{the jaded ghost}

-He told himself that such a monster as he had no right to love-

He was sitting in his room. The stone walls were glazed over, icy and glinting in a shimmer of light that was bursting from somewhere he couldn't see. He had his back against the bed, his sketchbook resting on his knee, and the light gave a shudder as it licked his cheeks. Haze clung to him like shivering fingers, ice licking up his spine. His hand moved against the paper, glossy red lines bleeding into a white page. His fingers were cramped.

Up above, the ceiling had crumbled. Choking winds slithered in through the cracks, rasping and curling within the icy walls. From the broken heavens, a flurry of white flakes came dancing to meet him. They kissed his cheeks tenderly, melting in a flourish of icy affection. Good morning, Damian, they sang. Did you miss us? The blood was caked to his fingers, freezing against his bony knuckles.

"What is that?" Grayson asked. He was behind Damian, his body skinny and lithe, and yet it curled over Damian like a great shadow. It swallowed him whole. Damian's white fingers danced, and snow breathed against his eyelashes, crumpling in his silvery hair.

Vaguely Damian thought it strange that Grayson was there. But there was a cloud that clung to Damian's senses, and it bathed him in cobwebs, smearing dust across his eyes.

"None of your business," Damian said simply. His fingers scratched against the page, sending a glistening arc of blood fluttering into the air. He smiled as it curled into reality, defying gravity as it curled around his fingertips and dibbled against a drift of wind.

"That's pretty," Grayson said, leaning over Damian's shoulder. His shadow yawned. And then it roared, like a beast trying to devour him. It was silenced with a whimper, and blood splattered across its face. The shadow slithered away, and then jumped into the air. The snow gave a stuttering screech as it was forced into all directions, a plethora of flakes coughing into the air as the wings of Grayson's shadow unfurled. "Is that your mom?"

Damian paused.

The shadow was standing over him. A ghastly winged beast, dripping feathers clashing against fleeing snowflakes. Damian stared up at it, watched as black, spitting feathers flaked from the shadows leathery flesh, snatching up shivering snowflakes and gobbling them up. The feathers collapsed against the floor, writhing and steaming.

Damian bowed his head as the feathers plopped against the bloody portrait. Ebony claws burrowed into the corners of the page, webs of black shadows swirling across Damian's flesh. It burned. He felt the shadow tugging, wings beating against the horror-stricken snowflakes. Damian let out a breath. A thousand crystallized flakes were expelled from his lips in a bursting mist. His red eyes glowed in his white skull as he stared up at the black shadow. Crimson settled across his fingers, weaving across the inky feathers.

The blood peeled off the page. The sketch came to life in a swirling flutter of red, and it stretched outward, a bloody hand stretching out into the air. Sketchy fingers flexed as the blood pooled across the air, taking shape against the icy wind. Grayson was still standing. His face was white as shivering snow, and his hair as black as twitching feathers. Crimson blood stained his sad smile. And his eyes were glowing, a luminescent streak of blue pulsating through the monochrome room.

The bloody sketch had turned into a bloody woman. She stood, still looking quite like a drawing, her body looking awfully shifty. The contours of her seemed to flutter uncertainly, as if she was wavering between existence and oblivion.

"Yes," Damian said. "That is my mother."

The feathers molted. The shadow looked like something else. Bloody woman, shadow man, they drooped against the snow.

He awoke to the feeling of chains biting into his wrists.

For a moment he was stunned. He was cold, shivering, and the icy chains were digging with malice into the sensitive skin of his wrist. He blinked profusely, his back bare and his body trembling. He felt hazy. His body was not cooperating. It felt sickly frail, undoubtedly shaky and soft. He felt sick to his stomach.

Mother, Damian thought, his mind in a haze. He swallowed the gnawing feeling that plagued him. Mother

He opened his eyes, and blood-smeared light burned his vision. He could feel something chilly against his chest. Wet, icy, smearing against his pallid skin in a delicate stroke. There was a creeping feeling of terror that was building within him. A thought that stung, a plea to run. He blinked rapidly as he tried to recall where he was. In the back of his mind, he knew he was in peril. He knew it as he knew that there were men standing over him, holding down his arms and legs. The pressure was enough to send him into shock.

Something sharp dug into his skin. The pain was less than a prick at first, but then it became suddenly very intense. There was a burning sensation as a low hum sang inside his head. His body was shaking, and his mouth had fallen open, and his eyes widened with every minute that passed of a needle slipping against the skin above his heart. He felt it vaguely, and his thoughts were drifting from terror to panic to confusion to terror again. The feeling was numbed by drugs and poison. He was left to lay against a table, his entire body tensed as men stood over him. Pinned him down.

"Who…" Damian breathed, his tongue feeling heavy and inflexible. He didn't want to speak in English, but his instinct forced him to. His eyes widened as he found himself staring into the masked faces of his captors. "Who… the hell…?"

He gasped, and when he tried to yank himself up, he found he couldn't. There were chains biting into his wrists. He twisted, feeling stunned and sick. He didn't understand. He didn't understand what was happening, and he couldn't fight, and that was the most terrifying thing in the world to him. He couldn't fight. He couldn't fight!

