Damian hated the formal clothes his grandfather had insisted he wear: the wool was heavy and chaffed against his skin; and the high collar restricted his peripheral vision and made him feel like he was being strangulated.
Glancing around, he saw his mother and aunt, standing next to each other, a strange kind of tension radiating off both of them. They would most likely be attacking each other had it not been for their father.
Standing at the head of the room, Ra's al Ghul, the Demon's Head, was waiting patiently, staring at the bare wall of stone before him.
When he had risen from death and informed them of their new duty, it had taken some time for Damian and his mother to understand that it was not a result of the temporary madness the pit induced. Though the boy still found it hard to completely accept that his family were indebted to an interdimensional devil.
He half expected nothing to happen, for his grandfather to turn to them after another few hours had passed and tell them that he had been mistaken and that no one was coming.
Suddenly, a tiny speck of light appeared on the wall in front of his grandfather. It started as small as a pinprick but quickly expanded until a large, glowing purple circle pulsed and sparked before them.
Despite their training, Damian heard gasps of awe and alarm from those around him. He was tempted to join them in expressing his feelings himself, but he was Damian al Ghul, grandson of Ra's al Ghul and heir to the Demon's Head. He determinedly remained completely still in mind and body, not allowing a muscle to move, even as a shadow appeared in the centre of the portal.
The dark figure became more defined in its outline, until its silhouette was as clear as day. Finally, the surface of the light was broken and a girl stepped out of the purple glow. She was covered by a long cloak from head to toe, obscuring her face within its deep hood. Despite the all-consuming shroud, Damian could tell it was a girl by the way she held herself.
As soon as she was free of the portal, it began rapidly shrinking behind her, until it disappeared completely.
There were a few moments of unsure silence. As soon as it became apparent that she wasn't going to make the first move however, Ra's stepped forwards.
"Welcome to Earth," he said in his deep, measured voice before bowing formally. "We, the League of Assassins, will be your guardians and your teachers."
As soon as the other members of the League saw their leader bowing, they all fell to the floor to show their respect.
There was silence.
After a few moments, Damian glanced up at the girl. From his current angle, the glow of the pit illuminated her face. He saw a child not much older than himself. She was pale, her skin reflecting the green-tinted light almost completely, and she was looking around the chamber uncertainly. At one point she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It was an odd action, not one of calming meditation but something else, something Damian could not define. After another couple of inhales, she opened her dark eyes once more and took notice of the people around her. Eventually her eyes rested on the Demon's Head, filled with confusion. Clearly, she hadn't heard a word he had said.
Who was she and why was his grandfather treating her like royalty? Ra's had withheld all information from them other than the fact that they were to train her.
Behind his grandfather's back, Damian exchanged a look with his mother. She was clearly as unimpressed with their guest as he was.
Their visitor seemed to have noticed the exchange – which impressed Damian; it had been very subtle – as she turned her slightly hooded gaze on them.
"Yes, of course. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated," she said firmly, determinedly straightening her back and shoulders. "I feel as though I should tell you now though, that I am not some puppet for my father. Whatever you think you can force me to do, I will prove to you that I will not succumb."
Damian had to stop himself from gaping at her, next to him his mother's eyes had widened in shock and on his other side his aunt Nyssa's head had snapped up to stare at the girl. Clearly they, like him, had expected a recruit, someone who had sought to train with the League. Not this. Damian had never before been in a situation where someone didn't want to learn from them, this would be interesting but Ra's al Ghul had never failed yet and he would not start now.
"Very well," said Ra's, finally rising from his stupor.
Damian stood once more, grateful that he no longer had to crane his neck to look ahead.
"Clearly, our first task will be to instil discipline in you. Therefore, you will be treated like all new initiates to the League." His voice gained a slightly threatening lilt. "We are very strict with our recruits; no exceptions are made. You will be treated as every other novice. It will not be pleasant, or quick, but by the end you will be a woman worthy of your birth right.
