Chapter 18

A soft rapping on the door. Deathwing simply stared at the door as it opened, an orderly shuffling in with food.

She smiled brightly, setting the food down in front of him. "Good day, Mr. Grayson, feeling any better?" Her soft brown eyes rose to meet his…and froze.

He was grinning. "Oh, much, much better, miss."

She screamed once.

---

The acrid smell of blood rose above the pungent ammonia. Slowly, the padded room was being cleaned of the mess. The body, however, was not touched.

Bruce nearly ran to the room after being notified. Clenching his teeth, he stepped quickly into the room, where the head nurse was shakily taking notes and examining the dead orderly's body. "What happened!" he barked.

The nurse jumped, before standing swiftly and adjusting her glasses. "S-sir. We…Mr. Grayson. He's…gone." She shifted nervously.

"I can see that, Miss Karen." He stooped over the body, his face grim.

Big, brown eyes, glazed over in death stared back at him. Her neck was twisted sharply to the side, profiling the fork in her neck. Her lower lip had been somehow torn off. Several lacerations still leaked a faint dribble of blood. Carnage.

Wayne backed away, then glanced at the walls. It was as if they had been painted with the young woman's life. Handprints and fingernail gouges were torn into the padded walls. This was not a swift or quiet death. Then, something caught his eye. Wayne stared at it in shock. Something had been scrawled in blood upon the wall. The atmosphere seemed to thicken.

The head nurse shuffled up beside him. "D-do you know where he might be, sir?"

Bruce tore his gaze from the writing, hissed through clenched teeth, eyes wide. Then, "Yes." This time, he went into a dead sprint, knocking aside carts and people in his headlong rush.

---

It was a dark night. The Shattered Moon had fallen from the Seventh heaven and was hidden from view. But the stars burned as brilliantly as jewels on pitch-black velvet. Space stretched on for the lucky viewer above the clouds and streets of the City, the high building peak poking like a massive finger into the sky.

In the dim room above the world, the soft, starlit silhouette of a girl stood out against the square of the window. Breathing softly into the mist of her tea, she stared, stared, stared at the open, vast world beyond the City. Forest-emerald eyes drank all they could. Running a hand through her fiery hair, she sighed, pressing her forehead against the thick glass, barely able to feel the cold of the high altitude.

"Pretty bird…"

She jerked, lifting her head suddenly. Her eyes glowed faintly. "H-Hello?"

"Pretty bird, wants to fly…Into the wild black yonder…"

"But pretty bird is too shy…afraid of the rolling thunder…"

Setting the cup down, she squinted into the dark room. "Who's there?" The voice was not familiar.

"And bound to earth, the bird does die…When her wings are torn…"

"But yet looks up, up and ever high…With dead gaze forlorn."

Wham!

A boot struck her across the cheek. Rubber tread filled her vision for a flashing moment. She slammed into a small coffee table, splintering it instantly. Fleeting and black, a shadow darted through the square patch of light cast by the window, before dissolving into the gloom.

Starfire bit her lip to keep from crying out as pain blossomed in her face. Holding her cheek desperately, she stood, her eyes flickering about swiftly. "N-nightwing?"

Two red eyes suddenly glimmered out from the stygian black as starlight fell across them. His voice was guttural and low, thick and harsh. "Pretty Bird sees, hm? Well, that is a problem." White teeth flashed in a large, friendly looking grin. Seconds later, the sound of ceramic sliding across wood sounded in the dead silent room.

Glancing after her teacup, Starfire found it was gone. Too late, she turned to look for the figure. Scalding hot liquid splashed into her eyes, blinding her. Screaming, she grabbed her face again, almost sobbing. Tea trickled down her face as she groped about wildly with her other hand. A boot caught her in the ribs, flinging her into an unseen wall. Before she could recover, invisible hands grabbed her hair near the base of her neck and tilted her head back painfully. Hot breath and the smell of coppery blood blasted into her face.

