Ok, let's try this again; previously I put Asylum on here before, and to my dismay people didn't take very well to it (dwindling hits, zero reviews…). But I know why – it was too bloody long. Every chapter was huge, and I put the first six chapters on all at once. It was far too overbearing, and people don't like that. So I deleted the original Asylum from and revised it, so now I offer this result. I've cut chapters in half to condense it, make it easier to read, and at the moment I will only put on the first chapter and see how people respond. That said, this chapter is still its original length, because I can't cut it in half. Please don't judge my entire trilogy on this because it is so long.
One thing I have to point out though; I wrote two other fan-fics before this, but I lost them. I'm not going to explain them all, but there are a few notes you should take heed of, lest you get confused; in my TT fan-fic domain, Raven and Robin have previously been in a relationship, sleeping together once, but split on uneasy terms when Robin made out with Starfire; the Teen Titans have come into contact with Batman, Poison Ivy, the Joker, the Riddler, Harley Quinn and Johnny Rancid. Robin and Bats are on good terms; the Joker, the Riddler and Johnny are in Arkham; Harley escaped (Robin let her go) and Poison Ivy is dead, a result of trying to kill Robin.
Ok, just bear that in mind. If anything confuses you in the duration of this, stick it on the review page and I'll make a point of explaining it in the next chapter.
Enjoy. And review if you want to read the next chapter.
The Prophecy
It was a pattern. Run, leap, and then run again along this endless path crafted entirely out of rooftops. Almost like flying, with one small glitch; if he slipped and fell he would plummet to a certain death.
The thought almost made him smile.
He landed heavily yet expertly on another flat roof and paused, getting his bearings, then sprung from it like a cat and freefell to the street below. He landed, stood up and smiled. He had reached his destination.
Far above him towered the huge building, built from white Bath stone, with massive Greek-style stone pillars supporting the gothic roof that jutted outwards several feet from the rest of the building. Wide marble steps lead up to the double doorway and he ascended them with the grace of a king entering his court, coming to halt at the large mounted bronze plaque to the right of the vast mahogany doors. He traced his gloved fingers along the deep-set inscribed letters.
Jump City Museum.
He took his hand from the smooth metal and turned to the doors, reaching out with one hand and trying one of the large brass handles for luck.
Locked.
Duh…
Well, he had hardly been expecting it to be open. There were so many notorious thieves knocking about this city. The museum attendants couldn't possibly run the risk of leaving the building open for anyone who felt like a late-night visit to the mummy section.
Or any of the other sections. For various reasons.
He went to his belt and rifled through the leather pouches until he found a screwdriver. Moving to the electronic lock system to the right of the doorway, he examined it briefly; it required a card and a combination of numbers.
He loosened the screws one by one and prised the protective plastic box off using the edge of the tool, letting it fall to the ground and revealing the technological intricacies within. He put the screwdriver away and instead took from his belt a small pair of pliers, then turned his attention to three tiny wires that connected the circuit.
Roses are red, violets are blue…
He chose neither and instead severed the green one. A faint bleeping noise was issued as the system died, followed by a light click that told him that the lock on the doors had been released, allowing him access. He replaced his pliers and sauntered over to the doors, swinging them both open dramatically and entering the museum, leaving the city night outside where it belonged.
The doors shut heavily behind him and the first thing he noticed was how dark it was; the second thing he noticed was the alternating laser force-field that was sweeping in luminous blue rays across the dark marble floor. He side-stepped as it cut through where his right ankle had been a mere second before, looking around for the control box. He found it less than four feet away from him.
Idiots…
He easily avoided two more lasers and made it to the plastic box, plunging back into his belt for his tools. He dislocated this one as he had the previous, this time faced with the choice of two wires; black and yellow. He guillotined the yellow and there was a faint buzzing noise as the force-field was disabled and the security went down, casting the large entrance hall in which he stood into complete darkness. He replaced his tools and instead retrieved a small penlight, which he flicked on. The narrow beam lit up a surprising amount of the room and he cast his gaze around, taking it in. The floor was highly polished black marble, streaked with white like lightning in a stormy sky, and right down the middle from the doorway to the first corridor was a wide stretch of thick red carpet. To his left was a huge brass billboard with all of the wings and exhibits inscribed upon it; to his right was a circular reception desk made from glass housing all kinds of leaflets advertising all that both Jump and Gotham had to offer and several black cordless phones. He moved to the billboard and ran both his gaze and the beam of his penlight over it.
