In a panting, gasping mess, Damian was wrenched out of sleep, his chest rising and falling like ocean waves crashing down during a full moon. The remnants of that dreadful, explosive pulse of magic lingered in the air, setting his senses alight and sparking the amber flecks in his green gemstones.
Casting his covers to the floor, Damian was out of his room in barely a second, entering the one besides his with Flash-worthy velocity. Not stopping to shut the door (though it closed a moment later), he stopped only when barred by broken glass, all but wading through air thick with magic.
He had only ever once seen Raven in nearly such a state: that was when Trigon was about to turn Earth in to an additional province of Hell. But this...this was so much more. So much worse. He hadn't before had to witness or tackle the crushing weight of her despair. Adyn must have done, but he wasn't in the Manor. And the state she was in...
Sat upright in her bed, staring unblinking in to nothingness with eyes black as the Styx dripping tears of tar on to her pure bedsheets. Yet her mouth, how horrifically it was opened and how haunting a sound it released. What had sirens, creatures of the darkest waters in Poseidon's seas? What had the Dark elves? What had they in comparison to that shriek?
Not caring for his feet, Damian stepped over the shattered glass, causing cracking sounds every few seconds as he took step after step. And with each careless footfall, the darkness ebbed away from the demoness' mind.
"Raven."
He called to her.
And the screaming stopped. The others should have thanked her for the silencing charms placed on her walls.
"Raven."
Again, he moved forwards, now extending a hand in front of him to offer peace. None could have assumed what state of mind she was in, not at that point.
"Raven."
Damian was at the bedside, but the demoness' eyes had not changed and more and more black droplets fell from her eyes. There was nothing he could do to change that, so he did the only thing possible. Damian frowned, then brushed a tear from her cheek, the sad water staining his fingers.
His hand still at her cheek, the demoness mutely turned her head in his direction, and with a single blink, the dam burst.
Soul-consuming black surrendered to amethyst as Raven took a shuddering breath, staring in to Damian's eyes as if they held the answer she yearned for, "I...I..."
And the tears fell. Uncontrollably, they poured from her eyes like they were purple rain clouds. Falling from her eyes and dwelling in her eye lashes. Damian's arms were around her. Warm, comforting, safe. A shoulder that she cried her heart out on- no more blackness in that salt water.
He held her until the tears were through, be that a minute or an hour, he didn't know. And when they subsided and the demoness withdrew her arms ever so slightly, he lifted her chin with a finger and pressed his mouth to hers, soft as the kiss of a butterfly.
The taste of her tears still on his lips, he asked, "Do you want me to stay?"
Water-streaked cheeks glistening in the little moonlight, Raven nodded, leaning her forehead against his.
In the safety of each other's arms, Damian and Raven slept safely and soundly for the first time in many a night, surrounded by shards of shattered glass window, warm despite the cold.
***
"GRUNDY MAD!"
"Tt. We can see that.", Damian muttered, picking up a rubbish bin lid from the side of the road and flinging it in to Solomon Grundy's face. "Let's see what I can do to make Grundy madder."
Leaping out of the way of two meat cleavers (man cleavers truth be told), Damian sent a side kick straight in to Grundy's nose, knocking the bulk-of-a-creature a few steps back. Unsurprisingly, as Robin was about to deliver a fantastic stabbing-with-the-katana, Wonderwoman swooped in, punching Grundy in the face and effectively knocking out the undead dummy.
Out of the blue- a somewhat accurate statement considering they were at the Gotham city docks at midday- a wailing siren blasted through the air, throwing Robin metres backwards and causing Wonderwoman to stagger backwards. As it is, Damian was saved from smashing in to a lorry window by a bubble of purple magic. Eyes shooting in the direction of his rescuer, Damian dared a nod of appreciation in front of the few Leaguers there.
Luckily enough, the wailing stopped as Batman (utilising one of his many specifically tailored gadgets, in this instance, a circular device attaching to a person's neck to prohibit them from making any such sound- how he wished he could use it on his children-) blocked out Silver Banshee's scream before knocking her out with a single blow. This left but one individual, Croc.
It was an anomaly to all how these three were working together- then again, they work for their own benefit, there ought to have been something in it for all three- more so, how Killer Croc and Grundy escaped prison. Banshee had yet been unretained but the other two had been stored away: Grundy had been provided the comforts of an airtight cell in one of Arkham's rankest, dankest pits; and Amanda Waller had seen to Croc...a beast of a woman to say in the least.
Then again, that didn't really matter when a great ugly beast was attempting to bite your face off. Drawing his katana in a silver flash, Damian sliced the scales below Croc's eyes, spattering a little blood and further enraging him. But it was one individual against a group of some of the world's most powerful individuals, Killer Croc had no change. With another few ground-shaking hits, Wonderwoman rendered the mutant comatose.
As Batman collected the subdued trio to be collected by the authorities, Wonderwoman dealt with the press and Martian Manhunter shifted rubble out of the way (to ensure no hindrance was made to cargo shipments or harm to civilians), Cyborg walked over to the two Titans. Placing his mechanical hands on both of their shoulders, grinned.
"Hey, thanks for helping out, I reckon they,", he jerked his finger in the direction of the restrained villains, "won't be causing much trouble for a while."
Robin raised an eyebrow, sheathing his cleaned katana, "Tt. It wasn't like we had anything better to do."