"My daughter, Nyssa, will escort you to your room. Enjoy tonight my dear; tomorrow we will break you."
She seemed to stare at Ra's al Ghul for a moment, her blank face giving away none of her emotions, before silently gliding towards Damian's aunt. Damian stared; her legs did not move as the hem of her cloak skimmed over the floor. He decided there and then that he hated magic.
When the girl was gone, Ra's al Ghul dismissed the rest of the assembly, gesturing for Damian to remain. As soon as they were alone, his grandfather turned to him.
"I want you to keep a close watch on her Damian; I fear she could…overwhelm us."
That girl; overwhelm the entire League? He knew that he should never question his grandfather's word – he was the Demon's Head and had acquired the wisdom of several lifetimes – but Damian could not quite bring himself to believe it.
xxx
Raven woke suddenly, spluttering and coughing. She couldn't breathe. A torrent of water was pounding on her upturned face. Gasping, choking, dying, she managed to gather enough of her wits to roll onto her stomach. In this position, with the ice-cold water crashing onto the back of her head, she could finally gulp air into her lungs, retching out the copious amount of water that had managed to make it down her throat.
Finally, the hammering waterfall slowed to a stream and then a mere trickle. Shivering with cold, and not a small amount of anger, Raven sat up. Wiping her soaking hair from her face, she glared at the women standing over her. The unknown assailants merely gazed back at her blankly, completely unaffected by the affronted teenager, they lifted the empty tin bathtub between them and walked out of the room.
Confused, wet and cold for what seemed like the first time in her life, Raven searched around the room for her clothes. They weren't there.
Shit.
She distinctly remembered folding them carefully and placing them in the corner of the room before she went to sleep. The majority of her clothes were unimportant, but the cloak…
Desperately, she scrabbled around the small room, searching in the dark for the illusive item. It was obvious from the start that the cloak was gone; the room was barely large enough to lie in, and the only thing in there beside herself was the blanket that she had huddled under the night before. Still, she shook the itchy material thoroughly and scanned every crack and crevice in the walls until she started feeling dizzy and light-headed and hat to sit down until the world stopped spinning.
As soon as the fuzzy fog lifted from her mind she realised that she was panicking for nothing. This was her cloak, it belonged to her in more ways than one. Closing her eyes, she imagined wearing it once more, the weightlessness of it, the warmth it provided, the almost liquid feel of the material against her skin. When she opened her eyes, she found herself shrouded in a familiar purple clothe.
Raven shuddered to think of the carnage that an ordinary human could wreak if unwittingly taken over by the demonic aura of the cloak. Briefly, she wondered about how it had been moved in the first place.
Well, it didn't matter; no harm had been done. And Raven had a new realm to explore!
Stretching, Raven rose to her feet and opened the door before instantly slamming it shut again. She had forgotten about being naked; the cloak didn't hide everything. The woman who had shown her to this cupboard the night before, Nyssa, had not moved until Raven had undressed. The teenager had been hugely embarrassed though the woman's expression had never changed from a blank façade.
Perhaps she was supposed to wait for someone to bring her an outfit of some sort?
She sat back down in the centre of the room and looked around it again. It was nothing special; a small space with a floor and walls made of stone. The only thing other than the bland grey slabs was the thin, itchy blanket, currently drenched with cold water, there wasn't even a window.
Despite the drab surroundings and her current predicament, a feeling of delight slowly filled Raven. For the first time since her father appeared on Azarath, she was breathing air free of sulphur and deadly toxins; she couldn't hear the constant screaming and pleading of countless souls being tortured; and the omnipotent power of Trigon was not crushing her like an all-consuming weight, tempting her to give into her darker desires. This wasn't her father's realm, but neither was it the dimension she was raised in. No, this was the dimension Arella came from, it was part of her heritage. Apparently she herself had once lived here, not that she could remember anything about that time; the people of Azarath had rescued herself and Arella from the Earth-cult when Raven had still been an infant.