He had no idea where it would be.
Art, perhaps? Definitely not dinosaurs or Egyptians…
Thinking about it, it probably would have been more sensible to bring a couple dozen of his robotic mercenaries, but the thought hadn't occurred to him and now he was here alone, so…
He wasn't getting anywhere by just standing here. He abruptly turned away from the billboard and sauntered off down the middle of the red carpet, striding as though it had been laid for him and for him alone.
45 minutes later found him wandering through the dinosaur exhibition anyway. He was certainly not in the best of moods, having come up, so far, empty-handed. He flickered the penlight around, more out of boredom than anything else, casting alternating light and shadow across the titan skulls of extinct carnivorous beings such as the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex. Unless he was expecting it to be hidden between the thing's pointed teeth, he was definitely in the wrong place.
He left the dinosaurs to gather dust and stepped into another dark hallway. He was beginning to get very impatient and sincerely hoped he would find it soon. He continued down the long stretch of corridor, noticing it was lined with metal doors that were shut and locked, some of them with multiple bolts.
Vaults.
He was obviously getting close, but the thing could be in any of these rooms, and he didn't have all night. He decided to go to the end of the corridor, double back and try out each room one by one, hoping he got lucky. It took a lot more than multiple bolts to stop him.
He reached the end of the corridor and found it to be a dead end. Instead there was one last door, made of thick, heavy metal. No bolts, but with another of those blasted circuit boxes, and on the door it read "NO ENTRY TO ALL VISITORS WITHOUT A MUSEUM EMPLOYEE".
He smiled, realising he'd found what he was looking for.
He went through the regular motions, disabling the security system, and swung the door outwards. Immediately he saw the red laser grid a few inches from the floor, tight-knitted and denying him entry. He frowned, then looked to the side and saw a switch that read "LASER GRID: ON/OFF".
And again; idiots…
He flipped the switch and the laser grid died, allowing him to step in triumphantly. He moved his penlight around the dark room; it was tiny compared to the vast wings the museum flaunted, only about 15 square metres in area. But that was unimportant because right in the middle…
He stepped towards it, the beam of the penlight fixated firmly upon it, reflecting off the glass case that it was encased in. He stopped and ran the penlight along the tiny bronze plaque beneath it's case, his fingers following the letters.
THE ORB OF AZARATH.
He frowned slightly. Azarath… that word sounded so familiar… where had he heard it before?...
He shrugged. It was of little importance; he had found what he was looking for.
He had read of it a few days back on his regularly updating news archives; it had been sent to Jump from Blüdhaven "on loan". More like someone had tried to steal it back there too.
Well, finders keepers…
The article, from Jump's leading daily newspaper, had provided an account, sensationalised as was the usual practice, of the Orb of Azarath and of the "mysterious powers" it was supposed to possess. Scientists and geology experts had looked over it and said that it appeared to be a rock and little else, and that any legends surrounding the thing were indeed legends.
But something had struck him about it, even just from the blurred colour picture from the paper, in which it appeared to be a rock. There was something that compelled him to it, ignited the belief that he had to have it and would therefore obtain it by any means necessary. So here he was, and here it was, with only a thin sheet of glass to separate them.
"Rock", however, was an understatement. Even if it didn't possess any kind of power, it was certainly amazing to just look at. The orb itself was a small stone ball, about the size of a small tangerine, perfectly smooth and highly polished, and appeared to be made out of some variety of ebony black marble on first sight. But then, when you looked at it more closely, you could see the ripples of brilliant blues and purples and even faint reds dashed through it like wounds, and they flowed beneath the surface of the stone like moving water; it glittered with an unknown force like a tiny universe unto itself alight with billions and billions of stars. The orb rested in a gothically ornate silver cradle of intricate design, not possibly replicable by even the most skilled of metallic designers, and in the frontal centre of the twisted, carved metal was a small prism-like inset, as though something was supposed to fit into it. Whether it possessed its promised power or not, it was far more than just a rock; that much was obvious.
He didn't know exactly what he was going to do with it; all he knew was that he wanted it very badly, he needed it… It compelled him, transfixed him, called to him. His hand rested on the glass case that contained it and he wanted to reach right through the clear material and grasp what he saw to be rightfully his. Silence surrounded him and darkness enveloped the room, the only light the beam from his penlight and the soft glittering aura that the orb itself seemed to give out.