Rolling her eyes at his antics, Raven smiled at Vic, "What he means is, you're welcome.", she tilted her head. "Right Damian?"
"Oh, absolutely."
"It's called manners, Damian."
"I'm not stupid."
"Could've fooled me."
"Oh yeah, well-"
Cyborg intruded, "Hey, hey, easy now. Jeez, y'all need to take a minute.", chuckling as the two of them playfully glared at each other- and knowing that it was just banter.
Don't tell Batman, but Cyborg could kinda see them getting together- it would be pretty cute if you asked him.
***
Not a sound touched the air though the person's feet moved over the ground. Stalking past flaming torches, the person peered through arched doorways, sure to dart across the openings as avoid detection. Silhouette creeping across walls of rich black marble, he stopped at two double doors stretching from the floor to thrice his height, formidable and crafted from a material as luxuriously dark as the walls.
Guarded by two blazing fires, the doors barred all entry to the room he wished to enter. But no matter, he wasn't an unskilled individual- assassins were trained better than to be vanquished by doors. Most certainly so, assassins of his...nature. He had undergone training beyond that of any common soldier in the Head's organisation.
Knowing that those who would occupy the sealed room were engaged elsewhere (he had utilised his contacts, who had infiltrated the occupied realm, to create a diversion of sorts) the man pressed his palm flat of the divide between the two doors. Closing his eyes, the man bowed his head, his braids falling over his shoulder, and inhaled deeply. Eyes of honey flashing open, the man whispered in an old tongue known only to those learned in the magical arts.
At the conclusion of the last syllable, the doors parted from his palm, hissing as they brushed against the floor. Stepping through the opened threshold, the man entered a room crafted from the aspirations of every monarch. Each of the other three walls was ladened with tapestries of woven gold depicting the bloodiest of the universe's wars with such heart wrenching detail that the man could scarcely contain his emotions. For an age, he stood marvelling at the beautiful horrors sewn before him, caught between tears and screaming.
One wall showcased a battle to damn all crusades and put Ares to shame. The gods, in all their glory, and the angels, in all their holy pretences; the demons, in all their sin, and the monsters, in all their bestiality. Before man. Before the Dark and Light. Before the gods surrendered the under-places.
When there was only a bloody mess of holy war.
Monsters tore the wings of angels to shreds as the demons smashed their halos and ripped from the safety of their chests their hearts. And the gods unleashed the fury of the seas, the skies and the under-places to drown and destroy and consume. Yet the monsters continued to feast on the carnage and the demons relished in the greed of their creations and the wrath of those above.
How fitting for the place the tapestry dwelled.
Still, on the wall opposite was another, a jarringly unconventional tapestry for such a place, yet even worse than the former. For it showed the Last Lady of the Trees. Rather, her death. More so, her murder.
The pinnacle of beauty, echoing the life of the universe, with a thousand year-old oak being only the size of her hand. The last of her kind, yet the loving nurturer. With a smile like the light of a million suns and as loving as the mother of all- what a blessing to the universe that Mother Nature. But a glorious, smiling blessing that had a cavity in her chest, spewing an ocean of gold and drowning her trees in the pure sap that was her blood. Bathed in that golden liquid, was her heart. Lying there, besides her fallen form, carved out of her like any man's meat dinner.
What greater tragedy? What worse injustice? What action more of an abomination against purity?
The man forced himself to walk forward, over the onyx floor, towards the centre of all attention in the throne room. The throne itself. A mighty construct of human remains hewn together by the blackest of magic that made his skin crawl and his soul squirm. Could not a giant sit on that throne? It reached halfway to the ceiling (an expanse of precious metal intricacies and depictions of the original sins) which he was certain stretched beyond that of any human castle's throne room.
This man's task wasn't simply to gawk at the room, though. No, he didn't act without reason. He was given the task of enchanting a certain object which lay besides the throne- a sceptre, holding no magical properties, but symbolically wielded by the sovereign. A simple but powerful spell was needed, one that would go undetected.
He needed to make a certain someone very weak, very slowly. So he would enchant the sceptre-wielder, instil a festering illness in them, one that took over from the root to the leaves. Then an attack could be made.
Emrys would not make any mistakes today, nor ever in this situation. His task was vital, and he could not afford to fail- they could not afford to fail. For Damian Al Ghul had entrusted him in the task of bringing down the forces occupying Hell, and the demoness had done so too.
No, Emrys would not fail indeed.
A.N:
Hello my darlings!
So...ONE WHOLE YEAR!!! It has been one whole year and I have gone from 1 read to 50k+ reads!!! My God, this is more than I could ever have hoped for, to have so many people there actually caring what I'm writing and to know that I've created something that had made people laugh and cry is just...wow.
I don't know what I'm even doing with my life sometimes but I always know that I have to write to keep up the updating schedule😂
This book has been a constant through out this year that has helped me through so much shit that you would not believe. To be straight with you guys, this books had dragged me out of a terrible mental state and stopped so much from happening.
What would I do without you guys who've been here since day one? Seriously, I love you guys. And those that have come in more recent times.
Thank you, thank you so much. I always write 'thank you darling' when replying to nice comments, but I really mean it. You don't know what goes on behind my screen every time I read the comments I get, but let me tell you now, I get so unbelievably smiley and happy.
Thank you my darlings,
Batool ❤️