AN: The natives are strangely quiet... let's give y'all something to talk about.
Warnings: This one's horrific. You've been warned. Also, if you're trying to escape a cliffhanger, I suggest you wait.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Titans, Slade, or any of the horrible tortures being used in this chapter.
CHAPTER 9
Garfield Logan hadn't set foot in a church for quite some time, but if he had to break the cycle, the Sagrada Familia was an impressive way to do so.
Honeycomb spires stretched hundreds of feet into the air, made all the more imposing by the low-hanging sun behind them. He couldn't help but be reminded of some fantasy hero storming the castle for the final battle against good and evil.
The only problem was, he was fairly sure evil had this fight in the bag.
Taped to the inside of the ticket window was a note in Spanish, Catalan, and English, saying that the church had closed early for emergency repairs. Beast Boy hoped Slade had bought the time for their confrontation with bribes in lieu of blood, but he couldn't rule out either.
He circled the building twice as a hawk, alighting wherever afforded him a view of the interior. The graven saints continued their vigil, impassive. Nothing he could see looked out of the ordinary, which meant that Slade was definitely waiting for him. The assassin was sure to have planned for any entrance the shapeshifter chose to take, so he decided on the route that meant the least damage to the church.
The front door was locked, of course. Neither of them could be kept out by something so trivial, but it discouraged interruptions. Garfield permitted himself a grim smile at the sign insisting that appropriate attire be worn in the church; his shirt was still lying in that alleyway, soaked through with Raven's blood. Shifting into a cockroach for maximum protection from any booby traps Slade had planned, he wriggled his way through a tiny opening beneath the door.
Once inside, Beast Boy took a moment to appreciate the church's splendor even as he searched for his enemy. Massive columns stretched up into seeming infinity, hybrids between traditional architectural forms and designs found in nature. What was most impressive, however, was the lighting. Sunlight filtered in from every possible nook and alcove, bathing the entire sanctuary. Ahead, the stained glass windows transmuted the falling sun's rays into a masterpiece of color, and even so late in the day, the altar and giant crucifix were highlighted in radiant splendor.
Awed as he was by such grandeur, Garfield did not miss the whistling sound approaching fast from behind his left shoulder. Diving to the right and coming up facing the direction of the attack, he saw a figure emerge from the shadows.
"Good," the assassin said, voice echoing in the vast hall, "I'd hate for it to have been that simple after all the trouble I've gone to for you."
"Slade!" he snarled, hands balling into fists.
The masked man rolled his single eye. "Is it really too much to ask that just once, you Titans start with something more imaginative than my name?" A hand came to rest on his hip. "Then again, considering that I murdered your pet demon no more than half an hour ago, we'll let your lack of conversational prowess slide for the time being."
Slade didn't know that Raven had survived. Garfield filed the information away and reacted as the assassin would expect him to behave. "Take off that shield so I can tear you limb from limb, Slade," he growled.
"Very well," the man replied, removing a device from his belt and setting it aside. "Oh, and just to make this more of a fair fight, I won't use any weapons." The katana dropped to the ground, as did the bo staff.
Without hesitation, Beast Boy shifted into a cheetah and launched himself at the man, knowing he would be thrown using his own momentum. Just as Slade was about to send him flying, he morphed into vipera aspis and wrapped himself around the assassin's arm. His fangs struck again and again, but couldn't find a weakness in his opponent's body armor. He was flung by his tail into one of the pews, where he reverted to his human form.
"Such willingness to kill," the sickly sweet voice taunted. "Perhaps I picked the wrong apprentice."
Beast Boy spat blood and stood to his feet once more. "Spanish hospitals stock antivenin for the Asp Viper, and only four percent of untreated bites are fatal anyway. If I were trying to kill you, I'd have been a black mamba." He leapt over the benches and began circling Slade, waiting for his next move. A breath later, the taller man was launching a barrage of punches and kicks, and Garfield turned into a gorilla in order to block the ferocity of the attacks. When he saw an opportunity, he seized the assassin in a bear hug, hoping to crack Slade's ribs and disable him.
