Santa Prisca — Nightfall
The ocean air was thick and humid as the helicopter descended toward the island. Jungle trees parted below, revealing the heavily fortified Venom factory nestled deep within the mountainous jungle.
Inside the chopper, Desmon Creed sat across from Sportsmaster, eyes half-lidded, body still from the neck down — like a beast conserving energy before the strike. His dark skin glistened faintly under the moonlight leaking in from the open side door, his lean, muscular form wrapped in a tactical black combat suit.
His short black hair with blond tips ruffled slightly in the wind. One clawed hand rested lazily on his knee. His retractable claws, currently sheathed, lay hidden beneath his fingers like secrets waiting to be spilled.
Sportsmaster finally spoke.
"You ever been to Santa Prisca before?"
Desmon opened one amber eye, then smiled with fangs barely visible.
"Once. Left a few scars. Might pick up a few more."
They exchanged a nod — a mutual respect among assassins.
Earlier That Night — Gotham, Safehouse
The work phone vibrated.
Desmon cracked one eye open, cat-like and gleaming. He reached over lazily, not bothering with the light. The caller ID flashed only a single word:
Old Man.
He answered with a raspy edge to his voice.
"Didn't I just do you a favor?"
Ra's al Ghul's voice was smooth, calm, as always.
"Indeed. And this time, you'll be compensated."
A pause. Then the familiar chime of a deposit alert. Desmon glanced at the screen.
$1.5 million.
His grin widened.
"Now you're speaking my language. Who's the target?"
"No target. This is an escort job. You're backup for Sportsmaster. He's making a deal with the Kobra Cult on Santa Prisca."
Desmon sat up now, stretching with a low growl.
"Kobra? That's a name I haven't torn through yet."
"This is not a free-for-all. Observe, ensure the transaction is not interrupted. Nothing more."
"Right," Desmon said, already on his feet. "Observe."
He ended the call, walked into the bathroom, and disappeared behind steam and the hiss of water.
Santa Prisca — The Factory
High above the jungle, the Team moved into position, hidden by the cliffs and foliage. Robin, Aqualad, and Miss Martian watched the factory as shipments of Venom were loaded into crates. Kid Flash buzzed with energy, impatient. Superboy stood stone-faced, eyes narrowed on the movements below.
"This is bad," Robin muttered. "Kobra shouldn't be here."
"Clearly, Bane has been ousted," Aqualad said. "And Kobra is hoarding the Venom formula."
Miss Martian glanced toward the structure.
"Someone's coming," she said telepathically. "A helicopter."
-----
The helicopter touched down in the factory yard. Kobra and several cultists emerged from the shadows to greet the new arrivals.
Sportsmaster stepped out first, every inch the professional.
Then came Sabertooth.
He landed with barely a sound. Controlled, panther-like.
The cultists paused, watching him, unsure.
Desmon scanned the factory lazily, breathing deeply through his nose. His expression shifted, sharpened.
Above them, invisible and floating, Miss Martian stiffened. He was looking right at her.
"He knows I'm here," she whispered into the telepathic link.
Desmon's nostrils flared, and the corners of his mouth curled up.
"Five," he said aloud. "One flier. One...hmm, Alantean. The little speedster, one unknown. And the little bird."
Sportsmaster raised an eyebrow.
"You can smell them?"
"Yes," Desmon said, slowly extending a hand. Black-metallic claws slid from beneath his fingernails. "But better yet I can hunt them."
-----
Without warning, Bane leapt from the shadows, tearing into the cultists with brute force. Chaos erupted. Mammoth burst through a window, charging at Superboy.
Desmon stood still....until he moved.
He was on one cultist in an instant — clawed hands slashing in precise arcs, striking tendons and pressure points. He didn't kill. He maimed, slowly.
Each blow was elegant, efficient
Another cultist raised a weapon.
Desmon danced around the bullets, landed in a crouch, then spun on his hands, sweeping the man's legs before pinning him under a claw to the throat.
"Scream," Desmon said, eyes glowing, "and I'll make you listen to yourself die."
The man passed out.
"They're not the targets, Sabertooths."
"I know...that's why they're alive," He said slowly as he turned towards Kobra."The price of the shipment has just lowered. Next time, do a better job of securing the area. The League can't be associated with working with amateurs."
Sabertooth then starts walking away slowly. Sportmarster thought over what he said as Kobra gritted his teeth. Sportamster then taps his coms to speak to someone before resuming talking to Kobra.
-----
From the shadows, Aqualad gritted his teeth.
"Who is that?"
"He moves like a cat," Miss Martian added. "But his thoughts… they're chaotic. Calculated cruelty."
Robin's voice came through sharply.
"That's the buyer's backup. He's the real threat."
Superboy and Mammoth continued to trade blows. Robin vanished into the factory to access intel, while Kid Flash took out several cultists with speed strikes.
Sabertooth zeroed in on Miss Martian next. He couldn't see her, but he didn't need to.
He moved toward her location slowly, deliberately.
Miss Martian flew back, retreating.
"He's tracking me without sight!"
