The End (Part Three)

"Raven!"

She lay on back, limbs splayed in a posture that could have been comic. Redness, blood, was expanding around her, flowing from her form, which was suddenly frail, delicate. Look at her and try not to feel protective.

"What have you done, what have you done," choked Ethan, continuing until the sobs swallowed his words whole.

"What I had to," Raven's voice contrived to be sweet, though it maintained its usual dry throatiness.

"You cannot die," shouted Ethan, feverishly, attempting to convince himself more than the figure on the ground.

"I must, for Trigon…" her eyes closed.

"Trigon…" Ethan intoned the name with Raven, but his voice held steel.

He turned, and walked into the dust screen, leaving Raven lying.

After a moment the pool of blood ceased to expand.

Greenwood Scott appeared in a haze of darkness, Raven had teleported him directly to her side. Clutched in his arms was some variety of medical kit. He began immediately to apply various salves to the gash in her arm as the empaths innate psychic healing abilities kicked in.

Raven's breath was shallow, and her words quiet, but quite clear, "Do no more, I must remain weak."

Scott frowned, but obeyed, "Did it work?"

"Yes, Ethan has returned, but not for long. He is going to Trigon, to kill him, or at least banish him. He hopes to find at least some redemption in that act."

"What?" shouted Scott, "No! He must not! I must speak with my son, with my true son."

"Then hurry."

Scott stood, taking Raven's sword from her proffering hand, turned to face the dust cloud, paused, and rushed forwards.

Raven breathed out slowly, and let her head lie back on the ground.

For the moment events left her hands. Azar, watch over my friend, act that he might succeed.

There will be no redemption for you…

The thought swept through Ethan's mind like the malignant whisper of a traitor condemning a world to death.

But I must do this, for Raven's sake if not my own, that she should die for despair 's sake is not to be allowed.

She is manipulating you, you know this. She has planned every move you make.

Maybe, but it can hardly be for her own sake. She would kill herself to vanquish Trigon, her selflessness would be wasted if I did not ensure that her work is completed. I must destroy the vile daemonic scum.

You speak of the Lord Trigon! Show respect, for he is our deity.

Yours perhaps, but mine no longer. Ethan's hands began to move, swirling, twisting, accompanying the rhythmic chanting of his voice to bring forth magic of greatness never before wielded by the part of him that was Ethan Scott.

The native will of the sorcery attempted to force through Ethan's defences, to penetrate his mind and subjugate him, but he resisted with a newly renewed zeal. Sternly he removed the sentience from the power he was using, fusing it to his own iron hard will, preparing.

There, ahead! A totem of obsidian, with the four hostages tied to it. The totem itself was carved into the form, of a jet column of smoking flames, with half formed figures tormented in the fires. The smoke rose, curving in upon itself and forming the symbol of Trigon, the great daemonic visage. It was hideous.

Above the totem, towering in infernal and deserved agony, was the daemon. Ruddy skin covered a pockmarked torso bent over itself in pain. Limbs were constricted, pulled in tight, and every great strip of muscle was pulled to the greatest torsion. The face of the daemon was contorted, the mouth was open to emit a howl of anguish that had dried up, and the four eyes were closed and so failed to glow with their customary beguiling golden radiance. Ethan half enjoyed the suffering of Raven's tormentor. It was right, just even, that he should suffer before he died.

Before I kill him.

Ethan offered the departed Azar a final prayer.

Commander Chen of the prison guards was screaming at Commissioner Grahamson.

Commissioner Grahamson was screaming at Chen.

The distance between their faces was minute. It didn't matter that Chen was short and Grahamson rather tall. It didn't even matter what they were saying, each had ceased to listen to the other almost from the outset. And Chen was losing track of his own argument, let alone whether his opponent was interested in refuting it or not. His burning frustration was still dying down only slowly, so the city's second most important security figure continued to shout in the face of the city's most important law enforcement figure.

"Sirs?"

Both men stopped their violent wrangling at once. They realised how close they were and each withdrew in embarrassment. It was one thing screaming at you counterpart, but with someone watching.

"Yes?" both replied simultaneously, and actually took a second to laugh about it.

"The enemy is breaking the edge of the cloud."

Chen looked at Grahamson, "Here's the deal, I'll command my men, and you command yours."

"Done."

They shook hands, and Chen ran to his section, spitting a stream of orders into his commlink.

Barricades had been erected, and the surviving Prison guards manned them. In a second rank behind them were riot policemen, arranged in blocks. They knelt behind their shields, preparing to engage with their batons and firearms if, and when, the enemy came over the barricades and overwhelmed the Prison Guards. Military reinforcements had been pledged, but they would still be hours in arriving and the attackers were not waiting.