It felt different. Not just physically, with the noticeable temperature difference and air composition. But spiritually, intangibly, there was a knowledge, an indistinguishable understanding that this was not a realm she knew. As a girl who had moved through dimensions before, she understood this sensation and relished the feeling of this plane of existence, untarnished by her father's malice. It reminded her a little of Azarath.
A small smile graced her pale face. It faded quickly; her father had sent her here and there was only one reason he would have done that. He must want her to create a portal for him to invade this world but Raven was determined to never let that happen. She would not be responsible for the suffering of an innocent realm, not again.
Groaning internally, she flopped back down onto the floor and stared at the ceiling. For the first time in her life she was cold, she knew the symptoms even if she had never experienced them. Her body was shaking so violently that she could feel her bones clattering against each other, her flesh felt numb and tight. She could feel the droplets of water clinging to her skin, each feeling like a pinprick of ice. She decided that she didn't like the cold.
Azarath had always remained at a steady temperature and her father's realm had been filled with hellfire.
Despite the chill – or maybe because of it – Raven just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep. The only thing preventing her from closing her eyes and drifting off was the fascinating sight in front of her eyes. At regular intervals, a small cloud seemed to bloom into existence above her face. The small grey whisp seemed to shoot quickly into the air before dissipating slowly. After a while, Raven realised that it was her breath. She had fun experimenting, breathing out long, slow breaths before trying short, sharp pants. Raven quickly stopped the last as her head swam.
Her stomach gave a growl of hunger.
She should really get up and search for food.
It was then that Raven realised she had stopped shivering, but for some reason she didn't think that was a good thing. It was a struggle motivating herself out of the lethargic state she had gotten into, but Raven knew that she needed to move.
Using a little magic, she conjured a handful of hellfire. Its blistering heat instantly filled the room and, after only a few moments, Raven's body seemed to un-stiffen. Though she despised her father's realm, she had picked up some useful tricks.
It seemed obvious by now that no one was coming to give her any clothes, or food. Her hunger had begun as light pangs but was now a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach.
It must be deliberate, she decided, the man from yesterday – the leader of this organisation – had promised to break her. Well, the joke was on them; Trigon the Terrible, Lord of Madness had been trying to break her for years and yet, somehow, here she stood.
Deciding not to be cowed by such a thing as bare skin, she stepped out of her little room and into the long stone corridor outside. She had walked down it last night and so repeated her path in reverse, floating barely an inch off the ground and holding her handful of hellfire in front of her to light the way. Once she reached the end of the hallway, she found herself in a square room with four doors leading off from it, uncertain she remained in place for a minute before deciding that it didn't really matter which path she chose, as she was sure to meet someone eventually. Despite her determined confidence, she still hoped it would be a woman.
She had seen things in her father's dimension. Things that could be done to a woman's body that terrified her, despite the fact that no demonic being would ever dream of injuring her. Magic was old and lineage powerful. The fact that she was part-human was completely overshadowed by the patronage of her sire. Though she had seen things that almost drove her insane, no harm was ever done to her. In some guilty part of herself, she was immensely glad to be Trigon's daughter.
Taking the door directly in front of her, Raven found herself at the end of yet another bland stone corridor. Getting slightly exasperated now, she sped quickly past the wooden doors lining the walls until arbitrarily stopping in front of one, identical to its brothers, and tried the handle. It swung inwards to reveal a room just like the one she had slept in the night before; small and dark and empty.
Leaving it behind, she continued on her chosen route. After a while, she gradually realised that the floor was starting to slope upwards.
As she went, she started letting out little bursts of magic, the small tendrils of dark purple were comforting. She began humming to herself, a strange tune she had often heard Arella singing when she was a child. The woman had never sung in front of her of course; she could barely stand to look at her daughter, but Raven would deliberately sneak to the door of her room at night to hear the strange lullaby's. Her singing was the one thing Raven had liked about her mother.
