It would only be a matter of time now, and there was no stopping it. No doubt the Titans were hot on his trail. Slade was torn on seeing them again. Their last few encounters had been explosive and extremely entertaining.
He had hoped he could have seen her carry to term but, this would prove far more exciting.
Just the memory of manhandling them sent shockwaves of nostalgia through his body. He supposed that the first time he ever got the better of them was after he died. Frowning at that conclusion, he turned his attention to the girl.
She would change that.
Or maybe not her, but what festered inside her. Then again, why couldn't he keep her? She would never be the same again, and he knew that.
Briefly putting himself in her petite shoes, he couldn't imagine a scenario in which she could ever return to her precious friends, the corruption of him ran far too deep to ever truly remove.
They had gotten away. It seemed that the green rodent had lost his touch. It had been simple to escape.
Alas, he knew they still wouldn't have much time before her team came bounding around the corner like they always did. If he could keep them at bay for a few more days...
Only a maze stood between him and the Titans. He didn't expect them to figure it out too quickly. In fact, he knew they wouldn't, he would make sure of it.
Nevertheless, his new hiding place had all the necessities he needed: Weapons, food, medicine...and something else that had become essential.
He traced her swirling tattoos with his eye. The miniscule letters bent this way and that, he could see them starting to peak out through the gown on her arms, neck, and legs. Each day, they grew exponentially. He could have just injected her, or made her inhale it, or some other more scientific method that restricted her powers, but he preferred this.
He had never dreamed that his resurrection would have such opportunistic side effects. All it had taken was a little creativity, and he had found a way to bring her down to his terms.
He cracked his knuckles.
A flinch, just a tiny one, caught his eye.
She had been sitting quietly next to him as he mulled over himself, his failings, and accomplishments. He took a peek at the digital clock on the computer monitor.
Surprised, he had been here for hours, with her curled up at his feet.
She sat against the stone throne, on the edge of the circle of light, her spine aching against the rock. Not even attempting to close her eyes in exhaustion or cough or sneeze or even breathe, for fear he might respond. It was when he was silent that she was most tense.
But she couldn't be still forever. He saw her cringe at the sound of his popping bones, preparing herself for the worst because it always came. He switched his focus on her, completely.
"Raven." He said to her, his high-pitched tone ringing in echoes.
A chill ran through her, so horribly cold that not even fire could bring her back from hypothermia. This frigid presence was too powerful to ignore.
Should she respond?
A hand squeezed her shoulder, frostbite piercing her skin, forcing her interaction.
"Look at me, Raven."
Lifting up her weary, blue eyes, her body trembled at his touch, no matter how steady it was. All she could feel was the cold heat of his anger, his cruelty as he mercilessly emptied and filled her with too many emotions to count.
She was a shell, his shell. No matter how many times she tried to repress the memory of him above her, his skin against hers, how pale they both were, how lonesome and angry they both were, and how she could just feel everything about him exploding from a power-hungry ecstasy, the flashbacks and emotions still raged war in her.
There was something in him she did not want to face.
And it was her. If Trigon had gotten what he wanted...Would she have been just as bad as Slade?
Worse, she thought sullenly.
He saw her mind was warping from self pity as her eyes became glossy and distant. He held her shoulder more tightly, pressed his icy fingers into her muscles, but she refused to come up for air.
Sighing, he had only wanted to talk to her.
She didn't need to make everything so melodramatic.
Glaring to himself, he decided this was a fight he was going to win. He should never have to lose, give in to the flighty whims of women. Stepping down from his hard seat, he stood in front of her looking down; his eye boring into her face so intensely there was no chance she could remain inside herself.
Through the dark haze of self hatred, confusion, anger, and, worst of all, longing, she felt him trying to intrude.
Get out! She screamed to herself.
Her face began to snarl. He rolled his eye.
She chose the hard way, then.
Raising his hand, he swiftly smacked her cheek with enough power to certainly get her attention but not so much that her jaw would break. It did the trick, and she cried out.
"Fuck!" she swore as she went to all fours.
Peering up at him with a clear five-star on her face made him want to burst out laughing.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he faked concern, leaning closer to her. "Did I interrupt something?"
Scoffing and pushing herself back up to lean indifferently against the rock, she shook her head, biting her lip. If only she could tear away his mask and rip his face off, she'd do it in a heartbeat... along with a life-time of groin kicks. She tore into her lip, now, trying not to laugh at the pleasant picture.
"I asked you a question," he continued mockingly.
Swallowing her pride and pain, she fidgeted in rage. A droplet of blood dripped from her mouth, but she answered him nonetheless.
"No, sir," she responded, her voice barely above a growl. "I was just thinking."
She spat out every word slowly, her teeth scarcely apart.
"I don't think I like your tone," he reported, grinning beneath the mask.
She curled her fists, hating that he could talk to her like this and get away with it. Her mood swung from petulancy and sorrow to burning hatred. Her confusion became rebellion and it became harder to hold her tongue.
He saw her eyes cloud with unadulterated rage, and he was intrigued by what she might say to get herself in trouble. It was only a matter of time.
