SHADOWS OF CURSES: A DC FANFIC

The moment Mirk charged at the nearest Talon, the Iceberg Lounge erupted into chaos. The assassins moved with fluid precision, their training evident in every calculated motion. Mirk felt the adrenaline surging through him, but it was accompanied by a cold reality: he was outnumbered, and they were ruthless.

The first Talon lunged at him, a blade glinting in the dim light. Mirk sidestepped the attack, feeling the rush of air as the blade barely missed his side. He retaliated instantly, activating Cleave. The invisible slash cut through the air, and he watched as the Talon's body twisted awkwardly before collapsing to the ground, the clean cut indicating the effectiveness of his technique.

But the victory was short-lived. The remaining Talons adapted quickly, their training allowing them to anticipate Mirk's movements. A second Talon attacked from behind, a sharp pain blooming in Mirk's shoulder as the blade sliced through his skin. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay focused despite the blood seeping from the wound.

"Nice try," Mirk spat, but he felt the sting of pain intensifying his resolve. He could sense the cursed energy within him, and with each injury, it seemed to pulse more fiercely, reacting to the adrenaline and the threat of death that lingered in the air.

He had to be smarter. The Talons were beginning to coordinate their attacks, a formation designed to wear him down. Mirk ducked and weaved, but their strikes were coming faster than he could keep up with. A swift kick landed against his ribs, sending him crashing against the bar.

He coughed, tasting blood, but a fire ignited within him. It was time to adapt as well.

Mirk remembered the principle of Cleave—how it adjusted to the target's durability. He was the only one who could see cursed energy, and in that moment of clarity, a new idea sparked. He would create a technique that would allow him to strike from multiple angles, catching the Talons off-guard.

Placing his left and right fingers on top of each other, Mirk channeled his cursed energy into his fingertips. He could see the energy flowing, swirling around him like a storm. As he focused, he felt the air shift, and the world around him faded, narrowing down to just him and his target.

"Net Cleave," he muttered, feeling the energy pulse through him.

With a sudden flick of his fingers, Mirk unleashed the technique. An invisible web of cursed energy shot outwards, spreading like a net and catching the attention of the closest Talon. The assassin froze, confusion flashing across his masked face. Before he could react, the energy snaked around him, and Mirk followed up with a powerful Cleave.

The result was devastating. The Talon was sliced in half, the clean cut leaving no chance for survival. Mirk could feel his heart racing, fueled by the thrill of success, but he knew he couldn't let up. He was still in the midst of a battle.

Using the momentum of his new technique, Mirk repositioned himself, moving like a dancer through the storm of blades that sought to take him down. He felt another slash across his thigh, a burning sensation that reminded him he was still vulnerable. Blood dripped down his leg, staining the floor beneath him, but with each injury, he felt the surge of cursed energy grow stronger.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunted, voice steady despite the pain. He flicked his fingers again, deploying another Net Cleave that ensnared two more Talons. The energy coiled around them, immobilizing them long enough for Mirk to deliver a lethal strike with Cleave.

The fight raged on, Mirk pushed to his limits as he struggled against the Talons' relentless onslaught. Each cut and bruise he sustained only fueled his determination to master his abilities. With every attack he evaded and each opponent he took down, he could feel himself growing stronger, more attuned to the cursed energy that now defined him.

As the battle continued, Mirk honed his Net Cleave technique, using it not just for offense but as a defensive mechanism, redirecting the energy to create barriers that shielded him from strikes. But even with his newfound skill, the Talons were tenacious, regrouping and adapting with every moment.

Finally, Mirk found himself standing amidst the bodies of the fallen Talons, breathing heavily. He had sustained injuries—a gash on his arm, a bruise blossoming on his ribs, but he had survived. More than that, he had pushed past his limits and unlocked a part of himself he never knew existed.

As he surveyed the carnage, a sense of triumph washed over him. He had fought against the odds and emerged victorious, and now, with his confidence bolstered, he was ready to face whatever else the night had in store.

But in the shadows, more threats loomed. Mirk had only scratched the surface of the darkness in Gotham, and he could feel the weight of the city pressing down on him.