A/N: Though it is not wholly necessary, you might want to take a gander at "Raven: The Nest" if you have not done so already. The reason is that this story is, more or less, a sequel to "Raven: The Nest" and contains numerous references to that past story that you might not catch or understand if you haven't read it.
Like the story that preceeded this one, what you see before you was written a long time ago, so forgive the amateur-ness that you may or may not encounter. I tried to clean it up as best I could, but I can't spot everything. Also, this book contains various allusions and nods to works of fiction or non that I either appreciate or pay homage to.
What you see below is the Prologue to the book. If you go to Chapter One, it picks up right where "Raven: The Nest" left off. Let me go ahead and thank you right now for considering my work worthy of your eyes. God knows I don't deserve it. Nevertheless, enjoy!
Raven: The Nightmare
Prologue
(Translated from the script of Azarath, Raven's homeworld):
"Ο εφιtaxτης έχει αρχίσει μόνο...!"
"The Nightmare has only begun…!"
"ζηΰξ ά Ѓσπφχψττ ήδзлгбэъы Θεός їєѓчш зэювЯ хфγήάέω."
"Such a force of love was created by God to do great things."
"Єύόνξμ πστυ ο πυχ ρσςξξμ Дόρόωз ч είναιќ."
"Gently you raise me and heal my weary soul."
"Tђoюбз і ёљњќό ώύвόиΰ ά ζηππ τφ Фέάσγ…"
"Though I should wander the valley of death…"
"…ί Ђυό џо ёдіҐ."
"…I fear no evil."
"Ο Θεός, με βeηθo."
"God, help me."
London, England: the Not Too Distant Future.
The old clocktower, Big Ben, rang out its routinely chimes, once every fifteen minutes. This was the one for the straight hour.
It was midnight.
The faint glow from the light orange and dull yellow came from the head of the clock itself, with both hands pointing straight up. This was indeed old.
Inside the attic of the tower, the cogs and wheels clicked regularly, not jamming for a single second. Other than that soft sound, the dusty attic was quiet… as if untouched in ages.
Suddenly, a trench coat fluttered out of the shadowed heights near the ceiling, and a young man dropped down gracefully, implying that he'd been dangling from the rafters by his feet, possibly because he desired to scope out the environment before completely entering it. Now, whether this young man desired so or not, he was out in the open.
His deep and thoughtful eyes scanned the room.
He knew he was not alone, but he regained his composure, worried that the abrupt noise of his entrance might cause an unwanted stir in the still air. As he stood perfectly still, the floor creaked, and the light shone upon him.
He was a fairly tall boy, most likely in his late teens. He wore a long, red-leather trench coat that went down to his boots. The cufflinks of his long coat sleeves were yellow circles set with a red gem. The coat did not stop at the neck, however, it continued into a hood that shadowed the upper half of his face, which was behind a mask, a Jason Hockey Mask.
The mask had three distinct diagonal cuts across the face: one was over the forehead, one across the eyebrows, and one across the eyes.
The eyes were still visible though. Arrogant eyes, confident eyes, determined eyes. On the inside of his coat, he wore a black, button down vest. A Kevlar shirt was behind it, and a small silver crucifix hung from his neck on a brass chain. His belt was also made of yellow circles tied together, each fixed with a red gem, very similar to the cufflinks. The pants were dark, and the boots rose to about mid-shin. A sword hung from the left side of his body, safely in a scabbard.
This was Constantine.
He was still inexperienced in this department, even though he had been doing this job for several months. He had earned himself a reputation, one that he was not in favor with. Unlike his predecessor, he was in fact well known, but not well-liked or popular.
Constantine's eyes knew that this game of hide-and-seek would soon end. He sensed it. He slowly walked forward, each step making the same, monotonous creak on the old, wooden floor.
He heard a loud laugh and out of nowhere a large figure dropped and landed on the ground in front of him.
The muscular creature was at least nine feet tall and looked like a man with all of his finer qualities removed, his hair matted, his exaggerated brow went over a single, large eye, in the place where two would normally be seen. His skin was hairy, sallow, and rough, the large jowls with graying muttonchops and mouth that dripped with saliva.
He wore a pair of beige, ripped trousers that when just below the knee, and a dirty-white, ripped shirt that could not hide his jutting-out belly. He must have stolen these from a past victim. Over his shoulders, he was draped in a long, gray cloak cape. It had a collar that couldn't fit him, so he simply let it drape over his huge shoulders and down to mid-chest. It hung down to about is ankles. His feet were bare and shoeless, mud-stained. In his hand he held a half-drunken mug, pint-sized, with brownish-red liquid slightly splashing over either side, and wetting the wrist that held it.
Constantine knew he was looking into a face of evil. An evil that took life for pleasure, for sport; he would kill with as little hesitation as one about to eat a meal. In fact, if he could, he would probably combine the two activities together.
Constantine took a step back. What was seen of his face was completely neutral.
The Cyclops grinned, showing his filthy, brown teeth.
"Looks like you found me." He spoke in a strong, drunken, earthy British accent, almost like one who lived below the poverty level.
"That I did," Constantine replied, keeping his voice as neutral as his face.