Finally he could no longer take the insatiable wanting for it, and with a single fluid movement he smashed the case, showering a cascade of broken glass to the floor like rain. He waited until silence reigned again before reaching out to take it. His hand paused mere centimetres from it and he flexed his fingers, creasing the black leather of his glove. He couldn't quite bring himself to pick it up; he wanted it so badly and he wasn't going to walk out of here without it, but he still felt a slight apprehension as he gazed fixedly at it. He shook his head and flicked his fingers again, then moved in to claim his prize…
"Mr Slade?"
Slade stopped dead in his tracks, his fingers now so close to the orb they were almost touching it. Almost.
"Mr Slade…"
He didn't turn around but heard the speaker move a little way into the room. He continued to stare at the orb but clenched his fist, still not in possession of his prize.
"I wouldn't pick that up if I were you."
"But you're not me, are you?" Slade stated softly, still not turning around. Better not to make any sudden moves; for all he knew, his mysterious new "friend" could have a gun aimed at his back. "So… who are you?"
"For the moment, that is not important."
"Isn't it?" Slade laughed softly and finally turned towards his addressor, shining his penlight over their form. He immediately saw them to be… well, not what he had expected.
An old woman stood before him, frail and her spine hunched with age. She carried a stick and was leaning on it dependently, but she was hardly the grandma-type. Long iron-coloured hair hung in straggled rats-tails down her back, she wore a garishly patterned shawl thrown over her shoulders, and several strings of coloured glass and plastic beads decorated her wrinkled neck. Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green, however, and they bore fixedly and determinedly into his single grey one. There was glint in them that surprised him.
Definitely not the grandma-type.
"And you would be…?" Slade prompted her, raising his eyebrows beneath his mask.
"I have already stated that it is not important for the moment," the old woman said.
"Oh, it's very important," Slade corrected softly. "For all I know you could be someone here to stop me, or to vie against me for possession of the orb."
"I have no interest in the orb, Mr Slade," the old woman assured him blandly. Slade's single grey eye narrowed.
"Indeed." Slade's expression didn't change. "And yet you follow me here in the middle of the night with my name on your lips. You'll forgive me if I'm a little suspicious."
"Rightfully so, my boy," the old woman murmured. "But I pose no threat to you."
"Then what do you want?" Slade pressed lethally. The old woman stepped towards him again.
"I am a seer, Mr Slade," she explained, "and I come to you tonight bearing a prophecy."
"Yes, well, I'm in the middle of something right now, in case you hadn't noticed…" Slade dismissed her and reached behind him for the orb.
"Mr Slade, do not touch that orb until you have heard me out," the seer warned. "The prophecy that I have foreseen involves the Orb of Azarath and you may want to know of its true potential before you go messing about with it."
Slade stopped; her words had piqued his interest.
"Fine," he said eventually. He glanced behind him at the glittering orb. It wasn't going anywhere and he really didn't know anything about it, so what did he have to lose by listening to her?
"The Orb of Azarath," she started quietly, "is an item of mystery that has plagued scientists, geologists and historians alike for the short time it has been in this world. However, I am able to reveal to you that the legends that surround it are true, but also very, very vague. The orb is in fact a vessel bearing titanic power that is both awesome and terrible. This power can only, however, be harnessed by one of a certain Chosen Few, a handful of mortals from this world that were born for the sole purpose of fulfilling the prophecy mapped out at the time of the orb's birth and controlling the power of the orb. These Chosen Few will not be born into the same time fracture, and so one could live many centuries before the next. So far none have taken the opportunity to get what they rightfully deserve. None except you, for you are one of the Chosen Few, Mr Slade, and you alone in this world are able to take the power of the orb in hand and use it for your own measures."
She looked briefly at Slade, who was simply watching her, not uttering a sound. She took this as a cue to continue;
"Perhaps you wonder how I know that you are one those born for this purpose?"
Slade nodded slightly but still said nothing.
