Wounds of Filth
Chapter 5: The Many Faces of Lucifer
By: DeathIsOnlyTheBeginin
DISCLAIMER: I DONT OWN, YOU DONT SUE!
(Enjoy! Read and Review Please!)
A deep set of sapphire blue stared back at two pairs of an eerie likeness, the many irises shimmering in the brightness of the overhead bulb. Light blonde hair hung low over a pair of sand colored eyebrows, framing the teenage boy's face perfectly. His pale lips were closed in an unconscious manner, a small, thin scar extending from the lower to the middle of his chin.
Robert Reed stared intently at his reflection, his bare and chiseled chest glistening as steam extended its hazy touch over the edges of his bathroom mirror. A large, slanted crack stretched from the right upper corner to the left low one, splitting his flipped image into two. With a shallow sigh, he ruffled his hair, the sound of a dripping showerhead recoiling through his ears. Brown was the shade of the towel that hung low around his waist, exposing a slight glance of his pelvis bone.
Rob shifted his eyes to the manila envelope sitting atop the closed blue lid of his toilet. Curiosity tugged at the back of his mind, sending a wave of sweet anxiety through his being. He reached down and took the large package in his hand, lifting it up to his face. The boy inspected it intensely, his eyes focused and serious as they roamed over both sides of the stamped sachet. With a shrug, Rob's lips twisted and pursed to the side, his tongue rolling over his teeth. Sighing, he unwrapped the pattern of string between two paper circles and pulled out a small, thin screen.
Dropping the useless and empty packet, Robert set the screen on the thick part of his bathroom sink, only to lift his eyebrows in surprise when the contraption flickered to life.
A man, adorned in orange and black srmor appeared, one eye hidden behind a thick mask as the other bore through Robert's own eyes, strait into his soul. For the first time in his life, Robert Reed felt intimidation roll up his spine.
"Hello, Reed. I can imagine that you are quite confused by this little gift of mine. Don't worry, everything will be explainedsoon."
Robert arched a cautious eyebrow but, never the less, lifted the screen to where he could see it better.
"I am in need of you assistance, Red X. In approximately one hour, you and I shall hold conference with one another. Take the subway to the abandoned Burlin Mansion of Gotham City, go inside, and wait. I will explain the rest of your assignment upon your arrival. One hour, boy. Do not disappoint me."
Robert could feel his sarcastic and cocky nature stirring in his chest, a sly smile on his lips as his mind pondered the peculiar man's proposition.
'Who does his think he is? My father? Give me a break.'
He snickered lightheartedly, and the odd man continued.
"If you succeed in showing up on time, I shall reward you with double pay-
Robert's eyes widened in appeal, his ear catching on the promise of money. Almost as though the man could sense his interest, he continued,
"That's right. You are and will be paid for your...companionship. However, Robert, if you refuse to show...you lose everything. The money, the security, the power, a chance to stop running; all of it goes, along with other things of my choice." The stranger chuckled,
"Think about it, Reed. You will never have to steal anything ever again. One hour. Your time starts now."
With a buzzing hum, the screen clicked off and Robert tossed the small television into the trashcan beside him. He stole one last glance at himself before leaving the room, his hand snatching a black and red tumble of material as he closed the door behind himself.
The majority of the Titans sat in the living room, the large television on but muted, the many colors lighting their faces in the dark. Robin was at their rear, his fingers tapping away at the large keyboard of their tracking screen, only the back of his head visable.
Starfire sent a sad, worried glance at Cyborg. The half-droid looked away, his mind busy with thoughts of their lost member. Beast Boy sat in the armchair beside him, sunk low in the cushion as he slept away, loud snores rumbling from the hollow of his throat. He had been doing more and more of that lately, just drifting off whenever they weren't working. Cyborg just figured it was the changeling's own way of forgetting, of easing the pain.
Raven had been missing for a grand total of four weeks. They had searched everywhere; high and low, wide and narrow...she was no where to be found. Neither Slade, nor any of his minions had caused any sort of damage in the same amount of time as Raven's absence. The team was starting to lose hope; it was evident to everyone, especially Robin.
Their leader had done nothing but what he was currently doing for the past month, his posture rigid as he tapped away, searching for both the Titan and Slade through technology. As to be expected, after they had gotten back to the tower those many weeks ago, Robin had tried to contact Raven through her communicator and, even more expectedly, it was out of commision.
Robin had tensed himself into a dire fit of rage, his mouth muttering curse after curse as he flung his comm. link into the closest wall, watching with narrow eyes as it shattered to pieces.
"Slade. He wont get away with this. We'll find her, I promise."