Sharp pain flared in Beast Boy's arm, and he looked down to find a syringe, plunger fully depressed, sticking from his bicep.
His vision swam, and the last thing he heard was Slade's voice. "Sweet dreams, little boy."
—
When Beast Boy awoke, it was to a crushing weight around his throat and a horrible nausea. He was lying on his back, unable to move a single muscle below his neck, but a groan escaped unbidden.
"Ah, Beast Boy," Slade's voice echoed in his ears, "You're awake a bit earlier than expected; I suppose that unstable DNA of yours has some effect on the drugs in your system. I've administered a very special paralytic agent from my friend Professor Ivo. You'll find yourself unable to move most muscles, but speech and respiration won't be affected. Helpful man, the good Professor. Then again," he said, coming into view with a large empty syringe, "I am doing him quite a favor here."
"Favor?" Garfield asked, bewildered.
"Oh yes," the assassin said, leaning down into his victim's face. "I'm going to help him destroy the Justice League. And you, my dear boy, are going to help me."
"Like hell," he said, struggling to move his fingers, his toes, anything.
"I didn't say it was voluntary," snapped Slade. The syringe slammed into the vein in Beast Boy's forearm and began sucking viciously.
The assassin twisted and wrenched the needle around in the wound, shredding sensitive tissue as Garfield tried to bite back his screams.
After an eternity, the needle withdrew, and Slade held it up to his one good eye. "Well, I only got half of what I need from that side. I suppose phlebotomy isn't among my many skills. But you know what they say..." He positioned the needle at Beast Boy's other arm. "Practice makes perfect."
When it was over, Garfield lay panting, tears streaming down his face. He tried again, as he had for the last several minutes, to turn into something else, to reach for Away, but nothing happened. "Why can't I..." he murmured.
"Why can't you change?" Slade asked, a smirk in his voice. "That would be the magic of intergalactic slave trade technology. The Citadel are very effective at suppressing all sorts of powers with collars like the one you have around your neck; just ask your friend Starfire."
Panic raced through Beast Boy. With no powers and no way to move, he was completely helpless against whatever Slade had planned. "What are you going to do?" He asked, unable to keep the tremor from his voice.
"I've gotten all I need from you, really," the assassin said, holding up the syringe for emphasis. "Professor Ivo is convinced that your DNA is the key to completing the Amazo project, so that's all I'm being paid to obtain. Still, why stop there?" He disappeared for a moment, then returned to lift Beast Boy to a sitting position, propping him against a pew.
In Slade's hand was a newspaper from France with a picture of Beast Boy at the head of the Titans, just after they had defeated the Brotherhood of Evil. "In case you can't read French," he said in a mocking tone, "The headline is, 'Beast Boy, Savior of the Titans.'" The paper dropped from Slade's open hand. "Well, I'm going to break the Titans' so-called savior. I'm going to reduce you to nothing more than a quivering lump of flesh, and then I will leave you to die."
Slade strode away, and this time, Garfield was upright to see what he was doing. "It seems only fitting for the savior to be in the place of honor in this church, don't you think?" the voice echoed back to him. The assassin lifted something from the ground to stand beside him.
It was a wooden cross, as tall as Slade.
After a moment, Slade let the cross drop back to rest on the ground once more, and headed toward Beast Boy. Lifting the changeling in a fireman's carry, he dropped him in an unceremonious heap beside the cross. Taking one arm, he pulled Garfield into position, then produced a pair of railroad spikes and a mallet.
"Are you familiar with the process of crucifixion, Beast Boy?"
The boy shook his head, petrified.
"That's a shame. I suppose we'll just have to take our cues from the available reference, then," he said, gesturing to the icon above the altar. Kneeling by Garfield's right palm, he dug the railroad spike into the flesh. "It would appear this goes somewhere around..." With a vicious blow from the mallet, he exclaimed, "Here!"
Garfield's world turned into pure agony. Shredded nerves and broken bones screamed at his central nervous system to run, hide, anything to get away, but he remained immobile, helpless. With each stroke, he teetered on the brink of oblivion, willing himself to succumb, but he could not.
