The morning comes.

A tale is sung.

The love he had

Was dipped in sin.

This is the cry

Heard from a robin.

A Robin's Song

...Of sorrow.

...Of loneliness.

...Of desperation.

...Of love.

Chapter 2

'I'll make you regret you ever placed your vulgar feet in this kingdom.'

He slowly rethought every word that had come out of his mouth. Since when did he become so cocky? Well, it was too late, now. Those were fighting words, and the battle was about to begin. The Azarathian snorted in the most graceful way possible that irritated the prince.

"This is foolishness, prince. You will be killed." The stranger hopped down from the ledge and irritated Richard even more when he landed softly on his feet.

"That's the worst threat I've ever heard. Swans scare me more than you."

"You have such a big mouth for a prince. Well, I suppose that runs in the family."

Richard tightened his grip. "Trespassing and now, you resort to insults? I won't make you regret. I'll make you suffer."

"You're full of hot air. That's what you Thrush royalty are made up of." He smiled a bit before disappearing from the room.

Richard blinked his eyes in disbelief. He swiveled his head from side to side, up and down, certain that there was no sight of him. But the man from Azarath suddenly appeared before his face and executed a balletic backhand to the prince's cheek.

"Nothing but air."

The Thrush prince experienced pain before, but this felt a thousand times worse. The hit made an exploding sound in his head and he spiraled towards the wall face-first. After peeling himself off the cracked walls, he landed on his right knee and blinked a few times from shock and in desperately getting his blurry vision back to normal—but mostly from shock. He remembered his current, open-for-any-attack position and swirled around.

"Young master, that was only the back of my hand. Stop now and I will spare your life."

"You and your mercy...it's you who should be begging for your life." He grinned confidently at the double vision he was seeing. So, he opted to close the eye that pained him the most. Dear God, his insides were burning with pain. His wrist already felt swollen from the impact with the wall and his sword was slipping from his grip. Blood mixed with sweat trickled down his forehead and ran across his closed right eye. Damn it, he was such a tender and weak pansy.

But he shook it from his thoughts. He needed to concentrate on his enemy's weaknesses, his faults. Unfortunately, he wasn't displaying any—which was to Richard's disadvantage.

The stranger chuckled. "You know what? We'll fight...when you're stronger than a rat. As for now, I think I'll take her back with me." He walked across the room towards the blue-clad woman feeling rather high and mighty with his strength and power. It was quite an experience to finally teach the bastard of Thrush a lesson or two. He kneeled down and proceeded to scoop her into his arms when suddenly he felt the edge of a blade on the verge of cutting his throat. "What the hell...?"

Richard had quickly made his way towards him and held his sword with steel-like determination. No matter how much his head was pounding, no matter how many muscles were tearing, no matter how many deaths he will die right there at that spot, there was one thing he knew for sure. "Touch her and I will not hesitate to spill your blood with my sword." He ground his teeth at the sudden pain on his right wrist. But he held his sword steady. "Your fight...is with me."

"If you wanted me to kill you that badly, you should have said so." He pushed off the floor with his right foot to stand up and stepped back while the point of the prince's sword followed his movement. His eyes also never left the blade of the sword, scrutinizing the details found where the sharpened metal met the hilt. His casual demeanor changed to one of contemplation. That sword is... His thoughts trailed off as he meditated and chanted a few words causing a mass of black shrouds circulating above his palm. It was a mesmerizing site to those who have never before seen someone from Azarath conjuring up their powers.

Richard tried to stay focused. What was he doing? Was this another one of his tricks? 'Most definitely,' he decided. The shroud then elongated and formed a sharpened tip that was a yard long. It looked like a twisted version of a sword. Its flame-like appearance licked the air and its edges crawled on its own volition. He knew he was crazy for thinking such thoughts, but it seemed that the sword was alive.

Now, how in the seven levels of hell are you supposed to fight something like that? He grasped his own sword with both of his hands that made a metal "chink" sound. " Logan , get her out of here!" He glanced to where his friend was knocked back. "Now!" he practically yelled.

