The crystal lay dark and inert against the blue bird emblazoned across Nightwing's uniform. He concentrated, sweat dripping in unheeded torrents down his face as he sent punch after kick after knee after elbow into a bare wooden pole in the center of the gym. He was aware and oblivious: aware of his body singing as it danced the dance of death, aware of his surroundings to a degree that bordered the preternatural, oblivious to his body repairing the damage to his body quick as he inflicted it, oblivious to the dim nimbus limning his form like a second skin.