewing.
Talia touched on the body's weak points—how to kill with a single touch, a single precise strike to a nerve to paralyze, a careful press against an artery to send someone to sleep, and of course the art of massaging.
Damian was so good at that, Talia would occasionally requests Sessions. The feel of his rough powerful fingers on her skin was something she'd described as heavenly.
Practice for the more lethal moves were performed on cadavers, but sometimes he would unalive a target-most of whom were League enemies.
Before long Damian became adept at Silent killing—garrote wire, pressure-point manipulation and a surgical use of the scappel to sever nerves and vessels.
For long range assassinations, he became an expert at Marksmanship & Sniper Training—learning the wind, the distance, the patience. The art of waiting for the perfect moment, the stillness needed to fire a shot that no one would hear until it was too late. It was an exercise in patience- something that had never been easy but something he soon cultivated.
Every lesson was brutal. Every mistake punished.
Talia would test him constantly—a drink left out for him could be poisoned; a conversation with a stranger could be a lesson in manipulation; a seemingly simple training exercise could turn into an ambush, where he was forced to use his new skills or die. And Damian adapted. He learned. He excelled.
And then came the final test.
Damian knew what was coming before Talia even spoke.
She led him to a high cliffside overlooking the Island and Ocean, where a single sniper rifle was set up with 3 bullets.
Damian breathed in the night air thick with the scent of salt. It was a good night to hunt.
"You will kill this man," Talia said, holding up an image of an accountant. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline, glasses and a weak chin. "One, Marcus Agrey has been stealing from the League for years and to keep his life, we made a deal."
She pointed at the large stretch of forest below them. "He's currently running through the forest and if he can make it to the boat on the shore of the Island, he lives with all his debts forgiven. That will not happen because you will deal with it."
Damian said nothing. The weak were prey, and he had no interest in thieves.
Talia continued, her voice holding a note of amusement. "But there is one condition. You will break Deadshot's record."
A frown crossed his face.
Deadshot's world record was a headshot from 5,000 meters. No one had ever surpassed it. Not to mention it was nighttime, with the only visible light being a half moon in the cloudless sky.
"Challenge accepted." Damian stepped forward, adjusting the rifle and loading it with the one of the 3 bullets available.
He had studied this weapon extensively in training over the 3 months spent on the Art of the Perfect Assassin.
He had learned what made a good sniper like the nuance of breath control, every shift in gravity, every trick of wind that could alter the shot.
Still, this was different. 5,000 meters. The very thick line separating a good sniper from a great one like Deadshot, was making a kill across the impossible.
Damian was not Deadshot. He would be better. His heartbeat slowed. The world narrowed.
His veins burned with the red glow of his Ashura power, enhancing his vision and sharpening his gaze to the point he could clearly spot the emerald glow of dancing fireflies. And the shadow form of the accountant, desperately running through the dense trees, over 3 miles away.
He lined up the shot, and followed the target with the scope, waiting for the perfect moment.
The Accountant jumped over a log, leaving him suspended in the air for 1 and half a second. It was a straight line to the back of his head.
Damian exhaled.
Trigger pulled.
The shot cracked through the silence. The bullet flew. And missed the target, tearing a branch off a tree.
Damian's stomach twisted as the target reacted by running wild and winding paths after realizing a sniper was after him. That first shot had barely grazed past the man's ear, an insultingly close miss.
Talia didn't react. She simply stood behind him, waiting. Damian reset. Adjusted. Focused.
The target was almost close to the shore line which would be beyond the range of the sniper rifle. He couldn't afford another miss.
Once more he exhaled, letting his mind go blank except for his directive.
And just as the man left the tree line, he made the shot.
The second bullet hit. Not the head. The neck.
The accountant choked, spasmed, then slumped forward—dead onto the shore.
Damian clenched his jaw.
It wasn't a failure. The kill was deadly effective. But it wasn't perfect.
Talia studied him for a moment before finally speaking, her tone light as if meant to be consoling, "Neck shot from 5031 meters. Not a clean headshot."
But her words dug into him like knives.
"Remember, you don't get a prize for participation but for winning. You need to be the best, Damian." she continued. "You pass. But there is always another level to reach. Remember that."
Damian said nothing. He just stared at the rifle, engraving what he considered a failure into his mind. He would never miss a perfect shot again.
"This concludes the Art of the Perfect Assassin. You did well." Talia praised, looking out into the sea. "Only one more remains but for the Art of Perfect Desire, we will need to change to a more suitable location. Up for a road trip?"
Damian met her conniving smirk with a raised brow.
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When Talia took him away from Infinity Island the very next day, he expected another battlefield, another fortress, another mission of blood and steel.