"Stop," he gasped, slamming his head back against the hard surface beneath him. "What are you doing to me? Stop it. Stop!"

Please, Damian thought, sinking into his own despair. Please, someone stop it, please.

Nothing in his grandfather's training had ever prepared him for capture like this. It had always been about when you win. Losing had never been a thought. He'd never thought anything like this could ever happen, and he was frozen in his horror. He could feel his entire body shaking, and the pain was nothing incredible, but it paralyzed him nonetheless. It felt as though they were injecting fear into him.

Minutes inched by him, licking at his skin like flames hissing and spitting, drenching him in cold fury. He would kill them. He would rip them apart, feel their blood against his fingertips as he tore and snapped and broke them all apart, letting their limbs bend awkwardly and keep bending with overwhelming pressure until it bone tore through skin, splintered and gaping and shredding through muscle. Yes. Damian was prepared to destroy the world.

He was willing.

The sting and buzz of ink bleeding into his skin sent him into a drunk state of pain and fear and fury.

And madness.

He would raze this world to the ground if it meant he could be free.

Free.

Had he ever been free? Damian was a prisoner. A ghost. Not even a real person. Just scraps of information fed into a meek mind. He was weak. Wasn't he? Wasn't he? Wasn't he? If he wasn't weak, then why was he laying here? Why had he not slaughtered these monsters yet?

Was it because he was a monster too?

An hour passed, and Damian was finally lifted off the table. The chains stayed, which proved just how wary these people were of him. Did they know that he was going to kill them at first chance? He hoped so. He wanted them to fear him. Monster devouring monster. A ghost tearing through the world, and a vile mass of dangling puppets. Damian felt dizzy as he was dragged, chains weighing heavily around his wrists and ankles.

He was tossed into a cell, and promptly locked inside. He laid on the ground, his chest still stinging from whatever the Comprachicos had done to him. That was their name, right? He couldn't remember. He didn't care. All dead men were the same.

"Ghost!"

Damian tensed up as he felt a pair of slender hands grasp his shoulders. He flung his bound hands in the direction of the voice, prepared to beat away the next person who laid a hand on him. But he restrained himself when his bleary gaze fell upon the face of a girl. She was familiar. Callous and unrefined. A stupid girl with a stupid face, and she had warm gray eyes that looked so damn relieved.

Didn't this girl know what he was?

Couldn't Artemis see that he was rotting from the inside out?

Damian's voice was a little slurred from some reason he couldn't fathom. He shook it off as he spoke. "What is happening…?"

"I don't know," Artemis whispered. Her eyes fell upon his chest, and he saw her face twist strangely. Anxiously, and fearfully. "Oh no, they gave you one too?"

"What?" Damian looked down at his chest, and saw that there was a large bandage hovering over his left breast. "Do you… do you know what they did to me?"

"Uh…" Artemis sounded distant and incredulous. "Yeah. Dude, they gave us tattoos."

"Tattoos…?" What the hell…? "Oh. What does that mean?"

He scowled as Artemis rolled her eyes, and she pointed to her chest. He saw that she was now wearing a flimsy sleeveless shirt, and just above her left breast was an angry red flush of skin. She pushed one strap over her shoulder, and Damian stared at the black symbol stuck to her flesh. It was strange, and he felt as though he'd seen it before.

"Is that iron…?" he asked pressing his fingers to the warm skin just below Artemis's collarbone. She whacked his bound hands away, and shrieked with pain as her knuckles crashed against chains.

"Damn it, Ghost!" Artemis snapped, bringing her knuckles to her lips and cradling them against her chin. "What do you mean, iron? It's freaking ink, idiot."

"Ink?" He blinked, and looked down at his fingers. "Oh. You mean it's made of ink." He glared at her. "Imbecile. I meant the symbol."

She was kissing her reddened knuckles in the dim light of the cell. Her eyes flashed up at him. "What?"

"The alchemical symbol for iron." He drew the symbol in midair from memory with the tip of his finger.

Artemis was looking at him as if he had grown another head. Stupid girl, Damian thought disdainfully. Stupid Grayson for leaving me alone with morons. He slumped forward, dropping his hands into his lap. His head bowed in frustration and despair. Stupid me. For being too weak to stop these monsters.

"Okay, wait," Artemis said, scoffing. "You know that… but not what a tattoo is?"

"I've never read any books about it," Damian admitted, examining his chains. Certainly he could escape this… right? "Why does it hurt?"

"Because they just permanently inked up your skin." Artemis glowered at him. "You are seriously the dumbest person I have ever met."

"I'm dumb?" Damian gritted his teeth, and he began the wedge his hand against the restraining chains. He knew a few escape methods that could work, but the majority of them caused damage to his wrists, and he'd rather not. "You are the one who got us into this situation!"

"Are you seriously pinning the blame on me?" Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she flung her hands into the air. He noticed that they were not restrained. "Typical! You are so fucking typical!"

