TitansGo.net

[ChroniclerJon]

Rated 'M' for eventual violence, disturbing themes, and sexual situations

A note on Inital Notes, (06-27-09): The Initial Notes were written to fend off flames and other harassment from canon purists. Through the course of writing the story I have found myself doing more research than I had originally anticipated, and an outside reviewer on the TitansGo forums (where this story is cross-posted) has confirmed that I'm well-adhered to canon history if nothing else. Of course, I tend to pick and choose what I want from either the comics or the show, but such is an effect of imperfect source materials. Now, it's been brought to my attention that some readers care to know some aspects of the story prior to its initial reading, so for those readers I am prepared to tender a list of salient facts. For those of you that either don't care or disagree with this practice, feel free to skip down to the beginning of the story proper in italics below....... Salient Facts: The story is based on an original character. This OC is not me, so this is not characterized as a "self-insert" fic. I shall endeavor to keep this OC from becoming what is known as a "Gary-Stu". There is romance planned. There will be sensuality, but anything overtly sexual (if it happens at all) will happen off-screen. There are likely to be some aspects of the story that will be uncomfortable for some readers. For example, the OC is in his twenties while Raven (the female lead) is still a teenager. There will not be any warning of these events, and more than one reader has stumbled across moments that they found uncomfortable... which is, partially, the point. This story, while the first written, is actually third in a series of at least four. References made to past events that have not transpired within these pages should be assumed to have happened either off-camera or in a preluding, as yet unwritten work. Guessing is half the fun, and one reader has already successfully determined most of the hints placed throughout the tome in progress.

Initial Notes:
----------------

Let it be known now that I am not a comic buff. Nor am I a particularly large fan of the television series. I am, however, greatly intrigued by the potential that these characters show. As such, I am creating this story to explore the characters of these persons, with special focus on Raven. In short, I neither know nor care where in the time line these events take place. I don't care if my characters are “OOC”. With character growth, I count on it. And I certainly could care less that what I am saying about a character is directly counter to certain laws, suppositions, or even evidence from canon sources.

If you want stories that follow canon so much, go buy some comics. This is fan-fiction.

Reviews and feedback are appreciated. Updates are likely to be sporadic. The story may die. These are the facts of life for a reader and writer of fan-fiction. Help me help you by keeping me involved with this story. Also note that I have no beta reader, and that while a fair attempt has been made towards appropriate grammar and spelling, the quality of this story is less than guaranteed.

That being said, please enjoy...

=-=-=-=-=-
Raven, Entry 1
=-=-=-=-=-

It is a curious thing. Nearly everyone knows about the Titans. We don't exactly try to hide our existence. Rather, we flaunt it, living within a giant symbol. Yet villains, thieves, and all matter of unscrupulous individuals continue to work in the city. In fact, it seems that new villains appear weekly. Wouldn't it be more beneficial for them to work elsewhere? Or, at the very least, not draw such attention to themselves? Can their hubris really extend that far beyond their common sense?

A new costumed enemy appeared on the streets today. He was stealing the money from vending machines. Afterwards we needed to clarify with the commissioner that we should be called based upon the criminal's talent and not simply their wardrobe.

It is a matter of concern that the police force seems to be... less than vigilant. Their efficacy also seems to be lower than when we first arrived. Is this because the city has become that much more dangerous, or is it because its denizens have become too lax in its upkeep? Between the police growing weaker and the criminals growing stronger, one is forced to contemplation...

Is it possible that, rather than being a cure to the disease, we are simply another symptom?

--Raven

=-=-=-=-=-
Magic and Bullets
=-=-=-=-=-

“May I sit here?”

The voice was smooth and strong, but not overbearing. It was rich in tone, neither deep nor shrill, well enunciated and possessing no discernible accent. It was a voice made for speaking.

Raven didn't look up from her book, nor did she reply.

“Very well, then. Silence gives consent.” A quiet scrape of wood upon wood, a soft rustle of cloth and the settling of another aura nearby were the only indications of his presence, and then near-perfect silence. Despite herself, Raven was curious. Several moments had passed and he hadn't attempted to start up conversation. Further, his aura read like he wasn't even paying attention to her. Not that she was complaining, mind you, but the reality of it was that the Titans simply weren't ignored when they were in public. After several minutes Raven broke the silence with a question, although her eyes never left the book in her hands. “Why are you here?”

A brief flicker of surprise flashed across his aura, but his voice was smooth and unaffected. “Since I assume you're not opening a conversation with philosophy, the simple answer is that I'm here for the reading.”

Smothering a tinge of annoyance, she clarified. “More specifically I meant, 'why are you here at my table?'”

“Ah, yes. My apologies. There are no other seats.”

Raven blinked and raised her head to scan the coffee shop. Indeed, every table was full, the bar was at capacity, and there were even some people standing or in folding chairs. Her table was the only one with available seats, and nobody was even looking at them. A small smirk played across her face for a moment. The regulars certainly knew not to intrude upon her space. Which begged the question...

“You're not from around here, are you?”

The small stage that the coffee shop boasted had a spotlight trained upon it, a young woman standing upon it and speaking into the microphone. She was apparently introducing the reader for the evening, but Raven's attention was drawn towards the man sharing her table.

“Indeed not. I just got in this morning from Japan,” he replied, flashing a grin over his shoulder that revealed a heavily tattooed face. “I'm Jon, and as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I believe the mob will lynch me if I don't get on-stage.” He stood and walked towards the stage, leaving Raven with one eyebrow cocked up and gazing at the relevant information on a small poster that had been blocked from view by his body:

Guest Poet: Jon
Author of: Begin at the End and Song of Divinity

After blinking a few times, Raven flipped her book around to inspect the spine. In simple gold letters against the black leather of the binding were the words “Song of Divinity”. A moment passed before a soft groan was heard from the depths of her hood.

“This is just going to be one of those nights, I can tell.”

=-=-=-=-=-

“I don't believe I got your name.”

The girl hesitated, shoulders tensing for a moment under her blue cloak. She turned swiftly, the edges of her cloak lifting as they caught air. Long pale legs flashed in the dim light that filtered through the dusty windows. She faced me, her hood throwing shadows across the top of her face. Despite the obfuscation, her eyes shone with a inner light, both bright and captivating. There was something about her that simply called to me, like a spot of shade in a blistering desert. At her continued hesitation, I offered, “My name, as I'm sure you've gathered by now, is Jon.”

She studied me a moment, and I knew not what she was searching for. Presumably she found what she sought after, for she replied. “Ra-... Rachel. You may call me Rachel.”

I bowed my head slightly. “Rachel, then. It is a pleasure.” Her hesitation was certainly understandable. Used as I was to how my appearance affected others I would expect nothing less, and possibly much more. In fact, the last time I met a woman in an alley she nearly gave me a concussion. Being covered in twisting lines of tattooed ink from exposed scalp to foot-sole tended to startle people. “I was hoping you would allow me to walk you home. It is rather late, and I'd hate for anything to befall you.”

A quick flitter of pale emotion passed her face; scorn, surprise, and finally a sort of faint amusement. “That's... not exactly necessary. I can take care of myself.”

Vaguely worried that I had given some offense, I raised my hands in a calming gesture and replied, “I didn't mean to intimate otherwise. It's understandable that my presence may be unwelcome. Your boyfriend, I assume, would look unkindly upon your return with another man?”

She snorted softly, spun back around towards the alley's exit and said, “I don't have a boyfriend.”

“Very well. If, however, you wish to discuss 'The Anointed One', you'll know where to find me.”

With that last floating through the air, she turned from sight. I decided to head towards home myself, and exited the alley in the other direction.

=-=-=-=-=-

Raven meditated, floating several feet above her comforter. In her mindscape, galaxies spun silently through space and worlds lived, flourished, faltered, and died. Time was a foreign concept, matter and energy likewise, all illusions of the body. There existed only the mind and pure nothingness.

Pure void.

Pure peace.

In this wondrous place there were three truths.

“...Azarath...”

“...Metrion...”

“...Zinthos...”

Eventually the body could no longer be subsumed. With a gentle sigh and a slow fluttering of the eyes, the demi-demon returned to the world of mortality. A soft chirping interrupted the silence, and she reached to her side and flipped the yellow communicator open. A voice raspy with disuse melded with the silence, responding to the call.

“Raven here.”

A face whose eyes were concealed behind a domino mask appeared on the screen, perched above a colourful amalgamation of cape and tunic. “Raven, can you come down to the evidence room? There's something here that I'd like your opinion on.”

A shift of violet hair against gray skin was the only indication of a barely perceptible nod. “On my way.”

As she floated out of her room and down the hall, she thought about Jon's cryptic parting words. It was simple enough to figure out how he had known of her interest in “The Anointed One.” The book she was reading was open to that particular poem, and the margins were full of notations. No, that wasn't the mystery. What was curious was that he said she would know where to find him. It was possible that he meant at the coffee shop, but he was only a guest speaker there. Indeed, he was only slated to appear at the shop for the single night. Approaching the door forced her to abandon the thought process for a time, forced her to refocus on the gaudily dressed individual sitting in front of the terminal in the darkness. Without turning around or otherwise indicating how he was aware of her presence, he spoke.

“These symbols have been appearing around the airport and docks for the past week.” A click of the mouse threw the images onto the wall-screen. Despite herself, Raven loosed a short gasp. “As you can see,” Robin said in a flat voice, “they've been carved into flesh. The victims report that they did not see their assailant, and that they were awake and completely aware during the procedure.” More clicks put more pictures onto the screen. Robin continued to speak, but Raven wasn't listening. She examined the photographs splayed unashamedly across the wall, her emotions encased in bonds of black ice. There was a young woman, tall and pale, elegant and refined if one ignored the cruelty performed upon her person. A larger black man, graying at the temples with a symbol carved into his tongue. Raven stopped dead as she looked at the final image, a young child that appeared to be between seven and ten. The child's face was savaged, her left eye popped and missing, flesh parted to reveal the white gleam of bone beneath. Further details were unable to be determined since the wall-mounted monitor system glowed in a dark nimbus and imploded.

There was a sudden darkness and silence that was pierced only by the occasional sizzling spark.

“Raven, are you-”

“It was almost like Ancient Sumerian. Perhaps a branch dialect, or a proto-language.” Raven's eyes glowed white-hot in the darkness. Robin tactfully ignored the fact that his teammate had just performed demolitions work on his computer system.

“Could you translate it?”

The light of her eyes began to dim. “Maybe. No promises.”

Finally her eyes stopped glowing, and she turned to leave. As the door slid open, Robin called out to her. Against her better judgment, she stopped and hovered in the doorway.

“Raven... will you be alright? Can you handle this?”

A brief hesitation, and then the words, “Why wouldn't I?” were his only answer. As she left, a ceiling-mounted light fixture fell to the floor and shattered. Robin examined the damage in the dim glow filtering through the open doorway and sighed. Pulling out his communicator and pressing a button, he said “Cyborg, I could use a little help in the Evidence room...”

=-=-=-=-=-

Weeks had passed, and I was beginning to wonder if the vision had been interpreted correctly. It was always a tricky business to discern meaning from visions, but this particular oracle was well-regarded and had used her gifts to great effect in the past. It seemed that the haste with which I'd left Japan may not have been necessary. Still, if there was one thing that I was very good at, it was being patient.

In the meantime I had begun to turn my current domicile into something more like a home. The room I was currently occupying was small but functional. It contained a set of bookshelves which were already groaning under the weight of a portion of my collection. A dresser stood unobtrusively in one corner, and a small bed ran along one wall. A window and door to a bathroom completed the place that would be home for the foreseeable future. The warding had been completed upon arrival, the contents of the various books and scrolls entirely too precious and dangerous to not be protected from harm. A cursory check of the energies tied into the structure revealed the need for recharging, something that was required with increasing frequency.

I frowned. The magic wasn't working correctly, or at least not in a manner that I had come to expect. Generally, the ambient magic of a location was enough to shore up a static pattern and it only required recharging when the energy in the pattern was expelled. If one was lucky, then the ambient magic was plentiful enough to recharge and strengthen the pattern. This draining of the pattern's energy was usually a symptom of endemic magic depletion, but there were no other symptoms of such an imbalance to be found in the city. Indeed, the feel of the city seemed indicative of endemic magic augmentation. It was like a strange combination of Metropolis and Gotham, the cities cited as examples of augmenting and depleting locales by my mentor.

A circle was inscribed upon the floor, something I had done when the necessity of frequent recharging had become apparent. The symbols etched within had been lost to the ravages of time long ago, remembered only by those who recognized their power and meaning. I grimaced, thinking about the toll the ritual would take upon me as it added to the debt I had accumulated. As a general rule I avoided mystic workings, both by nature and sensibility. The fact that the universe tended to take affront at being told what to do also bred a healthy respect for the gravity of the arts magic.

Still, ya gotta do what ya gotta do.

I entered the circle and sank into seiza, careful to avoid the characters inscribed within. Even though I couldn't scuff them or blur their outline like with a chalk mandala, the energy would flow better with them unobstructed. Light slanted in through the window; the sunset cast the room in a ruddy glow. Sunrise would have been a better time for the ritual, but the pattern would likely break before then. After a moment of focus, I began the chanting.

“Ygratha Metrintacal Shendrithicadshendrithos... Ygratha Metrintacal Shendrithicadshendrithos...”

The circle glowed as it channeled my energy into the wards. Pale yellow tendrils of mystic energy were formed at its periphery and stretched towards the walls. Within the circle I was surrounded by a diffuse nimbus of the same colour, sharply cut off at the inner edge of the runes. These glowed strongly as they directed the magic into usable forms.

After a time the wards couldn't accept anymore magic. The circle winked out and the ritual ended. The sky had become a velvety dome across the sky, punctuated now and again with a glistening diamond. I winced as my attention was forcibly returned to my body. Sitting in that position on hardwood was not conducive to comfort. I stood and stretched, then grabbed a coat and headed outside.

Nothing quite replenished spent magical energy like a huge container of ice-cold Dr Pepper.

=-=-=-=-=-

...At approximately 0045 a massive gang war erupted between the Wildcards and the Razorleaves that was causing massive property damage and loss of life. The altercation between the warring gangs soon engulfed a full city block and involved nearly every unit in the JCPD arsenal. Through the use of highly trained anti-riot and SWAT units, the uprising was contained by 0115.

The First Jump City Bank and Trust on the opposite side of the city had the automatic silent alarm tripped at 0104.

Since all available units were already involved in the altercation, the dispatchers forwarded the call to the Teen Titans, who arrived at the bank at 0110. According to the Titans' report (attached) they entered the building through a door on the roof that had been compromised. They reached the vault to find that five figures dressed in black outfits had already gained access and were loading bundles of cash onto a trolley. The Titan's confronted the suspects and requested surrender and compliance.

At 0113, everything went FUBAR...

--Excerpt from a JCPD incident report.

=-=-=-=-=-

The shadows erupted with thunderous fire.

In the confines of the bank the overlapping krrkrrkrrk of automatic fire was deafening. Solid void sprang into existence long enough for the Titans to fall back. Green blasts were launched into the concealing darkness, blue rays of condensed sound were sent out as cover fire, and spinning discs full of chemical sleep found their marks. The ground shook under a constant assault of green paws, green hooves, and green claws.

The air screamed as a thing alive, heat and sound concussing in a never-ending testament to the fury of modern warfare. The deadly dance between criminal and hero played out at a frenetic pace, thought becoming subsumed in a race between sense and reflex, action and reaction. The slower moments of the battle were remembered by the Titans as a sort of disjointed montage of destruction...

=-=-=-=-=-

-starbolts hit the gun and knock it from the man's hand. The world flips around as Starfire's flight is disrupted, her shoulder struck by a bullet that-

-ricochets off the left side of his cranium. A blast of blue fire towards the source before auxiliary sensors indicate another behind him. Spinning around, Cyborg delivers-

-a kick that breaks the man's collarbone, springing into a forward flip as the man screams and bullets graze his mask. The momentum from the flip builds with a forward roll across the floor, a handspring clearing the distance to-

-a black sphere that shudders and cracks. Debris lifts into the air, a whirling cyclone that begins to spit rebar and marble towards-

-a vicious bull-rush off the mezzanine. Senses flare and the bull becomes a fly that is subsequently buffeted by the air displaced by the bullets. A falcon springs into existence, diving towards the enemy's-

-eyes glow green, teeth bared into a vicious snarl as-

-the pile grows larger, metal impacting flesh when-

-birdarangs, no more tricks, no staff. Titanium soles flash-

-in the darkness, emerging as whimpering, puling wastes of flesh-

-covered in scales, roars drowned out by the hail of gunfire, claws-

-flashing as the charges detonate, screams when men fall, hands bloody from-

-the crushing force of the pillar. Servos whine as the mass of marble and concrete-

-falls, blocking his fall-back. Gunshots, a horrible pain as his cape-

-intercepts the latest burst, persisting bands of ebony that slowly fade. Then, -

-the final man falls. Saurian eyes scan the area, and a vicious roar echoes into -

Silence.

Dust sifts from the ceiling, shaken suddenly by a mighty roar that becomes a faint voice.

“OK! Does anyone else want to shoot at us a bit?” The frustration in the greenling's voice is quite apparent. Groans and heavy breathing are the only response. Suddenly, his communicator chimes a familiar nine-note jingle before crackling with Cyborg's voice. “Titans, status report.”

“I feel like a glathoring blartworm, but am otherwise uninjured.”

“Fine.”

“Dude, we totally kicked their butts!”

A protracted silence. Cyborg's voice came over the communicator again. “Robin, do you copy?” When no response was forthcoming, Cyborg spoke again. “Guys, fan out and find Robbie. He can't seem to hear-”

Crackling static overlaid him for a moment before Robin's strained voice could be heard. “-bin, is everyone alright?”

“Cyborg here, Robin. We're fine. Where are you?”

“I'm -...-e side entr-.....- was shot, but -.........-k most -...- I'll -...-ere soon.”

“Gotcha. See you soon man. Titans, assemble outside the front entrance.”

=-=-=-=-=-


With the battle over, Raven settled back to the ground and settled her cloak more comfortably about her person. The frantic nature of the fight had left her somewhat disoriented, her center momentarily lost. As Robin interrogated the seeming leader of the group and the others rounded up the members of the army, Raven closed her eyes and attempted to calm her mind into a usable state. There was no time for meditation on the battlefield, but a quick re-centering exercise should do for a time.

Since she had her eyes closed and her attention turned inward, she failed to notice the rapid approach of a certain individual of her acquaintance. A shout of “Rachel!” startled her into awareness and before she could turn towards the source she felt a heavy body impact her roughly, sending her sprawling to the ground. At the same time the all-too-familiar sounds of gunfire cracked through the night air, drawing the other Titans into action. Raven's hair fanned out as she whipped her head around in time to see a heavily tattooed man fall to the ground nearby. She scrambled over to him and checked for a pulse, eyes wide in something like shock. It was slow and weakening, each pulse timed with the widening of the pool he now occupied. A voice spoke, nearly incomprehensible through a gurgling distortion that told clearly the extent of injury.

“Rachel...”

Examining the face of her patient for the first time, Raven gasped in recognition. “Jon...”

His face was deathly pale, a pallor that caused the twisting lines of ink to show in sharp relief. His eyes (blue, Raven incongruously noted) were clouded with pain and unfocused, but turned in her direction at the sound of her voice. His breath bubbled, hinting at a perforated lung, and was labored. Visibly gathering strength, he managed to force out, “You... ok...?”

The unaccustomed sting of tears accosted her eyes, blurring vision and making it difficult to breathe. Her voice was as steady as she could make it, but still wavered. “Yes.”

“Good...” and his eyes closed.

Casting a frantic look around revealed that the group of men hiding in the alley had been apprehended and disarmed. “CYBORG!” Her desperate cry drew the large hero running, the others also following. Cyborg's survey of the scene upon his arrival produced an uncharacteristically harsh curse. A quick scan of the wounded civilian drew another curse.

“He's bad Rae. He won't make it to a hospital in time, and even if he did...” his voice trailed off sadly.

Raven glared towards the large amalgam of man and machine, a tear drawing a path down her cheek from eyes that glowed white hot. “Those bullets were meant for me, Cyborg. He's coming to the Tower. So are you.”

With no further warning a black portal opened under them, leaving their teammates and blood-soaked asphalt behind.

=-=-=-=-=-
Discharge and Dinner
=-=-=-=-=-

Raven was frustrated. The writing wasn't resolving itself into a recognizable message, and she'd been working on it for nearly two months. She was beginning to think that its resemblance to Ancient Sumerian was more distant than she thought, or possibly even completely coincidental.

She placed the printouts onto the small table and rubbed her eyes, feeling a small headache begin. She glanced at the other occupant in the room and said, “I suppose it could be worse.”

There was no answer. Just steady breathing. A knock upon the door sounded.

Raven sighed and flipped the hood of her sweatshirt up, concealing her identity. “Come in,” she called.

A doctor entered the room looking at a clipboard and spared a glance towards the young woman sitting in the room's only chair. “Ah, Mrs. Roth. Have you noticed any change?”

She shook her head and responded, “No. He seems to still be unresponsive, and he has not woken.”

The doctor nodded sympathetically as he examined the man laying recumbent in the hospital bed and said, “It may take time for your husband to awaken. Please, have faith.”

A single, smooth nod was her only response. In a way, the doctor was rather impressed with the stoicism exhibited. In another, he was worried that she may not be handling this situation in a healthy manner. With another glance at the clipboard, the doctor jotted something down and then stood. “Well Mrs. Roth, I'm sure I'll see you again.”

“Indeed.”

The door closed.

Raven sighed and looked again towards the young man in the hospital bed. She seemed to sigh often these days. Pulling her hood down, she approached the patient and placed her hands upon either side of his head. After a moment they began to glow with an azure light, but no matter how she focused she could not affect him with her healing abilities. Looking down at the face below, she couldn't help but ask...

“Who are you, Jon...”

=-=-=-=-=-

The sun was warm on my face, but the rest of me was cold. My eyes wouldn't open, but I heard someone breathing nearby. Every now and again there was the sound of rustling paper, difficult to hear overlaid as it was by a persistent and regular beeping. A smell in the air caught my attention, a crisp antiseptic smell that barely covered an underlying stench of human illness.

A hospital.

I struggled to move, but my muscles were mutinous and refused to obey. The beeping increased in frequency as I bent my will upon movement. Just one muscle twitch, the smallest joint on my right hand for example, would suffice. Once one bowed to my will, I figured, the rest would fall in line. The beeping increased further, echoing my heart rate as I finally managed to slowly and stiffly move my hand. A gasp came from my right, and I suddenly felt my cold hand engulfed in warmth.

“Jon? Jon can you hear me?” The voice was distantly familiar, but my mind was sluggish and I couldn't attach a face or name to it. I tried to squeeze my hand, but I couldn't tell if I'd succeeded. There was a clicking sound, and then a quiet chime. I continued to pull myself from the depths of unconsciousness, each inch a victory, every stair song worthy. There were questions being asked of me, but I didn't recognize the voice and ignored them. Somehow, I knew that attaining consciousness was the most important goal for me. Again that familiar voice spoke, and I paused despite myself.

“Jon, squeeze once for yes and twice for no. Understand?”

