Just an idea that popped into my head while watching "The End" recently.
Slade pounded his fist against the crimson rock wall a few more times, no longer caring whether he broke any of the exposed bones in his hand. What point was there in preserving what scraps remained of his body? Any hopes of a future were gone. Anger was the only thing he had left.
Trigon had lied. He didn't know why it surprised him; he had conducted enough business with shady characters to know he should have expected the worst. Just because Slade took a certain pleasure in striking bargains with his targets didn't mean others, especially omnipotent forces of evil, held themselves to the same standard. Still, he had been seduced by the promise of being fully restored. It seemed like such a small demand to make after delivering an entire world to Trigon.
What Slade couldn't understand was why he remained alive. Trigon had revoked his powers, but rather than being destroyed outright, cast back into the lava where he had first perished, Slade had awoken to find himself here, deep in the lowest levels of Trigon's realm. He could see twisted pillars here and there, faces frozen mid-scream contorting along their lengths. Trigon was known as a harvester of souls. Perhaps he intended to play with Slade's before finally releasing him in death.
Slade didn't intend to give him that pleasure. Trigon may have dumped him here, but there was no way Slade would still be here when the demon's attention returned to him. He had looked through several doorways and tunnels in walking distance, but while they stretched endlessly outward, none seemed to lead back up. After a while, he got the sense he was walking in circles, or that these tunnels genuinely went on for eternity. In frustration, he had taken to venting his rage against the unyielding walls encasing him.
There was a rumble from far above, shaking the whole of the cavern. Slade looked up, frowning. It seemed Trigon's plan was a success. Well, bully for him.
The shuddering roar came ever closer and the ceiling above him started to crumble. Slade pressed himself back against the wall as a vortex of white energy tore through the ceiling. Rather than continue ripping through the floor, however, it touched down like the tail of a cyclone, the white energy pooling onto the ground. As he watched, the vortex died down, the last swirls of energy trickling down to where the rest was coalescing into a prone figure completely covered by a gray cloak.
Drained of color though it may be, it was instantly recognizable.
Slade stepped away from the wall enough to let himself slump into a seated position, leaning back against the red rock. He watched the motionless figure with a certain bitter camaraderie. "So, I see I'm not the only one Trigon sent to the trash heap."
She didn't respond. He wasn't surprised, but continued talking more for his own indulgence than any expectation she could still hear him.
"You would probably be happy to know you were right about my value to Trigon. If I were in your position, I would say, 'Told you so'." He cocked his head. "Well, I suppose if I were in your position, I wouldn't be saying much of anything either. But still, your smugness would be justified."
He looked up at the tunnel through the ceiling. As far as he could see was red, from stone to fire to a distant circle of sky. "You know, when I bargained for my flesh and blood, I assumed that there would still be a world to use it in. Not the one we knew, but at least enough of one that I could find a way to leave for another planet. Perhaps it's just as well I won't be around to see the wreckage we helped create. I imagine you'd feel the same."
He frowned. Something was coming down the tunnel. A wisp of black energy, barely more corporeal than smoke, undulated through the air until it reached the ground and disappeared into the back of the girl lying at the heart of the vortex's wake. The figure moved suddenly, gasping in a deep gulp of air and tensing as her cloaked face looked around in bewilderment.
Slade arched his eyebrow beneath his mask. "Well, you are full of surprises, aren't you?"
Raven turned toward him with a gasp and for the first time he realized that what he was seeing wasn't a trick of his limited depth perception: she was indeed smaller. A child's face stared at him in fear and confusion from otherwise familiar features.
"Interesting."
Unbidden, his mind flashed a memory of another girl about that age, with hair already as shock white as his own. He shoved that thought ruthlessly back, focusing instead on the situation at hand.
The younger Raven scrambled back away from him, tripping as she tangled herself briefly in her gray cloak. "Who are you?"
"It hardly matters anymore," he replied, eyeing her curiously. "Do you remember where you are?"
She hunched into her cloak more and shook her head, never taking her eyes off him.
"Do you know who you are?"
Her head drooped slightly and she shook it again.
"Lucky girl. I suppose some of us do get a second chance. Pity it's too late to do anything with it."
"What do you want?" she asked, utterly failing to sound tough.
"Nothing you could provide, child," he assured her bitterly, leaning back again. "There are far greater things to worry about than me now. If you wanted revenge, this would be the perfect time to take it. Your powers should be far more effective now that I've been stripped of mine."
"Powers?" she asked, baffled.
He cocked his head. "Forgotten those as well? Perhaps you truly are a clean slate."
There was a rumble of deep laughter from above and the ground cracked nearby, unleashing a river of lava from below. Out of it, an army of fiery demons flew into the air and away.
Raven screamed and fled down one of the nearby tunnels, deeper into the labyrinth of Trigon's realm. Slade wondered if she was aware that the rock around her changed subtly as she passed, clearing her a more direct route toward, if his memory of the area was correct, the ruins of an old temple. It seemed she did have some remaining influence here.
Well, this was certainly a new development. He looked back up toward the surface. So, a bit of her power, a piece of her soul as he understood it, had stayed topside while she became the portal. He could only think of one thing she would devote her dying energy to accomplishing. Somewhere up there, the Teen Titans yet lived. And now, Slade had an ideal bargaining chip.
Standing up, he stretched his weary bones and strolled over to the wall of the tunnel, neatly sidestepping the lava flow. He noted that while Raven had cut through the layers into this dimension, she had also managed to carve a staircase in the rock spiraling all the way to the surface. Such a useful girl. As he ascended, Slade whistled a contented tune to himself. Truly, he thought, it never paid to give up hope.