"As I have already informed you, I am a seer. Mostly I receive visions through scrying, but every so often the gods of prophecy will come to me with a vision not called upon. A few nights ago I was plagued with one such vision, strange infused images that I could not make sense of, but at the end I was subjected to a trance in which I saw a yellowed roll of parchment hidden deep within the bowels of the castle in which I reside. When I awoke I went in search of the mysterious piece of paper and found it exactly where I had envisioned it. I had no idea of its existence before that, but I took it up to my chambers and discovered it to be a prophecy concerning the legendary Orb of Azarath…"
At this point she reached beneath her shawl and pulled out the crumpled roll of parchment which she spoke of. It was tied with a piece of thin leather cord and was yellowed with substantial age. She offered to it to him and he hesitated, then took it from her and loosened the cord. He unrolled it and scanned down it, his cold grey eye taking in the script. Then it narrowed dangerously.
"I can't read this," he snapped, flicking it aggressively with his free hand. "It's in some strange language…"
"Well, of course you can't read it," the seer said smugly. Slade glared at her.
"Then why did you give it to me!" He demanded, his temper starting to go.
"It's your prophecy," the seer informed him. "It involves you. It was written about you many centuries ago."
Slade glanced at it again, as though he thought it would all suddenly make sense. It didn't.
"Can you read it!"
"Well, of course I can," the old woman replied haughtily.
"Then tell me what it says!" Slade ordered, tossing it back at her.
"Be careful with it!" The seer told him sharply. She caught it and smoothed it out carefully. "In brief it states that the power of the Orb of Azarath shall be harnessed by one of the Chosen Few and the apocalypse shall be at the command of the summoner after the fulfilment of the prophecy. However, one known as the Avenger shall arise from the flames of destruction and prevent the reckoning unless he is so destroyed following the tainting of the soul. The tainting shall destroy the bind which the Avenger holds between the world as it is and the world as it will be, and in turn after his subsequent death the mortal gods shall be rendered powerless and the world will be at war."
Slade blinked and stared at her.
"An avenger… and the apocalypse and… mortal gods?..." He frowned, for once in his life genuinely confused. The seer held up her hand to silence him.
"I have not finished," she told him. "There is more to the Orb of Azarath than that. Far more."
"More to it that the apocalypse?"
"There is a great deal of legend surrounding that little stone ball. It was created hundreds of years ago in a dimension beyond our own, a peaceful place known as Azarath. Azarath still exists today and it is a world built on peace, love and compassion. It does not indulge in the hectic lifestyle which the people of Earth do, and so for this reason there is no evil in Azarath. No crime, no murder, no corruption; there is no-one like you in Azarath, Mr Slade…"
"You flatter me," Slade murmured. The old woman raised her eyebrows.
"Indeed. However, Azarath was not always this way. Many centuries ago it was a place torn apart by destruction and fire and blood. The people of Azarath, the Azarathians, lived in constant fear, for the world was ruled by terrible monsters. These terrible beasts were colossal in size and fed on flesh, but often enjoyed killing the Azarathians for fun. They destroyed towns and villages in one blow, picked off whole hunting parties. But the worst of these monsters were their terrible powers. They were creatures of elemental destruction, one fire, one earth, one water and so on. The Azarathians were powerless to stop them. That was, until Arella came."
Slade frowned.
"Arella?"
"She was a queen of many worlds over, a warrior goddess who supported the same ideals as the superheroes of today; truth, peace, love and justice. She heard the cries of Azarath and came to its aid with her army of Warriors of the Sky, and she cut down the monsters, saving Azarath from its plight. She destroyed them as they had destroyed Azarath, but before she sent them to a flaming oblivion she tore their powers from their beings and encased them all within a small stone orb that was christened the "Orb of Azarath". Arella stayed in Azarath with her warriors for many years, ruling it as queen and slowly transforming it into the peaceful civilisation it is today. Her Warriors of the Sky settled down too and interbred with the people of Azarath, and so the Azarathians today are descendants of centuries of cross-breeding between their ancestors and Arella's warriors."
"What happened to Arella?" Slade asked, somewhat curious. "Witch pop it?"
The seer shook her head.
"Arella is a goddess. She does not age and die the way we mortals do. She stayed in Azarath for a century, maybe longer, ruling it, but eventually she left and moved on to liberate some other planet or dimension in need of her help. Her warriors, however, stayed in Azarath. The Orb of Azarath always stayed at Arella's side while she was queen, so that she could keep an eye on it and make sure that the power of the demons did not fall into the wrong hands. However, when she left Azarath, she left the orb behind too, and it stayed in the palace of Azarath since then. Azarath is not ruled by a monarch now, but by a senate, an organisation of high-bred officials that govern Azarath how they feel it should be run. It was their decision to send the Orb of Azarath away from its home-world."