I squeezed once, and then continued to rise to the top. It was similar in sensation to kicking up from the bottom of a deep pond. It was terribly dark, cold, and quiet at the bottom, and there was almost no way to know which way you were going. The farther up you kicked the more tired you became, but everything was warmer, clearer, brighter, and you knew that if you could just get to the top you'd have air and everything would be alright. If you didn't make it, however, then you'd slip back into the depths.

Ignoring the voices as they spoke, I kicked hard for the surface. I could see the sunlight against my eyelids, feel the stiff sheets against my back, and note the flatness of the pillow below my head. With a deep shuddering gasp, my eyes flew open and my arms tried to rise. They refused to cooperate, however, and merely flopped a bit. With my lungs full of air, I managed to cough out a word that was equal parts confusion, concern, hope, and anguish.

“Rachel?”

=-=-=-=-=-

“I'm here, Jon. How are you feeling?” Raven was sensing a wealth of emotions, somewhat overpowering after the time spent in his company when he was unconscious.

Jon's eyes roamed around the room, surprisingly alert for someone that had just woken from a coma. His voice was raspy and his first attempt at speech produced only a dry, wheezing cough. After accepting a sip of water from the doctor, he responded “Like I didn't just get shot.”

Small chuckles filled the room.

The other person in the room spoke up. “Jon, my name is Dr. Randal White. I'm going to ask you a few questions, alright.”

An answering nod was accompanied by, “Certainly, Healer. Forgive me if I don't show the proper respect.”

At Dr. White's questioning glance Raven replied, “He's... not from around here.”

Nodding to indicate understanding, Dr. White turned back to Jon. “What is your name?”

“Jon Roth.”

It was only through habit and willpower that Raven did not visibly react. Dr. White continued with, “In what year were you born?”

Jon frowned a bit and his brow furrowed in thought. “I'm... not sure. Somewhere around the mid-eighties.” He looked towards the doctor apologetically. “My tribe doesn't use the same calendar as you, and I'm not feeling up to working out the conversion.” The more time he spent alert, the more control he seemed to gain over his body. He started inching his way into a more upright position, and was assisted by Raven. He shot her a look of thanks.

“What's the last thing that you remember?”

“You mean prior to this line of questioning?” A nod. “I remember getting shot rather clearly. Everything else seems to be a bit dark after that.” A pause, and then, “When may I go home?”

Dr. White smiled in an understanding fashion. “We're going to have to keep you here for a bit to make sure that you won't lapse back into a comatose state. We also need to evaluate you to see how much damage has been done and whether we need to rehabilitate you. It could take awhile.”

“I see. Do you mind if I have a moment with my wife, Healer?”

An absolutely huge grin covered the doctor's face. “Not at all. I must say that you seem remarkably alert, and I'm sure that you'll have a swift and full recovery.” He then gathered his things and left the room.

Raven turned to look at Jon, but Jon kept looking at the bed. “How are you really feeling?” she asked.

“Honestly? More than a bit tired and incredibly stiff.” A yawn revealed the truth of those words. “Can I ask you a question though?”

“As long as there are no guarantees that I'll have to answer it.”

A dip of the head indicated acceptance of these terms. Gesturing towards the bed, Jon asked “When did we get married?”

Raven followed the gesture and saw that she was still holding Jon's hand. Unsuccessfully fighting a blush, Raven tried to discretely remove her hand from Jon's weak grip. He couldn't help but grin at her before his expression drew grim. “I really must get back home as soon as possible.”

She looked at him flatly. “You just woke up from a month-long coma after being shot five times. You only started breathing on your own last week. You heard what the doctor said, you need to be here for them to evaluate you.”

Beginning to look somewhat panicked, Jon said “A month? I've been here for a month?” He began to get out of bed, throwing the covers off and lowering the bar on the side before being forcedly halted by Raven.

“You can't,” she said firmly. “Why is it such a big deal, anyway?”

Jon cursed his weakened state. He had a good nine inches on the girl and probably outweighed her by at least eighty pounds, but enforced slothfulness did not do a body good. “I have an... experiment that I left running that... requires attention. I must get back there.”

Raven scoffed. “There were no experiments when I was there.”

“Well, you may not have recogni-” Jon paused as the meaning to her words filtered through. He was becoming weary, and his mind was slowing despite his best efforts. Stifling a yawn and fighting against the darkness at the edge of his vision, he asked “Why were you at my home?”

Suddenly Raven had difficulty meeting his eyes. Her gaze darted across the room, resting briefly upon the EKG machine, the rail holding the privacy curtain, the printouts of the symbols she had been trying to translate, and anything else to avoid looking directly at the man in the hospital bed. “I needed to find more information about you. See if you were taking any medications, were allergic to anything... see if you had a record of your full name...” she trailed off. It wasn't often that Raven felt guilty, but she had invaded his privacy in a very thorough manner.

“Makes sense. Thanks, by the way.” Jon started to slide himself back down to a more supine position. Raven assisted, which earned her a thankful look. When he was positioned more comfortably, he said “My full name is Jon. My tribe doesn't use family names, although 'Roth' does sound very nice. Your family name?” A hesitant nod. “Rachel Roth... it suits you. I'm still a bit confused about why we're married...”

Raven gave a shadow of a smirk. “The hospital thinks we're married because they would only let immediate family and your spouse visit you. You also needed someone to be able to make some medical decisions for you while you were out of it, and as I know a thing or two about healing...” She frowned a bit. “How did you know that your last name was supposed to be Roth? And how did you know that I was impersonating your wife?”

A lazy grin appeared beneath tired eyes. “I saw the name on the chart in the reflection of Healer White's glasses. As for the marriage thing...” a yawn interrupted before he finished in a mumble, “... I guessed.”

Raven quirked an eyebrow. “Clever,” she acknowledged.

Jon gave a twitch of his head that may have been a nod, but he was already mostly asleep. He managed to slip out one more comment before the waters closed over his mind, however. “Good night, darling.”

A fluorescent light tube shattered on the other side of the room, but Jon was too deep into sleep to notice. Raven just blushed hard and grumbled, “You'd better sleep you smart-ass son of a ...”

By the time someone came in to investigate the noise, she was already re-centered and back to deciphering the printouts.

=-=-=-=-=-

I'm not sure how much time had passed while I was sleeping, but the room was dark and the window showed stars and a sliver of moon. Rachel wasn't anywhere in evidence, but that wasn't too surprising. Visiting hours were likely over, and there was only kindness and perhaps a feeling of guilty obligation tying her to me in the first place. Gazing about the room, I took note of the bags hooked to tubes that disappeared into my arm. Probably to keep me from dehydrating and starving. Shifting about a bit caused a strange sensation in my lower body, and I realized with a vague sort of horror that I was probably hooked to a urine catheter. Likely, I was too out of it last time I woke to notice. Upon reflection, I considered myself lucky that I didn't accidentally tear it out in my aborted dash for freedom.

Finally my wandering eyes found the call button, and with a grunt of mild effort and a bit of stretching I managed to press it. A soft chime sounded, probably from outside the door. After a few moments a woman arrived carrying the ubiquitous clipboard. “Mr. Roth,” she said as she noted something on the clipboard. “Awake again I see. That's excellent.”

“Thank you, Healer, but please call me Jon.” My voice sounded dusty and disused. “Is there any chance I could get some water?”

Dear God, I would never consider water to be a boring beverage ever again. I could practically smell it in the pipes as it was being poured, nearly taste its humidity on the air. I felt my glands attempt to produce saliva, but they seemingly weren't up to the task quite yet. And when those first drops rained upon my parched tongue it was as though a flight of angels had descended to sing songs of glory and praise.

Water. Thank God.

After clearing my throat and mouth of dust, I turned to the woman that was patiently waiting. “How long was I out this time, Healer?” She cocked an eyebrow up, but consulted the chart and replied, “Only twelve hours this time. Far better than the month-long nap you last took.”

I couldn't help but grin wryly. “Yep, I'm a regular Rip Van Winkle.” I gave her my most endearing and pathetic look. “Is there any chance I could get some food? I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks...”

Thus began my recovery.

For a week or so, I was treated to the finest physical therapy Jump City had to offer. I was finally able to walk with the assistance of a cane, and the therapist warned me that I may never be able to walk without it. Since I knew a bit of healing magic I wasn't too concerned.

Also during this time Rachel continued to visit. She tended to show at the beginning of the visiting hours and stayed throughout, usually working on something that I assumed to be schoolwork. Occasionally her phone would ring and she'd disappear for a bit, but by and large she just seemed to be there to keep me company. I was a bit concerned for her schooling and asked if she was missing school to visit me, but she simply turned the corners of her mouth up in a vague smile and said not to worry about it.

At some point or another Rachel informed me that she had taken the liberty of removing the books from my efficiency. She said that she was storing them at her place, and that they would likely be safer there than at mine. I grudgingly agreed. If she knew enough about the books to realize that they would be a target of sorts than she likely knew enough about them to either keep them closed or handle them appropriately. With my tenure at the hospital dragging on, it was also extremely likely that my wards had failed. The only security my place had aside from the wards was a broken lock, and I was further assured that her home had a state-of-the-art alarm system.

That the both of us were dancing around the fact that we were mages didn't exactly surprise me. The tradition of my people kept me from informing anyone that didn't already know about magic of the fact, and it was my understanding that other mages followed a similar protocol. Of course, this made it extremely awkward when two mages met and suspected that the other practiced the arts magica, since neither could come out and say it. It made for some amusing lingual gymnastics.

Finally the day came when I could check out of the hospital. Rachel had brought me a change of clothes, and I was more than happy to slip on something that was disconcertingly less familiar than a hospital gown. The strangeness began when I was going through the check-out procedures and noticed that they had yet to speak of payment.

The counter ran at a height about level with the bottom of my ribcage. The woman behind said counter was looking over my paperwork and told me that I was good to go when the proverbial light-bulb went off in my skull.

“I'm afraid that we're forgetting something,” I said genially. “I'm not sure exactly how much a hospital visit costs, but I'm certain that it's more than nothing.”

She just shook her head and began to speak with a big smile. “No need to worry Mr. Roth. Your bill is being paid for by-” her voice cut off as she looked over my shoulder, and her eyes widened. I snapped my head around to look over my shoulder, just catching the tail end of Rachel putting her hood back up. She raised an eyebrow at me as the woman behind the desk continued speaking. “-by an... anonymous benefactor!” It was my turn to raise an eyebrow as I turned towards the woman once more. “I'm afraid I must insist. Despite appearances, I am very much able to pay for my own care.”

It was immediately apparent that I had inadvertently placed her in a difficult position. She kept trying to give me runaround, citing patently fabricated hospital policies and so on until I finally stopped her with a raised hand. “Could you at least,” I said, “tell me how much this benefactor payed for my care?” After a few more looks and words, she did. A week later, Jump City General Hospital received an anonymous donation in the exact amount she had cited.

I try to pay back kindness offered me whenever feasible.

As Rachel and I exited the building, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness. She had been exceedingly kind and, if my suspicions were correct, exceedingly altruistic. Still, I knew that such actions could result from simple guilt, and she'd have more than ample reason to feel such. My next set of actions, however, banked on the supposition that she harboured some genuine interest in me, if not outright affection.

It was strange. I had been pondering this moment in the lonely hours of night for several days. I had not yet forgotten the yearning I felt upon our initial meeting, the feeling that she was shade in life's metaphorical desert. Yet, at this moment of truth I felt unaccountably nervous. I who had healed a centuries-old division between sister tribes, unlocked the deepest secrets of magic, and befriended goddesses... was nervous. It was laughable. It was pitiable. It was... really very human. Despite all else, I still had less than a quarter-century under my belt. Besides, wasn't my duty to gather knowledge and experience? This was certainly an experience, and I was certainly learning a lot. For example, I was learning that I was a coward, and that my mind had a tendency towards blathering like an idiot to avoid confrontation.

This would not be a story I would be proud to tell my tribe if I didn't take some sort of action.

“Rachel,” I said, and although my heart was jumping and my thoughts were trembling my voice held to its training and spoke smoothly. Thank God for small favours.

She simply turned to look at me, an ephemeral look of curiosity writ upon her face.

Best to get this over with quickly. Less chance to bungle it up that way. “Would you care to accompany me for dinner this evening?”

There was nothing ephemeral about the look of shock on her face.

=-=-=-=-=-

Raven looked towards her companion with naked shock. “Well,” she thought to herself, “at least that explains the nervousness...”

“W-where did you have in mind?” she asked with only half a mind towards the answer. The other half was desperately attempting to reign in her emotions. Happy in particular was probably doing back flips.

Jon looked at her with a kind of chagrined expression on his face. “I didn't really have anyplace in mind. I was only here for a couple weeks before being hospitalized and didn't exactly get out much during that time. I was too busy setting up my alarm system. I figured we could go somewhere of your choosing.” It was interesting to note the dichotomy between the emotions he was projecting and the emotions he was expressing. By his facial expressions and vocal tone he seemed calm if a bit off-balance. Her empathic senses, however, were reeling with waves of nerves, hope, and... was that affection?

“Allow me a moment?” she asked.

“Of course.”

She thought a moment, trying to isolate that strange feeling. It wasn't as though she had never sensed affection before. Indeed the Titans were often awash with such feelings, but this was a different flavour of affection, similar to that which she read off of Robin when he was... near... Starfire...

Oh. That was... not exactly surprising, but still rather unexpected. Furthermore, there was a not insubstantial amount of interest that she reciprocated with, but...

“You don't even know who I am.”

“Allow me to find out,” Jon replied. Raven looked up in surprise. Either he could read minds or, more likely, she had mistakenly spoken that last aloud. “Over dinner?” he suggested with a small grin.

“I can't do this. I'll just tell him that I can't and make sure that his books get returned to him,” she thought to herself. Looking up, she caught his eyes and found her mouth replying without input from her brain.

“How about Arabian?”

=-=-=-=-=-

The more time I spent with Rachel the more I was convinced that I'd somehow missed something.

Occasionally when we were about, people would turn towards her and start to speak, only to pause as if uncertain. In the corner of my eyes I saw several people following our progress, looks of bemusement mixed with the intermittent flicker of awe and then doubt. It was stunningly akin to the looks people flashed celebrities when they were encountered in the local drug store. You were fairly certain that they were who you thought they were, but they weren't exactly dressed like they usually dressed, and normal people don't meet celebrities at their local five and dime. Rather than embarrass yourself, you keep quiet because, “No, it couldn't be... can it? Nah...”

With every hobbling step I became more convinced that Rachel was somebody of some importance, possibly a wealthy individual of some local renown, or the daughter of somebody of the same description. If so, she seemed remarkably down to earth. After a time I could no longer resist, and said in an aside to her, “Are you going incognito? Because it only seems to be half working.”

I was treated to a sideways glance and a wry, mumbled reply. “How could you tell? And it's working well enough.” I wasn't sure what Rachel normally wore, but her outfit of hooded sweatshirt and black jeans seemed to be rather unextraordinary. Very average.

We eventually arrived at the restaurant, and proceeded to order and consume our food. Dinner conversation was light and inconsequential, consisting primarily of me doing what I do best... telling stories.

“You're joking,” Rachel said as I was winding up one of my more humorous tales regarding a friend of mine that I'd met in Japan. She had a pleasantly uninhibited smile on her face, completely caught up in my story.

“Nope,” I replied with an answering grin. “He was still half-asleep and wandered into the bathroom. And since I had seen him go in, I followed. Remember, bathing is a more social activity in Japan than it is here.” At her nod of understanding I continued. “So he walked in on his fiancée, who was more than happy to see him. He, however, was a bit more... reserved, you could say, about the relationship. She jumped onto him, he freaked out, both of them without a stitch of clothing,” Rachel was chuckling quietly at this point, “and then I walk in on the two of them, also completely naked. Remember now, she was essentially family, so I was less than comfortable. And then her great-grandmother, her tribe's elder and my point of contact for diplomatic relations walked in to see what all the fuss was about. I thank God every day that she, at least, was wearing clothes.”

Dinner was eventually over, and I ordered a hookah. Rachel declined, saying something about being a “role-model” to the community. That, I decided, was as good a cue as any for starting the information exchange.

“Rachel,” I started, “are you familiar with a little game called Questions?” She answered that she was not. “The game is rather simple. The players, generally two, take turns asking one another questions. They have to be answered honestly, but each person receives three chances to refuse the answering of a question. The game ends when a player without any more 'passes' refuses to answer a question. Easy enough?” She nodded, a look of mingled resignation and interest on her face. “Excellent. You may begin the questioning, if you'd like.”

After visibly gathering herself, she began.

=-=-=-=-=-
Questions and Parley
=-=-=-=-=-

“Where are you from?” Raven asked. She started simple, hoping to delay the inevitable time when Jon learned of her deception.

He answered with a grin. “Nowhere, and everywhere.” Noting Raven's darkening visage, he explained further. “My tribe is nomadic and has no fixed homeland. I believe my mentor said I was born on the border of 'where the hell are we' and 'the middle of nowhere'.” Her expression cleared and became tinged with curiosity. “My turn!” he exclaimed cheerfully, and Raven couldn't help but feel a bit buoyed by his enthusiasm. He leaned in close and in a quiet voice asked, “How well known are you, really? From the expressions of the people on the way here, I'd assume very.”

Raven grimaced a bit. It wasn't that she didn't care for the fact that she was rather famous, although she didn't. Obscurity would have been preferred, in fact. She simply didn't care for how others acted around her because she was famous. She was just performing a service that needed doing, and would have been just as happy doing it from the shadows. Still, there was only inquisitiveness coming from her table-mate and not the strange mishmash of emotions she usually met with from the more rabid fans. She hated those emotions, especially idolatry. It was close enough to worship that her demonic heritage nearly shivered in pleasure. It made her feel somewhat sick. “How well known am I?” she reiterated. At his answering nod, she said, “In this city, very much so. I don't doubt that if you stay here for any length of time you'll find out exactly. The work I do is... rather high profile. Aside from that, one could say that I'm extremely well-known in certain circles.” She rushed on with her question in an attempt to head off any response. She was enjoying this time as a normal girl, and she didn't want to give it up quite yet. “So, what do you do for a living?”

“Ah, that's a simple question with a somewhat complicated answer. For money, I publish poems. However, my service to the tribe is a bit more esoteric. I am what my tribe calls a 'Chronicler', one who collects and tells stories.” Jon settled back more comfortably in his chair and continued. “There are two main repositories of knowledge in my tribe. The Loremasters collect information that pertains directly to the tribe and its operations. Their knowledge is more narrow in scope, but has great depth. A Loremaster would know the gifts given at a diplomatic meeting with the Queen of England, for example.” He paused to take a hit off of the hookah. When he released the smoke it curled around him in a type of evanescent shroud. “A Chronicler, on the other hand, wouldn't know that, but would probably have an idea of the gossip surrounding the Queen, and likely that of her lineage as well.” Jon looked at Raven and hastened to add, “Not that we're simple gossips; we collect any form of knowledge. Indeed, we collect all knowledge.” A small grin graced his features as he concluded with a far-off look in his eye, “I suppose you could say that the Loremaster collects information for the sake of power while the Chronicler collects information simply for the sake of having it.” Shaking himself from his reverie, Jon said “Interesting question. What is it that you do for a living?”

Raven flushed a bit, cursing her pale skin that made it so obvious. “I suppose you could say,” she began delicately, “that I work in a form of specialized law-enforcement.” Not exactly untrue, but certainly misleading to a greater or lesser degree. Why was this so difficult? It should have been a simple manner of saying, “Oh, I fight over-powered metahumans and other empowered individuals on an ego-trip. You might know me as the creepy member of the Teen Titans.” But noooo, she had to dissemble. This was only going to make it more difficult to come clean when a straight answer was unavoidable. Jon was looking at her with a look of surprise and concern on his face.

“Aren't you a bit young? I mean, isn't that dangerous? You can't be older than eighteen or nineteen...”

“Let's just say that there are... special circumstances.”

With a dip of his head, Jon agreed to let it go. If he was correct, it involved the application of those suspected abilities that he couldn't outright ask about. “As you wish it. Your question.”

Raven glanced somewhat suspiciously at Jon. If he was unsatisfied with her short, evasive answers he wasn't letting on. His face reflected exactly what her empathic senses where reading, and that was a simple sense of curiosity and enjoyment. She pondered her choice of questions for a moment before saying, “Forgive me if this is inappropriate, but can you tell me about your tattoos? Do they have a special significance?” Jon's face closed down a bit, and he seemed to be in deep contemplation.

“There's nothing to forgive,” he began haltingly, “and they do have a special significance, but I'm afraid that I can't tell you what that is until I know more about you.” He looked up apologetically. “If you'd like, I'll take that as one of my passes.”

“No need,” Raven responded with some surprise. He had so far been so open that the idea of him refusing to answer a question fully (and with extraneous information) seemed foreign. She took a moment to examine him more thoroughly. He was taller than her, but that wasn't particularly difficult. Raven herself stood at five feet and a few inches, which put him at about six feet. His age was difficult to pin down. One moment she thought he was about Cyborg's age, the next he seemed to be decades older. There was also something about his tattoos that-

“Rachel?”

-that... her train of thought was broken. Burying her irritation, she turned to her companion with narrowed eyes (she hated having her thoughts interrupted) and asked, “Yes?”

Jon's eyes were locked onto something behind her. His face was a study in indifference. The muscles of his jaw were slightly tightened and twitched occasionally, and his nostrils flared like an animal sampling a scent on the air. Raven, curious, began to turn around.

“Don't move.” Raven suddenly found her muscles stiff and unresponsive. “I know that I'm new to this town, but unless architecture has gone in new and exciting directions while I was in Japan there's something really weird going on. Near the door to the kitchen, about two-thirds the way to the ceiling I saw a pair of what looked like eyes appear. They were staring right at you. Look and tell me if you see it.” Her limbs fell back under her control, and she turned towards the indicated area. The kitchen door swung inwards and out, allowing servers to pass through with trays of food and plates. The walls around the doors were painted the same rich red as the rest of the establishment, although their proximity to the doors had led to a greater amount of scuffing and staining. After a few moments of observation, two red circles appeared on the painted drywall. A vague outline that suggested a face appeared, and something clicked in Raven's mind.

At the same moment that this minor epiphany occurred, the White Monster leaped from its meld with the wall and accelerated towards their table. Jon said something, but Raven was too busy chanting out her mantra and preparing to perform her duty as a defender of the city. Her eyes flashed white as she levitated into the air, a phantom wind causing her sweatshirt to flutter and her hair to dance.

“Azarath Metrion ZINTHOS!”

=-=-=-=-=-

I wasn't exactly sure what the creature was, but I was fairly certain that it didn't mean well. It was big, probably twice my height and half that wide. It loped towards us at an amazing gait, its movement somewhere between a gorilla and a man. At times it took to all fours. The beast was a shocking white which contrasted sharply with the black patterns on its face and the ruby malevolence of its eyes.

Rachel began to chant and levitate, which was all the indication I needed to try to heal my leg in the most immediate and complete manner available to me.

My eyes glowed a hot blue as I cupped my hands around my leg. “Spirits of Earth and Fire, Water and Wind, hear my plea. What now is sundered, once was whole. Recall its form, and make it so. By the powers so beseeched, I cast this spell: SO MOTE IT BE!” A burning heat flowed through me and centered in my leg, but the energy wouldn't stick and perform its healing work. I bit off a curse, and glanced towards the battle. Rachel was doing her best, but the monster was outclassing her rather handily. There was no choice then; I'd simply have to do my best with a gimp leg.