"Hm, you seem to have me confused with someone else, Pretty Bird." The cold, pitiless voice whispered hoarsely into her ear, cold lips brushing her earlobe. "I'm Deathwing." He took a breath to chuckle. "And you are a walking impediment. Obstacles are too much of a bother this far along." The sound of metal sliding against metal. A cold pinprick on her neck. She coughed wetly, blood and spittle flecking her rosy lips. Her eyes flickered beneath clenched eyelids. "I'd say something appropriate right here, but…well, I'm just not that clever."

He thrust.

The blade never pierced. The blind Tamaranian slammed an open palm hard into his chest, flinging him clear across the room. There was a shattering of wood and plaster, followed by a surprised grunt. "Wh-what are you doing? You don't want to hurt your precious Nightwing, do you?"

"I don't care anymore." Her face twisted into a snarl as passionate rage flooded her body like a rolling ocean wave. Green light began to form around her wrists as she stared about. "You are not Nightwing. You are not anything. And you will not vanquish me!"

"We'll see about that, Pretty Bird." There was a flittering noise and the almost soundless pad of boots on the thick carpet.

Starfire listened softly, starbolts enveloping her fists as she stared through slowly recovering eyes. A hand landed on her wrist, gripping painfully. She swung powerfully at him, listening for his breath, hissing slightly in exertion. She was rewarded by a sizzling sound and a small explosion igniting just to her right. Through bleary vision, she saw the shadow slam into the ground. Then, her vision blanked again. Frowning in frustration, she fell into a fighter's stance.

Noise again. This time, it was a faint, almost inaudible rustling of clothing. It was right above her. Without a second thought, she thrust upwards. Something connected with her heated fists, coughed blood into her face, and flew straight up, green embers burning his clothing. Wiping the spit from her face, she gave a small sound of surprise as something suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back in an awkward angle. A boot collided with the small of her back, sending her stumbling. She hit her head on a wall. Hissing through clenched teeth, she felt a trickle of blood course down her face and mingle with the drying tea.

"Pretty Bird," hissed a voice into her ear, cold, acrid breath striking her. The smell of grave-soil suddenly filled the room. "You are messing with powers you just can't fathom." There was a sharp pain in her neck as a blade tore across her alien flesh. "And freaks like you, should die and never rise again. I'll make sure of both parts."

She listened carefully for his voice, biting her lip as the blade cut into her shoulder blade, before smashing her head into his forehead. There was a sharp gasp of pain and his grip was gone. Swiftly, she rolled back and stood again, her vision clearing slightly.

A flash of something white and silver. She grabbed at it. The blade cut into her palm. Inhaling sharply, she gripped it tighter and then grabbed the wrist it was connected to.

Bone. Her hand closed around bone. Cold, fleshless, and dry. She stifled a scream and spun once, before pitching the body towards a wall. There was a satisfying crash, but it didn't phase her. With reckless abandon, she flung starbolts wildly at the spot she thought he had landed. There were several grunts of pain and a succession of explosions, just before her vision dimmed again. She stumbled away blindly, trying very hard not to scream.

Frigid laughter tore across her scattered thoughts. "My pretty bird." A grunt of slight pain and a coughing of blood. Invisible liquid spattered on the hard wood floor. "You can't…kill Death!"

A whistling sound flickered towards her. She barely ducked, the blade nicking her shoulder slightly. He'd been aiming for her heart. A grunt of exertion and a stomping of boots. No more subtly. With no other thought, she fell flat on her back and slammed her long legs upwards furiously. Something connected and there was a gasp of pain. Then, for half a moment, there was no sound at all.

CRASH!

The massive picture window sounded as if it had exploded, small pieces of chilled glass cut into her skin. Gasping, she ran blindly towards the window ledge, straining to see through her damaged eyes. Nothing.

Trembling, she fell to her knees and sobbed softly into her palm.