"But why?" Of course, he was glad it was here and not in some alternate dimension, but it still made little sense to him.
"Because two years ago a powerful evil came to Azarath to claim it, and to claim its power. The Azarathians were able to hold it off but it vowed to return, and so the Azarathian Senate decided it would be better if the orb was sent away from Azarath, to somewhere where the evil would not find it. It was sent to Earth to take up the promise of the many super-powered beings that this world has to offer, in hope that they would protect the orb if the evil, or in fact any evil, tried to claim its power. Superman, the Justice League…"
The Teen Titans…
"It came to Earth in the possession of a messenger, an empathic misfit in the world of Azarath and the daughter of one of the senate council and a terrible demon. She brought the orb to Metropolis first, but since then it has been moved around to keep it from the public eye, Gotham to Blüdhaven and now to Jump. Meanwhile, the messenger met up with other teenagers in the same boat as her; societal misfits wielding abnormal powers. She befriended them and used her telekinetic powers to fight crime instead of wasting it on the Azarathian practice of mediation. She never transcended this plane and remains here still with her friends. Her name, Mr Slade, is Raven."
His single eye widened slightly. That was where he had heard the word "Azarath" uttered before; that little witch said it in battle as part of her spell to summon her powers.
How convenient…
"She resides now on the very outskirts of Jump City, part of the teenage super-group known as-"
"The Teen Titans," Slade finished irritably. "I know."
The old woman smirked.
"And I know you know."
Slade scowled.
"Then why-?"
"They give you a hard time, if I'm not much mistaken?" She continued smugly. His scowl deepened.
"Did you come here for the sole purpose of patronising me?" He asked dangerously. He clenched his fist. "Do not anger me or you will sorely regret it."
The seer's green eyes flashed lethally.
"Don't you threaten me, boy," she snapped, the edge in her voice even more dangerous than his. "I am perfectly aware that you know of the Teen Titans. I know that they are the bane of your plans, always there, and always one step ahead… While you have threatened their lives and their city many a time, they still prevail. And why is that, Mr Slade? Are you able to tell me?"
Slade was silent for a few seconds, then simply shook his head.
"Because they are the mortal gods of which the prophecy speaks. The Teen Titans, and every other superhero that stalks the crime-riddled streets of this city, and Gotham, and Metropolis… Superman, Batman, the Justice League, Wonder Woman… Only after the death of the Avenger shall they perish, their powers being torn from them as were the powers torn from the Azarathian monsters by Arella many centuries ago. As long as you fulfil the prophecy, the Titans will no longer be of any threat to you."
Slade raised his eyebrows beneath his mask.
"And what must I do to fulfil the prophecy?" He asked, his voice soft.
"You must kill the Avenger," the seer said simply. "And also, a key must be possessed to unlock the orb's true potential. If you look, you can see that small inset into the cradle; following a summoning ritual, the key must be inserted and the power shall be unleashed unto its bearer."
Slade nodded slightly.
"Simple enough," he said, a trace of sarcasm evident in his voice. "Except for a few slight glitches; I have no idea who this "Avenger" is supposed to be, so how am I meant to kill him? Or her?... And this key? Where am I supposed to find it, and I also have no idea what you mean by a summoning ritual-"
"And here I am," the seer interrupted softly. "At your service. I can answer many of your questions, if you would care to ask them."
"Fine." Slade folded his arms lazily. "We'll start with the key, if you're so clever."
"That, admittedly, I am unable to answer. Yet." She added the last word as she sensed his amusement fading at her incompetence. "When the time is right, I am sure I will foresee where the key lies and it shall be brought to you. Do not trouble yourself with such a trivial issue for the time being, Mr Slade. The key alone will not unleash the power of the orb."
"Alright then. The Avenger."
"Well, as it happens, there is scant information in the prophecy itself about this certain individual," the seer informed him, unrolling the prophecy again and scanning down it quickly. "Yes, here we are… it's not much…"
"Well?" Slade prompted.
"Mortal… and male… age is uncertain, but young… mid-teens, I should think…"
Slade stared at her as she continued to read down the crumpled parchment. He had this horrible, ominous feeling…
"Anything else?" He demanded.