I stood and waited for an opening, gathering raw energy and looping it through my body. Rachel was throwing tables, chairs, and anything else she could find, each item encased in a field of black energy. Occasionally the beast would manage to throw a punch through the onslaught, and each time she managed to block it with a hand that trailed more of that strange (though effective) black energy. Eventually, however, a haymaker made it through her defenses and she went flying through the doors to the kitchen.

Seeing my moment, I unleashed the stored energy. “Eldritch Blast!” I shouted, simultaneously firming my resolve and focusing my attack. A beam of crackling magic, pure and violent, tore from my body and arced to the monster. It was a strange colour, bruise-like in its composition of blacks and purples, jaundiced yellows and sickly greens. It gathered ambient energy as it went, latent magic fueling it as it tore, screaming with silent fury towards my opponent. For a moment the creature was engulfed in energy, roaring with some unknown emotion. Finally the field cleared and the beast stood before me, iridescent in the colours of the attack I had just thrown. It looked at me then, a flicker of purpose lighting in its mechanical eyes. Suddenly I felt a strange sensation. The beast spoke, though the word doesn't accurately describe the procedure. It wasn't exactly telepathy, either. It felt as if I was remembering a dream where I had a telephone conversation: vague in recollection, yet distinct at the time. “Chronicler...”

I was surprised. Did the beast have some intelligence? “I am the Chronicler known as Jon. State your name, as demanded by custom.”

The creature didn't respond immediately, and I sensed a sort of confusion from it. “We have been called Arform.”

We? “Arform, why do you call to the Chronicler?”

The confusion left, replaced with a singularity of purpose that was completely inhuman. “We have a message for the Chronicler.”

Whoever or whatever this thing was, it knew the protocols of my tribe rather well. “Messenger Arform we have met poorly, but perhaps not unjustly. May the rest of our meeting be of a more civil tone. The Chronicler shall hear your message under a flag of truce, as demanded by custom.”

=-=-=-=-=-
Matter and Minds
=-=-=-=-=-

Soft voices in the next room filtered through the ringing in her ears. She groaned as she sat up, dislodging silverware and broken crockery that had fallen upon her after her rather hasty and unannounced entrance to the kitchens. An insistent buzzing in her pocket caused confusion until habit cut through her befuddlement. Drawing the yellow device, she flipped it open.

A blurry blue-black shape appeared on the screen. “Rav- Holy Mother of Pearl! Rae, are you ok?”

Raven tried to take stock of her situation. Her head hurt (great AZAR, did it hurt), and when she moved it to check herself for injuries great waves of nausea battered it back into place. Her head flopped to the side and she vomited, causing even more pain in her head. When she stopped she turned blurry, unfocused eyes back to the yellow circle and mumbled, “It hurts...”

“We're coming Rae, just hold on. Stay awake, alright? Just stay awake!”

=-=-=-=-=-

Whatever odd means of communication this creature used prevented me from checking up on Rachel. The more I experienced it, the more I was certain that it was somehow dream-related. My vision was dimmed and heightened at the same time; colours exploded with a vibrancy unseen in the natural world while outlines remained blurry and indistinct. My hearing was likewise altered, at times crystal-clear, at others muffled. My thoughts, at least, remained fairly lucid.

“Messenger Arform...”

“Yes, Chronicler. The message is thus: 'We, the Arform, request the Chronicler act in their official capacity as mediator between the Arform and the Teen Titans.' As demanded by custom, we offer payment: three of the old form.”

I raised an eyebrow. Payments of the old form were very rare, and consisted of stories or knowledge known to three or fewer persons. To offer three payments for a mediation request spoke of sheer desperation. “You understand what it is you offer?” I asked.

“We do.”

I nodded. “Very well. Let it be known that the Chronicler Jon and the Far West Tribe hereby act in official capacity as mediator between the two entities, 'Arform' and 'Teen Titans'.” I gave a wry grin as I glanced around the empty dining area. “If any object, speak so now or hold no grievance.”

A red blur shot through the air. I brought my arms up in an instinctive attempt at protection, and was surprised when the cane I was carrying intercepted a stylized bird-shaped shuriken.

“We object,” a voice from the doorway stated. Focusing beyond the implement of my near-death, I saw a group of... eclectic... individuals. Before I could say anything, the masked one said, “Titans, GO!”

=-=-=-=-=-

Raven struggled to stay awake, but her vision had gone black and her hearing was fading despite her best efforts.

She was so tired...

=-=-=-=-=-

“Aegis!”

*Clang*

“Aegis!”

*Clang*

“Aegis!”

*Clang* “Stop that and fight me!”

“Stop trying to hit me and I'll stop- Aegis!”

*Clang* “Who are you anyway?”

“You could have asked before you- Aegis!-”

*Clang* “-attacked. Merlin's thong, you're disrespectful.”

The gaudily dressed youth swung again with his staff before lashing out with a boot. “When villains attack innocents we get a little irate.”

“Who's the villain here? I'm minding my own business when all of a sudden Robo-Cop, Gingersnap, Amoeba-boy, and Rainbow-Zorro burst in and start trying to kill me and Arform.” The conversation was punctuated with repeated attacks and shields. He was good, that was certain. Not as good as some that I'd seen, but definitely pushing the bounds of normal physical achievement. Much better than me, but that's not saying too much. Then again, I've seen people throw cars through buildings so I'm likely a bit jaded.

“Arform, huh? Why don't you ask your friend wh

[ChroniclerJon]

=-=-=-=-=-

The flash of blue light that ripped through the double doors to the kitchen was so violently bright that it was nearly bleached white. There was no sound to accompany the light, and the explosion seemed all the more violent for it. When the Titans' eyes had recovered from the damage inflicted upon them, they noted that Arform was gone. When they entered the kitchen, they saw the tattooed man laying on top of Raven in a puddle of blood.

Things became a bit hectic after that.

=-=-=-=-=-

I awoke and looked around.

It was difficult to breathe. The air was heavy with humidity and smoke, a wet smoke, thick and cloying with more than a hint of contraband. The sounds of the night were all encompassing; the wind through the saw-grass, the chitters and clicks of nocturnal animals, and the distant sounds of traffic. A bass rumble revealed the presence of a bull gator. The moon was supposed to be waxing and nearly full, but it was difficult to tell. The sky was the colour of burnt cherries, and brought with it an instinctive sense of innocence lost. The moon was simply a brighter patch of red in the sky, its edges hazy and indistinct.

I frowned. This certainly wasn't what my mindscape looked like the last time I checked. The basics were all there, but it was much darker. Grittier.

It was also in pieces, floating through the air with nothing visible to hold it up.

“Well... that's different,” I muttered to myself.

“You're telling me,” said a wry voice. Turning, I saw Rachel in her leotard and cloak. “I think we need to have a talk.”

I winced. It's never good when a woman says that.

Her eyes narrowed a bit as she looked away. “I don't think either of us have been completely honest with the other. It's time that changed.”

“Why now?” I asked, my eyebrow arched in a puzzled fashion.

She gave a silent little snarl and met my gaze. “Because you're in my mind.”

“Not exactly,” I hedged.

Her eyes shone with an opaque white light, and her words were very well enunciated. “What. Do. You. Mean?”

I sighed and waved a hand. A couple of armchairs appeared and I gestured towards them. “Take a seat.” Warily, she did so. “Let's begin with the basics, shall we?” She gave a sharp nod. “Very well. My name is Jon. I am a Chronicler for the Far West Tribe of the Amazon nation. Only a mage may become a Chronicler. Do you understand what that means?” I assumed that her flat glare indicated assent. “Good. Your turn.”

Her face screwed up. It was the kind of expression one makes when they unexpectedly smell something foul. It was the kind of expression one makes when they needed to perform an unpleasant task. “My name is Raven. I am a member of a crime-fighting group known as the Teen Titans.” She darted a glance at me and continued. “I am also a practitioner of the magical arts. And I still want to know what you meant.”

I nodded. “Very well. What do you remember about the fight with Arform?”

“Arform?”

I held a hand up as far as I could reach. “About this tall-” arms spread out to their full width, “-this wide and seemed to be gunning for you.”

She grimaced a bit and spoke in dead tones. “We fought. He punched me. It hurt.”

I grinned tiredly. “Succinct. Accurate. I rather like your way of summing up a situation, Ms. Roth.”

“Call me Raven.”

My brow furrowed. “If you insist,” I allowed. “Anyway, the most important part of the fight is how it ended. He hit you hard enough to break a corner off of a stainless steel, industrial strength kitchen appliance. By the time I got to you the blood puddle was about a foot in radius. I didn't see any gray matter, but it's entirely possible that it was under your skull rather than inside of it, if you catch my meaning.”

In a mindscape bodies are pleasant little fantasies created as a sort of subconscious representation of our physical selves. They're not bound by any actual laws, so breathing, eating, walking, and so forth are all merely habitual niceties. By the way she paled, I had a feeling that she had rather handily caught my meaning.

I continued. “It was a miracle that you were alive as long as you were. To not put too fine a point on it, you were already dead but just hadn't realized it yet. Your body was giving out on you, and your magic was trying desperately to keep you going. Unfortunately, it was interfering with my own healing spell and I couldn't do anything in that regard. Instead, I tethered your life force to me. Had to force it, too. I don't know where you learned to sling spells but you have one hell of a lot of mojo.”

She smiled a little, a cold and ruthless expression which was eerily fitting to her face. “You could say that it's hereditary.”

I stared at her for a bit. I shook out of it as she continued speaking. “So now we're sharing a mindscape?”

“Something like that,” I said. “Imagine two spotlights that overlap a bit. Right now we're in the overlapping bit.”

“And let me guess,” she said dryly. “I can't go back to my own mindscape-”

“-because I'm the only thing holding you on this side of the clearing at the end of the path,” I finished for her.

She stared at me with cold eyes. “How poetic.”

I grinned unashamedly at her. “Well, I am a poet. It pays the bills.”

She held the gaze for a moment more before sighing and shaking her head slightly. I stretched out my legs and rolled my head to release a kink in my neck. The sounds of pseudonature surrounded us and droned on in a lulling sort of sussurance. There was silence between us for awhile until I broke it.

“I've been wondering about something.”

She looked at me and I took it as indication to continue. “How did you know where I was living? And what did you do with my books and whatnot?”

She gave an easy, smug sort of grin, tiny but present nonetheless. “Remember when we first met?” she asked.

I nodded.

She just grinned a bit larger. Then it hit me.

“I told you where to find me...”

“Naturally,” she said. “Impressive, I must say. I never saw you place the card in the book. How did you do it?”

I grinned back. “Stage magic. Sleight of hand.”

She abruptly looked away and the smile faded from my face. When she turned back towards me her eyes were flat and her face expressionless. “How long?”

“Not sure,” I replied with a shrug. “Time doesn't flow the same way in my mindscape, and I don't know how yours would affect its rate of passage. The best answer I could give you would be that you'd know when it was time to go. For better or for worse.”

She shivered, and the air was too sultry and humid to attribute it to temperature. I attempted to distract her. “So, Raven huh? How did you get that name?”

She looked at me steadily. “Same as most. It was given to me.” After a moments hesitation she finished with, “My mother named me.”

“My mentor named me,” I replied quietly. “He said that it meant I was a little gift from God.” Ashes began to rain down in a steady manner, drifting like dry gray snowflakes. Her eyes watched me, her posture relaxed a bit, and she leaned forwards. People often responded well when I spoke. It was part of my training. It was part of who I was. “At times,” I continued, “he would tell me that he should have given me the full appellation. Usually when I was misbehaving. He said that if I was a full-sized gift from God, then I wouldn't get into so much trouble.” A softening of features turned her face into something of great beauty rather than the war-mask she generally wore it in.

“What happened to him?” she asked softly.

I answered her just as softly. “He was killed. Two years ago, by a demon.” I looked up at her. “Do you know of demons?”

There was an odd flitter of emotions across her face: anger, pain, smugness, and a hint of sadness melded into an expression of great depth and mystery before she replied with, “I have more than a passing familiarity.” The conversation lulled once more.

After a time of idly listening to the susurration of the sawgrass I heard her gasp. It was a small sound, barely audible, and likely few aside from myself would have heard it. I turned to her. “What is it?”

Her eyes were closed and her brow furrowed a bit in concentration. “It's Robin,” she said. “He's trying to contact me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Robin? Pale guy, bright costume, wears a mask and like to throw sharp things at people?” A received a distracted nod in response. “He can do mind magic?”

“No,” she replied. Her voice was vague and stilted the way voices get when their owners are concentrating on one thing and speaking about something else. “I once melded with his mind. It left a sort of bond between us. He's trying to follow it here.”

Before I could think on that further a young man popped into existence at Rachel's (Raven's?) side.

I've experienced quite a few things in my time on this world. I've watched people punch holes in brick walls and kick down telephone poles. I've heard angels sing. I've commanded some of the most powerful and primordial energies known to mankind. Even with all of my history stretched out behind me, it still amazed me that a man with no magical talent could manage to enter another's mindscape.

To quote: Impressive. Most impressive.

As he appeared he began to speak to Rachel, but caught sight of me in his peripheral. He stepped between Rachel and I (seemingly ignorant of how this precipitated a thunderstorm of an expression on her face) and said with great intellect and biting wit, “You!”

I was less than underwhelmed and responded cheerily in kind. “Me,” I agreed.

He looked like he was about to start something, but Rachel put a hand on his shoulder and he stopped cold. From the look on his face either being touched in general was a rare occurrence or being touched by Rachel in particular was odd. She spoke, her voice a nearly emotionless drone that surprised me but didn't seem to phase this Robin character. “Before you attack him you should probably know that he's the only reason I'm alive right now.”

He visibly processed that for a moment before he nodded towards Rachel. They had a hushed conversation that I didn't try to hear before he stepped towards me. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he said, “Thank you for keeping Raven alive.” A look over his shoulder at a glaring Rachel caused his shoulders to slump before he turned back towards me and finished with, “and I'm sorry that I attacked you without listening to your reasons for associating with... Arform?” I nodded. “Arform,” he affirmed with the sound of someone committing something to memory. “We've had dealings with it in the past and I jumped to conclusions.”

Well. I'll say this for Robin: He's certainly open to new information when he trusts its source.

We spent a few minutes bringing Robin up to speed on the situation on the inside while he told us what was happening on the outside. Apparently Rachel and I had been reenacting that scene from ET where the alien guy and the kid's life forces were linked. If they moved us too far apart, we began to crash. Naturally, they kept us close together while they worked on stitching up her head. I proceeded to explain the circumstances of my meeting with Arform, although I was as much at a loss as they to explain his violent actions.

Eventually Robin's form began to flicker as he lost the concentration necessary to keep himself tethered in the mindscape. Before he winked out completely I managed to ask him how long we'd been out. I was slightly relieved to hear that it was only a couple of days.

With Robin gone the sounds of the swamp rolled back in. Rachel and I sat in silence for a bit before I looked up and said, “So... know any good riddles?”

=-=-=-=-=-
Raven, Entry 2
=-=-=-=-=-

Life. For my entire existence “life” has been bound inextricably with “duty”. I've had the duty to control my emotions, lest Trigon enter the world. The duty to subvert my own dark nature in order to preserve my humanity. The duty to defend the innocent from the wicked.

Even though the part I try to subvert continually whispers to me, “Why?”

I have no doubts that others fight their own inner battles. Humanity is a fallen race according to the accounts of many religions, and every person is locked in an endless struggle between good and evil. I simply have a greater measure of evil in me, necessitating a greater measure of control over that part of me that whispers in sweetly poisoned tones. Even now with Trigon defeated and bound from this world, I cannot allow myself the freedom of emotion others enjoy. Love is the path to lust and must be countered with chastity. Sensuality could lead to gluttony, so I show temperance. Man's nature is one of desire, and such greed is curtailed with charity. I allow myself no rest lest I fall to slothfulness, and am ever diligent of my duties as a necessity. My demonic heritage leaves me particularly open to feelings of wrath, and I struggle constantly to display patience. I do not think I succeed very well. I look upon others and cannot help but envy their freedoms, and such envy burns evil in my soul. I douse it with as much kindness as I can bear to show. Over all it is difficult to remain humble, for who else bothers to control themselves in this way? What others deny themselves the basics of humanity to prevent the egress of demoniety? Such is the way of pride, that efforts of such monumental proportions must be accepted gracefully rather than celebrated as worthy achievements.

In my weaker moments I find myself wondering, fantasizing, especially about love. I have the love of my friends, and I love them in return, but that is a sanitary love, familial and warm and above all, safe. In the darkness and solitude of my bedroom or Nevermore I conjure up images of a normal life. School. A job. A house, a family, a yard and a dog and children and a white picket fence to keep them all inside, safe. Dinner on the table, bills to pay, and a boring, satisfying existence punctuated with everyday victories and failures. Then I wake up, draw on my cloak and venture forth to do my duty, to keep that image safe for all those that can enjoy it.

But not me. Never me.

Life. It's a bitch.

--Raven

=-=-=-=-=-
Friends and Enemies
=-=-=-=-=-

Time, as I've previously stated, is a rather slippery concept in a mindscape. Rachel's mindscape tended to parallel the outside world's time stream rather accurately. Mine, on the other hand, tended to telescope perspective time. Sometimes time passed slower on the inside, and at others it passed faster. I was hopeful that the pattern would continue to condense our subjective experience of time.

Unfortunately, I seem to have pissed off the God of Time somewhere along the line.

“Jon, what is the point-”

“Hush Rachel. I need you to hold still.”

“I'm not moving.”

“Your mouth is moving, and I'm working on it right now. Just a minute...” A light scratching sound. “... and done! Okay, you can move now.”

Rachel (she had tried to get me to call her Raven, but apparently my stubbornness was stronger than her own) stood and walked towards me. We were currently in a large room, lit with a single overhead light which cast some rather dramatic shadows. I stood in front of an easel with a large sheet of paper clipped to an oversize board displaying a newly finished charcoal portrait. I added a few minor touches as Rachel walked towards me, a darkening here, a smudge there, nothing major. When she finally saw the portrait her eyebrows quirked up and her mouth opened slightly.

I grinned. It was about as close to an expression of pure shock I was likely to get from her.

“Jon... this is good. Really good, beautiful,” she said sincerely.

“With you as a model, how could it be anything less?” I replied.

She threw a glare towards me but it seemed to be more for forms sake as there was no heat in it. Over the last several weeks (or so it had seemed to us) we had talked, traded stories, played at mock combats (which, in retrospect, were actual battles of wit) and done nearly anything else we could think of to stave off boredom. One of the things I had gotten into the habit of doing was flirting with the young lady. She was reticent at first (the mock combats didn't start out as such) but had eventually grown to accept them. In return, she had become less cold, less stand-offish. I was beginning to think that I had a chance.

“Seriously though,” she said, “it really is beautiful. Once we leave here maybe you could do one for real.”

I winced a bit. “I'm afraid that you'll have to be content with this in your memory. I have absolutely no talent for drawing.”

“Really?” she asked. “Your visualization is excellent.” She turned to examine the portrait. “It has life to it, emotion.”

“The visualization comes with my job. The life and emotion come from you.”

She didn't respond, and I didn't press her. We had spoken of our histories, to a certain point. I knew that her abilities were partially emotion based and as such she was careful to keep them tightly reined. I also knew that she went entirely too far with the whole endeavor to attribute it to simple power management. Thus, I waged a war of attrition against her emotional bulwarks. It was already bearing fruit.

“Thank you.”

Her words were spoken softly, but clearly. As I watched her examine the portrait I wondered again what pain she struggled against that caused her to attempt such a total cloistering of self. Only rarely were such nakedly sincere sentiments offered from her lips, bereft of the armour known as sarcasm.

“You're welcome,” I replied. “Take it. You can put it somewhere in your mindscape. Just think of me when you remember it.”

“Who else would I think of?” She smirked slightly as she unclipped the paper and fed it through a black vortex, presumably leading to some portion of her mindscape.

I conjured a couple of easy chairs and sat in one. The room melted around us, replaced by an oceanside vista. Rachel looked around a bit. “Still Florida?” she asked. I nodded.

“Boca Raton, to be precise. I spent a bit of time a little north of here in Delray Beach a few years ago to prepare for my trip to Japan.”

“You came to Florida to prepare for a trip to Japan?”

“Certainly. My tribe spent much of its time on the east coast when I was younger, and Delray was the home of a Japanese colony about a century ago. There's still quite a bit of Japanese culture in the area, not to mention a museum and educational center built on the grounds of the original colony. It was a good choice, and while I was there studying the language and culture I was able to teach a bit at one of the local universities.”

Rachel twitched a bit, as though the weight of a sudden thought had unexpectedly thrown her off-balance. She turned to look at me and said, “What languages do you know?”

I raised an eyebrow. “If you want to try teaching me a language to pass the time, I think I'd rather pass. I know enough to get by as it is.”

She gave me one of her flat looks. “Humour me,” she stated.

I looked at her with an expression of utmost innocence and said, “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Fine,” she growled back. The effectiveness of the old growl-and-scowl routine was rather hampered by the blush that was painting her cheeks red. “I know English, German, Latin, Romanian, Ancient Sumerian, and Sanskrit. Your turn.”

“Chinese, Spanish, English, Arabic, Hindi, Portuguese, Bengali, Russian, Japanese, German, Javanese, Telugu, Marathi, Vietnamese, Korean, Tamil, French, Italian, Punjabi, and Urdu. I also know several ancient languages, Latin, Tolkien Elven, and Klingon.” At Rachel's incredulous look, I winced and said, “It's a long story.”

“Purely out of curiosity... which Punjabi? Eastern or Western?”

“Both.”

“Ah. Of course.”

I made a non-committal sound. A moment passed before-

“Seriously? All of those?”

“Yep.”

Another moment, and then-

“... Tolkien Elven and Klingon?”

“It's a really long story, and I doubt you'd believe me anyway.”

It was her turn to make a non-committal sound. Deciding to get the conversation back on track, I said, “So, why do you ask?”

Her expression sharpened into what I had come to consider her “war-mask”. Her voice lost the subtle shadings of emotion that I had become used to and she droned in a monotonous manner. “There have been a string of crimes near the airports and docks. The assailant or assailants carve symbols into the flesh of their victims, leaving them awake and aware.” She waved a hand and a vortex opened. She reached into it and retrieved several large photographs. A wave of my hand duplicated the easel and clipboard, and she proceeded to clip each photo to its own board. “I think the language looks something like Ancient Sumerian.,” she continued, “but I've been trying to decode these for months now and I'm hardly any further along than when I started.”

I walked closer to the boards and sucked in a sharp breath that set me to coughing. I finally convinced my diaphragm that it wanted to stay in my torso, turned to Rachel and said, “How long have these things been cropping up?”

My own war-mask was firmly in place, and I think Rachel was both surprised and pleased. She responded, “Two months, a little more.” She peered at my face and said, “You know something.” I nodded.

“Tell me,” as I approached one of the pictures a pen appeared in my hand, “how did you translate this symbol?” I circled one of the symbols that appeared on each victim, and proceeded around to each picture and circled it every time it appeared.