As she skimmed along, now muttering the words to the song she had chosen, her dark tendrils caressed something. Something ahead of her. Something sharp and deadly, and suddenly shooting towards her. Crying out, she instinctively hurled a stream of hellfire at the projectile, disintegrating it instantly. Panting heavily, with dark magic coursing through her veins for protection, she cautiously made her way towards the source of the danger.
A woman came into view, a crossbow in hand.
"Interesting," she said casually, seemingly unaffected as Raven's magical tendrils instantly surrounded her. "And you managed to get your cloak back. We'll have to think up new ways of teaching you, girl."
The two women stared at each other for a while longer, until the older spoke again.
"Does your vision improve when you have extra eyes?"
Raven blinked in confusion, before realising what the woman meant. She must had tapped into her demonic side for power. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and expelled all of her tumultuous emotions. This time she could feel the transformation as her second set of eyes receded into her skin and her original pair raised their position on her face slightly. She understood that other beings found the fact that she could alter her face thus disturbing, but she just found it natural. Raven opened her eyes once more to find nothing on the face of her assailant other than a slightly condescending smirk.
"If you don't want to talk that's fine," she said. She started to turn away, but hesitated, staring at Raven.
The teenager felt very whispers of emotions brush against her senses as though the woman was barely feeling anything at all. There was a twinge of indecision in her aura.
After a moment though, she seemed to have decided on a course of action as she turned her back fully on Raven and began walking away, calling over her shoulder as she did so.
"Let us go and eat."
Raven began to follow her, only to scream as an arrow sliced through the skin of her shoulder.
"Enough of that floating, girl." Demanded the woman coldly.
Raven barely heard her; she was too busy trying to remain in control. She could feel it coming over her, the rage; the angry, burning, vengeful bloodlust. The desire to stab, punch, kick, bite, break and just fucking hurt people. Because fuck them. Fuck this world. Who the fuck do they think they are?
She found herself smiling as the crossbow was crushed into splinters. The power flowing out of her was delicious, infectious, all-consuming, addictive. She wanted more, and in order for that to happen she needed something. She needed fear, she needed pain, she needed a symphony of negative emotions, and there was only one emotional being in close proximity.
But something was wrong; the creature wasn't sharing its emotions; it was scared, Raven could feel its fear, but it was muffled, like it was smothering it under a blanket. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough. She needed to make it suffer; pain was a great source of power.
Suddenly, the thing moved, and Raven found herself swallowed by a whole other kind of darkness.
xxx
Raven didn't know how long she was unconscious for. All she knew is that when she opened her eyes again, she found herself surrounded by three women and the man who had greeted her on her arrival. As soon as she saw the tight-lipped stern faces of the people around her, she found herself wishing for unconsciousness again.
"That was quite the show you put on Raven," admonished the man, standing at the foot of the platform where she was lying, "you cannot react in such a way when you are dealt harm; depending on pure instinct will get you killed.
"We have never had to deal with beings with your amount of … power before, so our normal practises may have to be tweaked somewhat. For now, we are imposing new restrictions." He began pacing towards her head, she followed him with her eyes. "We will allocate you three hours a day to practise your magical skills. This will be done in isolation as we have nothing to input in that area." He came to a stop and leaned over her until his face was centimetres from her own. "At all other times, you are forbidden from using magic. For anything. If you do, we will punish you. Is that understood?"
Uncomfortable at his closeness, Raven nodded hastily.
As soon as she had agreed to the terms dictated, the man turned and swept out of the room without a backwards glance.
Raven furrowed her brows slightly; there was something about that man, something not quite … right. She had sensed it last night too. It was almost like he wasn't entirely mortal, perhaps he had a mixed heritage, had some demon in him.