"No… wait, yes… just a little line here at the bottom, I can't read it too well… "The soul of the Avenger shall be a dark match, a two-of-a-kind bond, with the one which he is trying to stop"…"
Well, that synchs it...
"Let me see that," he ordered, holding out his hand. The seer eyed him sceptically over the top of it.
"You can't read it," she reminded him witheringly. Slade frowned, realised that she was right, and shrugged and withdrew his hand.
"Is there anything else?" He asked desperately. "Hair colour, anything…"
The old woman looked at him as though he was mad.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but no prophecy that I have ever come across has ever been that specific."
Slade frowned and looked at the floor. It was specific enough… and yet, was it even possible?... Of all the millions of people in the world, the one who would stop him would be…?
"They mean something to you then?"
Slade looked up.
"What?"
"Those little clues. Do you have any idea who the Avenger might be?"
Slade almost smiled.
"Oh, yes. I have a very good idea who he could be…"
Robin.
And how sodding typical… After all, what were the chances…? But it was him, it had to be. Mortal male, mid-teens, similar in nature to the one he was trying to stop? It couldn't be anyone else…
"The boy…"
Slade raised an eyebrow behind his mask.
"You know? Then why didn't you tell me straight off, instead of playing about with me?"
"I thought that it would be better for you to work it out for yourself," the seer replied sweetly. "And you did."
"And it's really him?" Slade asked sceptically. "Seriously, of all the people in the world, it's him?"
The seer shrugged half-heartedly.
"Small world. I don't know why you're complaining; this makes it very easy for you. He practically lives next door to you, and I am aware that you and he have… certain issues that tend to be a little sore on his part."
You mean blackmail, corruption and threatening the lives of his friends…
"So," Slade said carefully. "I have to kill him?"
"I'm afraid so. The Batman's child must be destroyed."
"Batman's child?"
"You have heard of the Batman of Gotham City, presumably?"
Slade nodded slightly.
"Your little Avenger is his son, of sorts. A highly prized protégé, at any rate. It is from the Batman that the boy's fighting expertise originates."
Slade nodded slightly. Yes, Robin was very good. But not quite good enough, not strong enough, not ruthless enough. Killing him would not be an easy task, granted, but it would be far from impossible.
"There is more to it than his death, though, I'm afraid," the seer went on. "According to the prophecy there are two circumstances under which he must die. I believe I mentioned the tainting of the soul?"
Slade frowned.
"Yes, I think you did…"
The old woman nodded.
"However, I did not properly explain what was meant by it. In short, the Avenger's soul must be pure for the bind connecting his mortal flesh to that of the mortal gods' to be unbreakable, so that even if he should die, they will still reign with their powers and shall follow in his stead to prevent the reckoning. It has long since been stated that the ultimate symbol of purity is virginity; therefore, for the bond to be severed and the prophecy to be fulfilled, the Avenger must not be a virgin at the time of his death, for the tainting has been rendered as sexual."
Slade blinked.
"And?..."
The seer shrugged.
"Well, it is possible that this may not be a problem," she stated primly. "You must take into account that our little Avenger is a male teenager, therefore no doubt following the rest of his kind and having an unfortunate hormonal imbalance. In this day and age I suppose it is unlikely that he is innocent in that way."
"And the second instance is…?" Slade prompted flatly; he had little to no interest in what his teen arch-nemesis got up to after dark. The seer returned his bored gaze.
"You don't seem interested in the first instance," she acknowledged. Slade shrugged.
"Why would I be? I don't care what he does in that little "T"; whether they all dance the salsa is of no interest to me."
"All factors must be taken into account, whether you are interested in them or not."
"Well, you know all," Slade said bitterly. "Is he or isn't he?"
"I don't know."
"You know everything else." Slade frowned, suddenly extremely suspicious of her. It seemed to him as though she was playing another of her little mind games with him.
"I don't know that."
Slade raised an eyebrow.
"And if he is still a virgin?"
"Then you do something about it."
"And if he isn't…"
"Then it isn't your problem."
"Hmm." Slade studied her carefully. She seemed in earnest of helping him, but he didn't trust her. There was something about her that gave him – him – the creeps, and that was saying a lot.
"So what do you expect me to do about it, if he is still one?"
The seer clicked her tongue in exasperation.
"I don't know; use your imagination."
Slade shuddered.
No thanks…
"The second instance?" He repeated, dismissing the first irritably; he was really getting rather bored with it.