Instead, when they arrived in Asia, Damian stepped foot in a place he'd never been before—a red-light district owned by the League of Shadows.
A perpetual frown covered his face as he followed her through the streets lined with lavish brothels, perfumed parlors, and opium dens.
League assassins guarded these places, but they weren't dressed for war. They were escorts, servers, dancers, spies.
"This," Talia said, gesturing around them, "is where you will learn your final lesson."
Damian's frown deepened. "And what lesson is that?"
Talia's smirk was amused. "Control."
For two months, Damian did not train with weapons. He trained with people.
He learned to watch, to listen, to read every flicker of emotion on someone's face, every tell of desire or fear.
He was given roles—a servant in a high-class gathering, a quiet presence in a conversation between criminals, a simple man in a room full of desperate women and greedy men.
And he learned.
How to make people want to talk without realizing they were being manipulated.
How to place a single touch in the right moment, turning casual interest into fascination. How to dress appropriately when wooing or killing or stealing, how to infatuate without attachment.
To CONTROL without force.
Talia watched every step of his progress.
She pushed him into uncomfortable situations, tested him in unfamiliar ways.
More often than not, Damian would be 'assaulted' by 'succubi' which was his term for the beautiful girls and maids working in Talia's establishments. Sometimes wearing very little and covered in the musk of the very same potions Talia had him brewing.
He would stonewall them all and met every provocation with a bull-headed approach. Even if his male urges threatened his tight control. Even if his handsome face and attractive body brought no end to the flood of women wanting him, he never slipped once.
He was exposed to a side of humanity that he had never encountered before, evolving his perspective on life.
But one thing remained constant- Power. And that was what allowed him to succeed, for he viewed the debauchery and wanton consumption of pleasure as a weakness.
The bastards and disgusting junkies that frequented the place looked the same to him, weak willed, fat asses that could not hold his gaze for more than a second. He would never be like them.
He was a Wolf, surrounded by Hyenas and couldn't wait for Talia's lesson to end, for them to return to Infinity Island.
Then finally—on the last night—Talia set the final trial. And it was nothing like what he was expecting.
She called him into her bedchambers and offered him a drink.
A poisoned drink.
Damian knew something was wrong the moment the liquid touched his lips. The poison bypassed his Ashura energy and made his blood ignite instantly.
"What the fuck?" He rose up from his seat, smashing the glass on the floor as a heat unlike anything he had felt before, coiled through his body and burned a path to his groin.
It clouded his mind and drove his senses into overdrive.
"You've learned how to control others these past months, now lets see if you can control yourself." Talia revealed as she got off the bed and stood before him, watching, waiting and slowly stepping closer.
God, the sight of tanned skin underneath the red robe she wore filled his mouth with Saliva. Damian swallowed, eyes roaming all over Temptation. If the girls were Succubi, Talia was Lilith herself.
"S-stay back Woman. I'm warning you." Damian growled, trying to activate his Ashura mode but his heart just wasn't in it.
It wanted to dominate her, yes, but not in the usual way he did.
"My my, such a commanding tone." Talia crooned. "I don't mind it though. I like an authoritative man. Someone who can rough me up when I misbehave. And I've been very very bad."
Their eyes met, and suddenly the spacious bedchamber seemed small and cramped. He was rooted in place as her fingers traced along his arm.
"This is wrong. You are my Sifu." Damian said, trying to inject reason in his tone to hide the need.
"Oh I am much much more than that, my dear Damian." Talia breathed in a honeyed voice while slowly walking around him, tracing a delicious loop of sensations across his chest and back.
She licked his ear and teasingly whispered, "How long can you hold back? How long can you deny the beast inside of you?"
Her hands, wrapped around him, dipped down his torso. "I can feel it. The beast wants out. Unleash it upon me and I'll acknowledge you as my Alpha."
Every fiber of his being screamed for release, for an outlet.
His body betrayed him and he grabbed her hand, intent on throwing her on the bed and devouring her better than all the men he'd seen admiring her breasts, lusting after her ass.
But his mind did not.
Damian threw off her hold and jumped through the window.
Glass shattered as he fell into the cold pond outside, crashing into the water and letting the icy depths rip the poison's hold from him.
Talia stood at the window, watching.
And then she laughed. A genuine, amused, almost proud laugh.
"Well done." she murmured.
Damian dragged himself onto the shore, shaking from the aftershocks of the drug or was it the hunger? Even he wasn't sure.
Talia smirked. "You pass the final Art's test, Self-Control. There's little else left to teach you that you can't learn from experience. Congratulations Damian, I am proud of you."
Damian missed the slight emotion packed in her final words, as he was still disoriented by what had happened.
He had won. But he would never forget just how close he had come to losing.