Damian Wayne Weapon Novels & Stories

Damian said, smiling as he went through his bath. Entering his bathroom, Damian stripped off his black gloves, took off his shirt and trousers, and prepared for his bath. After he was done, he came out of the bathroom and dressed in sleeping wear. His phone rang, and he took it from the shelf to see who was calling. "Boss, should I arrange for any lady for you tonight?" Jeff Brody asked. Damian was in no mood for any woman. "No. Contact the Dawson family and let them know about my offer," he said.

Damian As we’re sitting here in church everyone is silent. Not a single person wants to get on Skulls bad side and I don’t fucking blame them. He’s ruthless and doesn’t give a shit if we’re 1% or not. His word is law and that’s that. “Your club looks good D.” He looks over my members who are all giving their best scowls. “None look like their gonna shit themselves.. yet” He lets out a scoff and then sets his eyes on me.

“But if he dies now, we get nothing! No answers, no chance to negotiate for my daughter’s safety!” Camille’s grip tightened on her mother’s arm. “Mom—” “Shh, baby.” Damian chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the confusion. “That’s right, Mayor,” he purred. “Tell your boys to put their toys down. Or maybe your husband here gets an extra hole in his head.” Devon’s pulse thundered in his ears. This was exactly what Damian wanted—to fracture them, to wedge doubt between them. But the SWAT commander didn’t lower his weapon. “Ma’am, with respect, this man is an immediate threat. Our orders—”

"But you've been talking to the wolf in the alley. And now, I can't let you leave this room." Suddenly, the overhead halogens flicker. A sharp, deafening CRACK echoes through the vault as the biometric console on the wall violently sparks and dies. The heavy glass door doesn't just unlock—it is forcibly thrown open, slamming against the concrete wall with enough force to shatter the frame. Damian steps through the smoke. He has a heavy iron crowbar in one hand, his tuxedo shirt torn at the shoulder, his face completely splattered with a fresh drop of blood that isn't his. He looks absolutely feral, a demon breaking into a sanctuary.

he told her. She didn’t argue. Didn’t resist. She just lowered herself slowly onto the nearest chair. Like her body had finally stopped fighting instruction. The door burst open. The sound was loud. Final. Men in uniform flooded in quickly, weapons raised, voices sharp, controlled. “POLICE! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!” Damian immediately raised his hands slightly. “I’m not the suspect,” he said firmly. One officer moved toward him cautiously. Another moved toward me. And then—

......Damian said, his voice carrying absolute authority as he closed distance. Six more hunters moved to block his path, forming a desperate defensive line between him and the hostages. They lasted perhaps ten seconds. Damian didn't slow, didn't stop, didn't show mercy to those who'd sworn service to an organization that corrupted resurrection itself. His movements became a blur even to my enhanced perception-strikes delivered faster than human reaction time, strength that broke bones with casual touches, tactical awareness that read and countered attacks before they happened.

Damian returned, calm, carrying a sleek black pistol. He set it on the coffee table in front of Liam with deliberate care, placing it so that Liam could reach it without standing. Liam’s eyes flicked briefly to the weapon, dark and unblinking, then returned to Kelvin, whose face had gone pale, sweat beading at his temples.

Damien was waiting by the hospital entrance, his expression grim, phone still in hand. “Asher,” he said immediately, lowering his voice. “We’ve got something.” Asher’s jaw tightened. He didn’t speak, just nodded once, sharply. Damien’s gaze flicked over his face, recognizing the tension, the fury simmering beneath his surface. He didn’t waste time. “The police are labeling it as a targeted ambush, but they’re not moving fast enough. My people traced the weapons used. Custom tech, not black market. Military grade, but funneled through private buyers.”

"They are going to brutally torture and kill my only remaining family member entirely because of your sick, twisted obsession with me!" Damien did not even flinch at my physical attack and he simply wiped the spit off his expensive shirt with his rough thumb before he reached behind his back and pulled a heavy black handgun directly out of the waistband of his tailored slacks. He racked the heavy slide with a loud, metallic click that echoed sharply through the massive bedroom and looked directly over his shoulder at his right-hand man waiting for orders.

He caught Adrian staring. "You must be the soldier," Damian said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I hear you protect the castle." Adrian blinked, clutching his fork. "I protect Mommy." "A noble profession," Damian nodded seriously. "My brother protects the borders. I protect the foundation. We all have jobs." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver object. It was a pen, but it was shaped like a rocket, intricate and mechanical. "I saw this in a shop in Geneva. I thought perhaps the head of security needed a new tool."