"Ah. That." The seer unrolled the parchment once again. "It is scribed here that you must be aided in his destruction by another."
"Another?" Slade eyed her sceptically. "That "another" wouldn't happen to be you, would it?"
"Alas, no," the old woman replied wistfully. "It is a specific other, much like the Avenger himself in the sense that you must first discover his identity to enlist his help."
Slade folded his arms languidly.
"Excellent." His voice dripped with sarcasm and the seer sensed it. "Another Titan involved in this prophecy, hmm? Because that's going to be a hard bargain-"
"If you will be quiet, I will finish," the seer interjected irritably. "No, it is not one of his friends. Far from it."
"Then you know who it is?"
"Indeed I do."
The seer smirked at him and he scowled; she was fooling about with him again and he didn't like it. Some of this disdain spawned from his typical villainous arrogance that no-one should dare to stand before him and not cower in awe and fear; but some of it was something else entirely. She didn't scare him; he could break her in two if he so wished. But there was an almost magical aura about her, something not quite human and something definitely evil. She did not fear him, but addressed him – most of the time – with utmost respect, as though she admired him; but then she also mocked him, and in a way that showed she thought nothing of him, calling him "boy" as though she saw him as little more than a child despite the fact that he was quite obviously far from this assumption. She was certainly controlling, demanding of him, and yet he did not resent her orders, maybe because somehow she had seen to it that he was unable to object. He had a feeling that he would do whatever she told him to, and not just because he wanted the Orb of Azarath's promised power.
"Would you care to share the information with me?" He asked softly.
"I will. You are going to have to make a little road-trip, however."
"Indeed. To where?"
"Not far. How does a jaunt to Gotham City sound to you?"
"Delightful."
There was a sarcastic edge to everything they said, particularly on his part.
He frowned at her.
"This doesn't involve that Batman, does it?"
The seer laughed quietly.
"No, no… dear me, that would be interesting…"
"Well?" He was growing impatient and she seemed to realise it.
"In Gotham City there lies a place of evil, as though Hell had erupted through the very pavements and kept going, up and up, until there was bred the madhouse of which I speak. Within it's wall are concealed some of the most dangerous and notorious criminals ever to walk the streets of the United States of America; some man, some monster, all out of place in society for the simple reason that they should be condemned to Hell forevermore."
"Sounds like a right house of fun," Slade murmured dryly.
"I daresay you would find it so," the seer agreed flatly. "I refer, of course, to the infamous Arkham Asylum. You have heard of it, I presume?"
"Me and everyone else six states over."
"Well, your partner resides there. The most twisted, vicious and insane inmate in there, I should think. And you are in luck; he has only been back there a few weeks. The security in Arkham is weak; he keeps getting out, along with many others..."
"So I get to rub shoulders with a madman? Brilliant…"
"You're a madman," the seer reminded him expressionlessly. "I daresay you belong in Arkham Asylum with the rest of them…"
"You're too kind."
"Someone's got to compliment you. Now then, my boy; your first move is to find the one of which I speak within the bowels of Arkham Asylum and persuade him to join your campaign. I can assure you he will be interested."
Slade was surprised.
"Does he know Robin?"
"Does he ever. And he loathes him almost as much as you do."
"So what am I supposed to do; go around Arkham Asylum asking who hates some teenage superhero from Jump City until I find the guy?"
"Many of them will know him and hate him, I expect; he and Batman are something of infamous celebrities in Gotham. And you are wrong in saying that the boy is from Jump; he originates from Gotham City in the first place."
"Then why didn't he stay there?" Slade asked bitterly, the question rhetorical.
"Be glad he didn't; it makes the prophecy all the easier for you. Besides, the one for which you search will be easy enough to find; he will be the only one in that whole cursed pit of hell who is smiling."
Slade was vaguely amused.
"If it's so terrible, why should he be smiling?"
The seer's expression darkened and she looked beyond the man she addressed at the glittering Orb of Azarath.
"He cannot stop. They call him "The Man with the Permanent Smile"…"
Ok, how was that? I know it's very long and confusing, but hopefully also captivating?...
Cue tumbleweed…
Well, nobody reviewed last time; make my day, huh? Seriously, if you want to read more, review, otherwise I won't know if anyone actually likes it or not…
And the next chapters are much shorter, I promise… And involve the Titans (sorry about the all-Slade chapter)…