"You must be the legendary Cone-stawn-tyne," The Cyclops affirmed as he took a large gulp from his mug.
"And you are a murderer."
The Cyclops' eye pupil moved quickly from the inside of the cup, what he was first gazing at, to the boy that stood before him. The sudsy beer splashed all over his mouth, on purpose. He finished the drink, and let the alcohol drip from his chin, grinning. He tossed away the mug, having no more use for it. After this, he leaned in toward Constantine, stopping four inches from his face.
"Ah, the pot calls the kettle black!" He opined just before he belched directly in front of the boy's face, forcing him to inhale the foul odor.
Constantine lowered his chin, trying to bear the stench.
"I destroy only what is evil," he began.
"Sure you do," the Cyclops remarked.
"You are wanted by the Church for the murders of…"
The Cyclops laughed, patting his chest as he did, "Man gotta eat, don't he?"
Constantine decided to reply in humor, "Not when he's dead."
The Cyclops did not find this at all amusing, and his mood suddenly changed. The motion was quick and sudden, his oversized hands backslapped the boy into an intersection of cogs, where the coat became caught. The monster took to the darkness of the belfry, hiding amongst the rafters.
Constantine could not see him, but he could sense him. He yanked the coat free, reached into it, under his arms, to reveal two silver revolvers, one in each hand. He aimed toward the darkness, and unleashed two red bolts of energy.
The Cyclops dropped from his location, showing singe marks on his neck and arm. He spat on the ground. He looked for an advantage, and found one. He ripped a large, table-size cog out of place and hurled it at Constantine.
Constantine raised his arms and pistols quickly, firing two rounds at the same time, hoping to throw the flying piece of metal off course. It remained unaltered, and Constantine was forced to leap out of the way, allowing the cog to crash through the floor and destroy anything that impeded its journey with gravity to the ground. Constantine gazed at the large hole just made, but was surprised when he felt the Cyclops ferociously tug at the end of his coat, get a decent grip on it, and began twirling him around in a circular motion. Constantine knew that this would not end well, and it did not. As expected, the monster did not set him gently on the ground, but used the momentum of the twirling to throw him violently through the round glass formation of the Big Ben clock.
He crashed head first through the glass, trying to hold on to his pistols and block his face at the same time. It seemed as if time froze when Constantine looked about him, he saw the piece of broken yellow glass that hovered in air with him as gravity pulled them to the ground at the same rate.
The fog that descended upon this city during the nighttime was present, and the whole outside atmosphere had the air of a place where it had just rained. The street was covered with occasional puddles, formed from the soon-to-be morning dew and moisture that no one sees and wonders why in the morning everything is slightly wet. Very few lights were lit, but it was enough for Constantine to see where he was.
He gripped his pistols, not too hard mind you, but just enough to show tension. That tension disappeared as he composed himself and focus his powers. His eyes became white and glowed faintly, and he began to levitate. He allowed his friends, the fellow pieces of broken glass, to fall to the street, forgotten.
Dozens of houses filled the city, and Constantine only had to choose one to land on. It was not too far away from Big Ben. Constantine holstered his guns back under his arms, and watched as the smoke from the chimney puffed at the end of the roof.
He heard a cruel laugh, and turned around to see the Cyclops, wishing he had not allowed himself to become distracted, even for a moment.
The Cyclops charged at him, but he was able to react. He backflipped over the chimney, and quickly took hold of the edge on the other side of it. His fingers gripped the top of the chimney, on the side that was attached to the brick wall of the house and went down to the ground.
Despite the fact that the hunter avoided his attack, the Cyclops had another ready. With a powerful uppercut, he struck at the chimney's base, separating it from the house, and sending Constantine toward the ground below. He thought this an optimal time for escape.
Constantine knew he had only a few seconds before he completely lost the monster. His left hand hastily reached to the right side of his belt, and his hand took three glass golf-balls filled half-way when a glowing green liquid. He threw them hard at the roof. They made a puddle, one which the Cyclops stepped in unwittingly. His plan worked.
Constantine hit the ground feet first. Scotland Yard spotted him land, and remembered his warrant. One of the coppers announced it.
"Killa! Get 'im, lads!"
Constantine found this very disconcerting, but the darkness of night was enough to shroud him. He ran back to the wall, huffing and puffing.
"Don't let 'im get awy!" another yelled, pointing at him.
The coppers could no longer see him, they could have brought lanterns.
"Bloody hell! He's gawn! Like a bloomin' ghost!"
Constantine climbed back up the side of the house. When back on the roof, he reached to the back of his belt, took out a pair of green sunglasses, and put them over his mask. They allowed him to see in Nightvision. The liquid from the puddle stained the Cyclops' feet in such a way that Constantine was able to see the footprints left by him, thanks to the glasses. He could now track the monster, and would soon catch up with him.
He did not want to continue this, but he knew he had to. It was his penance.
Constantine hopped from slanted rooftop to slanted rooftop. Very few of any of these buildings had square roofs. However, he finally landed on one that was level when the two slanted sides met at the apex. He caught sight of the Cyclops, and removed the glasses.