"Shut up," Damian growled. He glanced away from her face, and his eyes fell in his bound wrists. He grimaced as he realized what he had to do. He shifted uncomfortably for a few moments, avoiding her gaze. Then he jerked his hands in her face, bowing his head in shame. "Get these off me."

There was silence for a good half a minute before Artemis barked a laugh. "You're kidding!" she gasped. He glowered at her, and her smile fell. "You're not kidding. Shit, um…"

"Shh," Damian hissed, a distant sound hitting his ears. Footsteps. "Someone is coming."

"Well that's just dandy."

"Shh!" Damian held up his bound arms, peering through the bars and squinting. His eyesight was too poor to see past the dimness of the hall. Damian glanced at Artemis, and he pushed himself to the ground so his back was facing the door of the cell. He hastily prepared himself for the pain he was about to inflict. "Artemis," he whispered. "Count to five and scream for a guard."

"What?" Artemis whispered back, sounding exasperated. "What are you gonna…?"

"Trust me," Damian hissed. "One. Two."

She nodded, and through the dim light he saw her mouth the next three numbers. When she got to five, she shrieked in the shrillest, most panicked voice she could seem to manage, "Help! Guard, help!"

"Good," Damian whispered. He gritted his teeth, wishing he had something to bite down on. But it was too late for that. As he heard the footsteps coming undeniably close, Damian snapped his wrist, pain enveloping his arm and shuddering throughout his tiny body. He slid his hand out from the tangle of chains, tears forming inside his eyes as his shoulders buckled. He gripped the chains with throbbing fingers as he released both his hands and waited.

"What?" a Comprachico spat. "What are you yapping about, girly?"

"He's hurt!" Artemis cried, clapping her hands over her mouth. "He's passed out, and he's hurt! What did you idiots do?" Damian's arm continued to throb, but Artemis went on. She played her part well. She was shrill and teary, and he could hear the stress in her voice. "You didn't tattoo him, did you? Don't you idiots know what happens when you tattoo an albino?"

The Comprachico guard seemed oblivious to her ruse. "What happens…?"

"It gets infected!" Artemis shouted. "Their skin is sensitive, stupid! It oozes puss and— shit!" Artemis dropped to her knees before Damian, and she pressed her fingers to his collarbone. He stared up at her with narrowed red eyes, and he swallowed the urge to flinch from her touch. "Oh, gross, he's bleeding!"

Halfwit, Damian thought glumly. You would have to have half a brain to believe

He listened to the door unlock with a steady click, and he shooed away the thought. He heard feet shuffling, and he listened to the door shut behind the man. He could feel Artemis's breathing, how heavy it was suddenly as she seemed to catch onto his plan. She stood up and backed away as the Comprachico came very close. Just as the movement of his hand came close to his shoulder, Damian jumped to his feet, ignoring the harsh pain in his broken right wrist, and he clambered up onto the man with ease.

Damian swung the loose chains around the Comprachico's neck, and he yanked at them as if they were reigns. The man buckled and gurgled, his fingers flying to a holster at his side. Artemis seemed to have foreseen this, though, and she moved swiftly, her heel flying out and knocking the gun against the wall of the cell. Damian's grip was failing a little as his hand cramped with agony. Damian gritted his teeth, tears building up and sliding against his cheeks.

He was seething.

"What?" Damian whispered, leaning close to the man's ear. He smelled of sweat, grease, and stale tobacco. His strangled gasps filled the cell as the chain tightened across his throat. "You think you people are the only ones with the capacity for cruelty?" Damian dug his knee into the man's back, forcing him to genuflect. The pain in his wrist fueled him. Tears were flushing his cheeks, and he bared his teeth in fury. "You think—" Damian twisted the chains, feeling the man's body jerk and convulse as the pain settled and the breath left him, "—that you—" Damian's eyes were wide, and his mouth was bleeding from clamping down on his lip. The chains dug into the man's throat, and there was blood on the floor of the cell, "—are the only monsters in this world?"

The man went limp, and Damian pulled the chain away. It had cut through skin, and was now dripping with blood. When he turned around, the cell door was open, and Artemis was standing there, watching him with a dead gaze.

"I should lock you in here," she said, her voice bitter. She was holding the key.

"Go ahead and try," Damian snapped.

To her credit, she did not try. She merely stared at him with carrying degrees of disgust as he exited the cell. "You really are a monster," she said.

"If I am a monster for killing him," Damian said, grabbing her wrist. He started forward blindly. "Then you are a monster for letting me."

Artemis seemed to have no sort of response for that. And Damian felt as though his heart had hardened behind a layer of diamond.

That's it, Damian thought, tears freezing solid on his cheeks. That's humanity's greatest secret. We are all shadows, and ghosts, and blood-soaked. We are all monsters.


Poor Dami is going down a p dark path, huh? Anyways, both Artemis and Damian now have tattoos of the alchemical symbol for iron. Why? You'll probably see.

So Fishy (fishscalepanties) helped me a bit with the tattoo details, but i feel like she'd still cringe over whatever I wrote. Oop.

les hugobles lol