With the spike firmly driven in, Slade sat back to admire his handiwork. "That seems about right. And in case you haven't noticed, that collar has another handy feature: it will keep you conscious long past when you would normally have passed out from the pain. The Citadel truly are an ingenious race." With that, he set to work on the other hand.
Garfield lost track of time, and he emerged from the wormhole of agony incapable of anything more than quivering and whimpering.
"Now," said Slade, "Let's conduct a test to see if the artist was right." Lifting the cross to a vertical, he let Beast Boy hang from his hands.
There was a horrendous ripping sound, and Garfield was on the floor screaming once more, two gaping holes in his palms.
"I suspected as much," came the flippant observation. "We'll have to try a different spot. On the bright side, I brought extra nails."
Once more, Garfield was dragged to the cross, and once more his arms were spread wide. His palms were forced back over the heads of the spikes with a gut-twisting squish, and just as the pain was beginning to dull, agony exploded in his right forearm just below the wrist.
Slade took his time, and when he was done, the green boy was nailed to the cross in a near-kneeling position by his hands, bare feet, and forearms. Eyes rolling wildly, Garfield begged over and over for Slade to stop, knowing it was futile yet still incapable of halting his pleas.
His fingers and toes writhed; the paralysis was wearing off, but it was too late.
Masterpiece complete, Slade took a massive length of heavy chain and attached it to an anchor on the cross Beast Boy had not noticed before, repeating the process on the other side with a second chain. "I think this work of art should be on display, don't you?" he remarked, gesturing to the altar.
Beast Boy's head was swimming from pain and blood loss; he couldn't bring himself to reply.
A chain in each hand, Slade turned and dragged the cross like an unholy chariot toward the altar, and Garfield watched three lengthening streaks of blood mar the polished floor in the wooden frame's wake. The scraping vibrations transferred through the wood, and the boy shrieked with each lurching step.
An eternity later, they came to a halt. The chains rustled and rattled, and Beast Boy knew what was coming next, just as he knew he was powerless to stop it.
No amount of knowledge, though, could have prepared him for the agony that gripped him when the cross was hoisted into the air.
He dangled and swayed, shaking his head and howling in pain and rage, until his vision cleared and he saw Slade standing far below, arms crossed.
"An excellent copy, but it's missing something," the assassin's voice carried up to him. "The collar makes for an interesting crown of thorns, which means..." A throwing knife streaked toward Beast Boy and imbedded itself in his left side. "Now the scene is perfect."
Beast Boy convulsed, arms and legs spasming as his punctured lung began filling with blood. His hanging position made breathing all but impossible, and he struggled to make his limbs lift him up to draw a breath.
"It's a shame you won't live to see the progress your blood will bring," said the villain. "I suppose it's only fair to thank you by sending Professor Ivo's prototype to Jump City. Even unfinished, Amazo will have no trouble finishing off your friends when they return home to bury your corpse."
The words flowed over Beast Boy, slowly condensing into chunks of meaning, and a spike of panic set off another wave of struggles. Still, he remained silent. He couldn't waste his breath on a response, not when each lungful cost him so dearly.
"Well, little boy," Slade said from far below, "It's been a pleasure, but I really do have to be going. Give my regards to the rest of the Titans... not that you'll live long enough to see them." With that, he placed the syringe with Beast Boy's blood into a protective case, unbolted the main door of the church, and walked out, letting the door shut with a resounding boom.
Garfield fought to rise, pulled himself up again and again for desperate breaths, forcing himself to believe that if he held on for just a little longer, the Titans would come for him. As his vision dimmed, his thoughts wandered to purple hair, pale skin, and a rare but beautiful smile— Raven, trapped forever in Away. He had failed her.
"Rae..." he choked, and the rest of his apology drowned in his own blood.
—
AN: That's the last chapter I had completed when I started posting this, and unfortunately, the next chapter's only half done and has hit a snag. I apologize for leaving you all hanging (no pun intended... poor Gar), but a move to Siberia is tough to orchestrate, and I have less than two weeks left before I take off.