The three women standing over her began to talk rapidly, too quietly for Raven to understand. They seemed to be having a disagreement of some sort.
Slowly, as the back of her neck was aching painfully, Raven manoeuvred herself into a sitting position. It was only then that she realised: her cloak was gone and she was completely and utterly naked.
Horrified, the teenager felt her face burning in embarrassment; not only was she on display for the women around her, but she had been completely undressed in front of that man!
Raven felt her face flush with embarrassment. The monks of Azarath had taught her never to show too much flesh and her time in Hell with so many disgusting demons had just made her want to cover herself even more. It was humiliating to think that that man had been the first man ever to see her unclothed.
He hadn't actually paid any attention to her body though. It was a shallow thought and she knew his lack of interest should have been a relief, but … Raven clutched her arms around herself. If she was being completely honest with herself, she felt somewhat offended. Weren't men supposed to salivate over naked women? So, what was wrong with her? Was she unappealing somehow?
Rubbing at her arm uncomfortably, she decided to put her embarrassment to once side and instead concentrated on retrieving her cloak again. Once more that day she closed her eyes and pictured wearing her cloak in her mind. She sighed slightly when the darkness behind her lids deepened as the peak of her hood hung low over her face. She opened her eyes once again and looked around. Her actions seemed to go completely unnoticed by her three companions, one of whom – the woman who had attacked her with the crossbow – seemed to be quite agitated, gesturing at Raven and seeming as though she would be shouting if they weren't trying to hide their conversation from her. Another of the women, whom Raven recognised as Nyssa – her guide from last night – was arguing back just as animatedly, gesticulating wildly in the air, while the third woman remained silent with her arms crossed over her chest.
Suddenly, the argument was over, Raven couldn't even tell which of the women had won. All she knew is that the silent one and the one who had been pointing at her were leaving the room. She was now alone with Nyssa.
"Come," said the assassin dispassionately, before following her fellows out the door.
Raven's internal debate over whether to obey or not was short lived, and she found herself gliding out of the doorway after the woman after barely a second. As soon as she emerged into the corridor, she found herself on the ground, her cheek stinging, and the coppery taste of blood in her mouth.
"No powers," said the woman simply. There was no malice in her voice, or her baring. To most, this casual violence with seemingly no emotion behind it would have been terrifying, but Raven had seen much worse done for much less.
Raven quickly dropped the few centimetres to the floor. Flying was such an instinctive part of her life – like breathing or talking – that she barely acknowledged it as a use of magic.
They stood there for a few moments, as though the woman was expecting something more, but then she turned and once again made her way down the corridor, with Raven in tow.
After several minutes, Raven realised that something was changing about the quality of the air; it was becoming more humid the further they went, after a while she could start to see condensation gathering on the walls and ceiling, with drops occasionally landing on her head. They finally came to a stop in front of a door, as soon as the woman opened it a huge cloud of steam billowed into Raven's face. The air-borne particles of water burnt the back of her throat and she found herself coughing uncontrollably for a moment; she was used to hot, but not to damp.
As soon as she had grown accustomed to the climate and was able to breathe normally again, she squinted around through the steam. The room she was in contained large, wooden vats of water, with groups of people clustered around each one. The men and women seemed to be washing clothes; they dropped the material into the water and repeatedly dunked them under with large wooden implements.
Silently, the woman who had led her to the room, handed her one of the wooden objects. As soon as Raven took it from her, she began closing the door behind her.
"Wait," Raven called, desperately.
The woman paused.
"Can I have something to eat?" Raven's stomach had been complaining more and more as she had journeyed through the labarinth of passage ways.
The woman gave her a look and left without a word.
Raven's heart sank and her belly growled as she turned to face into the room again.
It was obvious what the instructions were, but Raven hesitated. She was not going to obey her father or these slaves of his. Even so, she didn't really see anything nefarious about washing clothes. And it wasn't as if she could just leave this strange warren of tunnels; her father had been sure to place a powerful entrapment enchantment around the place that prevented her from creating portals.