Logan nodded his head and swiftly grabbed the woman and carried her away like an eagle swooping down upon a rabbit. "Richard," he said stopping at the doorway. "Be careful."

"She's not leaving this room," commanded the man in white. His eyes faintly glowed a dim, reddish color and soon he was above Logan ready to erase them from existence with one swift, downward motion.

"No!" Richard yelled and threw himself in front of his friend.

The room was set ablaze; a light brighter than the flames of the candle stubs enveloped them all. There was no loud explosion—everything was eerily silent when it occurred. When the illumination dimmed down a bit, Logan squinted his eyes and saw his friend holding his sword horizontally to block the attack of the black sword. The pressure was too great for Richard, so he used his other arm to hold up the blade's end from being pushed down.

"W-what...are you waiting for? A-an invitation?!" Richard said sneering. He breathed heavily under the weight of the enemy. "Go," he whispered harshly, "now..."

Logan didn't stay long enough to hear his whispered command and took off running down the halls. Where to go, exactly, he wasn't sure, himself. He prayed that his feet knew where they were taking him.

The intruder widened his eyes at the slimming chance of ever catching his prey. It was all thanks to this nosey bastard that had made everything gone awry. But he could sense that this gutless wonder's energy was decreasing with each passing second. If he could just keep him swinging for a while, then, he'll strike the inferior down. He pushed off with his sword and swung it to his right as he did a back flip in the air. His hair wildly thrashed about with all of his dark energy flying around the room like shards of glass.

"Is that all you have? You're just a drop in a bucket compared to what I am."

With his size of an ego, Richard could not just stand by and let that mongrel's words slide past him. His blood boiled and gave him an extra charge of energy to run towards the bastard. The point of his sword was aimed directly at the man's heart and he placed his left palm on the bottom of the handle to have a bigger push once he had pierced through the skin.

But that fancy never happened. The Azarathian swordsman parried his attack with his sword and summoned another one with his free hand. He swung it horizontally hoping to slice open the prince's stomach.

Richard dodged it with his skin in tact, but his clothes suffered the blow. He stumbled backwards, but he was on his feet again swinging his sword rather frenziedly for the next few seconds just hoping to slash the outsider's skin. He was losing it. His wild swings were a sign of desperation to hold on to his life. He felt a cold sensation slice through his left arm, and shortly, his sleeve was soaked in blood. Those flying black shrouds had gotten one of his arms with their erratic movements. He must calm down. He had to, or else this battle would be over in an instant.

If those black shadows, whatever they are, held substance, maybe he could just... Finally, with a plan formulated in his mind, he ran forward, boldly approaching his destiny with each step.

The silver-haired man raised an eyebrow. "Come, now, prince. You're starting to repeat yourself."

He heard what that insufferable knave said. But he chose to ignore it. The task at hand was not an easy matter and he needed concentration. With each black mass shooting here and there, varying in their speeds, it was hard to pick out the right one. He felt another black shard slicing through his calf. But he couldn't stop, now. He was so close...

He was so very close to the range of his swing, the Azarathian thought. Just a bit closer and he can chop off his head. He could offer it as a gift to the elders who had hated this loathsome kingdom. His chance was—

'Now!' Richard calmly thought with a tinge of excitement filling his soul. He leaped onto one of the black fragments that was about to fly past him...and another...and another... He leapt on one after the other like lily pads on a pond. One almost made him lose his footing, but he decided that it was the last one he would step on and leaped in the air.

All the while, his enemy was watching his every move and slowly tilted his head up to where he would probably be found. He was right. Just directly above his head, Richard had a vertical-slicing pose with his sword securely in his hands. "Haarrghh!"

The man in white stepped out of the way, but Richard pushed his luck and swung horizontally, forcing his body to twist around from the velocity of the swing. After sliding to a stop, he turned his head to see his opponent flip in the air and land safely untouched. The prince crouched down and blocked the incoming attack.