Rachel's brow furrowed in thought. “Rock, stone, or something similar. What-”

I waved her off. “Close, but an accident. The languages are too different, you couldn't have decrypted this.” I continued to circle different symbols and drew lines to connect them. Some of the lines hovered over empty space, and before long a network of spidery traces linked the different pictures in a tangle. I stepped back.

Rachel, possibly a bit miffed that I had cut her off, stated dryly, “Wonderful. What does this tell us, now?”

“Everything and nothing. Damn it!” I exploded. “If I hadn't been in that god-forsaken coma-”

Rachel chose this moment to cut me off. “What is the problem, Jon?”

“This!” I yelled, gesturing sharply to the cacophony of lines floating ephemerally between the photos. “You have no idea what this is, do you?”

“Obviously not, and I'll continue in my ignorance until you enlighten me.”

I shot a glare at the object of my ire. “Azrethar Contiga Shoulgrithar Revitha!” I growled. The photos and lines began to duck and twist, diving and cutting through the air until they ceased in a precise geometric form. “Look, I don't know what kind of magical background you have, but tell me what you think that is,” I said, pointing at the form hovering in mid-air.

Rachel moved forwards, eyes intent on the form. “There's a definite circle formed, other regular shapes and angles, more circles... it looks incomplete,” she said, turning towards me.

“It is,” I allowed. “The symbols these poor people have been defiled with are the work of Nephilim.”

Rachel's eyes widened. “Nephilim?”

I nodded. “Offspring of mortal women and fallen angels. Demi-demons.” I turned back to look at the form, summoned up the pen, and completed a few lines. The form floated serenely in the air, belying its sinister purpose.

“Dear Azar,” Rachel murmured. “It's a portal...”

I nodded grimly. “A bi-directional one-way gate to Hell, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Then the symbol didn't mean stone... it meant 'gem'.”

“Yeah,” I turned to her inquisitively. “How did you know that?”

Rachel's eyes flashed hot with white fire. “It's time to leave,” she stated. A stone archway appeared behind her and she stepped through it. I simply willed myself awake...

… and came face to face with a bright blue light being held by a very serious looking Cyborg.

Well... that was unexpected. How much time had passed since Robin returned to his body?

“Cyborg, no! He's a friend,” came a somewhat groggy voice. Looking over revealed Robin being helped into a chair by Starfire.

I turned back towards Cyborg (who had yet to remove his weapon from my head) and said, “Yes, I'm very friendly. See?” I bared my teeth in a rough approximation of a smile. Sweat beaded on my brow and upper lip.

Cyborg seemed less than impressed. “If you're so friendly,” he asked, “why are you so nervous?”

A soft drone came to my rescue. “You have enough energy primed into your sonic cannon to turn his head into a fine red mist. I would be nervous if you had it pointed at me.”

“Yeah, so? He's been makin' with the mind-voodoo on both of you. How do I know he hasn't done something?”

Rachel's eyes glowed white and the cannon was suddenly enveloped in black energy. “Nobody messes with my mind Cyborg. Now put your toy away before I put it away for you,” she said dangerously. For just a moment I thought I saw a flicker of red amidst the white in her eyes, and my mind began to slowly piece together various hints and clues that I had been picking up during my association with Rachel.

Cyborg looked at his arm nervously. “Alright, I believe you. Nobody else could be that scary.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cyborg.” Rachel then released his arm and turned to me, the hellish light (hellish?) leaving her eyes to reveal her familiar indigo orbs. “Are you ok?”

“Fine, thanks. How's your head?”

She smirked slightly and replied, “Perfectly healed. Get up, we have work to do.”

I groaned as I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the cot. “No rest for the benevolent,” I complained as I moved. “Hold her from the brink of death, share my mind with her for weeks, solve otherwise insurmountable problems for her and what do I get? Not appreciation, I'll tell you that.”

A snort came from the depths of her hood, causing me to grin and everyone else to look at her in something resembling shock. “I'll thank you later. For now, we're running out of time.”

“True enough,” I said as I recalled why we had gone charging out of our very comfortable minds. “But you owe me a da-ACK!”

The rest of that sentence was cut off with a surprised and undignified squawk as the floor rushed up to greet me. Cyborg caught me before I could fall too far, but the event still caught me by surprise. Having spent (subjective) months in our collective mindscape had caused me to forget that some things in the physical world were not the same as the world in our heads. Namely that I had a bum leg.

“Thanks, big guy,” I said as I patted his arm.

For some reason he seemed discomforted. “No problem.”

I looked around. “I don't suppose anyone grabbed my cane?”

“Cane?”

“Guess not,” I sighed. I let go of Cyborg's arm and leaned back against the cot. Rachel floated over to me, presented an arm and said, “We don't have time to look for a cane. Lean on me, I'll take you to the Ops room.”

Using Rachel's arm for support, I hobbled out of the med-bay.

=-=-=-=-=-

“Robin,” came Starfire's inquisitive voice. “That was not normal, was it?”

“No,” Robin replied, shocked. “He made her laugh.”

Cyborg, equally shocked, added, “She let him touch her.”

“That is what I was thinking,” Starfire responded pensively.

Several minutes of silence passed them by until the door swished open and Beast Boy walked in. Glancing around at the lack of patients and the catatonic states of his team mates led him to utter, “Guys? Did I miss something here?”

=-=-=-=-=-

The Ops room seemed like some kind of cross between a movie theatre and a college apartment. It was sized like a cinema, and had an absolutely huge viewscreen (nothing that size could be called anything less). It also had an en suite kitchen/dining area with a counter stacked with dishes and fridge full of what might once have been food. I made a vague note to myself that at some point food needed to enter my body. Thankfully, however, the Ops room had an absolutely decadent couch. It felt like I was sitting on an orgasm, it was so wonderful.

Rachel settled me on the couch (for which I immediately absolved her debt to me), and proceeded to float towards the kitchen area. “May I get you something?” she asked, her voice rasping slightly as she raised it above its normal level.

“Whatever you're having will be fine, thanks.”

She set a kettle on the stove and proceeded to make tea. “Sweeteners?” she asked.

“What kind of tea is it?”

“An herbal blend.”

“Ah. No thank you, then.”

Silence fell, a now-comfortable state between us, and I took the time to examine the room in greater detail. The pane windows looked out over the bay, the noon-time sun illuminating the scene with a stark white-yellow light. We were fairly high up, and since the building had the feeling of a sky-scraper I made a staggering leap of logic and deduced that I was in the so-called Titans' Tower.

“Here.” A cup of tea was placed on the coffee table, easily within my grasp. “I would have offered something to eat, but I'm not sure that would be considered hospitality at the moment.”

“I find myself agreeing with you, and feel that it was most hospitable of you to refrain.” I picked up the cup and took a sip. “This is wonderful,” I said.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

We enjoyed tea together for a bit, and I felt my depleted reserves begin to trickle back. I looked suspiciously at the tea, and then towards Rachel... who looked far too innocent.

“An herbal blend, you say?”

She nodded.

“Undoubtedly your own recipe.”

A smirk.

“Well... thank you very much. I was quite... thirsty.”

“More?”

“Please.”

Rachel began to refill my cup, and it was this scene that the rest of the Teen Titans walked in on, with predictable reactions.

I looked at Rachel. She looked back. After a moment she looked away,a spot of colour touching her cheeks. “I'm not usually so... accommodating.”

“Good to know I'm special,” I said dryly. I gestured towards the viewscreen with my head. Rachel nodded, stood, and assisted me to the front of the Ops room.

“Settle in,” I said to the arriving heroes. The little green one (Beast Boy, if memory served) began to make a fuss, likely about being bossed around in his own home. Rachel cut him off, her eyes glowing white as she growled, “Now.”

They settled. I turned to Rachel and whispered, “Are you sure you're not in charge?” She just gave her trademark smirk.

I turned back to the seated teens. “I am the Chronicler Jon of the Far Western Tribes of the Amazon Nation.” My eyes narrowed as they fell on each of them in turn. “You interrupted a diplomatic meeting held under a flag of truce between myself and the entity known as Arform. Prior to anything else, my duties as Chronicler require me to complete that meeting, albeit with Arform in absentia. Now, what are your objections?”

“Um... objections to what?” said Cyborg with a befuddled look on his face.

“Yeah, what are you talking about, dude?” came from Beast Boy.

“Jon was engaged in diplomatic talks with the creature, known as Arform, when we arrived,” said Robin.

“More specifically, I am now acting as a mediator between you and the Arform as you negotiate a peaceful resolution to your current state of animosity,” I said.

“It was a mistake. We hold no objections,” stated Robin firmly.

I nodded sharply. “Very well. We'll discuss that later, but there's something more important that needs to be spoken of now. Robin,” I said, “is there any way you can put the images Rachel showed me onto this screen?”

“What images?” asked Robin, while the other three said, “Who's Rachel?”

Rachel hissed beside me. “I told you to call me Raven.” I turned to look at her and retorted, “You haven't told me to call you Raven in weeks.” I paused for a moment. “Subjective weeks, anyway.”

She chose to ignore me for the moment and said to Robin, “The photos of the attacks at the docks and airports.”

Robin reached into a compartment of the couch and pulled out a large remote. A few button clicks and the screen lit up with images of a dozen victims.

I felt my mouth go dry. “I thought there were only three,” I said dully. Suddenly Rachel had to take more of my weight. Robin spoke, but I barely heard him as I furiously studied the new images in an attempt to fit them into a working theory. “Remote,” I said distractedly, and someone put it into my hand. Within a few moments I had figured out the controls and had set about rearranging the images across the screen. “This is strange...” I muttered to Rachel.

“What is?”

“It's not just a portal... it's also a message.” I continued in a louder tone. “ The Gem denies, the Gem restrains, the Gem is dull and mortal.” A sudden silence sprang up behind me to replace the squabbling conversation that I had unconsciously blotted out. I shot a glance behind me to find everyone focused on me with ashen faces. I finished in a more quiet tone, “Others maim, in Father's name, to open up his portal.”

Rachel's hand began to tremble where it rested on my arm, and the others all swung their gazes to her. I looked first at her hand and then at her face. Her eyes were wide and sparkled with what may have been tears in a more emotive person. Her head shook back and forth slightly as though to deny some horrible truth.

Suddenly, it all made sense to me: the otherworldly skin and hair colouring, her vague statements about heredity and familiarity with demons, her power, ability, and aptitude for magic... a thousand little details dutifully recorded and analyzed subconsciously as a result of my training. I placed a comforting hand atop her trembling one. She turned to look up at me with a face subtly flickering between a thousand conflicting thoughts.

“Rachel,” I said softly into the silence, “your brothers are very angry that you didn't bring your Father for a visit...”

=-=-=-=-=-
Research, 1
=-=-=-=-=-

“I need to know everything that's happened in this city for the last several months; every shoplifting, assault, and murder. Any crime in this city. Put it on a map, tagged with the dates and times. Also, a list of all missing persons within the last six months; men, women, children, homeless, socialites, all of them.” Jon paced behind the couch as he issued orders, the tone of his voice that of one well-accustomed to having his wishes followed. Cyborg had managed to whip up a cane from a few simple lengths of titanium, and its steady tapping upon the floor played counterpoint to the heavier, arrhythmic sounds of his feet.

“Rachel, I want you scanning the city for any outsider energy,” he continued.

“That may be difficult,” she said. “My own energy is probably all over this city.”

“Well, give it a go and get back to me,” Jon replied. “Cyborg, I want you to catalog the the crimes and put them on a map. Beast Boy,” he turned to the green puppy curled up on the couch cushion, “you're in charge of missing persons. Be sure to talk to police about any missing derelicts.” He got a soft bark in reply. “Starfire, I need you to run to the store and grab some things for me. Rachel,” he called out just as the dark girl was about to step through the door, “are you running low on any reagents?” She thought a moment, and then shook her head and left the room. “Very well,” he said as he scribbled on a sheet of paper, “here's a list of stores and items to get at each store. Please be sure to get everything on the list from the indicated vendors. If anyone gives you any trouble, tell them I sent you.” He handed the list to the girl and then turned to Robin.

Robin was equal parts impressed and vexed by having control taken so effectively and effortlessly from him. On the one hand, this Jon character surely knew what was happening and how to prepare for it better than he himself did. On the other, the only guarantee they had to his identity was his word and the word of Raven. As a general rule, Robin trusted Raven more than any of the other Titans, but they had been sharing some sort of trance and little was known of what abilities Jon possessed. Mind control was nothing new to the Titans, and Robin's suspicious nature kept him edgy about this new “ally”.

Jon, for his part, had noted Robin's reaction as soon as he had started issuing orders. It was understandable to have misgivings; Jon himself was working with these people purely on Rachel's word. “Robin,” he called out, “can I talk to you in private?”

Robin gave a sharp nod and gestured to the doorway that Rachel had left through earlier. Just before they passed through, Cyborg called out, “Robin. You cool with this?”

The masked hero turned his head back to the Ops room and flashed a tight smirk. “What he said, Titans. Get to it.” They set about their respective tasks while Jon and Robin walked out of the room.

The hallway was silent save for the click-shuffle of Jon's steps. Robin tread like a cat; silent, purposeful, and deadly. A door at the end of the hallway slid open at their approach, and it was here that Robin led them. The room was spartan, decorated with only a few chairs and a table. It had the look of an office conference room. The table was impressively sized, but simple. The chairs looked comfortable, but they weren't. A stray pen cap lay in the corner, a relict that was the only indication that the room had ever been used at all.

Jon sat heavily and sighed, slumping into the seat. Robin looked at him again, reevaluating him in light of this new posture. Jon noticed the scrutiny, and chuckled a bit. “I'm no threat to you, Robin,” he began. “You could probably knock me over with a feather at this point. I haven't eaten in days, my energy is practically tapped out, and I'm crippled from that coma I recently got out of.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “It's been one hell of a start to my time in the city.”

Robin gave a wry grin, faint but present. “Welcome to Jump,” he said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Jon shook his head a bit to dispel any lingering thoughts and said, “I need to be briefed on your team, and I need to brief you on the potential situation you have here. Which do you want first?” Robin's mask gave the impression of narrowed eyes as he thought before he said, “Brief me on the situation first.”

“Very well,” Jon replied. “With one dozen victims we're likely looking at three apiece for four Nephilim.”

“What's a Nephilim?” Robin interrupted.

Jon looked at him quizzically. “The scion of a fallen angel and a mortal.”

A pause ensued as Robin processed that before he whispered, “Raven...”

“Not quite, but close enough for this discussion,” Jon stated. “So, three victims each at twelve victims equals four Nephilim. It's possible that they're all full brothers, but more than likely they're a collection of half-siblings.”

“Why are you so sure that they're all male?”

“Technically, I'm not. I'm guessing based off of the conjugation of the message; the relevant bits were in male-form. The parts referring to the 'Gem' were female-form.” Jon looked directly into Robin's mask, and Robin was suddenly and disconcertingly certain that Jon could see right through the it to the eyes behind. “I assume you've had a similar message delivered to you in the past, based upon your reaction to this one.”

Robin grunted and attempted to shake off the piercing look being sent his way. “Not delivered to us, per se. It was a prophecy. 'The Gem was born of Evil's fire/The Gem shall be his portal/He comes to Claim/He comes to Sire/The end of all things mortal.'”

“Any idea who the demon is?” Jon asked distractedly, lost in thought as he committed the prophecy to memory.

“Yeah, we fought him and banished him from this dimension. Trigon was the name.”

Jon choked and damn near fell off of his chair. “Trigon?!”

Robin's face was grim. “Trigon,” he confirmed. “The experience wasn't something you forget easily.”

“Robin,” Jon said frantically, “Trigon is one of the most powerful and highly ranked demons in this universe. How in God's name did you manage to banish him?”

“Raven was the one that actually did it,” Robin replied. “I'm not sure how exactly she managed it. You'd have to ask her.”

“Oh, I will,” Jon said as he pulled himself together. “Just so you know, this is very bad news. I have to talk to Rachel before I can brief you any further. Throwing Trigon into the mix changes everything.”

“Why?”

“Well, I thought we were dealing with offspring of a lower demon. Trigon breathes rarefied air in comparison.” At Robin's lost look, Jon said, “I initially thought we were dealing with a gun. Turns out it's a bazooka. Maybe a nuke.”

Robin winced. “That bad?” he asked.

Jon nodded his confirmation. “Yep. So, until I talk to Rachel that's all I have for you. I'll let you know more as soon as I have it.”

“Sure,” Robin replied, and then paused. “Jon, what's with you calling Raven that?”

“That,” Jon said with a smile, “is a story. You see, when I first came to this city...”

=-=-=-=-=-

Starfire returned to the tower, her arms overflowing with bags. Cyborg, who was using the computer in the Ops room to perform his assigned tasks, looked over with wide eyes. “Hello, Friend Cyborg,” the effusive alien said. “I have returned from the shopping!”

“Uh, I can see that, Star.” Cyborg raised an eyebrow and continued with, “What all did Jon have on that list, anyway?”

Starfire giggled. “Friend Jon did not have too many items on his list. I also bought groceries!”

Cyborg stopped still, his biological widening in time with the brightening of his prosthetic eye. Hoping against hope that he had misheard, he weakly repeated, “Groceries?”

The effusive alien nodded vigorously. “Yes. I noticed that we were lacking certain items of goodness.”

It was a testament to their friendship and his personal willpower that Cyborg was able to force a sickly grin on his face as he said, “Great. Thanks, Star.”

“You are very welcome,” she replied seriously as she began to do battle with the dishes and refrigerator.

Cyborg went back to his work, resigned to going hungry for a day or two until he could go shopping himself.

=-=-=-=-=-

Raven levitated, her legs crossed in a lotus position. She hovered in the center of a circle delineated by salt, candles spaced equidistant about the perimeter. The door to her room was locked, the curtains drawn. She had left a sign on the door explaining that under no circumstances was she to be disturbed. Her eyes were closed, her lips silently shaping the syllables that were her mantra.

Power flowed through her. The air hummed with the potential- crystal bottles and artifacts about the room vibrated in sympathy to it. A soft ringing sound was rising through the silence, becoming louder as she began to vocalize the spell. “Azarath Metrion Zinthos, Carazon Rakhashas Endareth, Vaserics Endrian Kithados, Kithados Kisthados KITHADOS!”

During the course of the spell a shimmering light overtook the salt on the ground and the candles' flames burned black. Seeking tendrils of Raven's dark power snaked out in all directions, eventually becoming drawn to the candles' fire. At the final words a great column of black energy shot up from the salt, hiding the sorceress from view. A great sound was heard, the screaming of a spectral raptor, and when the column descended back into the circle there was no Raven to be seen.

=-=-=-=-=-

Beast Boy rode the thermals as an eagle, angling towards the Tower. His conversations with the beat cops had unnerved him, and it was with a distinctly somber mindset that he flew. The trends for missing persons had remained more or less steady according to the young female officer at the department. According to those that actually went out into the field and dealt with the street people, however, there was a sense of grim panic. People were missing, more each day. Not the kind of people that would have anyone to call the police on their behalf, either. The guy with the skinny dog on the corner of Maple and Fifth, the woman with the shopping cart full of bags, the group of kids that slept in the old subway tunnels, all gone and more besides.

And nobody was really doing anything about it.

For the first time, Beast Boy began to awaken to the everyday deficiencies of the city he tried to protect, of the world that he had defended. Sure, he knew that there were homeless. He knew that there were bad people in the world. He had fought many of them personally. But this was different. This wasn't so much an evil to be fought as it was a process that couldn't be halted. It was a side-effect of civilization, part of nature's perfect balancing act, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So he flew silently home in the form of an eagle, predator eyes on the dispossessed below. Watching. Remembering. And bearing witness.

=-=-=-=-=-

[Forau]

See Cid's post below.

[CidGregor]

Actually Forau he got my approval first via PM, so he's fine.

[TeenTitans4Ever]

Wow. I reeeeally like this story so far. So that's where your username is from! I really like "Raven's Entries," and I hope this doesn't die!

Unfortunately, I tried reading all of this in one sitting, so my eyes hurt from the computer glare. I'm up to "Friends and Enemies."

In other words, I think this is an awesome story, and I'll be happy to continue this later.

[ChroniclerJon]

=-=-=-=-=-
Research, 2 - Wait, WHAT?
=-=-=-=-=-

The Ops room was silent save for the hum of the Tower's various machinery. I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face in an attempt to stave off weariness. The Titans had just finished briefing Robin on what they had found, and the news was not good.

Illumination spilled from the viewscreen into the otherwise dark room, a map of the city gracing its surface. The map was marked with Cyborg's work, each crime tagged in its location. The tags' colours ranged from black to white and signified time elapsed. Darker meant earlier. The text on the tags was colour coded to different types of crimes, such as assault or theft. It was an elegant, ingenious solution to a fairly complex problem, and while Robin seemed to take in in stride I was well impressed.

Starfire had succeeded in getting everything on my list, as well as grabbing some food besides. I think I fell in love a little as she offered me some of her Tamaranean delicacies. Food and I had been acquainted all too rarely of late. The others looked at me like I was crazy when I dug in, but it was passable enough. Edible at least, which was a far cry from some foods I'd had the misfortune of ingesting in the past.

Beast Boy seemed uncharacteristically subdued as he gave his report. Although I'd never had the chance to interact with him before, Rachel's stories and the others' reactions to his mood led me to understand that he was generally a bit more chipper. Perhaps it was the nature of his report. Missing persons (and children, dear God) were a serious subject. More so than he realized.

The report Rachel gave was a grim finish for the others. She detailed the results of a trip to Kithados, which my own people knew as the Umbral Plane. It was a place of shadow, mental energies, and dark reflections. Within this place she had found signs of a willful disordering of the city's natural energies, which I had unknowingly stumbled upon while trying to ward my apartment over months ago. The effect was radiating from four different locations, which matched the patterns of increasing crime violence and frequency on Cyborg's map.

Robin grunted and turned towards me. “Chronicler, what do you think?”

I hid a sigh and stood to attention. While I was sure he had done it in ignorance, he had called upon me in my official capacity when he called me by my title. Since I had already tacitly agreed to assist them, I had temporarily agreed to acknowledge him as a legitimate leader.

“Commander, the evidence points strongly towards a Nephilim situation. The willful application of entropic forces in such a manner as detected by your Sorceress,” I waved a hand towards Rachel, “match the crime trends as noted by your Loremaster,” a nod towards Cyborg, “which is standard for Nephilim and demi-demon activity. Judging from the evidence presented here and prior, it is the Chronicler's opinion that there are four Nephilim.”

I received strange looks from everyone. I wiped my hand across my eyes as I muttered in reply, “You asked...”

“Hey, not to sound stupid or anything, but what's a Nephilim?” asked Beast Boy. I had opened my mouth to respond, but Raven beat me to it.

“A Nephilim is a powerful half-demon. More powerful than any of us,” she said. My eyes narrowed a bit at the explanation, and then her indigo eyes caught mine. There was a subtle movement there, a narrowing or a crinkling or some other sign that was the equivalent of a head shake.

The briefing continued, but I confess that I remember little of it. I was too busy mulling over the implications of what Raven had said... and what she hadn't.

