Chapter 2: Man of Shadows
The man of shadows thinks in clay
-- "Mask," Bauhaus
During the briefing before the attack on Gotham, Ra's al Ghul had specified one thing about the Bat that can be used against him: While the Bat focuses on firstly on theatricality and secondly on deception, the League of Shadows can turn this around. Less theatricality, more deception. Before they can out-disguise the Bat, they must first become that which they blend with: shadows and dust. Though this is not an all-together new technique, they have been taught how to use it differently than Batman.
It is by using these tactics that Freyr Archis intends to find Dr. Crane. If one cannot find an untrained almost-civilian using the new tactics, there is no hope for finding Batman. He began on the outskirts of the Narrows, and worked his way in; previously burning each building as he finished, until the rain set in.
At the moment his two partners are gone, searching elsewhere for something interesting, as he stands there in the rain, musing to himself. Freyr smiles that wicked smile, and saunters down another alley searching for his quarry.
--
In the depths of Arkham, Jonathan Crane dreams feverish dreams, though the fear gas has long since washed away.
Outside a crow flies by, croaking a warning. A heavy object cracks against the door, and shudders violently, and then caves in. Crane has already backed up against the wall; his only weapon a pocketknife.
A hand reaches for his arm, and he slashes back violently. Hesitation, and then all he sees is black stars, and his blood crashing waves in his head. Through them he hears a man's voice, commanding and with a foreign accent, tell someone else to take Crane away. He tries to move, but the pain in his head and his still-jumbled mind conspire against him, and he drops into absolute unconsciousness.
--
He groans, and would have picked himself up, had he been lying down. As it was, he seemed to be leaning heavily against chains, and all the blood had rushed to his feet, leaving him light-headed.
"Good morning, Doctor. How are we feeling?"
The same voice from last night! But without his glasses things were left blurry, like someone smudges the edges of everything, and detail was impossible.
"I would suppose you are in need of these." Cool, callused hands placed thin-framed metal glasses meticulously on his nose, and then everything focused.
One thing could be said for the man: he ever went anywhere unprepared. Dressed all in black, with armor and weapons, he certainly cut an imposing figure. With a body the god Apollo would have envied, and eyes with emotion Crane himself saw in the mirror everyday, formidable was this man's forte.
His hair was silver-blonde, straight, and cut to his high cheekbones. His eyes were much darker, like the grey of storm clouds; and his skin was alabaster pale, even more so under the jet-black of his sleeveless shirt. His leather pants stretched skin-tight, and his leather boots gleamed at his knees. The only adornments he wore were jet-black, spiked vambraces, signatures of the League of Shadows, and a leather belt with silver buckle. All in all, he was a man's man for his personality, and a woman's man for his beauty. If Crane hadn't been so damned tired, he would have laughed.
"Better?" The man asked. Crane broke down, and just giggled, quietly, and insanely.
The man gave a small smile. "My appearance amuses you?" Crane stopped giggling, but the crazy grin never left his face.
Fiery numbness on one cheek, and those cold grey eyes inches away from his. Crane stopped grinning long enough to gasp inwardly. He could taste the man's breath on his lips. "My name," breathed the man, "is Freyr Archis, Crane." Hard, cold grey eyes bore into his. "I am part of the League of Shadows. You would do well to remember that." Strong slender fingers released their grip on his chin, and those beautiful hard eyes backed away. "Now, I see that you're too…disorderly…to be of service, at the moment. I will have a physician see if they can straighten out your warped brain. But either way…you're going to tell me what I want to know." Freyr's fathomless grey eyes bored into Crane's. Something tightened in the back of his mind, but he was too preoccupied to notice. Freyr turned his back on Crane, and Crane quietly, desperately willed those eyes to look back at him, but to no avail. Freyr's dark form sauntered away into the darkness.
--
Crane runs down dark streets, chased by screams and fueled by terror. He trips, and sprawls heavily onto the wet asphalt. Something sinister laughs, and he feels blood running down his back. If there are wounds, they are numbed from shock, and if something sits on his back, it must be a ghost.
"Who are you?"
I am you. Relinquish everything to me, and I'll let go of you.
"But I don't have anything to give."
You have more than the rest of them. Inmates from Arkham stagger in streams from the alleyways, bloody and vengeful. They want their freedom back. They want revenge of you for what you gave them.