---

Bruce Wayne nearly tore the hinges out of the doorjamb as he burst into the room, knives drawn and muscles clenched. Flicking on the lights, he glanced around. Utter destruction. Several dents had been formed into the pricey wood panels on the walls. Oak coffee tables and shelves had been smashed to kindling. Books and first editions were torn and burned, still flickering green smoke. One of the lights didn't work because it had been apparently smashed with someone's body. The massive picture window looking out over the city was completely gone, and cold, oxygen-rare winds swept into the room.

Starfire was sitting in a chair, staring at her hands, eyes shut softly. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, blood, and a green liquid. At the sound of his entry, she tilted her head up, but kept her eyes shut. "There was a…confrontation…" she said softly, her voice thick.

Bruce did the only thing he could. Sighing softly, he helped her up. "C'mon. Let's…get out of here and get you fixed up.

---

"'You can't kill Death', hm?" Bruce set down his coffee. Grimly, he let his face fall into his palms, breathing heavily.

Starfire stared at him blankly, her face cleaned and her wounds treated. Her vision was temporarily damaged, so they had given her neuron-contacts. Her usually brilliant green eyes were dim and sad. Her clasped hands fiddled slowly, deliberately. Light streamed through the office's window, throwing everything into contrast.

Dawn had come brilliantly.

Wayne sighed, letting his arms drop limply and swore softly. "We have to stop this."

She blinked at him slowly, before looking down, then back up. "Stop…what?"

Wayne turned his chair towards the window, and stared out the windows, as if drinking in the sun. "Starfire, I'm sure you've seen it." He turned the chair again, but not completely, his face profiled. Only his eyes stared at her as he steepled his fingers, his calm demeanor returning. "The scar. On his back. The one shaped like an 'R', right?" He softly drew in breath, before releasing it as if the world's weight forced it out.

She looked back at the desk, watching her fingers. "I have."

The leather creaked as Bruce shifted. "Say there was once a vigilante. One of the people, but one that people feared. Now, suppose this man, woman, whatever, had someone to help him fight his battles. Say, this…helper still had family. Violent, unpredictable, wholly corrupted family. Say, Death visited their home once, and brought utter pain and lasting marks." He traced an 'R' on the armrest. "But say, in theory, that Death left something a bit more personal. A bit more…well, tangible, perhaps." He softly jabbed his finger into the armrest. "A needle."

Slowly, Starfire lifted her eyes. "A needle?"

"A needle." Wayne poked the armrest again. "Buried deep inside this helper's body. But this needle isn't quite natural. Oh, it's made of steel and pierces well enough, but…it contains a life." The mask of apathy dropped, leaving a deep frown. "A life has been pressed into a life. Whose life? The life of Death. The life of Koshchei."

"How," Starfire murmured, "is this possible? And how do you know."

"There are forces in this wide expanse that we can't truly understand. That is how it is possible." Tapping his fingers together, the man suddenly looked ancient and tired. "And the vigilante made mistakes of not realizing the danger of seemingly erratic and random acts."Slowly, he pulled out a small computer, intoned a command, and slid it across the hardwood desk towards Starfire.

She lifted it and glanced. Her face blanched. "It's blood…it's writing on a wall."

Wayne nodded, quoting the scarlet message. "'And Lo, Koshchei will fill his storehouses once more with men's souls, for his soul returns to strengthen him.'"

Slowly, she set the computer down.

They both stared grimly at the image, sunlight and shadows playing on their forms.

Neither moved for a long time.

Blood, death, and tea.

This is a big chapter, so I actually rewrote parts of it. I wanted to deliver a powerful chapter so I deleted stuff, added stuff, and so on. The net of effect is, well, hopefully better. Unfortunately, I can't be the judge of that, but you can.

Anywho, you wouldn't believe the writing mood I got into with this chapter. I was like, "Whooooooo, writing is a free drug!" I feel like an idiot, but it's true. Freakin' passions won't let you come down.

Anyways, keep reviewing because it means you love me. And I love, er, love. Eh, it's a day after Valentines. How do you feel, eh?

-Raz