Eventually the meeting let out. I was offered a room and was glad to take it. The room was larger than my dimly remembered apartment, and I wondered idly if I even had the apartment any longer. It was to my surprise and gratification that I noticed my belongings piled in some boxes in the corner. I grabbed a change of clothes and proceeded to take the most amazing shower of my life. I exited, shaved, and dried off. I left the bathroom and entered the bed.

I slept.

And I dreamed.

=-=-=-=-=-

The light hurts. It's a physical thing, pressing against me, filling my mouth and nose as I breathe. It would be easy to drown in this light. Easy and impossible.

She sits before me. Always sitting, she never stands here. On her knees (how I wish it was like it sounds), sable locks pooling on the floor around her, a long hammer within easy reach. She's a warrior, a prophet, a divine power. I want her.

“Avatar,” she speaks, her young voice (so puerile, so enticing) speaking in sweet tones, bells chiming, heavy with potential sin, promised salvation. “The prophecy cometh...”

...and she is no longer the young teen that I crave. Raven (rachel?) hair becomes the colour of honey, hammer gone. She remains kneeling, says, “...you know what it means...”

…the honey bleaches to a platinum that sparkles in this light, the figure rising to stand, positioned in an attempt to seduce, showing leg and skin and breast. “You remember the telling,” speaks the mature voice, ancient and strong and filled with promised sin and potential salvation. She's too forward for me, always was.

My goddess returns, dressed in sparkling armour which shines like silver. Her body, teetering on the cusp of pubescence, awakens forbidden desires which I have no intention of quelling. She draws her hammer and strikes a gong hanging unsupported in the featureless chaos of white. As the sound peals forth she steps towards me, eyes aflame with passion which belies her apparent age. I strain against the light, cursing it as its pressure keeps me affixed in space.

She faces me, standing for the first time in memory, and walks to me with all the unconscious sensuality and hungry need of the innocent. She looks me in the eye, standing unsupported above vast tracts of blankness. I remember that she's shorter than me.. she must be floating... or maybe I'm kneeling...

Her lips press against mine, soft as rose petals and hot as a skillet. The kiss is chaste in form but barbarically lascivious in execution. Then she draws back, eyes smoldering in her child face as she whispers, “The prophecy cometh.”

=-=-=-=-=-

I awoke.

The curtain over the window remained open as I had been too tired the night previous to bother with it. Sunlight leaked pink through the skyscrapers of the city, a sunrise in the making. Of its own volition, my hand rose to touch my lips, a whisper fading from my mind-

“The prophecy cometh...”

-as I awoke more fully. The treacherous hand lingered for a moment before I pushed myself into a sitting position and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. I missed them dearly, of that there was no doubt, but I had work to do and could not dwell upon that past.

The cane remained upright where I had placed it the night prior, and I availed myself to its use as I moved towards the bathroom. A quick shave and a change of clothing left me looking more human than I had in awhile. Searching through the boxes yielded a tome on Chronicler duties and their execution in various situations, which I figured was a viable topic with the strangeness of recent days. I made my way to the elevator and allowed it to carry me to the roof of the building.

The sunlight had taken a distinctly red tone as it rose further, the eastern sky stained with it while the western remained an inky violet. I strode onto the roof as best I could, noting a familiar cloaked figure levitating and chanting as I did so. I approached the edge and sat upon it, allowing my legs to swing over more than a dozen floors worth of empty space. The book was then opened, and I began to read.

Or rather, I tried to. The book was one that I had read many times in the past, and flipping through it now only served to ensure that my memory of professional protocol was refreshed. Frankly, it was boring. Instead, I listened to the chanting while looking at the receding edge of night. Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos... Azarath was a dimension of peaceable devotees to the realm's creator, Azar, a person of great spiritual power and knowledge. Metrion and Zinthos, however, were news to me. It sounded appropriately mystical in any case, and that may have been the point. Many of the vocal components of my “spells” were nonsense words used to focus my willpower, and it made sense that others did the same.

After a time the chanting ceased and footsteps sounded behind me. As they passed where I was sitting I called out, “You know... don't you?”

The footsteps stopped.

Silence.

“Have you decided?” I continued.

More silence, and then, “Not yet.”

I stood and turned around. Rachel stood in profile to me; the rising sun cast sharp shadows over her face in its hood. I looked at her then, examined her posture and what I could see of her expression. “How long?”

She shivered a bit. “A month. Maybe more.”

“You haven't told them?” I intoned it more as a statement than a question.

She sank into a circle of black energy without a word.

=-=-=-=-=-

“Hey, Jon? You up here, man?” came Cyborg's voice from behind me. I raised an arm without turning around and grunted a reply. His heavy footsteps thudded towards me. “Uh, you OK?”

I heaved a sigh. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.” I continued to stare out over the bay. “Why were you looking for me?”

He settled next to me on the building's edge, three or four feet away. It was a good distance, close enough for conversation and far enough away for comfort. “Breakfast was hours ago. We're about to have lunch, and you weren't in your room. Raven said the last time she'd seen you it was here.”

“Hm,” I answered.

After a bit of silence the larger man spoke. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Absolutely,” I replied without hesitation, “but it's not my place.” I looked over to him. “Rachel's birthday is in a month or so, right?”

Apparently Cyborg thought that I had changed the subject. “Almost exactly, yeah. The 25th. How'd you know?”

I smiled slyly and looked him in the eye. “A person can learn much by listening to what's not being said.

Why he became so nervous all of a sudden was a mystery to me. He eventually put a small smirk on his face and said, “So... getting something for Raven on her birthday, are ya'?”

My sly smile morphed into a benignly pleasant expression. “That is still the tradition in this part of America, isn't it?”

He graced me with a flat look. “Yeah, it is. But you know what I mean! Gonna get her something special, right? A special present for a special someone?”

I snorted and stood up. “At the moment,” I said, “there's nothing going on between her and I. She will get a gift from me because... well, just because.”

Cyborg's deep chuckle filled the air as he stood. “What's the matter,” he teased as he stood, “big intelligent storyteller all outta words?”

“It's lunch time, isn't it?” I replied as I shuffle-clanked towards the elevators.

Thankfully, he let it drop. “Alright, I'll leave it alone,” he said...

“...for now.”

Damn.

The ride down in the elevator was filled with pleasant banter. I was particularly impressed to learn that Cyborg had created the tower from the shell of an alien landing craft that had been pursuing Starfire. The history of the group's members was amazing; Starfire was an alien princess that had initially come here while escaping from another alien race which had captured her during war-time to press into service as a sort of slave. Beast Boy had been a member of the Doom Patrol, another vigilante team, for years prior to meeting up with the Titans. He had probably been fighting crime like this since he was a young child. Robin had no augmented abilities at all, and wielded his mind and body at peak human ability. Cyborg was more than half machine, a desperate gamble made by his father to save his life with experimental technology after a lab accident tore his body to pieces. Rachel was only half human and had been raised in Azarath before coming here and banishing one of the highest ranking demons in this universe from this dimension.

The team was a veritable “who's who” of bad-ass.

As we exited the elevator a green blur knocked my cane out from under me. Before I had a chance to compensate there was a red streak that pressed me against the back wall of the elevator, which resolved itself into Robin's arm when my vision caught up with their movements. Beast Boy stood outside the elevator in the form of a monkey, the cane caught in his tail. Cyborg was looking on with wide eyes, and shouted, “Hey, hold on a minute Rob!”

“Not now Cyborg,” growled the boy wonder. Beast Boy transformed back into his normal form, and his eyes were cold and hostile. Robin had pressed his forearm against my throat. “Talk,” he commanded.

Although the arm against my throat made it difficult to pass air, I managed to wheeze out, “There once was a bird from Nantucket,” before the arm pressed harder and I was cut off.

“You think you're funny?” Robin snarled as my vision began to blacken at the edges. “Who are you?”

I couldn't see any longer, but my hearing was still working, albeit reluctantly. Just prior to losing consciousness completely I heard Beast Boy say something about, “another Terra situation” to Cyborg.

And then my hearing, too, was gone.

[ChroniclerJon]

=-=-=-=-=-
Fifth and Sixth
=-=-=-=-=-

Curiously, the first sensation I was subjected to when I awoke was hunger. It was only when I opened my eyes that I remembered that I was in trouble.

I was strapped to a rather uncomfortable metal chair. A spotlight shone down harshly from above and slightly in front of me. It was angled towards my face. Behind the glare stood a shadow. It was possibly the unfriendliest looking shadow I'd ever seen.

If they were trying to intimidate me, they were doing a fairly decent job.

Robin's voice spoke from beyond the ring of light. “Why are you here?”

“Gee,” I replied, “I thought this was the men's room. My mistake. If you untie me, I'll be on my way.”

I don't handle intimidation well. It makes me snarky.

He stepped forward, allowing the very edge of the light to glint off the contours of his mask. He may not have any special powers, but he sure as hell knew his psychology. I'd never seen anyone in so many primary colours be so scary.

“Why are you here,” he enunciated more clearly.

I frowned and decided to play along for a bit. “You brought me here. Rachel-”

“Raven,” he interrupted.

“Rachel,” I stressed, “had been injured. I tethered her life to mine. Separating us was not an option.”

He moved fully into the light, his lips set in a sharp line, the muscles along his jaw bunched and twitching. “What did you do to her?”

I looked at him aghast. “What in the name of Elvis are you talking about?”

Robin sneered. “Raven is probably the least trusting of all the Titans, and you have her eating out of your hand in no time? You admit to having mental abilities and command of magical forces. What's your game?”

“This is ridiculous,” I said in disbelief. “I demand counsel.”

My interrogator looked taken aback. “What?”

“You're not getting anything out of me except for my name, rank and serial number until I have a lawyer or a representative of my nation in the room with me.”

“Are you serious?” Robin looked completely put out. Did the people he normally ambushed on the way to lunch just take this kind of crap?

“Jon Doe, Citizen,United States of America, Chronicler, Amazon Nation, 741-70-2186. I demand legal counsel and contact with a representative of the Amazon Embassy.”

“I don't know what kind of game you're playing-”

“Jon Doe, Citizen,United States of America, Chronicler, Amazon Nation, 741-70-2186. I demand legal counsel and contact with a representative of the Amazon Embassy.”

After another hour of similar dialogue, Robin left the room.

I was still hungry.

=-=-=-=-=-

I was given three meals each day, and pretty decent stuff to boot. The Titans, with the exception of Rachel, took turns bringing the meals. They each seemed to be taking this slightly differently. Starfire was characteristically sweet, and offered extra pillows and such. When she asked me questions I would respond the same as I had with Robin, but with a smile. I think she understood.

Beast Boy was the strangest one. He seemed to cycle between coldness, anger, and regret before starting over. Usually he simply dropped off the food and came back an hour later to collect the dishes. When he did talk, he made little sense to me, talking about “Terra,” “Slade,” and “Malchior.”

Robin would attempt the questioning and intimidation routine each time he came down. His tenacity was both inspiring and taxing. I barely had the patience for three hours of repetition, but he seemed fresh as a daisy each time. It was maddening, especially since I had no idea what was going on.

Cyborg seemed both apologetic and suspicious. One day he confessed his thoughts to me and began to make sense of what was going on.

The large amalgamation of man and metal stood within the room, his expression distant, but not cold. More than anything else, he looked thoughtful. “You really have no idea why we're doing this, do you?” he asked himself.

I looked up at him from my bowl of beef stew and shook my head in the negative.

His eyebrow rose. “Oh, decided to communicate, hmm?”

I scowled and opened my mouth to reply, but he beat me to it.

“Yeah, 'Jon Doe, Citizen, blah blah blah.' I didn't mean it like that.” He looked suddenly weary as he leaned against one of the steel walls that made up my prison. “I hear BB mumblin' sometimes when he comes back from here. He's worried.” Cyborg's eyes met mine. “We haven't had the best luck with strangers in this Tower.”

My senses told me that there was a rather large story about to be told, and I rearranged my positioning to give the impression of interest in the hope that my body language would cue him to tell it. Luckily, he obliged me.

He told me about a girl named Terra who had the power to control the earth itself. How she befriended the Titans, won Beast Boy's innocent heart, and betrayed them all to their greatest enemy, Slade. He told of her change of heart, self-sacrifice, Beast Boy's story of her miraculous resurrection, and her refusal to remember her past life. He spoke of Rachel's seduction by a bound dragon and the subtle heart-break that she suffered. He spun the tale of Blackfire, a lying, power-hungry bitch that had briefly ingratiated herself to the Titans and who happened to be Starfire's older sister.

“And then there's you,” he continued. “There's no record of you in the SSA databases. The number you keep giving us isn't even legal. You have no history to speak of; the farthest back your record goes is a publishing deal in Japan about a year ago. Before that, you didn't exist.” Cyborg sighed, and I wondered idly just how much of his biological systems were left. “Robin and Beast Boy are convinced that you're some sort of spy. Neither is listening to Raven because you two had mind-to-mind contact for so long. Robin's forbidden her from coming to see you or tryin' to contact you.”

I stood from the cot I was positioned on and used the wall to support myself as I moved closer to the door. When I figured that I was close enough to Cyborg, I looked him in the eyes and said, “I need to speak with a representative of the Amazon Nation. It needs to be soon. You have three days before I break out.” I quirked my head to the side as I examined the young man before me. “I'm being held here against my will. Either let me out, find me a representative, or charge me formally and allow me to stand trial. Three days.”

He left, and I was alone in the room once more.

Two more days passed with me staring at the walls, remembering stories, eating, and doing my physical therapy exercises. Its not that the room was uncomfortable. The bed was reasonably soft, the lighting wasn't too harsh or too dim, the temperature was pleasant, and the food was adequate. It was simply being confined that was taking its toll on me. My people were a wandering tribe of nomads, and being locked in a ten foot by ten foot room for such a long period of time was both humiliating and infuriating.

Eventually the routine changed. Robin entered the room and stated, “You have a visitor.” In walked a tall, well-muscled woman, dark of hair and eye. She wore an outfit of red, white, and blue. At her side was a golden coil of rope.

I looked at the woman in confusion for a moment before recognition hit me like a freight train. I shoved off of the bed and fell to the floor in a kneel, my bad leg screaming protests. My hands formed fists, and I placed the back of the right to my forehead, the back of the left to my sternum. I stared at the ground. “Princess Diana,” I managed to gasp through the pain, “it is an honour, your royal highness.”

Her voice came as an ancient god from on high. “State your name and relation to the Amazon nation.”

“I am the Chronicler known as Jon, of the Far Western Tribes of the Amazon Nation,” I replied with some trepidation.

The reply was coldly regal. “The Far Western Tribes no longer exist. They were destroyed during WWII by the Nazis.”

“Forgive me, your royal highness,” I said, looking up to match blue eyes to her brown. “This weary traveler has forgotten his place. I remember a different story.”

A blink was the only indication I had that the coded message had been understood. “Oh?” she replied with scorn. “And how exactly would this 'story' of yours be remembered?”

I bowed my head, partly because the tradition demanded it and partially to hid the relieved grin on my face. In a subservient tone I said, “Forgive me, royal highness, but there are some in this room unworthy to hear its telling.”

Robin clenched his fists and started to reply, but he was cut off. “Robin, please leave us unobserved for now.”

He looked for a moment like he might argue, but when she followed up with, “This is Amazonian business now. I thank you for bringing it to my attention, and as such will keep you updated with any information you need to know,” he let it go. He knew a political dismissal when he heard it.

After he left, Princess Diana looked down at me and said, “For Athena's sake, man, get off of that leg.”

I gratefully complied, sat on the bed and began trying to stretch the muscles back out to full extension. “Thank you, royal highness. It is an honour to sit in your presence.”

“And a relief, no doubt. What were you thinking kneeling on an injured leg?”

“Protocol must be observed, royal highness. Unless,” and here I suddenly became a bit uncertain, “you are.. not?... Princess Diana?”

“No, you're correct about that. Call me Diana, or Wonder Woman, if you prefer.” I couldn't help but chuckle a little.

“Wonder Woman?” I asked. “You're into this superhero business as well?”

She became a bit cold. “I entered this 'business' as you call it to avenge your supposed tribe's demise at the hands of the Nazis. Speaking of which,” and here she pinned me with a glare.

“Explain.”

I drew a deep breath and began to do exactly that.

[TeenTitans4Ever]

WONDER WOMAN?!

Wow, I wasn't expecting THAT.

I think you're story is very accurate. It follows the show and the comics EXACTLY. I also liked how you meantioned Terra, Malchior, and Blackfire.

[ChroniclerJon]

=-=-=-=-=-
Raven, Entry 3
=-=-=-=-=-

I spend so much time focusing on the human half of my heritage that I often fail to consider my demonic parentage as anything more than the source of my powers and an accidental confluence of genetics. However, there are definite influences upon me from that quarter beyond my magical talent and exotic countenance. My demonic aspect is so often corralled by my Azarathean training that even I sometimes forget that it has a profound effect upon my mind and physiology.

For example, demonic beings are much like other creatures in that they are uniquely suited to their placement in outsider-nature. Some demons are little more than beasts, and they feature many of the animalistic traits their mortal counterparts do. Demons short on intellect but large on feral ferocity tend towards the extremes of specialized killing. They are strong and vicious, or silent and poisonous, or feed upon carrion, or any of a thousand other possibilities. More intelligent demons are less bestial but no less savage. My father, for example, is an example of the pinnacle of the demonic hierarchy. His form is mutable, his strength immense, his cunning unrivaled, his power unmatched. I have gained much from him. My form is fluid, the better to meet any challenger to my dominion. My teeth are ridiculously sharp that they might better slice through the mortal flesh which my body craves. My eyesight is keen in both darkness and light, my hearing predator-sharp. Strangely, I remain relatively frail, although that is more than compensated for with my powers, which are largely untapped.

Furthermore, my mind is not entirely human. Demonic impulses scrabble and tear at the fortifications of my consciousness constantly, howling at affronts and keening for blood. It's disconcerting that I find Robin to smell delicious. My genetics realize that they are being restrained and continually fight against me in the desire to seduce, enslave, consume, destroy, dominate...

Yet, another thing that my father's legacy left to me is a deadline. My body, evenly divided between immortal and human, is unstable. One I reach maturity, the demonic half must be allowed dominion over the fleshy abode of my spirit or it's energy will become unmaintainable. In short, I would atomize into a cloud of negative energy, blood and gristle. This should have happened shortly after the time when my father used me to enter this world, but the gathering and focusing of energies through me actually depleted my energies to the point of regressing in age. Not much, and certainly not enough to be readily noticeable, but enough to delay my eventual conflagration. And, make no mistake, it is both eventual and inevitable, because if there is one thing I am sure of, it is this:

I would rather die a mortal demi-demon than live as a Nephilim.

--Raven

[ChroniclerJon]

This chapter contains a small amount of material that is sensual in nature. It may disturb particularly sensitive readers.

=-=-=-=-=-
Windows and Blood
=-=-=-=-=-


“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” Diana said. “You claim to be some sort of dimensional traveler, hopping your way across the multiverse.”

I nodded.

“Furthermore, you were sent to this dimension by the Moirae-” and as I opened my mouth to interrupt she held up an imperious hand and continued in a placatory fashion- “or some variation thereof, to ensure the fulfillment of a prophecy which you have been told not to reveal to any except the one that it's about.”

“Correct.”

“You claim to be a Chronicler.”

“I do, as I am.”

“The Amazon Nation knows damn well that the last Chronicler died during World War II in Auschwitz.”

“Claus. In my home universe, he was my mentor.”

“... I'm only believing you because of two things. Do you know what they are?”

“I wouldn't presume, Royal Highness.”

Diana scoffed for a moment. “First, there's that. You know entirely too much about our culture and traditions for someone raised in Man's World. Secondly,” and here she heaved a huge sigh and grinned self-deprecatingly. “... this entire conversation has taken place in the lingua-franca of the old Amazon Tribes.”

I nodded soberly. “A pidgin comprising of corruptions of Greek, German, and Chinese. No outsider has ever been taught the language.”

“Exactly. Chronicler-”

“Please, call me Jon, Highness.”

“Only if you agree to call me Diana.”

I nodded my agreement, a small smile on my face. “Some things,” I reflected silently to myself, “never do change.”

“Jon,” she began, “how is it that you came to be incarcerated with the Titans?”

“That,” I began wearily, “is something of a story. You see, I began my time in this dimension in Japan. While I was there, I published a number of books of poetry. Eventually I was invited to a number of universities, coffeehouses and bookstores to speak. My final stop was here in Jump City, where I met the one everyone calls Raven...”

=-=-=-=-=-

“Dude, I can't believe you just left him down there alone with Wonder Woman!” Beast Boy waved his arms emphatically. “What if he uses some sort of mind-power on her? What if he puts her to sleep like he did to you and escapes?!”

Robin hid his flinch with a dour glare towards Beast Boy. It was embarrassing that whatever power Jon carried had caused him to fall asleep in the middle of a fight. The glare succeeded in its immediate goal of shutting the changeling up for a moment. Unfortunately, the silence only allowed Cyborg to speak his thoughts.

“Guys, I'm tellin' ya that Jon wouldn't do what y'all are afraid of. He doesn't even want to be a Titan. Rae says that using his abilities sometimes causes a rebound affect and that he only uses his powers sparingly.”

“It's not simply a metahuman ability, Cyborg,” Raven said from behind a book. She sat a bit apart from the others, they on the oversized couch of the Ops room and she in a chair in the eating area. “I've been studying some of his books, and all of his abilities are purely magical. Aside from his facility in magecraft, he's as normal a human as any other citizen.” Her brow furrowed slightly as she added, “And don't call me Rae.”

Robin turned his masked eyes towards Raven. “How much magical power are we potentially dealing with?”

Raven's brow furrowed further, into a scowl. “We won't need to deal with anything. He's not going to harm any of us, as I've told you countless times before.”

His face expressionless as granite, Robin distinctly enunciated his next two words. “How... much?”

“Potentially limitless,” she growled. A deep breath restored some of her composure. “In actuality, it's difficult to say. As a human, he doesn't have any theoretical limits upon his power usage. His abilities are limited by his personal understanding of the universe and the amount of raw power he can store and channel.”

“So, what you're sayin' is that Jon can do damn near anything?”

An unexpected voice from the direction of the elevator said, “Theoretically, yes.”

As one, all save Raven turned to the voice. Jon stood in front of the closing elevator doors with one hand gripping Wonder Woman's forearm for balance. Robin shot a glance back towards Raven, who had the tiniest smug smile on her face. “You knew he was standing there,” he accused.

The smile grew into a full-fledged smirk. “Yes,” she agreed easily.

Meanwhile Beast Boy was flapping his arms and saying, “See?! See?! I told you he would escape!”

Raven speared him with a withering look as she lifted into the air. “Part of his carefully crafted escape plan is hobbling in here to confront us for revenge, I suppose?” As she spoke she drifted towards the elevators. For a seemingly long while, Wonder Woman and Raven locked eyes. It was a noticeably uncomfortable moment, and silence rippled away from the optically dueling duo until it encompassed the entire room. Finally, Wonder Woman made a slight bow of acquiescence, passed support of Jon onto the demi-demon and said in a low whisper to herself, “If Eros didn't have a hand in this then I'm a dormouse.”

Both Jon and Raven looked at one another and blushed before remaining resolutely silent. As Raven guided Jon to a chair near where she was reading, Wonder Woman looked over to Robin and said simply, “We must speak.”

