RR76: Chapter two of Ascension. Right about now, I've decided to reveal a bit of Carson's backstory. So...read on, I guess. I'll spare you the review rant, since that never works anyway.

By the way, did you know that according to Microsoft Word, Cyborg isn't a word, but Vyborg is? Huh.

Responses:

Rory: Good. We're good. We're all good. Good good good. Good is good. Bad is bad. And it's swearing to a lesser degree. But I'll forgive that 'cuz you saved my life. Ah. Nonexistent darkness. Gotcha. Thanks.

SaintH: Well...yeah, I won't lie. He will (eventually) come back. But I'm revealing his background. So be happy.

Queenie: Joss Wheadon wrote it. Not I. Glad you had fun. Damn music video...descriptive death is always fun, isn't it?

im in a kill people mood: Joss Wheadon is the greatest show-creating person on the face of the Earth. Even if I've never seen Firefly, Angel rocks. So too does Buffy.

Don't own, cept Carson, and those guys he knew that one time that I won't reveal who they are yet so yeah read why are you still looking at this get away you lifeless fiend feel mine blade ha die I stab thee smite turkey ham on rye no mayo and a side order of fries to go with pudding and pizza and yummy gravy.

One year later...

Beast Boy sailed through the air and landed against a building with a grunt. He rubbed his head and looked up to see the demon charge him again, his polished claws shining in the bright sun. The demon roared and swung at Beast Boy, hitting nothing but air. The fist of a gorilla slammed into the demon's face and he staggered backward. Robin's explosive disks lodged themselves in the demon's tough hide and exploded; Cyborg's sonic cannon hit it one last time, finishing it off.

The smoke cleared. The three Titans stared down at what was left of the demon. Bits and pieces of demon hide and muscle rained from the sky, one landing on Beast Boy's head. He gagged and felt his breakfast rise. "I'm suddenly not in the mood for lunch..." he groaned, throwing the piece of flesh from his head.

"This is the third one this week, where do all these demons keep coming from?" Robin asked, frustrated.

"Probably didn't get the memo that the world hasn't ended," Cyborg suggested, staring at the spot where the demon had exploded. "These guys aren't getting any easier you know."

Robin nodded. "We need to get back to the Tower, find out where they keep coming from." A soft beeping met their ears, and Robin opened up his communicator to see the cheery visage of Starfire. "Hello, friends! I trust lunch has gone well?"

"Not so much," Robin replied. "We ran into another demon. He nearly got us too."

Starfire's expression of happiness faded. "Oh, I see. Are all of you..."

"We're fine. We were just on our way home." A sudden thought struck him. "Raven isn't awake yet, is she?" he asked.

Starfire shook her head. "Do you wish for me to wake her?"

Robin nodded. "Get her up. One of her books might explain what's going on here."

The streets of Gotham city were, for a change, quiet. No gang shootings, no heavy traffic, no dark knight jumping from roof to roof searching for trouble. The only sounds were the rain tapping against the windows and collecting in the potholes in the streets, and the feet of the young man as they sloshed through the water. He stopped and looked behind him, panting. He was still being followed. It struck him as odd that his stalker was so short--less than five feet tall. If he wasn't having such a bad day, he'd have made a crack about being stalked by midgets.

He brought the gun up again and fired two shots. There was a flash of sparks and a slight gleam, and the assailant kept walking as he had been for the past hour: slowly, threateningly, almost casually. The young man began to run again, and he could hear the footsteps of his stalker speeding up. His bangs clung to his forehead, occasionally getting into his eyes. He wiped the hair away as he came into sight of his makeshift home: the abandoned warehouse on the south side of town.

He burst in, shouting for his younger sister, though in his heart he knew that she would soon be dead. Soft footsteps reached his ears and he turned to see his stalker standing, his frame silhouetted by the streetlights outside.

Beneath his hood, the boy smirked. Two hours of stalking, and an extra hour of chasing, had all finally paid off. Bring this fellow in, and he's set for a month. The young man, however...eh. It doesn't matter, as long as I get to eat the boy thought.