"Time to do my father's work," he muttered
On the limited space he had, he made a run making many steps. The smoke from another chimney impeded his vision. With not much room to get a decent running start, the many-stepped trot would have to do. He leapt over and through the smoke, only to see that there was no building for him to land on! He took flight and sped after the Cyclops, who noticed his predator approaching.
Constantine flew past a nearby water tower, and witnessed the Cyclops drop behind one of the houses. Constantine touched down on one near the area, and ran diagonally along the slanted roof. He was getting irritated. He made a small jump to another roof, and gazed down to where the Cyclops had dropped.
He looked down to see the monster scurry down a short flight of stairs into the subway tunnel. He knocked down anyone in his way. Constantine heard the Cyclops utter a laugh that echoed throughout the city.
The wheels of a subway train began to move and turn, steam spouting out from the jutting pipes. The bell ringed for the next all-aboard. A long horn bellowed loudly, signaling the departure. The Cyclops quickly leapt on top of the train, as it began to move away.
Constantine was just about to miss it, hearing the Cyclops shout "Wanna lift?" Constantine jumped to grab the handle of the train just as it passed from the exit point into the darkening tunnel. It was rapidly gaining speed. He now thought that it was going forty to fifty miles per hour, and was losing his grip.
The screws and bolts that supported the handle could not hold his weight, and one of them gave way. Constantine noticed this and knew he didn't have much time. He looked up to see the Cyclops standing over him, on the roof of the train.
"Dis is where you git off!" he spat, the Cockney accent alive and well.
The handle came off, and Constantine was sent sprawling and somersaulting in the air.
Inches before his body hit the ground, he cried, "Azarath Metrion Zinthos!"
He took to levitation yet again, and rushed after the escaping caboose. He dropped on top of a cart, landing on one knee. The Cyclops was nowhere in sight. Constantine closed his eyes, and sensed around him.
The Cyclops was using his supernatural speed and strength to leap across the wall and after the train, in an effort to surprise the boy. He wanted to make him think "How did he get off the train and get behind me?"
But Constantine was focused. And for the time being, those questions didn't matter. His right pupil went to the corner of the eye, somewhat looking at the approaching beast. The Cyclops made his attack, but the boy was ready. Hand on sword handle, Constantine whipped the sword around him, cutting the Cyclops across the chest.
The monster balanced on the fast-moving train, as did Constantine, who gazed at the blood staining his sword, and the Cyclops' torso. The Cyclops leapt again at Constantine, knocking the sword out of his hands, and making the tip of the blade become stuck somewhere on the roof.
Constantine drew his left pistol and fired. The red blast made a hole through the monster's leg, but not before the Cyclops' side-punched him off the train. He quickly used his available right hand to grab the side of the train. He was half afraid of falling off, again. His eyes looked inside the window of the train to see people sitting down, looking back at him, wondering what was going on directly above them. They stared at him in astonishment. He stared back.
"Great," he muttered to himself in frustration, "Passengers."
His little staring contest was interrupted by the bright light and horn of an oncoming train. Constantine tried as fast as he could to use his telekinetic skills to launch himself into the air, and back on the train. The other train grazed his side at the last second.
Attempting to realize what just happened, Constantine was surprised again by his opponent. The Cyclops scored a major hit to the Constantine's face, causing him to fall back a few steps. Unlike his father, Constantine was not limited to range attacks. In fact, his power made him quite strong. Thanks, Mom.
He socked the brute in the lower chin, and again in the gut. The Cyclops concluded that he needed to end this. Now.
Constantine's eyes glowed white as he cried, "Azarath Metri-"
The Cyclops stifled his phrase by punching him across the face, then gripping his neck with both hands, and thrusting him down on his back. The Cyclops chuckled as spit dripped from his mouth.
"Find sho-tuh mah-gick wuds."
Constantine couldn't breathe. That was another difference from his father. Though dear ol' Dad knew when his time would come, Constantine did not. This could be the end, for all he knew. He was determined not to let that happen.
Constantine positioned his legs so that they were bent like a frog about to leap, and his feet were on the Cyclops' stomach. His legs pushed with all their strength. The monster could not hold on, and was forced through the air and over the front of the train.
With a muffled yell he was ran over.
Blood spewed everywhere.
The huge clump of mass that just went under the train threw it off the tracks.
Constantine quickly grabbed his sword and leapt off the train onto a drop-off point. Spectators were horrified at what they saw.
The train itself was composed of three carts, each going its own direction, rolling over the tracks, going from horizontal to vertical, and being flipped over. One of the carts got in the way of an oncoming train.
BOOOOOOM!
That was a huge explosion.
The tunnel was destroyed.
All who witnessed shield their eyes from the combustion.
Constantine looked into the flames and rubble, the dust that was kicked up. The roof caved in.
There were passengers on that train!
He sighed, put his sword back in its scabbard, and lowered his eyes.
He slowly walked out… into the darkening exit.
A/N: The character, Constantine, in this story bears NO CONNECTION to the character portrayed by Keanu Reeves in that movie. Believe it or not, I wrote this story long before that movie was announced and, needless to say, I'd considered changing the name. However, in the end, I decided not to, because I trust that you readers will see the two as different. Thank you.