=-=-=-=-=-

After Diana and Robin left, Cyborg distracted Beast Boy from his soliloquy about my escape plans with a Gamestation racing challenge. I turned to examine Rachel. She sat across from me, apparently reading from a familiar tome. Either she had excellent peripheral vision and could read an entire page without moving her eyes, or she was simply using the book as a focal point. Her eyes, usually a stunning cobalt, were lackluster and rimmed with red. Her violet hair wasn't dirty or unkempt, but it seemed to hang lankly, lifelessly. “Have you found anything to help you?” I asked.

She barely glanced from the page. “How do you mean?” she queried.

“Well,” I stretched myself back a bit and lifted my bad leg onto another chair for support. “One of two ways. Your team has a problem with Nephilim... and you are running up against a deadline yourself.”

Immediately a bolt of dark energy flew from her forehead and impacted against the viewscreen, cracking its casing and tearing the screen surface apart. Shouts of protest from the couch were summarily cut off as Rachel responded. Her eyes glowed red, her mouth was full of fangs, and her voice was multitonal as she nearly yelled, “It's none of your concern!”

I stood (surreptitiously leaning against the table for support) and responded in a somewhat lower register, “I only want to help.”

She sneered in response, a gesture made more impressive by her current dentition. “How could you help me? You cannot even stand unassisted.”

“From a wound I took for you, Rachel!”

“DO NOT CALL ME THAT!” she screeched. Dark tendrils of energy thrashed the air around her, thrusting forward and flinging me up and away. A bolt of her power shattered the window towards which I was headed. Before I was forcibly defenestrated, I heard her continue with, “MY MOTHER NAMED ME RAVEN!”

Cyborg shouted my name while Beast Boy implored Raven to calm down. The rest of the tableau became academic to me as I left the confines of the tower, reached the apogee of my parabolic arc, and proceeded to plummet towards the island's rocky shore at approximately Nine-Point-Eight Meters-Per-Second, Squared.

Now, everybody knows that the trick to flight is to throw oneself at the ground and miss, but some are rather more talented in this area than others. I was not one of the lucky few that had mastered it.

The air whipped past me, catching on my clothing and causing an intense ripping sound as it violently fluttered. I saw Diana above me as she leaped from the window, wasting precious seconds looking around until she saw me. Regardless of how swiftly she flew, she would not reach me before I hit the ground.

Still, I could at least hit it on my own terms.

“Felino Fortuna!” I screamed as I approached the end of my vertical journey. Power coursed through me, forcing me upright and causing me to land lightly upon the balls of my feet. Unfortunately my perfect landing was spoiled by treacherous sand shifting out from under me, wrenching my knee as I fell to the ground.

Still, it was better than being beach pizza.

Diana landed next to me a moment later, inadvertently showering me with gritty sand. I brushed my hands against my body to rid myself of the worst of the sand while the Amazonian Princess looked on silently. I snagged a piece of driftwood that was almost as long as I was tall and about three inches thick to use as a support. As I hauled myself to my feet Diana said to me, “So... trouble in paradise?”

Grimly I began shuffling back towards the tower. “You have no idea.”

=-=-=-=-=-

We walked into the middle of an obviously tense silence.

Robin was fuming as he glared down at Rachel. Cyborg seemed to be examining the viewscreen, but the darting glances of his human eye showed where his attention actually was. Beast Boy looked both surprised and relieved to see me, his expression tainted with the tiniest bit of fear. I suppose even if he didn't trust me, he still didn't want me dead.

Diana stayed at the door while I continued on. My driftwood staff clunked hollowly against the utility carpet. Rachel looked up at me, all traces of crimson gone from her orbs. Her impassive eyes widened slightly as she took me in. I walked between the furious team leader and the recently homicidal sorceress, breaking his glare and drawing his attention. I went one step past them and stopped. My voice was hoarse from screaming as I fell but I was still clearly understandable as I said, “Robin, I need to borrow Raven for a moment.” Then, without waiting for a reply, I resumed my shuffling gait and exited the room through a door on the far side.

The door took a moment longer to close than it would have had I passed through the doorway alone. “Walk with me, Raven,” I said as I hobble-stepped towards the room I had slept in several nights previous. The walk was silent save my ragged percussion and the susurrus of her cloak against her leotard.

“Each of us,” I stated suddenly, musingly, “is the embodiment of two distinct and opposing forces - Good and Evil - each fighting for supremacy inside us. If we could separate these two forces, we could control and ultimately eliminate all evil from mankind.”

Rachel's quiet voice responded with, “And what if you're right Jekyll? And you do manage to separate Good from Evil, what happens to the Evil?” reaching a crescendo on the last phrase.

I turned to look at her as we approached the door. “You're familiar with the production?”

She nodded. “I've wanted to see it, but I've had difficulty finding the time. I own the soundtrack.”

We strode into the room and I gestured for Rachel to take a seat. She sat upon a box of books, and I settled myself on the bed. “Raven,” I began until I saw her wince. “What is it?” I asked. She muttered an inaudible reply. “Come again?” I said, motioning for her to speak up.

“I said,” she repeated at a barely audible level, “that you can call me Rachel.” I examined her in light of this. Her eyes were screwed shut, her jaw clenched, and her hands were fists.

“I'm not entirely certain that that's good for my health at the moment, Raven,” I replied, watching her wince again at the use of her given name. I sighed. “You could have killed me, Raven. Most people don't have the ability to survive a fifteen story fall.”

She looked at me then, eyes shimmering and bottom lip caught between teeth sharp enough to shear through skin and sinew. “I'm sorry,” she said sincerely. “It's been difficult these last few days.”

“Yeah, for me too. But I haven't lost my temper about it. Yet.”

Her face again pointed into her lap. I sighed. “Raven, you're one of the most mature teenagers I've ever met. I understand why you've controlled yourself so rigidly. However,” I continued, “you need to stop suppressing your emotions or you're going to kill somebody.” I paused and scowled. “Look at me, Raven.”

She again met my eyes. “Raven,” I said, “I can't help your team get ready for these Nephilim.” Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak before I cut her off again. “It's not my decision. Robin's decided that any assistance I offered would be suspect. I'll work on the problem myself, but Princess Diana has forbidden me from directly helping in the investigation any farther than I already have. Frankly, I don't much want to associate with the Titans either,” here I averted my eyes and swallowed a bit to clear my throat before continuing with, “except for you.”

“Jon,” she said, allowing the rest of her thought to be swallowed in silence.

It was a deep silence, velvety and thick. It was the kind of silence that allowed ambient noise to become readily audible. The gentle crash of the bay against the rocks far below, the hum of the electricity in the lighting filaments, the gentle buzz of the air conditioner circulating all took on an unaccustomed prominence. We looked into one another's eyes, searching for some kind of reassurance from the other that our vague, undefined relationship was continuing to grow.

Finally she swallowed and said, “I can heal you if you'd like.”

I quirked an eyebrow and examined myself for the first time since my aborted attempt at flight. At some point I must have flown through the glass shards from the broken window. Pinprick wounds leaked scarlet runnels across the ebony lines of my office. “If you can,” I replied with a shrug and a wince. Knowledge of the wounds seemed to awaken the pain in them. “My own healing spells have been less than effective on me recently.”

She nodded and approached me. Her hands glowed blue and I felt her healing magic enter me and sluggishly go to work. I watched her face as she healed me, noticing how her eyes became slightly glassy and unfocused, how she licked her lips, how her pupils dilated slightly. A faint, musky aroma flirted with my nose. As she went to heal the last of the wounds (a smattering of droplets on the inside of my left wrist) I reach out and caught her hand.

The blue glow winked off.

I grasped her head gently with both hands and tilted it towards my own, reciprocating the gesture until our foreheads touched. Her hands were clasped around my wrists, pads of the fingers on her right hand pressing against my minor wounds. I growled then, a guttural, primitive sound which seemed to emanate from deep within my chest. She growled back, brought the blood stained fingers to her mouth, and licked them clean daintily. She brought both hands around to my left and gently eased the injured wrist towards her mouth. After a hesitant look in my direction and an encouraging nod, she flicked her tongue across each drop until my wrist was as clean as her fingers. I gently disengaged and she stepped back unsteadily, her breath shallow and quick.

“H-how...?” she asked tremulously.

“I'm not nearly as ignorant of your kind as you might think, Rachel.” I licked my own dry lips then, glad that I was sitting so that the intensely sensual moment wouldn't cause my knees to buckle. Silence in demons was a pretty strong indication that something was very wrong. The type of growling we did was reassuring, calming, the equivalent of soothing nonsense noises humans sometimes used to relax another. The bloodying was an offer of trust and intimacy, and I was surprised that she had taken it. It was the demonic equivalent of a full body-contact hug; very intimate, but not necessarily romantic or sexual.

“I care for you, and I wanted you to know that,” I continued more steadily.

“I... thank you,” she said hesitantly. “Here,” she said, as she drew a pen and bit of paper from her belt. “You can use this number to contact the Tower.” She handed the paper to me, and I placed it within my pocket. “I'll let you get cleaned up,” she said as she stood and strode towards the door. She paused before she passed through it and put her hood up, casting her face into shadow. She turned slightly and said softly over her shoulder, “I... care for you as well. Good night.”

Before I could respond, she was gone.

[ChroniclerJon]

=-=-=-=-=-
Interlude in a Limo
=-=-=-=-=-
“You are sure that you are undamaged, friend Jon?”

“Yes, Koriand'r, I am certain. Rachel healed me up rather nicely.” I couldn't resist a faint blush at the memory, either.

“Friend Raven is sometimes... difficult... to deal with, but she always means the best.”

Starfire had missed the entire violent exchange because she had been “performing the Ritual of Laundering Clothes” in the basement. I almost took her misunderstanding seriously until I saw the mischievous sparkle in her jade eyes. Since she was nearby, wanted to talk, and possessed far more strength than I, I drafted her assistance in moving my belongings downstairs to the garage. From there, Cyborg had agreed to drive me to a hotel. Diana had been kind enough to procure a room for me until I could arrange for more long-term habitations.

Interested as I was (some might say 'obsessed') with obtaining knowledge, the idea of a whole planet full of information new to humanity struck me as an irresistible lure. I begged Starfire to teach me the language of Tamaran, but she put it off until after the latest danger with the Nephilim was concluded. Revealing the origins of her earthly name was a sort of consolation prize.

“I am sorry that we held you unjustly,” she said after a long pause.

“Don't worry about it,” I replied. “I know that you didn't mean anything by it. You were just following orders.”

“As you say,” she acknowledged, “but from one who has been shackled and locked away... I should have argued alongside Raven for your release.”

I took a moment to mull that over. Starfire floated through the air with three large boxes of books in her arms, the last of the room that had very temporarily been mine. I shuffled along with my driftwood aid as we entered and crossed through the ops room. Both Beast Boy and Robin were present and ignored me. I returned the favour.

“Perhaps you should have,” I finally replied as the elevator door closed and sent us down towards the garage. “On the other hand, I understand that you and Robin have some sort of... connection?... that might cause you to not want to side against him.”

Her blush was immediate and deep.

“It's past, Kori.” The doors slid open, allowing the smell of steel, gasoline, and grease to invade the elevator. “Don't worry about it.”

Across the expansive room Cyborg was elbows deep in the engine of the T-Car. I was amazed to see no grime on him at all. It shouldn't have been possible for anyone to work on a car and not get dirty...

Maybe his casing was made of Teflon.

In short order the last of my worldly possessions were loaded into the back seat of the T-Car. Starfire bid us goodbye, and Cyborg began driving along the tunnel that led from the island to the mainland. It was an uncomfortable silence that bloomed between us, and we both were too absorbed in our own thoughts to bother trying to break it.

Eventually we arrived at the hotel, an unassuming building nestled between a restaurant and an office building. I grabbed a duffel bag from where it rested at my feet and exited the car. After a half-hearted attempt at well-wishing, Cyborg drove onward to the storage facility I had contracted with for the next few months.

The room was adequate, and was in fact larger than the apartment I had been renting when I first came to the city. I unpacked my bag and pulled the phone book from its resting place in the nightstand.

I couldn't perform any research for the Titans, but that didn't mean that I couldn't help. A few flipped pages revealed a familiar name.

“I don't believe it,” I muttered as I pressed buttons on the room's phone. I looked vaguely upwards as I continued with, “You three have a sublime sense of humour, I'll grant you that.” A few rings eventually gave way to a man's voice.

“Hello?”

I grinned a bit. “Harry, how's it going?”

An awkward pause hissed over the phone's poor connection until, “Erm... fine. You?”

“Good, good. Weather's much better than Chicago, I'll tell you that.”

A wry, yet guarded chuckle. “No doubt. Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but I can't seem to place your voice...”

“Yeah, don't worry about that. What's important for you to know right now is that I know who you are, I know what you can do, and I have plenty of money that I'm willing to part with if you agree to do it.”

Another silence over the phone, punctuated with a small cacophony of pops and clicks. “Why don't you come down to my office, Mr...?”

“Jon will suffice, Harry. I'll be there in a half-hour.”

=-=-=-=-=-

Raven slammed the book she was studying closed. Her bout of frustrated anger was cut off sharply by a coughing fit caused be the subsequent cloud of dust. After regaining control of her pulmonary system, she huffed out a sharp breath.

It had been days since Jon left and she was barely any farther along in her research. She had examined the relevant tomes, allowed her spirit to walk deeper into the Kithados than was strictly prudent, and had even summoned up spirits to question. The same maddening information was gleaned: something is coming, sometime soon.

The more benevolent spirits had suggested that Raven head for the hills, but none had given her any more information to work with.

Her contemplations were broken by the chiming of her communicator. A poised countenance fell around her, comfortable and well-worn as her favourite cloak. “Raven here.”

Robin's face peered back at her, confused. “Raven... you have a phone call.”

A slow blink, followed by a small smile. “Patch it through the communicator?”

“Sure.” His face winked out, replaced by the Titan emblem.

“Raven here,” she repeated.

“Rachel! This is Jon. How are you?”

Casting a baleful glare over the reagents and tomes that littered her room she responded with a dry, “I've been better.”

“Exactly what I thought,” Jon said, smug satisfaction dripping from his tone. “You're overworking yourself aren't you?”

Raven drew breath to reply, but he continued on as though he wasn't expecting one. “Luckily, I have just the thing to get your mind out of the doldrums. Can you meet me at Kobiyashi Tower? I'd have given you more warning, but-”

=-=-=-=-=-

A black disc appeared on the sidewalk ahead of me, and Rachel levitated out of it. I blinked before hanging up the phone. “-but it all came together at the last minute,” I finished. “Rachel, you made good time.”

Her reply was succinct. “I needed a break.”

I gestured for her to follow, and moved towards an idling limousine. “I figured that with you hunting for information and preparing to fight the Nephilim, time would become a rather precious commodity. As such,” I opened the door to the limo and waited for her to enter before I followed. “As such, I figured I should get the date that you owe me now rather than later.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “I'm not sure I have time for a date.”

“Are you sure?” I asked with a smirk. I pulled out two tickets and held them fanned out next to my eyes. “They're only good for tonight, and I'd hate to think that they'd go to waste.”

Rachel caught a glimpse of the tickets in my hand and snatched them with a flare of telekinetic greed. “Did you...?”

“I did.”

“You couldn't have.”

“Yet, I did.”

“Jon,” she paused for a long moment, and then looked directly into my eyes and said, “these are tickets for Jekyll and Hyde. On Broadway. The Broadway. The one in New York. On the other side of the country. Tonight.”

“Hmm. So they are. Hopefully I thought ahead for transportation.” I rapped sharply on the opaque divider between the driver and the passenger compartment. The vehicle pulled away from the curb with a smooth motion.

She slumped back against the leather seats. “Drink?” I offered as I pulled open the mini-bar. She eyed the bottles warily before heaving a sigh and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Why not? Whatever you're having.”

I nodded and proceeded to mix together a shaker of Southern Comfort Manhattan. Two glasses finished off the shaker rather handily, and we sat back to enjoy the beverages. Rachel took a sip, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“Tasty, isn't it?” I asked, sipping my own cocktail. “I apologize for our first dinner outing. After I learned of your... particular condition... I did some research and learned that it likely had some... deleterious effects?”

She snorted delicately. “You could say that,” she replied. “Most food causes problems for me. If Arform hadn't nearly killed me, I would have been locked in my room sick for two or three days.”

“Luckily,” I brandished my martini glass, “liquids are fair game.”

“Indeed.”

Some time passed in easy silence as we consumed our refreshments. Rachel tensed suddenly.
Concerned, I knocked back my Manhattan and placed the empty glass back where it belonged. “What's wrong?” I asked.

She gestured vaguely to herself and blushed. “I'm... not exactly dressed for a night on Broadway.”

I grinned and pulled a curtain that been ignored so far to the side, revealing an evening dress. “I would suggest that you cease worrying. I have thought of everything for the evening. You can change on the plane.”

“...plane?” she asked in a small voice, surprise having temporarily reduced her to repetitious confirmations.

“Yes. I chartered a jet for the evening. We will arrive in New York at approximately four o'clock in the evening, local time. The show begins at eight o'clock.”

“Jon,” she said as she regained control of herself. “How can you possibly afford all of this?”

“Well, I am a successful author-”

“Not that successful.”

I glared at her half-heartedly. “Quiet, you. In my home dimension I am that successful.”

“I didn't think they had interdimensional banks in this country.”

“They don't,” I responded with a chuckle. “Cyborg and Robin simply didn't uncover all of my history, is all.”

“Really.” She looked less than impressed. “What is it that you do to bring in all of this money then? Traffic in drugs? Weapons?” Her mouth curled into a subtle, nearly indiscernible expression somewhere between disgust and lust as she said, “Slaves?”

“Nothing quite so exotic, I'm afraid. I do music.”

An eyebrow raised slightly. “You sing?”

“I do. I also know my way around a mixer, but primarily I sing. It's something I discovered in my last dimension, and when I came here I thought that I could capitalize upon it. If I found a band that I knew of but didn't exist here or some such, I would simply record their songs and sell them as my own.”

“That doesn't seem entirely... moral.”

“Well, I did my best. Understand that when I entered this dimension I had the clothes on my back and a few books. I had no identifying papers, no money, and no contacts. As the saying goes, 'Desperate times call for desperate measures.' I did try to do right by the original artists, however. I acknowledge them by name as inspirations and such. Considering that most of them don't even exist on this plane of reality, I think I've a right to survival.”

“Survival is one thing, Jon. Private chartered jets are another.”

I had the grace to look embarrassed. “Yes, well... things sort of snowballed. Besides, the money allowed me to track down and obtain that which will be necessary to win this little war that is about to erupt.”

I winced as I that I had revealed more information than was prudent. I hoped desperately that Rachel wouldn't pick up on it. Unfortunately, she was nearly as sharp as I am when it came to such things.

“What war?” she asked sharply.

“Nothing, Rachel. I cannot tell you anything about it, by order of my Princess.” I held my hands apart in a gesture of helplessness. “I wish I could, but there is nothing I can do until certain events transpire.” I reached across the limo and grasped one of her hands in mine. “Trust me. I have been charged-- by powers greater than royalty-- to ensure your victory.”

She slumped a bit and sighed before scooting closer and growling for reassurance. I growled back. Reassurance, after all, was just about all I could offer her.

“Now, let's forget the coming conflicts and enjoy the evening.”

“Ok,” she replied as she-- very lightly-- leaned against me.

My contentment was marred, however, by the misdirection that I had laid upon her. For you see, while I had been charged with ensuring Rachel's victory, it had nothing to do with the tragedies that I knew were coming.

And it had said nothing about her friends.

[BAColeNC]

I am deeply sorry for not looking at this sooner. I am also deeply impressed by the depth of both your plot and writing.

You have gained another reader.

[ChroniclerJon]

[Author's Notes: There is a song referenced here; Confrontation, from Jekyll & Hyde - The Gothic Musical Thriller: The Complete Work (Disc 2). The lyrics (as best I could decipher them) are included at the end of this chapter for reference.]

=-=-=-=-=-
Night at the Musical
=-=-=-=-=-

The flight was smooth, and the jet well-appointed. I regaled Rachel with more stories of my past, and she spoke a bit about her life in Azarath. I was surprised to learn that she was actually a priestess in the Cult of Azar.

“What exactly does that mean?” I queried.

“Nothing, anymore,” she responded bitterly. “My Father razed the entire dimension to the ground in an attempt to head off any aid that I could find there. Even when I was living there, Azar didn't ask me to lead ceremonies or anything like that. The bestowal of priesthood was almost more of a formality than anything else, required to learn the deeper secrets that Azar had for me to learn.” She took a sip of the martini near her hand, her tongue flicking across her upper lip afterwards to remove any residual moisture. She almost managed to hide the trembling of her hand.

“Arella left a message for me to find when I returned to Azarath during Trigon's bid for Earth. She said , 'You forever had the love of your people, Raven, even knowing what you would become-and what that would bring.' But I cannot accept that they could love a beast which would serve as the harbinger of their own destruction.”

I briefly contemplated the benefits of appealing to her demonic instincts in my response before deciding that this sort of self-pitying, misplaced guilt was all too human. So, I responded as I would to any other human.

“Bullshit.”

Her nose crinkled in confusion.

“A group of enlightened, pacifistic mystics would have simply denied your mother entry to Azarath if they wanted nothing to do with your heritage. Whoever this 'Arella' was, she was quite wise in noting that. They accepted you because they wanted to give you a chance at overcoming your destiny. They kept you there because they grew to love you.” My brow furrowed as I tacked on, “and you're not a beast.”

Rachel appeared not to hear my addendum. “Arella also said, 'The promise of your birth was absolute.'”

“And yet, you defeated Trigon and banished him from this world.”

She shifted in her seat and clenched her arms about herself, unconsciously drawing her cloak around her. “I don't believe that she was talking about that promise.”

“Ah. Well then, she was concurrently both very wise and very foolish.”

Rachel's eyes glared weakly at me and flashed a pale white. “Arella was my mother.”

I flinched slightly. “Apologies. And condolences. But my statement stands.”

Rachel slumped as the fight seemed to go out of her. The cloak fell from limp fingers, falling open to reveal a petite body armoured against the world with lycra and sarcasm.

“Nothing in this or any other world that I've visited is impossible, Rachel.” I gestured towards myself and continued. “How often is one gifted with interdimensional travelers, anyhow?”

She gave a pale shadow of her usual smirk and said, “More often than you'd expect, I imagine.”

I nodded genially. “Point to you. Still, you thought it impossible to defeat Trigon, and you did so. You thought it impossible that this outing should take place, yet here we are. I thought it impossible that I should ever meet someone that I would come to know and cherish so deeply and so quickly. And there you are.”

Her face gained the slightest tint of pink as she blushed and then averted her gaze, drawing her cloak closed in the process. I sighed softly to myself. She'd closed herself off again.

As if in confirmation to this, she asked, “When will we be arriving?”

“You should probably go ahead and get changed,” I replied after checking my watch. “I'll do the same.”

=-=-=-=-=-

The streets of New York were much as I remembered them: malodorous, noisy, and crowded. The sidewalks were jammed from building to boulevard with a sea of humanity, and the traffic choked along through congested, arterial roadways. The limousine that I had reserved for this end of the trip ducked and weaved through the melee with the grace and skill of a boxer, and before we knew it we were pulling up in front of our restaurant for the evening.