So, Raven made her way over to the tub with the least number of occupants, removed a pair of black trousers from a wooden shelf beside her, and began washing it.
As she worked, she observed the other occupants of the room; they all appeared to be absorbed by their task, none of them raising their eyes from the water. There were both men and women present, all of whom were dressed in the same type of clothes they were washing.
As she was cleaned, Raven found that some of the clothing she handled contained bloodstains and tears in them. She washed them as best she could, though the blood refused to be parted from the fibres with some articles.
Time dragged on, and Raven's mind began to grow fuzzy. Maybe it was the lack of food or the fact that she was pretty sure she had only gotten a few hours sleep the night before, but she found that the monotony of the task seemed to help somewhat; no thinking involved.
Every now and then she would glance up at her colleagues but decided against attempting to make conversation; they seemed entirely absorbed by their simple dull task, and she disliked talking much anyway.
After many hours a gong sounded somewhere in the depths of the building. At once, the other people in the room finished what they were doing and filed out of the door. Shocked, and anxious not to be left behind, Raven abandoned the wooden paddle that she had been using to prop herself up as she dozed and hurried after them.
It was only after she had left the hot steam of the laundry room behind that she remembered how cold it was. At once, goose bumps erupted over her entire body and her nipples became hard upon contact with the chill air. This sensation suddenly reminded Raven that she was still utterly naked under her cloak. She had just spent what was probably the entire morning naked, in a room full of men and women. This revelation momentarily made her feel ill, but then she reminded herself that, so far, nobody had commented on her lack of attire or, indeed, even glanced below her neckline.
Now, even though Raven had been raised in a society of peace and mindful meditation where people were encouraged to transcend the impulses of the body, she had spent the last few years of her life with her father, where she had met some of the most vile, sexual creatures in existence. And though none would dare even look at her, she had been forced to witness horrific depravity against others – men and women – and the lust-filled demons had always ogled naked flesh like a lion eyeing up a dead gazelle.
With the leader of the League, she had explained away his lack of interest by telling herself that he was too old and experienced to find anything of interest in women's bodies anymore, but the men who had just been working alongside her were most definitely young enough to appreciate the female form. And Raven didn't care how ugly she was; if a naked woman walked in front of them, most young men would take a moment to stare. So, what was wrong with these people?
Raven followed the others into a large hall full of people. She blanched; a few humans not gawping at her bare flesh was bad enough, but walking naked around a room of what must be several hundred people was a line Raven was sorely tempted not to cross. The only reason she did end up walking into the room was the fact that food was being served. But still, she pulled the fabric of her cloak as tightly around her as she could.
Her mouth salivated as the smell of hot food hit her nostrils and she felt so pathetically weak that her legs shook slightly as she followed her fellow laundry workers to a table where they each collected a plate. They then proceeded to join a long queue of people. As Raven waited for her turn, she glanced around the room, everyone else seemed to be standing in line staring resolutely ahead of themselves. The people who already had food were sitting at round tables, eating moderately. There was no laughing, no joking, no talking of any kind, even the monotonous way they ate was weird; there was no show of enjoyment in the act, just an apathetic shovelling of contents into their mouths.
Despite herself, Raven shivered; was this how all humans on Earth behaved? The people of Azarath were humans, but they had left Earth to follow Azar in lives of quiet contemplation and her mother had been human, but Raven never really had much exposure to her.
Her attention was brought back to reality when the man in front of her moved away, and Raven found herself at the front of the line face to face with a boy about her own age, maybe a couple of years younger. He was dressed differently than everyone else, with some decorative stitching on the edges of his hood and sharp, knife-like, hooks protruding from the leather forearm straps he wore.
His startlingly green eyes flicked briefly down at her attire – she was using one hand to clutch the material together at the front and had her other holding out the bowl for food. His lip curled in disgust. His contempt was clear on his face and yet somehow, Raven failed to feel it empathically.