"But—"Silence! Give yourself over to me, and I will save you.
The thing on his back shifts, and now he can feel ten piercing wounds that drown the fear in a scarlet haze. His vision begins fading to black, and the inmates draw nearer.
One of them readies a crowbar to throw at his head, and he flinches.
Panicking, he accedes desperately, and the thing's claws leave his back, and no more does the blood trickle. He can't tell what the inmates see, but they don't stop running for as far as he can see.
For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, he feels whole again, and terrified of it.
--
The next morning, Freyr releases him from the chains, and lets him stand on his own two feet. This takes a little time, because his feet have lost feeling from suspension, but after a while he feels well enough to walk.
True to his word, Freyr brings a physician to attempt to rectify the havoc the fear toxin has wreaked upon Crane's mind. Not surprisingly, Crane is diagnosed as irreversibly insane, which brings a dark, furious cloud over Freyr's face. Noting this, the physician promptly asserts that he can do nothing for him, and makes his escape.
"So." Those hard eyes are inches away from Crane's face again, and secretly he takes masochistic pleasure in their gaze. This time, though it is a near miss, he refrains from laughing hysterically. "You may be of use anyway, dear doctor, despite some…difficulties." Freyr smiled a wicked smile, and Crane found himself hoping something would happen, if only to break the tension that slowly built in him. But alas, Freyr turned away, and the only consolation he had was that he would not be chained up again.
He thought at first that because of the chains, the rest of his surroundings would be as stark and colorless as the metal they were made of. But to Crane's surprise, the room seemed almost normal, like a game room in someone's basement, although half the games this neighbor played were of the painful, bloody kind.
The carpet was plain beige, with a pool table at one end and a bar at the other. In between, there were two pairs of shackles top and bottom on each wall, a Roman crucifix in one corner, and, in a deceptively mild leather chest, an array of torturous weapons. Crane shivered, an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Do you like my private guest room?" Freyr had not left yet, and Crane noted this with mixed feelings. His League of Shadows status commanded respect, his beauty commanded lust, but his personality only seemed to be a cold dark hole. What could it command? Thinking on this, Crane smiled a small, introspective smile, but quickly wiped it away, hoping Freyr hadn't noticed.
"What, amused at my expense again?" Those slender fingers resumed their grip on Crane's chin, and those eyes bored into his again. "I might have to show you just how your amusement can be a disadvantage." Wondering what Freyr was compensating for by saying this just made it impossible, and Crane burst out in a peal of his strange laughter. Not amused, Freyr struck him across the face, hoping to bring some sense into him. But that was as hard as putting toothpaste back into the tube, and Freyr conceded defeat, this once, out of necessity.
"Come up to the street with me," he commanded, and, trailing behind in a fit of insane amusement, Crane followed.
The morning struck Crane's eyes like a sledgehammer. Vivid colors, even in the Narrows, assaulted his eyes in riotous spectrums, like they were tumultuously rejoicing in a cloud of drugs. Never had he noticed the vibrancy of the silver of the clouded sky, the midnight black of a doorway, the neon scarlet of a street sign. In the daylight, Freyr seemed even godlier with his alabaster skin practically glowing. Crane marveled at how he had never noticed the brightness before.
Freyr motioned Crane to follow, and on the roof of their building, in the distance, he could see a blackened shape reminiscent of a mansion. Various construction machines cluttered around it like bees around a hive, and it seemed to waver as if in a heat wave. Shaking his head to try and clear it, Crane didn't notice Freyr's small smile.
"In a few weeks, at the rate they're going the entire building will be back on its feet with the rest of the city. Then they'll have a party to celebrate, just like they always do, which means another Bruce Wayne gala. When that gala comes, I'll have a use for you."
Author's NoteYes, after weeks of nothing, I finally have this chapter up. Honestly, I meant to have it done like three weeks ago but I didn't have a suitable ending. But, it's here now, and I make this deadline for myself: Each chapter will be finished and uploaded every other Sunday. Anyway, thank you to all who have been reading (and reviewing) (Blodeuedd, Lieutenant Sparkles, and mestupgcscreamer) and my sincere apologies. A sort-of preview for next chapter, if you will.
The party does indeed take place. Something interesting will happen between Freyr and Crane. The Batman makes a surprise appearance?
PS: I have trouble switching between tenses because I'm weird like that. Any constructive criticism is always appreciated!