Rachel was beautiful in her dress, a slinky affair with a matching shoulder shawl in the same colour as her cloaks. My own attire complemented hers, a classic look combining slacks and dinner jacket with tie and pocket kerchief in her favourite shade of blue. We attracted some looks, but not too many; in this city we would hardly stick out.

The restaurant was an upscale place serving food from across Asia. When I pointed out to Rachel that there should be food here that she would find palatable, she simply smiled. After a time sushi, sashimi, and other forms of raw or near-raw animal flesh arrived at our table, and we both ate with relish. I was pleased to see that she had begun to truly accept my own acceptance of her nature.

We spoke, but I honestly don't recall the topics of conversation that we meandered through. It was a peaceful hour or two that we spent there, eating in a leisurely fashion and speaking of inconsequential matters. Eventually, she said, “I noticed that you don't have your cane with you. Are you healed?”

I nodded. “More or less. I have a brace on the leg that allows me to walk largely unassisted. If it continues to progress well then I should have full function in another month or so.” I took another look at my watch and motioned for the server.

“Come,” I said after paying the bill. “Time grows short, and there is still a fair distance to go before we get to the venue.” I offered my arm, which she grasped without hesitation, and led us out of the restaurant and back into our limo.

=-=-=-=-=-

Raven was completely enthralled with the performance being enacted on the stage. The players had drawn her into the lives of their characters; she felt resigned despair with Lucy, the drive to succeed with Jekyll, the innocent passion of Lisa, and the uninhibited love of life that defined Hyde. However...

Something was... off. Her empathy, primarily intuitive in the best of times, was giving vague readings that she simply couldn't decipher. Usually a crowd overwhelmed her senses, but they were far enough away (Jon had somehow managed to get a private balcony, comfortable and with a perfect view) that their emotions were a subtle, background buzzing. The only other person within range was Jon himself, but he seemed just as enamoured as she did. Since the feelings were only mildly annoying, she ignored them in favour of the drama below.

Until Confrontation [1]...

Raven was suddenly and violently inundated with a chaotic maelstrom of emotion, enough that her composure fell for a telling moment. A loud gasp echoed through the balcony, and a delicate hand reached up quickly in a feeble attempt to massage away the attack. Jon, usually so attentive to her every shift in position and gesture, did not react in the slightest.

The song continued, but her attention was locked onto the man beside her as memories and emotions began to flow through their shared mindscape, escaping from whatever prison he usually contained them in...

=-=-=-=-=-

-FLASH-

A strange tableau, seen from two viewpoints... both surrounded and surrounding; a beast of hate and shadow... a pigtailed youth in a red shirt... a rough teenager wearing a bandanna... a beauty wearing a cheongsam and wielding two large maces... and another determined female with a bandoleer of spatulas draped across her form...

-FLASH-

A horrific tear in reality, both real and impossible, bending human perception past the breaking point and dragging me in! DEAR GOD, NO! LET ME GO!

-FLASH-

Darkness... forgotten time revealing the death of self... who am I?... who am I when I'm not me?...

-FLASH-

Nightmare images of a dance club, pulsing bass and gyrating prey... blood pulsing through innocent flesh... possession is nine tenths of perception...

-FLASH-

Lightbringers, armoured and fierce. Seething hate and power, attacking, desiring, taking and-

-FLASH-

A girl, no more than fifteen, crying and pleading, “Please... let me go...”

-FLASH-

“WHO AM I?” I scream as the walls crumble, my [slave/sibling] puling in terror as a mirror shows my body but not my face...

-FLASH-

“There is always hope,” she says within her cage. Her raven hair knotted and filthy, her skin bruised and covered with grime. “I know that this is not who you are. And I know that this is not who you will always be.” My face sneers, but it is not my face. My mouth twists into words of loathing, but they are not my words. My body moves to complete the violation of this divine creature, but I hold it off once more. It's so hard, and foreign instincts rage against what control I have left... God... help me... … … I don't want this... … … …please!...

-FLASH-

Which is me... the good man... or... the mad man....?

-FLASH-

Platinum locks cascading down a bronze back... both attractive and repellent... she reminds me of my childhood... a time of [fire and torment/warmth and comfort].

-FLASH-

“Nephilim-san... please return my little sister...” the hateful creature of light pleads, honey-blond hair pooling about her feet. A surge of satisfied lust builds within me as I see this beauty kneeling as all beings should to my might... yet... is this desirable or abhorrent? Let the girl go WHY SHOULD I?

-FLASH-

Beams and bursts and orbs of glowing energy, two goddesses and their angel companions attacking, overwhelming, and me, alone, two but one, ripped apart in my own mind, yet cannot lose and the innocent, Skuld, my [pet/sister] and they cannot have her! She is beloved and SHE IS MINE!

-FLASH-

Darkness and laughter... hideous, mad laughter...

-FLASH-

“Goddamn you, Zarach! Take all your evil deeds and rot in Hell!”

“I'll see you there, Chronicler!”

-FLASH-

=-=-=-=-=-

The memories stopped as quickly as they started and left Raven reeling between shock, fear, disbelief, and hope.

“Now you know.”

Raven turned to her left and saw herself.

The bespectacled doppelganger wore a sable cloak with yellow trim over a black version of the evening dress. She stood tall, and seemed not in the least perturbed by the fact that she was standing where there was no room to stand. Intellectually, Raven knew that it was her perceptions of this avatar and her surroundings that bent physical space (that is, it was all in her head) but that did not make the experience any less disturbing. “Know what?”

“The marks upon his person. How he knows our kind so well. How he understands what no one, no matter how well-intentioned, ever has.” She lifted a hand to reposition her glasses.

“He is no Nephilim,” Raven replied heatedly.

“Well... not anymore,” hedged the saffron-trimmed girl.

“He never was. He was, at the worst, possessed.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Raven glared at nothing in particular. “It's impossible for a demi-demon to become a Nephilim and not become evil.”

“Nonsense. You're just saying that because no one ever has.”

Silence.

“Raven,” continued the figment, “there are a thousand ways to succeed at any task and there are a thousand ways to fail. The only way for you to succeed is to try. If you allow yourself to die without fighting for your right to live... what was the point of fighting the first prophecy?”

Raven clutched at her shawl, feeling a sharp pang of regret that she had decided to leave her cloak behind. “There's no way it can work...”

“You must decide, and soon. Each day the divisions you've placed in your mind become weaker. Already you've begun to experience a fuller range of emotions. Listen to Jon. He is both wise and intelligent.” She reached out a hand, slowly gaining translucence as she stroked Raven's face. “We cannot exist as separate manifestations any longer, Raven. The demonic energy inside of you demands a gestalt soul.” She was fading, leeching from this existence until only a mental echo of her voice remained. “You have come to love your friends. You have come to trust Jon. Can you not do the same for yourself?”

=-=-=-=-=-

The mass of humanity below cheered.

Jon looked at nothing. Said nothing. Felt nothing. In the present once more.

Raven watched him. Wondering. Fearing.

Hoping.

=-=-=-=-=-

[1]

Confrontation, Jekyll & Hyde - The Gothic Musical Thriller: The Complete Work (Disc 2)

It's over now I know inside
No one will ever know
The sorry tale of... Edward Hyde...
And those who died...
No one must ever know

They'd only see the tragedy
They'd not see my intent
The shadow of Hyde's evil
Would forever kill the good
That I had meant

Am I a good man...?
Am I a mad man...?
...It's such a fine line between a good man and a-

Do you really think that I would ever let you go?
Do you think I'd ever set you free?
If you do I'm sad to say it simply isn't so
You will never get away from me

All that you are is a face in the mirror
I close my eyes and you disappear

I'm what you face when you face in the mirror
Long as you live I will still be here

All that you are is the end of a nightmare
All that you are is a dying scream
After tonight I shall end this demon dream

This is not a dream, my friend, and it will never end
This one is the nightmare that goes on
Hyde is here to stay no matter what you may pretend
And he'll flourish long after you're gone

Soon you will die and my memory will hide you!
You cannot choose but to lose control

You can't control me I live deep inside you!
Each day you feel me devour your soul!

I don't need you to survive like you need me
I'll become whole as you dance with death
And I'll rejoice as you breathe your final breath

(Laugh) I'll live inside you forever! -No!-
With Satan himself by my side! -Nooo!-
And I know that now and forever
They'll never be able
To separate
Jekyll from Hyde!

Can't you see it's
Over now?
It's time to die!

No, not I,
Only you!

If I die,
You die too!

You die!
Me?
I'll be you!

Damn you Hyde!
Leave me be!

Can't you see?!
YOU ARE ME!

No! Deep inside!

I am pure,
YOU are HYDE!

No, Never!

Yes, Forever!

Goddamn you Hyde!
Take all your evil deeds and rot in Hell!

I'll see you there, Jekyll!

=-=-=-=-=-

[ChroniclerJon]

=-=-=-=-=-
A Message Found In A Bottle
=-=-=-=-=-

I am the Chronicler known as Jon, of the Far Western Tribes of the Amazon Nation. This scrap of ink and paper could be the last story I ever tell.

The inevitable approaches, as I was forewarned. It is my sincerest hope that I should survive the coming conflict intact. Reality, however, forces me towards measures that I find both distasteful and uncomfortable. I have spent the past week in ritual, transcribing the knowledge that I hold into a less tenebrous form than my memory. The collected tomes and scrolls have been ensorcelled, and upon my death will be delivered to Princess Diana. It is only then that the protections placed upon them will fade.

I could tell of the preparations that I have made, or of the contingencies should I fail, but I am tired. I have grown weary over these past days, my mind wrung for every story and description that it contains. The only thing left to tell is the last thing to tell, the last thing any person desires before they are relegated to the everlasting darkness or light.

My name is Jon. This is my confession.

I am terrified. I am far from home, farther than any Amazon has been since Mei Li Su... and I doubt that I am ever coming back. I feel alone, adrift in this world where my mentor died with four others from a single bullet, shamed and on his knees. Where my tribe exists as a fading memory in the minds of reclusive relics, mired by time on an island of immortality.

And demons... always demons.

I apologize for the rambling nature of this last bit of literature, but there is no discipline left in me. Aside from which, only you, dear Reader, and one other, will ever know of this. This is written more for me than for you, and I'm sorry to burden you, a stranger, with the weight of my final words. They are, after all, a heavy thing.

But the demons... you must learn of them. Please... do not discard this... I am sorry...

It began two years ago. In a dimension far from here, in Japan, my mentor Claus was killed by a demon known as Zarach. I had been plumbing the depths of magical theory, and in desperation used knowledge that I was not ready for and will not write of here. Claus saved my life, and seconds later I damned my soul.

We fell through the Void Between Reality which my people call Ungültige Welt, the Null World, this demon and I. We became as one. I performed atrocities which I shall not burden you with, dear Reader, but know that they were dark as pitch and not of my own volition. Yet, though the bullet kills the man is it not the pulling of the trigger that initiates the murder? I caused the events, and thus share culpability... there was a girl, a beautiful and innocent creature that reminded me strongly of my sister Kate. She suffered most of all, this girl, and I am hopeful that this, my final penance, will allow me forgiveness.

Yet, I wander. I am so very tired; my quill is dull and the candles gutter, and I have the growing suspicion that these four Nephilim we seek are a different threat than we have been led to believe. Will I never find peace from Zarach's atrocities, I wonder?

In Jump City, California, there is a tower shaped like a capital T. Approach this tower by boat, past the warning buoys, and land upon the shore. Wait there, and you will be met by any number of strange individuals. Tell them that you have a message for Princess Diana from the Chronicler. When you meet the Princess, say the following: “I am the Messenger known as [state your full name], sent by the Chronicler Jon as demanded by the Tribal Accords. I carry the final words of the Chronicler, as he knew them. May you receive the message?”

And I hope, dear Reader, that she says 'No,' because that would mean that I am alive and succeeded in my task. You would be well-compensated and sent home. If she says 'Yes,' then I am dead and have succeeded in my task. You will be well-compensated and sent home. If I have failed in my task, then you would likely never get near the city in question. It would all be blood and shadow and flames.

But assuming she says yes, then there is little that you must do. Hand her this paper, and say to her, “He died as a true Amazon.” That is all.

Although, there is one other thing.

If I am dead, then there is one who will also need a message. She will be beautiful and otherworldly. She may not be there, but you can tell any of the others that are. This is a message for Rachel, the one everyone calls Raven.

Tell her that I loved her. And that I'm sorry I could not tell her myself.

My name is Jon. I am a sinner. I am a coward.

And I am sorry.

[ChroniclerJon]

=-=-=-=-=-
Raven, Entry 4, Final
=-=-=-=-=-

So... so much has happened since I last wrote here. I am now unsure as to the path I will take. My time slips by, faster each day, spiraling away into the ever-growing past... yet... soon my past will become stagnant... still... dead.

I suppose irony demanded it, that in my final weeks I should find someone who, had I more time, I could have attempted a dream with.

But dreams are all that I'll ever have. They used to be enough. Now... I'm not sure.

Perhaps it's a test. One final expenditure of self-control needed to finally cleanse myself of this demonic taint. As the fading manifestations within me stated, he is wise, and he is intelligent. He knows me, he understands me, and he accepts me. He is not afraid of me, nor does he pity me. He treats me like I've always yearned to be treated... like I was, more or less, normal. He comes from another dimension, like myself, and if my empathic senses are anything to go by, he understands my pain.

The perfect trap for me to fall into... no matter how sweet and desirable the bait may be. If I try to live for him, then I'll inevitably die for him... won't I?

The answers used to be so clear. Azar taught that there are three truths: Azarath, Metrion, and Zinthos. Azarath is the truth of will, a formerly unknown truth made manifest by the efforts and belief of others. Metrion is the truth of the intellect, the ability to reason as truth those things which were hitherto unknown or thought false. Zinthos is the truth of the heart, the truth one holds onto when all logic and reason demand otherwise. Together, they have guided me through childhood, through the tribulations of vigilantism, and ultimately to the banishment of my Father... an act which proved to me that Zinthos is just as worthy a truth as the others. Zinthos, which leads me to believe that I might be able to keep on living...

The various pains that wrack my body hint strongly that my end shall come at any time. The closer I come to this final day, the more I discover about myself. My emotions are more free, my powers less volatile. My teammates think that this is a wonderful thing, and I am ashamed that I have not told them.

How could I, though? They have fought, bled, sweat, and cried for me enough. Although I know myself to be unworthy of such friends... such family... I am glad that I have them. There is nothing that they could do for me, not now. The only thing that can keep me from death is a question... one which I'm less sure of the answer to.

In the end... should I choose annihilation... or apotheosis?

--Raven

[ChroniclerJon]

Warning: From this chapter onwards, the M-rating becomes more justified.

=-=-=-=-=-
Begin At The End
=-=-=-=-=-

I was spent.

For weeks since the trip to New York I had gone through every book I owned. I had spent a sizable portion of my assets procuring rare or expensive reagents, contacting mages, and hiring craftsmen. Sleep was a memory, my body and mind running on mana and little else. The eldritch debt that I was accumulating was phenomenal, but I somehow managed to keep it contained within the frail cage of my will.

That debt had a purpose, but it was not to be paid now.

Soon, Chronicler.

Yes... soon...

=-=-=-=-=-

“Rae! Package for ya'!”

The deep voice was accompanied by the sharp thud of metal on metal, a robotic fist knocking against a titanium door. Silence greeted the mechanical man. After a few seconds, the door opened to reveal a concerned Cyborg. He peeked into the room, well aware of the danger he was putting himself in, and saw...

Floating in the center of the room in a lotus position, Raven appeared insensate to the world. Her face was peaceful, with a small curvature of the lips that could develop into either a smile or a smirk. Her hair was longer and billowed softly about her head in a phantom wind, violet tendrils caressing her shoulders, chest, and face. Her outfit was of the purest white, offset well by the gold and red of her belt and brooch. A nimbus surrounded her, gray and peaceful in marked contrast to the stark ebony in which it usually manifested.

Cyborg watched, a look of awe upon his face. The outfit he had seen before, once during his ill-fated trip into Nevermore, once during the debacle with Malchior, and once again during the Reign of Trigon. Those times he had felt the power boiling angrily off of the girl he considered to be family. This time, however, the power he felt from her was deeper. Slower. Less agitated.

Suddenly her expression of peace twisted into a rictus of agony. Her clothing flashed black, and her back arched. The sound of cracking vertebrae was almost subsumed by the sounds that emanated from the teen, a simultaneous whimper of pain and snarl of anger. She fell, and upon her landing reverted to her usual appearance, gasping for breath.

He rushed forward and helped her to reach the bed. “Rae, you alright?”

Her eyes opened weakly, before furrowing in confusion. “Cyborg? What are you doing here?”

“I brought your mail from the Ops room. Are you ok?”

“Fine,” she mumbled in an exceedingly unconvincing fashion. She sat up before tensing suddenly. In a flash, her cloak was dark as pitch and her eyes gleamed with ruby light. Her brow furrowed and her lips pulled back from needle-sharp teeth in a snarl. “Why are you in my aerie, Golem?” she hissed in a multitonal voice.

Cyborg reeled back from the girl, cold malevolence radiating from her as peacefulness did earlier. “Raven... what's going on?” he asked warily.

And she was back, a pale girl clad in blue with sweat standing on her brow. “I...”

Fate interrupted her then as scarlet light flashed in time with an alarm. “Titans, assemble in the Ops room immediately!” came Robin's voice from the aether.

=-=-=-=-=-

“It's happened. The Nephilim have made their move. They've taken PS118 hostage.” Robin's voice was clipped and clear, the voice of a commander. He hesitated a moment, his torment clearly seen for a moment as it twisted his mask into paroxysms that only tangentially resembled actual facial expressions. As suddenly as it came, it was gone, stowed away to be rehashed in nightmares yet to come. “The police have made contact with them and started negotiations. They demand the chance to kill us. To show their sincerity, they've already killed five students... by dismemberment.”

Cyborg whistled softly and breathed, “Damn.” Beast Boy was a pale green as he explained the new word to Starfire, whose hands immediately burst into emerald points of fire upon her understanding.

Raven smirked, her cloak a darkening navy. “Let's go bust some heads.”

“No.” Robin looked at her with an implacable expression. “You're injured. You are staying here.”

“WHAT?” she asked, gritting her teeth so hard they squeaked.

“I felt it through the bond. You're in no condition to go outside. You're off active duty.”

“You can't do that!”

“Rae-” began Cyborg.

She whirled upon him. “Don't call me Rae!”

“Fine,” he growled back, “Rae-ven! You are not acting right. Something strange is going on, and I wanna know what it is!”

“Dude!” shouted Beast Boy with the voice of one granted an epiphany. “I bet that Jon guy did do something to her head! He knew about the Nephilim, and now Raven can't come with us, and-”

Raven stood then, cloak the colour of midnight, and interrupted with, “Nobody messes with my mind! Besides, don't you all have some Nephilim to kill without me?” A wave of her hand enveloped the four teens in obsidian energy before transporting them near-instantly through the Kithados to PS118.

“Nobody messes with my mind,” she repeated to the empty room as her cloak shifted towards alabaster.

“... Nobody but me...”

=-=-=-=-=-

Jon sat in seiza within a circle scribed in chalk. The early afternoon sunlight filtered to a dirty yellow through dusty windows situated high on corrugated steel walls. Diffuse shafts of light illuminated wheeling motes of dust as they fell and rose, a microcosm of life and death. Silence swallowed all. The place had the air of abandonment found not in derelict warehouses as should be expected, but rather the sepulcher quietude and dignity of an ancient temple or mausoleum.

“Ygratha Metrintacal Shendrithicadshendrithos... Ygratha Metrintacal Shendrithicadshendrithos ...”

The voice was smooth and strong, but not overbearing. It was rich in tone, neither deep nor shrill, well enunciated and possessing no discernible accent. It was a voice made for speaking. Imagine a night sky, velvet black, with only a single, dim star drawing your eye to twinkling defiance. The meditative mantra was the star in the velvet silence.

“Ygratha Metrintacal Shendrithicadshendrithos... Ygratha Metrintacal Shendrithicadshendrithos ...”

The chalk outline sublimated, rising in gaseous elegance to swirl about the mage within. His eyes were closed, but a blue light seeped from beneath the lowered lashes. The vapours ceased swirling, stopping unnaturally, and then dove towards the man. They entered his ears, eyes, and mouth, a final wisp disappearing into his nose as he inhaled deeply. His eyes opened, a horrific negative; corneas dark as sack-cloth, irises an unnatural orange, and pupils a bright, penetrating white. His lips writhed into a position that was more sneer than smile, right corner twisted far above the left, black teeth gleaming with oily iridescence.

“Raven...”

=-=-=-=-=-

“Why the ever-loving HELL can't you go in there?!”

Robin resisted the urge to massage away the burgeoning headache that was beginning to settle behind his eyes. “As I've told you already, Commissioner, we have reason to believe that the terrorists are metahumans. Their abilities are unknown, but their viciousness has already been well-established.”

“So sneak inside and take them out before they have a chance to kill anyone else!”

Strange, thought Robin vaguely. I've never had to stop my hands from unwittingly choking someone before... “As I've said for the past twenty minutes, we're working on the problem.”

The man turned away, the cigar stump in his mouth being chewed to a pulpy mass between gritted teeth. His muttering about useless teenage superheroes tipped Robin ever-so-slightly over the edge of patience.

“Look,” he said with only the slightest trace of a growl, “if you're unhappy with how we're running things, you can call another group.”

The commissioner looked a bit embarrassed as he admitted, “We already did. The Justice League said that they would only step in if the threat was interplanetary or you asked for special assistance.”

Robin had to work rather hard to conceal the smirk that threatened at that admission. “We're doing all we can. Cyborg's checking the blueprints and running scans. Beast Boy is doing surveillance and looking for likely points of entry, and Starfire...” he looked out beyond the police cordon to see Starfire amongst a group of ten or so. Their eyes were red, and their bodies shook with grief, anger, or both. Starfire herself stood solidly on the ground, the joy required for flight conspicuously absent. She moved amongst them, giving condolences and reassurance, her face locked into an expression somewhere between compassion and righteous anger, emerald eyes holding beryl tears.

“Starfire,” he continued softly, “is giving hope to the desolate.”

The commissioner looked over to the alien girl, moving and speaking with a grace that disclosed her royal heritage. “Christ,” he said softly, voice choking slightly. A moment of silence passed. “My daughter goes to this school,” he said finally.

Robin turned to him sharply. “Is she inside?”

“No,” he replied, and gave a gallows chuckle. “She's home sick today. Flu. Begged to go to school today because of some carnival or field trip or something.” He tossed the ruined remains of the cigar carelessly to the side. “It's just... the world the way it is... you never know when the ones you have today are gonna to be there tomorrow.”

A gloved hand came to rest on the shoulder of the older man. He looked up into Robin's face, cold fury and guilty relief mingling in his expression. “Take 'em down for us, Robin.” He cast a look towards lumpy shapes under bloody sheets.

“And take 'em down hard.”

=-=-=-=-=-

Raven returned to her room, the last dregs of her anger vanishing as she entered its familiar and comforting confines. They were right, she knew. They simply didn't understand what was happening to her... but then, she hadn't told them, had she? Once again taking the choice of worry from them, convinced that she was relieving a burden rather than creating one.