He decided to keep playing the game. If she went too far, she knew the consequence, and part of him wanted her to do just that.
"So, Raven," he began nonchalantly, heaving a bored grunt. "What was it you were thinking about?"
Stiffening up, she heavily considered lying, but would he know? She dug her teeth harder into her lip, pulling apart the skin.
At her blatant reaction, curiosity began to tug at his mind. She may have been annoying, whiny, and rather unprepared for the angst of life, but the girl had a mystery about her no man could refuse.
"My friends," she answered in a rush, and he wondered if she had ever lied in her life.
She wasn't very good at it.
He played along.
"Really?" he asked, standing up and beginning to pace about the room, his heavy feet clanking against the floor.
Watching him for a second, he turned back to her, his orange and black mask hiding his coy look. Obviously he wanted for her to continue.
She knew it was one of his mind games, and she didn't know if she could keep something so polarizing from him, but would try nonetheless.
"Yes," she snapped defensively.
He gave her another cold glare, and she smirked, pushing her luck.
"Actually, Slade," she began, a sick glee rising in her chest. "I was just thinking about the time when I destroyed you. Remember? In the old library? You couldn't even touch me. What with Trigon being your master and all."
She smiled sweetly up at him as if it was a pleasant memory they both shared.
She finally hit one of his sensitive buttons, but he didn't show a thing. His death, reanimation, and disappearance weren't things he was particularly proud of.
"Ah, yes," he nodded, holding his fingers to his chin, acting as though he had forgotten. "I suppose you and your friends are proud of what you had accomplished?"
"Obviously," she blurted out rudely, not hiding her venom, it came too naturally to hold in.
He took a moment to give her a warning look and continued striding about the area.
"Do you think of him often? Trigon, I mean."
"What?" she barked.
What kind of question was that? Of course she didn't!
He folded his arms.
"I think I was painfully clear."
She glared, and he cocked his head.
"Careful, Raven," he counseled, wagging a sarcastic finger. "Wouldn't want…"
"No!" she yelled, a tangled lock of violet hair swaying viciously into her wide face.
He had hoped that it would have been a better game, she made it too easy. He supposed he knew, but, he was content nonetheless that he was absolutely positive now.
He clicked his tongue.
"Touchy, touchy," he mocked. "I wonder what's making you so upset."
"I think you damn well know…"
"Language."
Her face scrunched up and she drooled a bit in frustration.
"Rapist," she retorted.
His pulse quickened, and he almost lost the battle of control. But, he reigned in his sadism, and thought of a better way to torment her.
"That's a bit hypocritical," he commented, his pitch growing lighter. "Considering where you came from."
Hurt instantly reverberated across her features. That was a sore spot.
"Shut up," she growled.
He shrugged, letting her regain her senses before he continued the abuse. A few moments passed before he started again.
"You might as well get over it, Raven," he critiqued. "It happened."
She knew he meant more than just the fact that she had been a product of evil. He also tore away her denial, and she took a peek at the bump beginning to sprout in the middle of her stomach. Placing a hand there, she felt for life.
It was small, tiny- this little seed of life inside.
He cocked a smug grin.
She retracted her hand, and his smile faded.
"No. I won't 'get over it'."
He chuckled a little to himself. She could be so difficult.
He went to the monitors, acting like he was involved in some matter of importance.
"You are, excuse me, were a virgin, right Raven?" he asked, smirking.
She was so angry her mouth dropped, and he heard the pop of her lips from across the room. He chewed back a bark of laughter.
"I'll take that as a yes," he muttered lowly, though loud enough for her to hear.
This time she snorted in rage and huffed and puffed, crossed her arms and began swearing under her breath.
"What has that have to do with anything?!" she finally yelled out, fists clenched, and a brick red blush rushing into her pale cheeks.
He turned around, leaning against the desk he was currently situated at, looked her up and down, and waited for her to calm before he continued. He wanted her perfectly lucid for this.
"Oh, nothing really," he waved a hand lazily. "I'm just curious about your reaction. Actually, I'm convinced you're over-reacting."
She opened her mouth to protest, her nostrils already flared, but he interrupted.
"It's almost defensive," he interpreted, rubbing his makeshift chin. "What are you hiding?"
"I'm not 'hiding' anything!" she snarled.
"It's pretty clear that you are."
"You don't know anything about me!" her palms began to bleed as she dug her nails further into them.
"I know more than you think."
"Stop it." She growled through clenched teeth, her shoulders shaking with fury.
And he did, for a moment.
"You know what I think?" he whispered, and his voice made her flinch.
"I don't want to know what you think, you perverted son of a—" she said reflexively, but was beginning to feel trapped.
"I think you liked it."
The room went dead.
She shook her head, back and forth, back and forth, like it was a pendulum. And she began to tug her hair, pull it at the ends and twist. She touched every part of her body: Rubbing her arms, pinching her thigh, scratching her neck obsessively...
"No, wait," he amended, and she gave him a dazed window of attention. "I know you liked it. Actually, I dare say, you loved it."
At that point, she blacked out.
He saw her finally fall, gave one last chuckle, and went to pick her up, utterly content with his overwhelming victory.