Cyborg shook his head. After that day, The Boy Wonder had grown even more reclusive than Raven herself had been. Locking himself away in the many keys and displays of their large computer, never leaving unless hunger, sleep,or the need to use the bathroom interupted his temporary insanity. Robin rarely spoke to any of them, unless they were off on a mission, and Starfire's spirits had sunken to an all time low because of it.
The half-human teen stared up at the ceiling, confused at how such a hardly noticed and socialized with member's disappearance could cause such an unbalance to rein down upon the team. The memory of her sarcasim echoed silently through the tower, lacing the very walls with lonliness, the matal pinning for her return. Such reminded the robot boy of his own longing in his heart, along with the rest of the team's.
Indigo framed the face of a broken girl, the hair messed and tangled, dirty and unkempt. Heavy eyelids hung low over irises in likeness of color, burning emotions evaporating behind them. Raven glanced tirelessly at the tangles of her hair, noting the sorrow and malice that laced each and every strand, mocking them in knots.
She glanced back to the floor, the chilled room nipping at her face, laughing her to scorn and humiliation. Her arms ached, her hands stretched farm from her body and held stiffly in a blasphemic contempt of Jesus' sacrifice. The chains were tight, so much as to keep her barely touching the floor, her toes supporting the body weight that the shackles did not. Raven winced through gritted teeth as she rocked forward on the digits of her feet, the leather nose of her boots tearing on the concrete. The cuffs dipped, tearing through the skin of her wrists, a few discarded drops of blood trickling to the floor.
Raven shook her head shortly, her eyes scanning the room in which she had awoken. It was completely bare and white; spare a chrome door to her left. A lone chair sat directly in front of her and she mentally froze, sudden realization, of what purpose this room held service to, darkly intruding her thoughts. Torture.
Glowing eyes scanned the dark, dismal room, the owner's body on high alert. Red X's ears perked at every sound, his muscles tightening as he waited for an ambush.
"Very good, X," Slade complimented, his manly, bulk figure sauntering through an open door. X relaxed, but only slightly, his posture adjusting from stance.
"Sit," Commanded the elder villain, his hand extending in the direction of an old, musty couch. The boy complied reluctantly, his bottom falling on the cushion lazily; long since fallendust billowed up, into the air.
"So," He started, his voice low and cocky as ever, "What do you need me for?"
Slade chuckled low in his throat, "It's not so much a 'what' as it is a 'who'."
Red X sat up, his back strait as he waited for the strange mentor to continue.
"Raven. A member of the Teen Titans. Do you know of her?"
"Is she the cute one with the red hair?"
Slade linked his fingers behind his back, moonlight littering his mask thought a broken window.
"No. The other one."
X thought for a moment, a scene of navy cloth hitting the floor stirring in his memory.
"Oh, yea. I remember her."
Slade nodded shortly, "I am in need of someone with your expertise. I need these tools...for...matters pertaining to her. More will be explained later."
He handed the young teen a list before resuming his regular standing position. Red X read the list with curiosity narrowed eyes,
"Razor blade...various knives...chains...cuffs..."
He glanced up at the man towering over him, an eyebrow arched, a sickly feeling of unknown swirling in his chest.
"Are you serious?"
Slade didn't reply, his aura thick with annoyance. Red X noticed and stood, crinkling the list in a fisted hand.
"Alright then. Consider it done."
"Excellent," replied Slade, "Bring them here tomorrow, same time. Don't be late."
With those final words, Slade slunk into the shadows, vanishing from view. Red X stared at the list, its crumpled texture sticking from the top and bottom of his fist.
'What is he planning on doing to that girl?'
He shrugged,
'Oh well, it isn't my problem. Time is money; better not waste any of it.'
A dark, dull eye stared intently at rivers of scarlet, the small streams weaving over the deep, twisted wounds of a girl's back. The male owner of the eye whispered pointless nothings to the muted ears of the teen hanging in front of him, his voice low and gritty, like a curse from Satan. With a groan, the violet haired girl's mind drifted away from his words and abuse, her mind circling old, old thoughts.
Lucifer was said to be the most glorious of any angel ever to be created by God's hands. He was second only to the He whom had made him, He whom had woven the very feathers of his wings, He whom had hung the glow around his perfect form.
The angel's beauty had been umatched, his majestic and lithe form the very physical song of God's glory, the notes too superlative for any mere mortal to hear. However, despite his wonderful and unspoken greatness, Lucifer held one flaw. Much like the man behind her did.