He walked deeper into the warehouse. "Stay away!" the young man shouted, and brought up his gun to fire. Only nothing happened. He dropped the gun and got into a tae-kwon-do fighting stance. The boy walked closer and the young man gave a cry, swinging his leg at the short, thin boy's head. An arm intercepted the leg and hurled him against the far wall. A short whimper was heard, as well as quiet sobbing. The boy stopped and listened carefully. He smiled beneath the hood of the raincoat and tiptoed to the source of the sobbing. His hand drew his borrowed knife from its sheath, its blade notched from deflecting countless bullets earlier. He came to the source of the sound and his smile melted away.

A girl, no more than 11 years old, sat huddled against in the corner. She looked up at him and he could see in her eyes the fear, the desperation. He took another step forward and she drew back, whimpering softly. "Hey, it's okay," the boy said quietly. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You stay the hell away from my sister!" the young man shouted, scrambling to his feet. The boy turned to look at him and tossed the knife against the far wall. "I'm not gonna hurt her," he said solemnly. Somehow, this was all the young man needed to hear and he calmed down.

The boy knelt next to the girl and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. He could feel her shivering in the cold. He took off his raincoat. "Here. It's warm on the inside, I promise," he said, wrapping it around her. Her look of fear faded and she glanced at him. He smiled warmly at her. "What's your name?" he asked.

The girl looked at him with uncertainty. "Jessica," she finally said.

The boy put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm Carson," he said. "You're safe now, don't worry."

"Ah, Carce, baby, yer back!" the businessman said, his New York accent thick with mirth. "How'd it go? Are they taken care of?"

Carson strolled into the office. Though only ten years old, he seemed surrounded by an aura of strength and intelligence, one that intimidated most people. He quickly drew the knife and impaled it's notched, ugly blade into the wood. His client stared at him incredulously. "You told me, when I first took this job, that I would run into the most deadly, the most feared, duo of bank robbers on this side of the red states."

He leaned forward, and the man began to feel the aura Carson carried. "What I found, Mr. DiCarlo, was a poor, 19 year old boy trying to provide for his beloved sister, the only family he has left in the world, because a corrupt businessman murdered his parents when he was a lad." DiCarlo reached for the silent alarm under his desk, and Carson grabbed the desk by the intricate inlaid stones in the finish and hurled it against the wall, where it lay in a pile of splintered, jagged wood.

Carson stepped closer to DiCarlo, who stood up and reached behind him for the old cutlass that supposedly belonged to Napoleon Bonaparte, the very one his mother gave him, and drew it, pointing it at Carson's heart. "D-don't make me use this!" he said nervously.

Carson smirked, grabbed the blade and tore the sword from DiCarlo's hands, twirled it in the air, and grabbed it by the hilt, admiring the gleaming blade. "Carson, l-l-let's be reasonable here," he stammered. "I mean, I'm the richest men in all of Gotham, next to that damned Bruce Wayne. I could do anything, I could give you a house, a home, butlers, women, of course you aren't interested in women now, but you will be, terrific investment opportunity there I tell you! I could give you whatever you want. Name it."

"Can you remove inner evil?" Carson asked pointedly. DiCarlo gave him a confounded expression. "Never mind. You say you can do anything?" DiCarlo nodded shakily.

The cutlass stabbed outward, stabbing DiCarlo through the chest. He stared at Carson in shock. "Can you fly?" Carson asked. He kicked DiCarlo back, his body slid off the blade of the sword through the back window, shattering it. His body fell through the air, blood pouring from his chest.

Carson smiled smugly and looked down after him. "Guess not," he said. He gave the sword a good, long look, before picking up a handkerchief off the floor and wiping the blood off the blade. He picked up the sheath and slid the sword down into it. He stared down at the ground below, as people surrounded the body of--"

"Raven? Raven? Please awaken, Raven! Robin wishes for us to do the research on the demons that have besieged the city!" Starfire's perpetually peppy voice called. Raven groaned and sat up, looking at the clock, her eyes half closed. They suddenly snapped open. "12:35? How long have I been asleep?" she wondered aloud. She stood up, and the memories of her dream came rushing into her mind. Memories. Not her memories. Not her feelings. Someoneelse's. Someone--

Her eyes narrowed. Carson's memories.

RR76: There. Backstory. Happy now? I would write more, but, alas, I can't think of anything else. :slaps face with beefsteak: Damn you writers block!

Anyway... please review now. There's a little button right there. Click on it now please. And write your review. Thank you in advance.

-RR76