“Will I never learn?” she muttered to herself as she crossed the cavernous space. Approaching the bed led to noticing the package that Cyborg had attempted to deliver. It had been tossed carelessly to the side, one plain brown paper corner propped against a pillow. She reached for it, caressing the rough twine that bound it and examined the elegant, economic writing that spelled her name and address.

Raven
c/o Teen Titans
PDC: 2735527684
100 Titan's Tower, Titan's Island
Jump City, CA 94100-0000

“It wasn't easy finding your personal delivery code, you know.”

Eyes wide, Raven leaped from the bed and spun to face the source of the voice. There, in one of the the shadowed corners of her room, a tall figure leaned nonchalantly with on foot resting on the wall, arms crossed.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“What's wrong, Raven? Don't you recognize me?” the figure said as he moved closer to the light. Squinting, Raven was able to discern a figure that was familiar to her, covered with twisting lines of ebony ink.

“Jon?” she asked uncertainly.

“Close,” he said as he entered the light fully, revealing the abomination that was once a human face. “I'm afraid that your friend Jon isn't here any longer, little blackbird. He made one too many mistakes, you see.” A sneering smirk full of black teeth twisted the familiar features. “Paradox backlash can be a real bitch.”

Raven drew herself into a ready position, white light seeping from her eyes and onyx energy forming around clenched fists. “What do you want, Zarach?”

“Ah, calling me by name in an attempt to discomfort me with your knowledge. A good tactic, little blackbird, but futile. You see, when you looked into Jon's mind, I looked back.” He looked at her in a way that made her skin crawl, and she momentarily wished that her uniform was more conservative than a skintight leotard. “You think that you can beat it. You think that you can defeat the promise of your birth. You are wrong.”

“You're lying,” she hissed, fury at her fright causing a scarlet cast to enter her eyes.

Zarach scoffed. “Even now the anger courses through you. Even now you desire to rip me into pieces, to subjugate me, to force me to kneel before you and serve your every lustful fantasy.” He moved closer, prompting Raven to bare her fangs and hiss in an attempt at intimidation. He ignored it. “You will lose your humanity this day, demi-demon.” He paused for a moment, as though in contemplation. “Although, you are rather pretty for a lesser being. Perhaps I shall defile you before I consume you. However,” he continued before she could respond, “I did make a deal with my host. You are offered a choice, bastard-spawn of Trigon. I can kill you now, cleanly, and defile your body afterwards. Or,” he said as he licked his lips with a blue tongue, “you can choose to fight me, lose, and have me do as I will to you. I hope that you fight.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Raven growled as pieces of masonry ripped themselves from the walls to hurtle unchecked at the smirking figure.

“Rachel! NO!” shouted Jon's voice as his colouring reverted back to normal.

Her eyes wide, she blasted the bits of concrete and drywall into dust with a thought. “Jon!”

“Too easy,” he sneered as his twisted colouring returned. “Your die has been cast, beast. Prepare yourself for domination!” He lunged forward, leathery wings bursting in gory splendor from his back, eyes bright with hate and fingernails turned to claws.

Raven's soul cried a spectral scream as it enveloped her, causing her to vanish.

A flash of shadow and brimstone later, the room was empty.

Forlorn, an abandoned communicator chirped a nine-note jingle.

[BAColeNC]

Sorry about not reviewing sooner, but things here have been. . .hectic.

I am working on the belief that you have been to the Big Apple, at least once and to a performance on Broadway, as your description is spot on.

As to the next three chapters I can see that things are now moving alonge fairly quickly, and I'm bracing myself for quite a ride.

I also wonder which Raven will choose. Death or becoming a God or Demon.

[TeenTitans4Ever]

Finally, I caught up with the chapters! I've been forgetting to read lately.

Ooh, dramatic. I wonder what will happen next?

I wanna see a Broadway show someday... I liked how you gave meaning to "Azarath Metrion Zinthos." In the show, they were just made up words. (Well, Azarath was her home...) It makes much more sense since Azar taught it to her.

[ChroniclerJon]

=-=-=-=-=-
A Tale In Two Locations
=-=-=-=-=-

“She's not answering,” Cyborg said.

Robin responded with a groan. “Of all the days for her to discover petulance,” he muttered. “What are the Nephilim saying?”

“Same stuff,” Cyborg replied from his place near the negotiator's station. “They'll release the children if given a chance to kill us. Each hour they kill another five. They say that they have enough kids to keep going for more than a week.”

“How long until the next hour is up?”

“About ten minutes.”

“Damn.” Robin muttered the uncharacteristic curse with grit teeth. “Any word back from Beast Boy?”

“Yeah,” said Cyborg, “but you ain't gonna like it. Says the place is locked up tighter than a submarine.”

“Blueprints?”

“Negative. Nothing so much as a pipe big enough to crawl through.” The mechanical man shook his head as he said, “From where I'm standing, we have to do this the hard way.”

“Agreed.” Robin flipped out his communicator. “Titans, assemble on my position.” His eyes narrowed.

“We're going to give them what they want.”

=-=-=-=-=-

Raven soared across the city, a white comet in a black nimbus. Zarach winged after her, confident in his eventual success.

“Bastard's not even trying hard,” she thought to herself as she risked a glance back.

“All right up there, Raven?” asked Zarach, a mockery of Jon's caring tones which carried surprisingly well through the rushing wind of their passage. “You may want to pace yourself. You don't want to be caught, do you?”

“Go to Hell,” she snarled back.

“Now why would I do that when I have so much entertainment right in front of me?” He affected a wounded tone. “You're acting like you didn't choose for this to happen. It's almost as if you don't like me.”

They zipped through the city, winged man after glowing woman. They spun around antennas, touched down lightly on rooftops, and dipped through alleyways. Yet, no matter how convoluted the path Raven chose or how hard she concentrated on attaining a greater speed, Zarach easily kept pace.

She briefly considered trying to teleport again before a shiver racked her frame. When she had done so the first time Zarach had somehow managed to beat her to the Kithados and nearly arrested her passage there. He had reached out and grabbed hold of her breast, and only a reflexive thrust kick shoved him away before he could work a planar binding spell.

It wasn't so much the contact that had her so bothered (although it did bother her) but rather her reaction to it. A strong surge of phantom feeling shot through her at the memory, like being impaled on hot ice. She recalled how certain parts had hardened into little pebbles of sensation while others moistened and became hot, how a traitorous part of her psyche purred with pleasure at being handled by such a strong-

Her cloak shuddered between black and white as her sense of balance wavered, and she began to dip in the air as the powers that kept her aloft surged chaotically.

“That's right, Raven,” called Zarach as he closed the distance, “Accept your destiny!” A sudden whoosh of displaced air and a hint of sulfur heralded his arrival beside her. “You feel it, don't you?” he purred as he flew alongside her. “The joy that hedonism brings. I could give you much pleasure before I kill you. In fact, I could pleasure you until you die. Wouldn't you like that, dearest blackbird?”

Red eyes glared from a perspiring face. “varblernelk. Off!”

Zarach gave a grin that would have been suave and disarming from anyone else as he said, “Gladly,” while reaching for the form beside him. Raven gave a tight grin of her own as her aura winked out, causing her body to decelerate and drop quickly as the laws of physics finally got their way. Zarach's hand caught nothing but air. He blinked in surprise as he uttered, “She's not bad.” He banked sharply and headed for the junkyard into which Raven was falling.

Raven's cloak settled as a dove gray when she landed lightly. She turned her eyes briefly skyward to check on the progress of her pursuer as she attempted to stamp out those thrice-damned instincts which reveled in being chased by a potential mate.

“Why do you fight it?” he asked as he glided in for a landing. “Your body knows what it wants. Your instincts scream at you to surrender.” His wings flared open to brake his momentum and he landed about ten feet away from her.

“I'll never become a Nephilim,” she hissed through grit teeth, one hand grasping its opposite shoulder as a spasm of pain racked through it.

“What you are doing is self-defeating. It's akin to refusing to breathe.”

“There are plenty of circumstances that give good reasons not to breathe,” Raven replied as the pain radiated sharply.

“But you can't hold it forever. Even if it were not beneficial for you to breathe, eventually you must give in to instinct and programmed response. A man will hold his breath for minutes on end with an iron will were he trapped underwater, and yet eventually the body will take over and draw that fatal bit of moisture. Instinct is all that is left in the end.”

“Death first!” she cried out as the pain left her momentarily.

“Damn it, blackbird! Why do you fight it so?” Zarach exploded. “Have you any idea what you have? Freedom from every guilt that plagues humanity is yours! Greed, lust, PRIDE, all of these things are your birthright! The number of humans who would and do kill in order to achieve what you could simply by choosing to relax for once in your life! Why would you give up a life full of such delights?”

“Because I value my humanity, Zarach,” Raven replied, strength in her voice. “I have fought for, bled for, and cried for my humanity, and I'll be damned if I allow some two-bit demon from another dimension to talk me into giving it all up for temporal pleasure.”

“So, you can't be reasoned with...” Zarach growled malevolently. “It's time to take the game up a notch.” He placed clawed fingers against his own unprotected throat. “Give in to yourself or Jon's esophagus becomes intimately acquainted with his colon.”

=-=-=-=-=-

Robin sat in front of the telephone at the negotiations table. Officers sat around the table from him wearing headphones hooked to the phone. His team stood behind him. Except for Raven. Robin suppressed the surge of frustration that he felt. It wouldn't help right now.

“Nephilim... this is Robin of the Teen Titans.”

“Robin! Good it is for you to be calling us. Nearly we have need to be killing the little childs. Why the minutes... you are having only two remaining. Speaking fast is the good idea for you, I think.”

“We accept your terms. Release the children. Then we can fight.”

“It is such a good thing that you are agreeable to the terms, Robin. We will be releasing of childs in a moment. Be preparing yourselves.”

The line went dead.

“Uh, dudes?” uttered Beast Boy. “Is it just me or was that really too easy?”

“It's not just you,” Robin replied as he slowly hung up the phone. “There's something they know that we don't.”

“Yes,” Starfire said seriously. “I am smelling a fish.”

Beast Boy and Cyborg replied simultaneously.

“You mean you 'smell a rat', Star.”

“You mean, 'something's fishy', Star.”

A giggle escaped the Tameranean princess. Beast Boy and Cyborg shared an incredulous look before Cyborg said tentatively, “Starfire, did you just-”

“We can discuss Starfire's sense of humor later,” cut in Robin as he studied the school. He spared a glance in her direction before adding, “and her sense of timing.” He returned his attention to the front doors of the school. “They're coming.”

A wave of pre-adolescent bodies rushed from the school towards tearfully cheering parents and the police forces that struggled to hold them back.

“Something's wrong,” Robin said as he split his attention between examining the exodus and remaining wary of a sneak attack.

“They're not crying! They're too quiet!” blurted Beast Boy.

“Yes,” Starfire exclaimed. “Where are the tears of joy? The songs of emotional release?”

“Aw man,” Cyborg said. “I've got a bad feeling about this.”

Robin drew his staff and extended it to its full length as he leaped forward.

“Titans! GO!”

=-=-=-=-=-

“You can't threaten me that easily.” Raven said stoically. “Jon would rather die than allow you to use him like this.”

Zarach threw back his head and howled with laughter. “Are you so sure of this?”

Shaken, but not willing to admit it, Raven replied with, “Absolutely. He wouldn't want me to become some mindless creature, driven by impulses and instincts with no rational control over them.”

“No,” said Zarach with a thoughtful (yet frustrated) look on his face. “I don't suppose he would, at that. Still,” he continued, “if threats to the one you desire do not work... perhaps threats to those you are sworn to protect?” He pointed a hand at a pile of junk and said, “Fuegorga.”

A massive pillar of flame sprung into being in an instant, humidity fleeing the air to be replaced with stinging ash. Oppressive heat scorched the very air, tendrils of flame flickering spontaneously into existence in open space. Wood charred, plastic vaporized, and metal boiled in the hellish tempest.

“It would be a simple matter to perform such a spell on a residence... a market... a daycare center...”

Raven was still stunned by the amount of sheer destructive fury that had been created with no visible effort. “What are you?” she murmured.

“I am the demon known as Zarach Bal-Togh, Lord of the Endless Night. You are no match for me as you are, Thing. No power you have, no cunning you possess, no weapon you have secreted could possibly be more than a passing irritant to my plans for this rock. Only with the power of a demon behind you do you stand a chance.”

“You lie.” Raven's bravado was as transparently false as a glass dollar.

He merely grinned that twisted grin, right corner of the mouth far above the left as he contemplated aloud, “Perhaps a hospital...”

He disappeared.

The thumping of helicopter rotors heralded the arrival of a new chopper. Convinced that the situation could be dealt with by mundane methods and knowing that Zarach would not hesitate to go through with his threats, Raven teleported away.

=-=-=-=-=-

The children, ranging from five to eleven years of age, fell upon the crowd of onlookers and law enforcement with a ravenous, unnatural hunger. Limbs given strength by madness or malign powers beat upon unsuspecting flesh. Baby teeth gnawed to bone and delicate lips suckled blood in a bizarre parody, a demoniacal return to infancy. The screams of joy became cries of terror.

Despite the carnage, the masses did not retaliate. Instincts originating from the dark recesses of genetic memory prevented the victims from visiting harm upon their attackers. Fatally, parents looked upon the maddened children with blood dripping from their chins and saw only spaghetti sauce. Their bone-breaking strikes equated to routine rough housing. Mortal minds, accustomed only to the ennui of daily existence, were ill-equipped to handle such a complete perversion of innocence.

After much effort and time, the Titans managed to corral the maddened children into a corner formed by the L-shaped construction of the school. Police, those that had not been routed or injured in the initial assault , scrambled to assist the heroes in building a make-shift barrier. Overturned tables, police cruisers, and appropriated playground equipment were arranged into a cordon that gave the defenders of the city some much needed breathing room.

Shocked, everyone stood and looked at everyone else. “What in the ever-lovin' name of Elvis,” began Cyborg, “is going on here?”

[BAColeNC]

It will be interesting to see what happens to the children. I'm not sure if they are actually the Nephlim or if they are simply possessed.

I'm also looking forward to see how things resomve with Raven.

Both sides of this chapter are very well written, and I look forward to your next installment.

BC

[ChroniclerJon]

=-=-=-=-=-
You, Myself, and Us: Part 1
=-=-=-=-=-

Raven arrived at Jump City General Hospital to find Zarach standing calmly in the lobby, a fact which surprised her and put her more on her guard. The sudden and spectacular arrival of one of the city's heroes (her soul-self's echoing cry was only just beginning to fade away) caused an unwelcome disturbance as observers mobbed towards her. Grimacing in distaste, Raven leeched fear into her aura and gathered shadow around herself. The crowd, perceiving a fearsome visage and palpable sense of menace, scattered and left the two alone in the expansive room.

“Why drive off your admirers, Rachel?” asked Zarach. “Even I could sense the waves of adulation they were putting off. It was... delicious.”

“I have a job to do. They were in my way.”

“Of course. Always dutiful, even on your last day. Just like before, Portal.”

Raven's eyes flashed a bright white as the glass-fronted building became encased in onyx. “DO NOT ASSUME-”

“Assume?” Zarach interrupted with a laugh. “I assume nothing. You allowed yourself to be used as a gateway for your father, to be nothing more than a tether between Hell and this realm. You saw what he had done to your birthplace, to your teachers and family... and you welcomed him into this world with open arms.”

A thunderous crack heralded the end of the hospital's windows. Raining glass played counterpoint to the swirling maelstrom of onyx energy that lashed fitfully from the broken building. “I did no such-”

“YOU WANT TO SEE THIS WORLD IN RUINS!” he screamed suddenly. “The darkness within you CANNOT be denied! When Johnny Rancid turned this city into a nightmare through Nosyarg Kcid's power, you squirmed with glee! You fell to the dark arts so easily with Melchior as your instructor, as your desired lover. Did you not know that he was an Anakim? Did you miss the demon pulse within his construct's aura as you missed the taint within Jon? Are you blind, neglectful, stupid, or treacherous?”

The silence that blanketed the area was a physical thing. It was a deep silence, velvety and thick. It was the kind of silence that allowed ambient noise to become readily audible. The screaming of a dozen hundred people as the foundation beneath them shivered and quaked. The sirens playing in the distance, explosions and crackling fire... the sounds of a city gone mad.

“ANSWER ME, THING!”

Raven had lost her boots at some point during the madcap dash across the city and through dimensions. Her left boot currently balanced precariously on the edge of Kobiyashi Tower's roof, and would fall neatly into a trashcan seventy-some floors below in about five minutes. Her right boot drifted along the eddies in the Kithados and would eventually be found and pondered over by a young teenager of Asian descent as he wandered between the walls at an Institute For Gifted Youngsters.

In short, Raven was currently barefoot.

She stepped forward, cracking glass beneath her petite body and lacerating the sole of her foot. She took another step. Another. Dark maroon footprints stretched behind her as she approached the tall man. She noted absently that his wings were gone. His face, reverted to a more human palette, looked back at her from behind twisted lines of ebon ink. She realized, as an epiphany in a dream, that the tattooed lines were a demon binding mandala. Through it all, she spoke not a word, and uttered not a sound.

Silence in demons was a pretty strong indication that something was very wrong.

Zarach watched, intrigued, as his toy purposefully inflicted pain upon itself and drew closer.

“My name...” the voice was a bare whisper, “... is Raven.” Her face looked up. Four scarlet eyes pierced Zarach's soul, and for a moment he knew fear. Her voice rose in pitch and became strong, ringing with truth and conviction. “I am Raven, daughter of Trigon, Crown Princess to the Lord of Hell and High Priestess to the Cult of Azar. I am Raven, Teen Titan of Jump City, and Rachel Roth, Friend of the Chronicler known as Jon. I am Human, and I am Demon, and on my blood I vow thus:

“You shall not end this day alive, Zarach Bal-Togh.”

And with a gatling roar, shards and slivers of glass flew forward. The cacophonous, continuous ringing became muted as the air became thick with suspended particles, a shimmering cloud that blanketed the lobby. Light refracted through the uneven mounds and cast rainbow whorls upon cheek and chair. A helicopter (“The same one from before?” wondered Raven idly) kicked the dust into dancing spirals of chandelirious colour. When the supply of glass became exhausted, Raven's power latched onto anything else in the room which could be used as an impromptu projectile. Wheelchairs and sofas broke into jagged splinters that were sent daggering through the air, change from a fountain (“Donations to support breast cancer research,” she half-consciously noted) bulleted into her opponent, while wires and cabling ripped from the walls and twisted forward in an attempt to bind and choke.

The onslaught was endless, the barrage vicious, and her visage fearsome. Her cloak had shifted to a midnight black, her eyes narrowed in fourfold scarlet fury. Her body stretched and elongated, her teeth lengthened and crowded her jaw with daggers. She stood, lordly, with writhing tentacles of shadow whipping from beneath her cloak, each grasping a new object and flinging it with deadly precision. When the room finally failed to offer up fodder, she took to ripping steel bolts and girders from the very structure of the place to use as her weaponry.

Reason reasserted itself as the building groaned, threatening collapse, its structural skeleton ripped from its body. Raven shrank to her more accustomed proportions, cloak washing to a dull gray that could only be partly attributed to drywall and vent dust. Her eyes cleared to indigo and narrowed against the suspended debris, lashes catching irritants like snowflakes.

Through the thick cloud a silhouette of a man appeared, arms crossed in an 'X' position before his face.

“I told you that your power was insufficient to render my defeat.”

The figure disappeared in a lick of flame.

With a spectral shriek of demonic rage, a fiery black bird slammed into the air and imploded into nothingness.

=-=-=-=-=-

Everywhere the duo touched turned to ruin. Dark energies met blazing hellfire, slinging sparks of mana and cinder into the surrounding innocents. Before the long the duelists were confronted with abandoned streets; a thriving city turned to a ghost town through the residents' long experience with their home being turned to a battlefield. Market stalls showed abandoned wares, cars lay quietly forsaken, and the only sound was desolate winds through dark alleyways. They carried the sound of sirens and the scent of smoke.

Neither could gain a positive advantage. For every strike, there was a counter, and then a counter for that. Zarach played, pushing Raven to her limits and no farther. Raven struck back with her trademark energies, found weapons, and barely understood powers over shadows and time. Creatures arose from the sewers and other dark places of the city, made of substance drawn from the Kithados and bearing scarlet eyes as their battle standard. Flame licked across her powers fitfully, the hellfire unable to catch and burn one with demon blood.

Raven sang the cadences of mystical conjuration. Syllables mashed from a half-dozen dead languages flowed smoothly across the cosmos and formed into lightning, chronotons, and xenothium, mundane reality breaking to the greater pull of the Titan's call.

Still, this awesome display of mystical mastery was no match for the sheer destructive abilities inherent to a fully awakened Nephilim. All of her training and not inconsequential power were insufficient to bring defeat to her enemy.

She knew this.

To continue to fight in this way was both exhausting and, to be frank, ultimately pointless.

She knew this as well.

Raven was not what anyone would consider a stupid person. She was, admittedly, lacking in some social graces, and her grasp of technology extended just far enough to be able to set the clock on a microwave, but the humanities and the so-called “soft sciences” were fields she excelled in. As she battled this interloper, she had managed to regain control over herself. However she kept up the appearance of mindless savagery. This allowed her to study her opponent while he was in an unwary state.

=-=-=-=-=-

“... When you stand and look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you,” Raven thought softly to herself.

That was the key.

Zarach had knowledge he should not. Raven had knowledge that she should not.

The play. When whatever it was triggered the cascade of repressed memories, it hadn't been Raven looking into Jon's mind... rather, Jon's mind had overflowed into Raven's. The time spent in that shared mindscape had left an indelible link between the two, a bond so strong that the absence of it would be as noticeable and crippling as an amputated limb.

In a very real way, they shared parts of their mind with one another. Zarach had been gazing through this window into her soul and picking out information that Jon did not know and that Raven had never volunteered. Zarach had stood long and looked into the abyss...

...and now the abyss had begun to return that gaze.

“Perhaps,” Raven thought with a sharp, tight grin, “it is time for Zarach to learn what dangers there are to those who fight monsters.”

=-=-=-=-=-

Zarach was perturbed by the sudden smile on a face that had been contorted in rage for the last hour or so. He relaxed when she began chanting to herself, thinking that the poor deluded demi-demon had simply convinced herself that some spell would be powerful enough to end him.

He was half right.

In his ignorant egotism, Zarach simply stayed still while Raven chanted, prepared to relish the look of shock and defeat when whatever paltry parlor trick she attempted next failed.

“Azarath Metrion Zinthos, Carazon Rakhashas Endareth, Vaserics Endrian Nevermore, Nevermore Nevermore NEVERMORE!”

In surprise, he watched as his prey disappeared into a portal. With a sigh (he had hoped that she would try something more amusing than another teleportation) he leaped into the Kithados to follow...

… and found no trail.

As far as Zarach could tell, Raven had disappeared without a trace.

[BAColeNC]

Sorry for the delay.

So our dark lady has taken refuge in her owm mind. An inspired tactic. Zarach might be confused for a little while, but I think he might figure out where she's gone.

But I wouldn't place any money on his being able to defeat her there.

Write on.