Hungry and affronted, Raven glared back at him, refusing to break eye contact from those contemptuous green eyes as he scooped a serving of what appeared to be a vegetable broth the ladle he was holding. He then held the implement high above her bowl and allowed the substance to splatter down, he smirked as most of the soup bounced from the bowl and splattered onto the purple material.
Raven's glower deepened.
Then, she gave him as bright a smile as she could manage, before dipping her bowl into the vat and scooping up as much food as it could contain. Smiling even more at his suddenly carefully blank face, she turned and attempted an elegant stride towards a table, but in an effort to reveal as little skin as possible, was reduced to a slightly embarrassing shuffle.
Seating herself at the first table she came to, Raven devoured her food in silence. The meal was bland and tasteless, but it barely spent any time on her tongue as it was and, when she was done, she was sorely tempted to go back for seconds. However, she had the strong impression that one helping was all she was entitled to and she refused to give that smirking little shit the chance to deny her anything. So, dejectedly, she followed other's examples and disposed her empty dish on top of a pile of dirty bowls in the centre of the table.
Once she was done, she realised that she had no idea what she was meant to be doing that afternoon. Everyone else seemed to know where they were going; all around her men and women where purposefully striding out of the several doors leading out of the hall.
Then it occurred to her that it didn't matter what she was supposed to be doing; she was her own person and wasn't here to learn whatever it was they wanted to teach her.
Deciding that she would familiarise herself with the root between the food hall and her dormitory – the path to food was clearly need-to-know information – Raven headed toward the door she had entered through. Once in the corridor beyond she paused; which way to go? Deciding that left was a good a direction as any, she began making her way down the corridor. Only to be thrown, face first, onto the floor.
Nursing a bloody nose, she whirled around to face her attacker, tendrils of dark magic beginning to emerge from her skin. No sooner had she caught a glance of a dark figure, she was slammed back onto the ground, this time the back of her head hit the stone with a nauseating crack.
Feeling like she was about to throw up, Raven concentrated on reigning in her magic; the instant she had registered the assassin behind her she realised what must have happened; she had been floating again.
As soon as she was sure she wasn't using magic, she glanced up at the figure standing over her. It was the boy who had served her her meal. She was sure of it, even if he was a little blurry thanks to the head knock. He was staring down at her with his arms crossed.
Raven glared daggers at him; he was only this arrogant because they were on his turf, if they were in Hell this would be an entirely different story, and she'd wipe that shit-eating smirk off his face!
Slowly, Raven took a couple of deep, meditating breaths to dispel her more murderous instincts. As soon as she felt calm enough, she rose to her feet.
"No magic," she spat. "I've got it."
The boy turned away from her and started along the corridor. When he reached the end, he paused and glanced back at her. It was obvious she was meant to follow him and despite herself Raven complied; she couldn't face the prospect of another quick and violent trip to the floor.
He led her through the labyrinthine passages until she found herself confronted by the steam of the laundry room again. Glancing around, she saw the same people as before carrying out the same, monotonous task. The boy was gone.
Determined to memorise the route next time, Raven slowly resumed her work.
After another few hours Raven felt horrible: the muscles in her hands were stiff and aching, and her skin was red, raw and blistered; she felt completely light-headed from the relentless steam; and despite the damp air, her throat was sore and scratchy, and her lips were cracking from thirst.
It was an uncomfortable state of affairs, but she had suffered much, much worse. She just had to remember some of the 'life-experience' her father had insisted she endure to make her thankful for her current situation.
When the gong sounded again, Raven hung up the last article of clothing and followed the others back to the food hall. As she walked, she attempted to commit the journey to memory. She had to do this by counting doors and corridors because there were no discernible landmarks with which she could navigate; no pictures, or ornaments, or anything apart from grey stone and identical wooden doors.
