Yours is Great Disgrace
Survival, no, more than that, victory! Commander Chen of the Prison Guards gave the air a good punch, surreptitiously of course, it wouldn't do to have a whole host of deadly enemies see you celebrating the death of their leader at your hands. That sort of thing rarely turns out well for the side that has been doing the celebrating.
A figure had detached from the encirclement and was approaching Chen. He looked for all the world like some depraved and opulent pope fallen to sin, not the most politically correct image, thought Chen. There was a mitre-like construction perched on his head, and in his hand something approaching a crosier cum polearm. The robes the dark priest wore were hung over him in jewelled embroidered waves. He was spreading his arms wide, and though they began at shoulder height his cuffs reached almost to the ground.
Chen didn't care for the situation. Being embraced by a madman, especially a madman aligned to a power prepared to sacrifice a thousand slaves simply to smite a comparative handful of Prison Guards had never featured high on his list of priorities.
Feeling that what he was about to might be called shameful Chen activated his PA.
"Terribly sorry," he broadcast.
Ethan Scott. Raven had mourned for his passing all right, mourned for it more than any other's, save Azar.
He had always been a good friend, her best in fact. She had maintained a small portrait of him, in full meditative gown, on her desk, next to the small picture of Azar that had become something of an icon, and the locket containing the hair of her dear, dead, mother.
Perfectionism was his vice, it had paled next to half-daemonhood, but it was always accompanied by an unpleasant selfishness stemming from the belief that perfection was the universe's most worthy goal, and therefore what you were doing was less important.
That small piece, arrogance, selfishness, the will to be perfect without thought for others, had become the Grandmaster of the Temple. The rest had died.
"How did you survive?" It was a good question, even Azar had perished, for a certain value of perished, and Trigon was not wont to spare mere mortals.
"In the only way I could, I pledged myself to Trigon."
Raven looked down and sighed, she had known of course, she could sense it, but hope, even foolish hope, is oft a most attractive alternative to devastation.
"Do not lament Raven, I have made great leaps, I learned all I could under Azar, it was inevitable that I should go to Trigon eventually. There are rumours Raven, rumours of a third, a companion to Trigon and Azar, I have heard tell of a Lucifer, perhaps when my contract with Trigon is complete, I shall turn to him. Maybe then the great goal shall be within my grasp. Think of it, perfection! The goal of all life, that one should achieve it is worth endless sacrifice. And is there any better placed to do so than I. You are fond of philosophy Raven, I believe Nietzsche agreed with me."
Raven snorted, "Azar didn't!"
"Azar is but a third of the whole, as is Trigon. Only once I have learned from them all can my goal be achieved."
"For one to lose ones friend top ones father is hard to bear," sighed Raven.
"How do you think it feels to lose ones son?" this was Scott the elder.
The Grandmaster turned his head, "I am not lost, I survived, I have progressed. Listen! Have you heard nothing I have said."
"Your answer proves the justification of my question," said Scott, his voice weary, "Oh Ethan what have you done!"
Raven awkwardly placed her arm around him, "Come," she whispered, "come with me."
They began to walk away, and Raven turned to look back at the Grandmaster, when she spoke her voice had such authority that disobedience was impossible to contemplate, "You will stay here."
Chen turned off the PA and rapped orders into the commlink, "Attack on my word, break the circle and we shall make a fighting retreat to the pickets."
He turned to the Bishop smiled and drew back a clenched fist.
"Attack!"
He swung his fist up, bringing it swinging into the jaw of the priest who was now so close that the Commander could smell his reeking breath.
There was a mighty crack, and the warriors forming the circular wall of the arena swayed slightly, taking a moment to realise what he had done, and another to realise they were under a new attack.
Silver figures were coming in around him, loosing of red blasts into the wall of soldiers. Two Guards folded in before him, forming a human shield.
The robies began to pick up their weapons and return fire, but the Prison Guards were already well on their way to the relative safety of the pickets.
Chen saw a man fall to the pursuing enemies, he hurried to the corpse and seized the weapon from its fingers. At last, a gun! He had felt so helpless unarmed.
The horde on their heels was now chanting out its battle cry, a ululating torrent of noise that chilled the bone. The size of the howl spoke of the size of the force, and suddenly its advance seemed as unstoppable as a tide. Chen blocked out the noise, and the hopelessness that it carried and concentrated on the less than simple task of remaining alive.
He took the risk of glancing over his shoulder at the path along which the Guards were retreating, the edge of the cloud, there it was! Soon he would be safe behind the pickets.
As if to focus his mind on the task in hand a blast from a Temple soldier shot low over his head. Chen blasted in the general direction of its coming and continued to retreat.
Less than a third of the original Prison Guards survived the retreat to the pickets. As the survivors were helped behind a line of riot policemen Chen demanded to see Commissioner Grahamson.
"Well?" asked Grahamson, expression blank behind the thin brown hair and moustache.
Well, thought Chen, well! I'll give you well you bureaucrat!
