Alfred: Chapter 9
He heard the muffled banging as he walked past the closed, locked doors of Thomas Wayne's study. The few servants they had returned to work had gone to sleep for the night, so Alfred was the only one pacing through the halls at this hour. It had to be well past midnight at this point, but Alfred cared not to check.
He quickly opened the door with his key and ran to the bookshelf at the back of the room. During the month Alfred had the other servants removed from the grounds, Lucius had carved out a tunnel connecting the cave to this room, and that old, oak shelf was the entrance. Alfred could hear the hard knocking even clearer now, and moved his hand up to the fifth row from the top. He counted over six books, and pulled on the red tome that lay before his hand. It pulled out with him, connected to a wooden lever that activated some contraption making the shelf slide sideways across the mouth of the fire pit.
Alfred's heart dropped, as the door slid to the side Lucius came into view with a bloodied and seemingly unconscious Bruce in his arms. He quickly went to Lucius' side and together they each took an arm around their shoulders and dragged Bruce over to the table and laid him down on top of it. They stripped Bruce of his armor and leather until only skin remained. Alfred sent Lucius to fetch supplies and blankets while he closed the door behind him before returning to his master's side to inspect his wounds. Bruce had a deep gash on his side, a stab wound in his thigh, and a variety of other slash wounds and bruises across his body.
Could barely go a month without giving me another bloody heart attack could you? Bruce was unconscious, but still breathing. Well when he wakes, oh not even the Seven shall protect him from me then.
Lucius soon returned with what Alfred had requested, and they set to work. They stitched, sewed, bandaged, and cleaned wounds until the sky grew light orange as the sun slowly prepared to rise. Alfred's brow, neck and back were caked with dried sweat from the long night of stress, repairing, and worrying. When Alfred had done all he could do, he sat back in Thomas Wayne's chair and let out a great sigh. Lucius left the room only to return a moment later with two glasses filled with wine.
"Cheers, to the first of many long nights of blood, bruises, and bandages," Lucius said with a smile. He handed Alfred his glass and sat in the chair beside him. Alfred drank his entire glass in a few large chugs.
"I would rather hope it be the last…" Alfred stated solemnly as he wiped his mouth with an unbloodied rag. Lucius simply kept smiling and drinking as they both stared at the young, bandaged man lying unconscious on the table before them. After what felt like hours, Lucius finally cleared his throat and spoke. "I was working at my forge when he came riding in on that black stallion of his, barely could keep his seat on the damn thing. He seemed half dead when I got to him, practically knocked me over when he collapsed onto me. I take it he met with our mysterious Half-Mask."
Alfred did not know if Bruce had lost or won the fight, but it did no matter. There would be another, and then another, and it would not stop. Not until one night, Alfred's skills wouldn't be enough to save his master's life. Bruce would do this until it did kill him, Alfred knew that, it was only a somber realization to come to grips with.
Lucius turned to him and spoke as if he knew exactly what was going through the servant's mind. "He won't die Alfred."
Alfred cock an eyebrow at him. "And how do you know ser?"
Lucius turned back to Bruce and smiled, "Because a man that fights for a cause, not titles or lands or gold, but for something noble. Men like that cannot be killed so easily."
Alfred was still doubtful. "I've seen noble men die before Lucius, some at my feet, some in stories."
Lightly laughing, Lucius replied, never stopping his constant smile. "Yes you saw and heard of those men dying, but Bruce isn't a man anymore. He is Batman, something that cannot be killed. He is a legend, a myth, a symbol. And men can lose blood, heads, lives, but a symbol, it is not something that can have a sword stabbed through it."
Alfred looked out the window to see the sky's now darker orange hue as morning dawned. "It is not the symbol I worry for Lucius, it is the man behind it."
Selina: Chapter 9
He fought, with every ounce of strength and will he could muster, he fought. His cape blew behind him and was buffeted around by the wind and his own speed. His arms and fists tensed as he delivered blow after blow. His lips tightened into a taut line of determined resolve. His armor reflected the pale moonlight, shining like some gift from the heavens to save her from the darkness. He was the embodiment of strength, will, and purpose. He was swift, he was strong, and he was destined for something great, Selina could feel it. His eyes though, his eyes were dark storms of anger, hurting, and sorrow.
He fought a black and orange demon, with half of its face burned and twisted, the other half pale and rotted. It wielded a giant sword that it swung around as if it were a simple stick, but even that was not enough to stop him. The demon attacked once more, after battling for what felt like days. With one final blow, he swirled around the hellish creature and stabbed his sword right through the creature's heart. It screamed and groaned and made other noises that made Selina's spine and skin crawl, but it soon fell to the earth, dead.
He turned to Selina, the slits in his helm for his eyes now shining a full, bright white. He slowly walked closer to her, putting his strong arms around her. She hesitantly leaned in to him, never looking away from the two white slits in his helm. She slowly moved her head up, making their lips grow closer. When they were but mere inches apart, his lips suddenly contorted in pain. The point of a sword pierced through his chest, and Selina watched in horror as the white light shining from where his eyes were died out. His eyelids closed, and he fell to the ground lifeless. The half burned, half rotted demon towered over her, slowly closing in. Selina turned to run but fell to the ground. The demon brought the point of its sword down upon her now and…Selina's eyes opened.
A cold sweat covered her chest and forehead, her eyes wide open in terror. She looked around the room, seeing her cats curled up in various positions, and the light from torches out in the street illuminating her room ever so slightly. She found the strength to stand, and eerily peered around the room, half expecting the creature from her dream to jump out at her and slay her again.