Chen took his place in the line, broadcasting a few words of encouragement. Then he gave the order to open fire.

On all sides of the dust cloud he knew that Guards were shooting down carefully selected targets, he lifted his gun, put his visored eye to the sight, and did the same.

Robies fell in swathes, they seemed to have relinquished their own firearms in favour of simply sweeping the enemy away by weight of numbers more than the overwhelming.

In that moment Commander Chen realised that he was not going to survive.

To Hell with it, he thought, consumed by sudden recklessness. The Commander jumped upon the barricades, set his weapon to rapid fire and brought its death-spitting muzzle across the enemy in great reaping waves. He tilted his head back and laughed with the exultant insanity of a man whose quite definitely damned if he does and damned if he doesn't.

More men fell, dropping onto their own dead, and being trampled by their own living.

A miracle occurred.

Chen clearly saw a green dinosaur, one of the flying ones, carrying a robot no less, appear out of the dust.

Another apparition materialised in front of him, a boy on a silver rope.

And there was a fourth, a girl, wearing purple and floating in the air.

He gave in.

A cheer arose, as the four Titans swung/flew/were carried to the barricades.

Robin extended a hand to the man standing atop the barricades, "I'm Robin, but you probably know."

Chen took it, "Commander Chen."

As one the Titans charged.

Greenwood Scott ran after the elusive ghost shadow of his son, forgetting to pant in his intentness.

He spotted the shade up ahead and reaffirmed his pace, crying out, "Ethan!" and stretching out a hand as if to grasp him and pull him back.

Ethan heard his name being shouted out behind him, but he had no time. He had so many apologies, and destroying Trigon was his only way of expressing them. The death of the daemon was his final duty, and he would do it no matter the cost.

The magic was ready.

"Trigon!" His voice cut through the air like a knife, slicing short the daemons bellows.

The four eyes looked down to see what the puny mortal at his feet could possibly do to warrant his attention.

A wave of majesty struck the daemon overlord in the face.

There was a tumultuous noise that took a moment to grow. It started merely as violent thunder, booming, but it was not content and it grew and grew, already painful to hear, it became the excruciating sound of the fabric existence exploding. It washed out from the toppled archfiend in waves of clamouring cacophony.

Ethan fell, smashed aside by the fist of the monstrosity.

Scott ran to his side, "My son, my son, my son…" he cradled the dying man's head in his arms, and wept.

Grief passed, for the moment, leaving only deadly purpose.

Scott climbed the knoll that the fallen, but still living, daemon's chest had become. Standing over the creatures black heart.

Once, twice, thrice. Three times the already bloodied blade of Raven's sword plunged deep into daemonic flesh.

"For Azar, for Ethan, and for the Earth," whispered Scott to the dying daemon animal before turning his back and walking off the edge of the mound of red flesh.

He wanted simply to collapse, but a voice called him on.

"Over here, here!"

He wandered towards it aimlessly, and saw the totem, and the four unfortunates tied to it.

A swift slash of the blade cut their bonds and the four captives (he vaguely recognised them) all quit the scene, following their caped leader, leaving a lingering cry of thanks.

Scott staggered to the still, but barely, breathing form of his son, and let himself collapse.

The man took Robin's hand, "Commander Chen of the Prison Guards."

They shook, and Robin turned.

For the first and last time (in this story) he shouted his one catchphrase, "Titans, GO!"

And they went.

Starfire would have called it glorious, and for once she would have been absolutely right. The battle was a rout, Templar Acolyte soldiery was completely sundered by Titans Guards and police, driven back to their fortress and finally purged from its ancient Tamaranian halls. With Trigon once again vanquished all the magics performed in his name came undone, and the gate between Earth and the Temple was irrevocably sealed. The vast, impossible structure of the Temple itself came crashing in upon itself, the storm of masonry rendering the cult that laboured within extinct.

The world, both proverbially and literally, kept on turning.

It was a number of weeks since the recent tumultuous events, and Raven was summoned to her door by the pounding of fists upon it.

"Hey Rae!" No prizes for guessing which green skinned nuisance was at the door.

"What?" Raven deadpanned.

"Do you want to play a game of-"

"No."

"Aw Rae! Why do you never change?"

"Indomitable will," replied Raven, "and a good vocabulary."

She shut the door in his face and proceeded to meditate.

Author's Farewell: Final regards to all my readers, I hope when I get to my planned sequel that some of you may return. On a technical note I would appreciate feedback on the temporal shift technique by which one characters story is taken to a point, then the next character comes in at a point prior to where the last was left and proceeds with their story to a point slightly further on, etcetera. Does it work? Does my explanation make sense?

With final thanks,

Regis Santia