Slade, like the satanic cherub, thirsted for absolute power, and he would commit any form of blasphemy in order to achieve it. In fact, Raven had already determined that he was the reincarnated version of the Devil himself, slithering through masses of beautiful sin, attempting to capture each and every soul for his own rule. The avatar pondered of his abilities, wondering if he could still make that music, that elated harmony that he had been attributed. Raven suddenly thought it best not to doubt his capabilities, for the song suddenly sprung from her own throat.
Her head shot backward, her indigo hair flying outin odd angles as her lungs emptied themselves through the part in her lips. The shrill melody curled through her veins, twisting them gray in suffocation, freezing the flow in a state of absolute dread.
It lapped at the iron chains of her imprisonment, kicking and beating against the forces of her will until the walls crumbled to dust. The sadistic tune scraped through one's ears, flooding the drums with a sense of nausea, willing to retch what they had previously consumed, needing to spew out all of the rancid lion's share.
Raven winced, her own cries rapping her long standing sense of dignity, the pride quickly dwindling in the shadow of her pain. She struggled against her shackles, the song's jingle rolling over their iron hold, teasing them; like nails across a chalkboard. Her breathing wavered, the harmony fading away before searing out again; fortissimo. Raven was sure all of hell was rejoicing.
She thought of her friends, and of how they had failed to come and save her as of yet. Was it that they were still searching for her? Or, was it that they simply did not care? After all, she had never been what one would call a 'friendly' companion. Tears of hopelessness threatened to spill from her eyes; but Raven would not cry, she refused too. It was what he wanted.
For a moment, she stopped her thoughts, wondering why she was thinking of such nonsense. Surely, her friends were looking for her. They loved her. Didn't they?
Before she could answer her own question, Raven was shaken from her reverie by a searing sort of anguish. It ripped up her spine, blurring her vision into many twists and twirls, shoving her bones into a fit of agony. She realized then that she thought simply to ignore the pain; to banish the hazy numbness that terrorized her mind with the threat of its being able to render her unconscious.
Naturally, Slade kept watch over that, his hands busy with tools as he bejeweled her back. Every swirling curve that severed the skin between the blades of her shoulders was like a buzzer that coldly jerked her into a state of alarm, a smug grin plastered on the pain's face as it developed into her own personal salvation, succeeding in always keeping her thriving, even when she wished for the lights to go out. Still, spite her pleas, it kept her safe from the darkness and from the comfort it so humbly gave away.
Raven stole a glance of the room, noting how eerily frightening it was. It reminded her of a horror movie set, perfectly planned and colored to send a chill up the viewers back as they waited for the villain to find the damsel in distress. Raven mentally scoffed, a shrill note fleeing her lips. The villain had found her, and he had succeeded in locking her up in these irons. They held her there, kept her there; a half daemon in the clutches of one much more intimidating. He cradled her like his personal music box, winding her up, listening excitedly as she refrained chord after chord of his own sick score of harmonic notes.
Flames licked throughout her nerves, igniting a deep pain within her,the skin at its origin cackling and hissing, its own tune ringing through the air. Raven could almost feel Slade grin in victory at the sizzling of his climaxing masterpiece. With this new, blissful peak of perfection, he conducted his knife with more vigor, the glinting blade digging even deeper through thetenderness of her flesh, thirsting for blood.
With a perverse surge of wind and howling, Raven's lungs ruptured, air pouring past her swollen lips, the musical crescendo woven into the significant pattern of carbon dioxide. Raven prayed for it to stop but, the audience seemed to be demanding an encore and her conductor gave it to them, because Slade was far from finished.
1/14/2011:
For writers everywhere, I just want to give a heads up to ANYONE who reads any really old story by me and then feels the need to leave a ridiculous, anon review and rant like some child about how dreadful they think it is - I don't care what you think about anything, so don't waste my time. I'm just going to delete your flame anyway, so you might as well not bother to leave it - however, if you must insist upon posting one, I wish you happiness in your futility.
That being said, if you flame - SIGN IN instead of just popping on here like some coward and trying to rip me up over something I wrote AGES ago (ha!). If you flame and then refuse to sign in and offer up your own writing to back your mouth up, keep your mouth closed. I wrote this story 6 years ago. It's an old, amateur, raw piece of work, and I know that. I was only 14 when I started it - but for 14, I did a damn good job.
It's comical that you think you can judge someone's writing capabilities on the shortcomings of their 6-year-old pieces of work - honestly, that just cracks me up. You should know that despite your high opinion of yourself and your obvious belief that I need your "expertise", I'm just laughing at you. I do not need your praise or acknowledgment to validate myself as a writer, and I don't need your dimwitted, ignorant advice. I write very well and I know it. God bless.