Selina had been there, part of the crowd that had gathered in the city's square at the northern edge of the city to watch the infamous Batman fight some armored stranger who was equal parts black and orange. They fought with a strength and ferocity she thought mortals could not possess. Neither one backing down despite the cuts, and bruises and wounds the other inflicted. They fought for close to an hour like that. She was surprised neither of them simply collapsed from exhaustion. But Batman had won, after all of the blood that the stranger's sword had shed, Batman still found the strength to win. He didn't stay for very long however, as some guard came up and whispered something to him and he was off into the shadows as quickly as he had come. The oddly armored man was dragged off too, to one of the jails probably. He looked as if he were at death's door, pounding to be let in.
Selina should have been out robbing to her heart's content since everyone within a few blocks was gathered in the square to watch, but she couldn't find it in herself to pull away. What if he died, without ever knowing who he was, or not even being there to witness? Selina caught herself. Why should I care who he is? He could be Gordon or Dent or a baker or some street beggar for all I care. I only need to worry about myself. The Batman can fight crime til' it puts him in an early grave if he cares to, I will not be shedding a tear.
Selina looked out to the street, studying how the torchlight reflected off every individual street stone, wondering if blood had ever been spilt on any of them. Of course they have, it's Gotham. She returned to bed to try and sleep, but to no avail. She laid in bed for hours thinking of something she hated herself for thinking about, Batman, and who would risk his life for the scum of this city.
Joker: Chapter 1
It had been a delightful evening, he got to kill four men, scare the head of the City Watch piss-less, and watch him. Oh he was the best part of the night by far. The way his cape moved, the look in his eyes, how he gave that fool Deathstroke the most shameful defeat in the history of Westoros. Ooooooh how delicious that treat was, I could use a second and third helping to be certain.
Oh you've had enough you fattened, self-indulged fool, he argued with himself.
Oh well look at the mockingbird call the crow black, you know there's no such thing as enough hehe, he counter-argued.
Ha Ha! You're right! We should find another person to kill, oh please please please! The second inner voice begged.
No! We're on a mission! Keep your head in the game or I'll kill you too! The second inner voice kept quiet, as Joker walked through the night quietly and alone. Hmmmm Joker, I quite like that name, why haven't I thought of that before? The arch-nemesis of the Batman needs a fitting name after all!
The sound of his steps on the street echoed faintly down the street as Joker marched on towards his destination. It was a tavern on the lower eastern side of the city, some dingy dumping ground for scum and deviants called The Scalding Bath. Whoever titled a place with a name like that deserved to be killed.
As he approached the inn he found three muscular thugs standing in wait outside. Two had only a dagger at their belt, the other had a Morningstar. The lot of them stood at least six feet tall, looking mean, menacing…and incredibly boring. Joker thought of how easy this would actually be as a wide smile crossed his red lips.
One of the dagger wielding brutes noticed him first. "Hault! What business you have down 'ere?" The other two drew their weapons as Joker showed no signs of slowing down.
Joker raised his hands, "Gentleman! Gentleman! Let us not be so quick to spill blood! What happened to manners in this poor city? What happened to the age when a man could come into town with a white face with hair as green as grass and get invited in for a drink or three hehe?"
The thugs did not look amused. "You keep coming closer funny man and I'll give you something to smile about." The other two laughed at the comment, thinking themselves funny.
"Ohh you want something funny do you? How about a joke? What do you get when you cross a halfwit with something shiny?" Before any of them could respond Joker had slit two of their throats with a knife he stowed in his sleeve. As his two comrades fell to the ground dead, the last man let fear overtake him as he stood mouth gaping at his white-faced assailant.
"A dead halfwit!" Joker stabbed the last man thrice in the neck, letting the blood spurt out in a fountain of crimson as he laughed hysterically. More men emerged from behind the inn doors, coming out to see what the cause of the noise was.
There were at least twenty of them, all encircling Joker and the three fresh corpses at his feet. A man wearing red and blue robes of silk strode from the inn as if he were a king. He had a fat face, a few chins, and a matching fat gut. Ooooh that will be fun to watch innards spill out of, I wonder if he's full of shit.
"And who would you be my strange, soon-to-be-dead friend?" The man asked without even trying to hide his arrogance. Yep.
"Ohh my lord, I am but a humble traveler seeking a man by the name of Daven Falcone, nephew of Carmine Falcone?" Joker gave a pleasant smile to the robed man.
"Ahh yes, well you have the pleasure of looking upon him ser, the last sight you will have in this life I'm afraid," the man returned with a smile.
"Ha Ha! My father once told me about fear and what it does to men, he was afraid up until the very end sadly."
Daven looked perplexed, if only slightly. "How did your father die ser? A peasant's death? Or perhaps a traitor's? Those are always unpleasant."
Joker's smile grew even larger now. "Hahheheha! No, no nothing such as that. He died with my knife in his neck of course!"
Before any of them could move Joker threw a small, ceramic orb at the young Falcone's face hitting him square in the nose. The sphere burst open as a bright green liquid coated the man's face. He screamed in bloody agony as the mixture slowly burned away his skin and flesh. Joker slowly marched over to the man as he fell to the ground, still screaming.
"Ohhh lighten up good ser! You're but the first course! Ha Ha HAHAHA HA!" Joker lost himself to uncontrollable laugher as Devan's screaming slowly subsided as the acid burned into his skull and brain. Joker looked down at the man whose face had melted to the back of his skull, and gave it a stomp with his foot.
He turned to look at the twenty thugs who all stood with mouths hung open and skin now a few shades whiter. Joker smirked, "Sooo my little flock of sheep, who wants to let old Joker be their shepherd as we lead Gotham into a new age of crime and fun! We can't forget the fun, Hahaha!"All of the men dropped their weapons, and fell to a knee as Joker looked around upon his new followers with a smile. Ahhh it is good to be home.