Raven hurried Scott to a spot sheltered from the ears of the Grandmaster-who-had-been-Ethan.
The empath spent a second ensuring that they would not be overheard psychically and then grasped both of Scott's hands.
"I have never attempted resurrection before, and I hope never to be forced to again, but I-"
"Resurrection," Scott broke in, his face holding a look that approached horror, "You intend to-"
"I intend to return Ethan Scott from the dead. And harm Trigon in the process."
Scott frowned in incomprehension, "But Ethan is not dead, we just spoke with him. I don't quite understa-"
"That was not Ethan Scott." Raven's voice was blank, heavy. No argument was permitted.
The man's eyebrows rose in sudden revelation, "You believe you can bring him back, the friend you knew."
"No, not believe. I hope, I hope against hope. But I am not sure, Ethan is not crushed completely, but I do not trust myself, I cannot tell if I will succeed." Raven's head drooped slightly, and her lips twisted into a grimace of sadness and self-doubt, "or the consequences of my failure."
Scott gave the girl a paternal smile, "Worry not Raven Roth. I trust you. I trust you with the life of the son I never knew. Would you ask more than that?"
Raven returned his smile weakly, "No, I wouldn't." Scott was surprised, if not shocked, to see the tiny diamond globe of a solitary tear welling in the corner of one eye.
The Grandmaster was fairly annoyed, but that was just to cover the shock. Still, annoyance was preferable so he focussed on it to exclusion, blocking out the fact that he had, for the first time in his life, come face to face with his father.
Why could she not see? This had always been his goal. The path to perfection was not one to be trodden wearing the boots of morals. He had forsaken Azar, to be sure, but only once fighting was futile, and yes. It would have been inevitable anyway. Why then? Why could his friend of old not accept that he had improved tenfold, in ability and understanding.
Because you betrayed her, along with everything she adored. You betrayed yourself.
The Grandmaster recoiled, the voice in his mind was his own, twisted with disdain. How familiar that tone had become! For too long he had addressed all around him using it.
No! It was all they deserved, mindless, dogma-clutching cultists! Even his own cultists were standing against him. Standing in his way.
Don't fret, a voice of sneering sarcasm, you can always betray them as well. Just as you betrayed everything you held dear.
Silence!
Peace came to the mind of the Grandmaster, but he was uneasy. Damn Raven for awakening this voice in his head!
Chen removed his helmet, holding it under his arm. He wanted Grahamson to see his face. The fanged smile would help him put across his point of view.
"Well, is that a large force, lets call it, say… a bloody great horde, of deadly, nay, nigh unstoppable enemies is surging towards your men."
Grahamson shrugged, "What do you want me to do, I've authority over riot police movements, nothing more."
Chen could have screamed in frustration, "Godsdamnit, this city, country even, is on the verge of having a torrent of warriors unleashed upon it and you're acting like a petty three year old who wants an ice cream!" he shook the Commissioner by lapels until the pressure built up and he had to turn away and roar at the sky to release it.
Grahamson, who had been thrown off balance by the smaller man's actions, staggered and tottered and then came to his feet.
This was the limit! First the high and mighty Prison Guards amble into his operation and assume control without reference to him as its controller, leaving him with almost enough authority to tie his own shoelace, then they decide they've had enough and demand that he ease their burden. The Titans, condescending and gifted though they were, and even Robin, would have been better.
Speaking of Titans, where in Hell's name were they?
Cyborg came to consciousness to the humming sound of a systems analysis. He had lost one of his legs, just above the knee. Everything else was operational, although his power was severely depleted. Organically he was fine, aching, but fine.
As the man-machine realised but a second later he was tied up.
Tied? Tied with rope? That was an insult. There wasn't a rope in the world he couldn't break free of. He strained against his bonds, putting both living flesh and strong, cold metal to work.
But the ropes failed to break.
Cyborg heard an unpleasantly familiar daemonic laugh.
The sound was horrible, booming like hollow oak. It carried with it dread and despair, draining out the will to fight, emptying its victims even of the will to live.
Cyborg looked up, up into the daemonic maw of the Lord Trigon, which hung open in obscene jest.
The lines of the gaping jaw changed, and in an instant Trigon was no longer bellowing with laughter. Now his scream was one of pain.
Cyborg grinned, thank you Raven.
Raven.
The Grandmaster-who-had-been-Ethan had folded his arms, and looked towards Raven raising an eyebrow sceptically at the drawn blade in her hand.
"I do hope your not intending to use that blade."
"That's not how I plan to kill you," said Raven with a sarcastic grimace that made the Grandmaster wonder whether or not then statement had been genuine.
Raven saw the indecision in his face, excellent.
"Twice I've felt your death Ethan," she said, "do you know how hard that is?"
Azar grant that this works, thought Raven, summoning up bravery from the depths of her mind. Daemonic laughter boomed from the concealing clouds. It was hatred that sent the sword blade flashing across her wrist.
The laughter changed.
"Raven!" screamed Ethan Scott, diving to her side.