With his arms positioned in front of his face, this offered an opportunity for the Azarathian to give the royal pain in the ass a kick in the stomach which made him double over. He didn't stop there. He swiftly ran, twisted his torso, and did a round-house kick to his face with his left foot. Richard's head bent back and suffered a major whiplash. He tumbled backwards completing three involuntary, sloppy back flips and landed on his hand and knees with his sword sending sparks as it slid across the floor with him. He stood up on wobbly legs and used his weapon as a sort of cane. He jerked forward, but that only succeeded in him coughing out blood. It trickled down the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He could feel his own blood collect in the back of his mouth which forced him to cough even more. He froze when he heard a voice come from behind.

"Do you still value your life? I'll be glad to exchange it for the woman's."

"P...P-piss off," he managed to spit out.

The Azarathian narrowed his eyes at his snide remark. "Fine. I don't need these to defeat you." His swords vanished into thin air as well as the flying black scraps of energy. "I'll just do it the old-fashioned way." He balled up his fists and in a flash he punched Richard's stomach and sent him flying. The intruder pushed off with his foot and was closing in after his victim. With his elbow ready, he held his fist with his other hand and swung forward with his elbow to make sure that it would crush the sapling prince's face in. "Aargh!"

The outsider's eyes widened when he didn't feel anything come in contact with his elbow. He looked down and time seemed to slow down at the presence of...his own death. He knew it. He felt it. He sensed his end when he confronted the prince's deathly calm face with his hazel-brown eyes piercing through the Azarathian's soul. The ebon-haired man's lips parted with a simple word playing on his tongue.

"Die."

It was a blur. That's all it was to the man whose death was just announced. He couldn't see that the prince had spun his body to the left so that he ended up right above the Azarathian's body and spun once more to gain speed to swing his sword. The acceleration of the swing made a clean cut and sliced his body in half, separating the northern and southern hemispheres.

The sheer swiftness and execution of the move made it possible for it all to happen in mid-air. After the sword had ripped through his flesh, time, once again, sped back to normal, letting the body crash onto the ground with sickening thuds and rolled a few feet away.

Richard landed on one knee and let the sword clatter to the ground—the blade no longer shining with greatness. It was just covered with blood and flesh. His breath was steady, though. After going through all that, he still maintained a calm heart-beat. His hair had come loose and was plastered on his face with the sweat and blood flowing out of his wounds. His left eye looked through the slits of his hair and gazed passively at his fallen opponent.

He couldn't believe it. He was alive. He made it through that test and barely passed. Many questions buzzed in his head, though. How was he able to do it? He was like a twig against a mighty oak tree when they started. What sort of miracle was this? His heart started to race from wonder and amazement. He hadn't felt like this ever since he had settled down with the princess.

The girl...is she okay?

All other thought processes stopped when that one, single question entered his mind. He stood on his feet, making sure to grab his sword, and walked towards the door. It was nighttime, now, and the only guide he had to find the door was the moonlight reflecting on the iron handle. The candles long burned out from drowning in their own wax and the blood that spattered on them. Before he stepped out of the room, he flicked the blood off his sword and sheathed it, promising himself that he'll clean it later. With the echoing of the door closing in the deserted halls, he made his way towards his own chambers.

Soon, his eyes saw lights illuminating one of the bigger dining halls. The hallway he traversed down also connected with a balcony that overlooked that particularly lit dining hall and he wondered who could be down there. Then, he heard that familiar shrill laughter that could only originate from one being.

He saw Koriand'r, once again, in another one of her "delightful" banquets. Making more friends, as usual, he decided not to step in on this one. Besides, he was tired, his clothes were ripped and drenched in blood, and he smelled to high heaven. Wait...what was he doing before?

Oh, yes. The girl. He needed to get some information out of her. He did, after all save her life.

"Richard?"

The prince quickly turned around with his eyes wide open. "Who is it?" His hands instinctively reached for his sword.

"Hold on there. It's just me, Victor."

Victor...thank God. It was his other close friend and mentor that accompanied him throughout the years. His brown skin blended well with the darkness, save for his shiny bald head that gleamed in the moonlight from one of the windows they stood beside. He gaped at his blood-stained friend.