-----
Back near the heart of the factory, Kobra and Sportsmaster were locked in tense conversation over the shipment. Behind them, Sabertooth crouched low while gazing at the area he calculated the invisible flier to be. They had moved, but not far. They're inexperienced.
"You smell like fear and adrenaline," he muttered.
He looked up, directly into the shadows.
"Come out, little mice. Let's play."
And then — he leapt.
-----
The jungle shuddered with distant gunfire and the low growl of engines. Inside the Venom facility, chaos had erupted. Cultists fell, Bane was in full revolt, and the shadows teemed with violence.
Above it all, a shape hovered — Miss Martian, cloaked in telekinetic flight, eyes scanning for a safe vantage point.
Too late.
From below, something moved — fast, silent, lethal.
A blur of shadow leapt upward. Sabertooth.
Miss Martian barely turned her head before he slammed into her midair, claws unsheathed. She screamed as they spiraled down like a missile. They crashed into a crate, splintering it. Dust billowed.
She didn't rise.
Sabertooth stood over her, hand around her throat, claws resting just above her cheekbone.
"Floatin' around like you're untouchable," he muttered. "Cute."
He raised a claw for the finish—
"Let her go!"
Kid Flash sped in like a lightning bolt, striking Sabertooth with a full-speed punch.
Sabertooth barely staggered. He grunted — then caught Kid Flash's return strike mid-swing, spun, and planted a knee in his gut.
Wally wheezed, the wind blasted from his lungs, and he hit the ground hard.
"Too predictable," Sabertooth muttered.
From behind, Aqualad charged in with water-blades drawn, striking with disciplined precision. Sabertooth danced around the blows — fluid, almost feline — before stepping in with a vicious palm strike to Kaldur's elbow, disrupting the block, then slashing a claw across his thigh.
Kaldur grunted, falling to a knee.
"One cut," Sabertooth said coldly. "Just deep enough. You'll live."
Superboy lunged, fists raised.
Sabertooth grinned. Finally, something fun.
Connor's first punch flew like a cannonball. Sabertooth sidestepped, twisted with him, and used Superboy's momentum against him. He planted a foot behind Connor's knee, slammed an elbow into the back of his neck, and flipped him into the dirt.
Connor roared back, throwing another punch. Sabertooth ducked, slipped under the arm, and delivered a series of brutal nerve strikes to the side of Connor's torso and shoulder.
The clone gasped, muscles locking for a moment as his arm went limp.
"You're strong," Sabertooth said, circling him. "But you swing like a brawler. That strength means nothing if you can't aim it."
Connor tried to rise — and got a savage heel to the chest, sending him crashing into stacked crates.
Up in the catwalks, Robin moved through shadows, activating the remote detonators he had set earlier.
"Come on, come on…"
Below, Sabertooth had turned his attention to a recovering Kid Flash, dragging himself up.
"Let's try that sprint again," Sabertooth whispered, claws gleaming.
Then — BOOM.
The factory trembled. Explosions tore through crates of Venom, fire erupting through the catwalks. The lights flickered.
Sabertooth turned, eyes flashing.
Robin dropped to the ground below, sliding into a combat stance between the team and the mercenary.
"Guess we ruined your night."
Sabertooth smiled.
"Not yet."
The team, wounded, tired, pulled themselves up. Aqualad limped into position beside Superboy. Kid Flash was breathing hard. Robin flipped a pair of escrima sticks into his hand. Miss Martian struggled to rise, floating barely off the ground.
Sabertooth cracked his neck.
"You kids think this is a team fight. It's not."
He charged. No hesitation.
He slipped past Robin's opening swing, struck Wally's ribs mid-dash, then flipped over Aqualad and raked his claws across his back — shallow but enough to drop him again. He used Robin's momentum against him, dodging and striking in the same motion, then turned into a low sweep that knocked Miss Martian back to the ground.
Superboy caught his wrist mid-strike.
"Not this time," he growled.
Sabertooth didn't resist. He smiled, leaned in — then shifted his stance and used Superboy's grip to anchor himself, twisting violently. He locked Connor's arm, slammed a knee into his side, and delivered four rapid nerve jabs to his neck and lower ribs.
Superboy roared — then collapsed, convulsing.
"This is what experience looks like," Sabertooth growled.
He stood over the team, clawed fingers twitching, ready to end it.
"Sabertooth!" Sportsmaster's voice echoed from the chopper above. "We're loaded. Time to go!"
Sabertooth took a step forward—
A sudden psychic blast slammed into his chest, knocking him back.
Miss Martian, bleeding and dazed, floated weakly, arm outstretched.
"Get away from my friends…"
Sabertooth landed, rolled, and rose in a crouch. He looked up just as Robin dropped smoke pellets.
Gas hissed.
Footsteps. The rush of escape.
The shadows cleared — they were gone.
Sabertooth rose to full height, brushed off his armor, and chuckled darkly.
"Cute."
He turned, claws receding into his fingers with a metallic shimmer, and leaped toward the waiting helicopter.
The chopper blades roared overhead.
As he climbed in, Sportsmaster glanced back.
"You look like you had fun."
Sabertooth sat down, relaxed, legs spread casually.
"Not enough to kill 'em… but just enough to make 'em remember."
The chopper lifted off, disappearing into the clouds.