This time, when she reached the front of the food queue, she found a woman serving the meal. Raven blinked at her, then looked around as her food was being dealt out, the boy was nowhere to be seen, but she saw an old man serving more food at the head of another queue. Maybe there was a roster.
Raven took her meal – some sort of source on top of steaming white pellets – to an empty place at one of the tables and began to eat in earnest.
Whilst she was eating, a new emotion caught her attention. Lifting her eyes from her bowl she found her eyes drawn to a young man sitting at another table, he was as naked as Raven – more so in fact, as he didn't have a cloak to hide behind.
The teenager found herself happy that she wasn't the only one who was forced to walk around without garments. She even felt a flush of relief when she noticed that he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from her; it seemed she wasn't completely unattractive after all, especially judging by the waves of shyness and lust coming off him in waves. However, after ten minutes of this, the guilty delight turned into annoyance. She wished he would just go back to eating and stop staring at her chest. The vague sexual desire he was emanating was just uncomfortable; emotions like that were especially hard to compartmentalise as somebody else's, and her body tried to react to the stimulation, just as her admirer's was. Raven glared at the young man until, blushing furiously and feeling heartily ashamed, he fixed his eyes determinedly on his food.
After clearing her plate of every scrap, Raven looked around the room; searching for water. Everybody else at the table had a cup and she was desperately thirsty.
In the end, she turned to the person on her right.
"Excuse me," she croaked. Shocked at the feeble sound, she cleared her throat. "Where can I get some of the water?"
The eyes just visible under the headband and above the cloth that covered his mouth just stared at her. Raven got a sense of surprise from the person.
"Water?" Raven repeated desperately, pointing at the cup of clear liquid for emphasis. She knew he could understand her; one of the more useful aspects of being an inter-dimensional creature was the ability to communicate, he would be hearing her in his native tongue so there was no possibility of incomprehension.
Still slightly disturbed, the assassin rose to his feet. Raven hurried to follow and was led up a small flight of stairs behind the people serving food, and through a door in the centre of the back wall.
A bright light blinded her for a moment and she had to blink furiously for a while before adjusting to it.
Staring around, Raven found herself in a large courtyard. The evening's sunlight illuminated her in a dim glow and an ice-cold wind bit at her naked flesh, chilling her to the bone in a matter of seconds, but Raven paid not the slightest bit of attention to the discomfort.
She was outside. Outside!
She had not seen sunlight in over five years. Not since she had betrayed the people of Azarath to their deaths, and her father had dragged her to his home.
It was beautiful: the crisp, clean air; the light blue sky; the peaks of snow-capped mountains barely visible over the walls of the building. Raven had never seen snow before, she hardly had any concept of what it was, only a story Arella used to tell during sessions of story-telling in Azarath allowed her to recognise the white powder.
Raven used to love those occasions; adults would take it in turn to tell the stories of their people. She had heard the ballads of Azarath – full of meditations on life and death, and the meaning of existence – so many times that she could recite them by heart. Occasionally a traveller from another dimension would indulge them with new stories. The young Raven has listened to Arella's tales of heroic princesses and evil witches with a reluctant fascination. The monks taught pacifism and Arella had always concluded her tales with explanations of how a non-violent solution might have been possible. Raven had loved and respected the monks of Azarath, but even then she had known, somehow, that there were beings in existence that just wanted violence for violence's sake and no amount of reasoned talking would dissuade them. After meeting her father, she was sure of it. He had a different viewpoint: the strong ruled and the weak bent the knee.
Raven stood for several minutes in the courtyard, letting the experience of being here, on planet Earth, overwhelm her. If Trigon had his way it would be burning in hellfire, the snow long melted, those incredible tales lost as hope was drained from this universe.
But this was her mother's home, her birth-right and she was wasn't under her father's thumb anymore. If there was anywhere Raven could find a way to stop her father, she was sure it was here, on Earth, the birthplace of heroes.