"What happened?! Why are you looking like that?! Who did this to you?! Are you hurt? Because if you are, someone will, in all seriousness, get their asses kicked by my big feet."

Richard put his finger to his mouth and hissed. "Shh! Yes, and also scare them away with your big mouth. Now, keep quiet." He looked back at the dining hall just in case they were heard. He turned once again to his overly-concerned friend. "I'm in need of a favor to ask of you." He waited for his reply.

Victor pursed his lips together and crossed his arms. "First of all, I want an explanation."

"Later. I promise to tell you everything later on. But I desperately need your help."

Victor hesitated. "So, what is it?"

Richard made sure to go slow and kept his voice down. "I need you to lock Koriand'r's room. There's a dead body in there—"

"WHAT?!"

Richard slapped his hands over his mouth. "Please, keep quiet!"

Victor was frantic now. "And how," he yelled in a hushed voice, "did that dead body get in there? Did you have something to do with it?!"

Richard was silent. "Yes," he finally said after a few seconds. "I was the one that did it. I need you to make sure that nobody sees it."

"Holy, mother of—," the black man was hyperventilating.

"It's not what you—," he paused a bit at his friend's heavy breathing. "It's not—(more gasping came out)" Finally, the eldest of the two grabbed the younger one's shoulders and plainly stated in his face, "It's not what you think... Are you calm, now?" He received a nod. "Good. I want you to lock the door and relocate Koriand'r someplace else. But make sure her new room is empty and is as lavishly decorated as her old one. If you happen to find Logan , he'll be with an unconscious woman that he's supposed to guard over. Contact me if you find him. Also, tell him to—,"

"What's he doing with a woman?!"

Richard glowered for a moment and resumed when he was sure his friend would be quiet. "Tell him to wait for me." He let go of Victor's shoulders and asked, "Do you understand?"

The bald, young man nodded his head. "I understand...that you're having an affair with this 'mysterious woman.' What's wrong with Princess Kori? Isn't she breathtaking enough for you? Is she not saaatisfying you?"

Richard stared at him. "Go, you jackass...before I draw all over your shiny, bald head."

"Yes, Your Highness." He bowed and left, laughing to himself while Richard sighed loudly.

He silently made his way through the castle and finally reached his chambers. Upon opening the door, he was surprised that he found what he was searching for.

"Oh, my gosh, Richard. You look like something a snake chewed up and spit back out!" Logan got up from his seat next to the desk where a candle was lit. "Any serious injuries? What happened to the strange man that was bent on killing this girl?"

"He's dead."

Logan was speechless. 'How was it possible?' he wondered. "Did...you really...?" One look into his eyes confirmed it.

[To be continued...]

A/N:

I know I promised a chapter 2 of Flight of the Dark Angel...sorry. I'm a bad girl, aren't I?

Okay, it was pretty hard writing this fic while watching Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

Man, I kinda overdid it, didn't I? I guess you'll be filled...for a short while.

Well, I didn't know how to really describe fight scenes, so I just put down anything that popped in my brain and voila. A whole bunch of paragraphs dedicated to the fight. Although...it would confuse the hell out of you if you don't have a vivid imagination...

I just don't want this to be boring—to anyone (hah. Too late...) and especially to me. Especially me. Do you know what would happen if I got bored with this fic? But there are other ways to mess up skinning a cat.

They're OOC aren't they? Hm. I'll try harder next time. It's kind of hard to know how they'll act like when they're all grown up.

Guess who Vic is? That's right, it's the name of Cyborg. Vic Stone. Yay. He's finally in the picture.

Still waiting for those Robin/Raven scenes? You'll get it in the next chapter.

And for those who are having problems mentally envisioning a 29-yr. old Robin...I'll draw a picture for you just for the hell of it.

Ah, the clock strikes 3:15 AM. The time when I finally get to post this chapter.

Until death do us part.

I shall keep writing.

-Knight.B.