The room had the strange feeling of being both immeasurably huge and all together too small at the same time. If one were to enter this room uninvited they would be able to stand in the ornate doorway and see before them an almost unending darkness, stretching out in all directions. That is, except for a tiny pinpoint of light, somewhere in the distance. They would barely be able to come to the conclusion that it was coming rapidly closer, when they would, in a rather messy and unexpected manner, die.

That was because the light that they were so engrossed in, was, in fact, the reflected candlelight off a silver dagger (silver in the off chance that in was a werewolf or some other creature of the same ilk that had stumbled stupidly across the door, and, on a whim or with evil intent, had opened it.) that was kept on a hook by the door as a way of dealing with unwelcome visitors. A tall graying man in a black suit would then wipe the blood, (or whatever substance) off the dagger with a silk handkerchief, hang the weapon back on the wall, and dispose, in the most professional manner possible, of the body.

This kind of thing happened at least twice a week, and the owner of the room refused the graying mans suggestion of locking the door. It was, the owner explained, quite an effective way of purging the castles gene pool of the overly weak minded.

0 0 0

It was a rather average night a few days after the armies return to the castle that Slade sat at his desk (Which seemed to him to be only about twenty feet from the door) writing up a document that would enact a plan to root out what few rebels survived in Tamaran. He sat in near darkness, and silence complete save for the scratching of his quill against paper (He had quite a number of pens, but they never seemed to carry the same official edge), and the almost imperceptible sound of his breath escaping his lips and getting trapped behind his mask.

A few moments later he straightened, rolled the document up, sealed it, and passed it to a man standing off to the side. "Wintergreen, make sure this reaches the Third Division by sundown." The man bows, careful not to wrinkle his immaculate black suit, and strides soundlessly out of sight.

Slade leaned back in his chair, resting his head against one hand and eyeing the screens in front of him. Scenes from various places in the castle played out before him, and he watched with practiced ease for anything out of place.

Nearly an hour later his eye strayed over a young dark skinned girl, arms laden with heavy trays of food, make her way down a stone hallway, and then turn rather unexpectedly into the corridor leading to the dungeons. He reached out and brushed a finger over the girl on the screen, and sat back again as the image magnified, and he saw what had made her catch his eye in the first place. The way she moved carrying the trays was with the awkward nature of someone wholly unaccustomed to doing it. And a moment later he saw a tiny covered bowl begin to slide to the edge of one of the trays. It teetered dangerously on the edge before tipping over and beginning its short flight toward the ground. A few inches before impact, however, it stopped, and the dark girl nodded slightly at it, and it soared up, back onto the tray.

Slade stared at the screen a moment longer before leaning back his head and laughing loudly. "Oh, so that's the game, is it?" He whispered to himself once he had finally calmed down enough to breathe properly.

He gave the screen one last glace before he spun his chair around and strode from the room, stopping long enough to stab a young demon through the head as it stood transfixed by the illusion spell in the doorway.

0 0 0

Raven made her way along the dark dungeon corridor, concentrating on keeping the heavy tray of food from crashing to the floor and making the loud noise that she was trying so very hard to avoid. A moment later her step faltered as the butter dish attempted to escape by throwing itself off the side of the platter. Reacting on ingrained reflex she caught it with her mind and set it back, wedging it firmly between the basket of rolls and the roasted chicken. It took a moment for her actions to catch up with her, and when she did she had to resist the urge to smack herself. It was just that kind of crap that would ruin this plan before it had even begun.

The princess continued on toward the high security cells, praying that no one had seen her slip up. But after a few minutes passed and no alarm was raised she allowed herself to relax and once again assume the role of a serving maid.

It had taken quite a while to decide how best to gain the trust of the royal prisoners. Being herself was eliminated right away as impossible. They would never hand over their kingdoms to the girl who was not only the child of the cruelest demon to ever walk the plains of this dimension, but also the murderer of their people and families. A fellow prisoner was also not an option. It would too excessively limit her movement and resources, and while they may pity her, they would have no reason to think that trusting her would do them any good.

The only possible way was to be a servant; someone who hated demons with the same fervor as them, and was also capable of bringing them news from the outside. Modified, of course, to fit the needs of her plan. But this servant needed to be someone they could learn to trust; someone they would depend on. Staying a female was her first choice, as it eliminated a few possible complications, and gave the added illusion of innocence. She darkened her skin in an effort to hide the paleness that was so recognizable, and grew out her hair to further hide their similarities. But the final touch, and the one she was most proud of, was a mechanical left arm. This would gain their sympathy, and give evidence that she was not a born Azarathian.

Or so she hoped.

After a few more minutes she reached the end of the twisting corridors, and stopped in front of a solid wooden door. It was heavy nine inch thick oak, harvested hundreds of years ago from the most ancient forests of Beastopia. But it was not only its thickness that allowed it to so successfully contain even the most powerful of prisoners; it was the thousands of hex marks, seals, and enchantments that were imbedded into its grain. There were five doors such as this in the dungeon, the creation of each costing the lives of a dozen Sages, and the blood of a hundred innocents.

Well worth it in the eyes of Trigon.

Raven set the heavy tray on a stone bench that sat against the wall, and placed a quarter of the food onto one of the much smaller trays were stacked atop its lager counterpart. After taking a moment to gather her nerves she stepped up to the ancient door, then through it.

0 0 0

On the other side Raven had barely enough time to register the darkness of the room before a hard blow cracked against the side of her head. She stumbled back against the door, its enchanted wood colliding with her back, refusing to allow her escape. The tray crashed to the floor, food rolling in every direction and the jug of apple cider splashing across the cold stone. She blinked back the pain and reared in every one of her instincts that screamed for a counter attack, as recently exercised in the heat of battle as they were. The internal clashing of will was almost physically painful, causing her limbs to tremble with effort, and her eyes to sting. But there was little time to gather her senses, as a moment later she was hauled up by the collar of her cotton apron, and swung against the rough masonry of the wall.

"Who are you? What do you want? Who do you work for?" A young man demanded. The cords in his neck stood out in a barely restrained fury. Or rather, unrestrained fury.

Raven gasped and struggled to remember the background she had cooked up in her room that morning. "I was sent by the-" Her head swam and her magic pressed against the back of her eyes, begging to be let loose. At the pause in her words she was lifted higher off the ground, and pressed harder against the stone. "-the kitchen staff. To bring your food." She coughed out weakly. She began to hear a roaring in her ears, and after another painful moment she was lowered to the ground.

The strong hands that had been strangling her less than a minute earlier now gripped her shoulders as she choked on her bruised airway. Her oxygen deprived brain panicked at the contact, and she lashed out, pushing him back and setting off a fit of coughing. Her lungs burned in her chest, and she seemed unable to take anything but short gasping breaths.

0 0 0

A few feet away the youth watched guiltily as the girl who had apparently come to do nothing more diabolical than deliver a tray of food, (and he was starving) massaged her throat and managed to finally get her breathing under control. She looked up at him warily from her position on the floor.

Their eyes met for a moment before the girl glanced down quickly and hoisted herself stiffly to her feet, wincing as she stretched the injured muscles in her legs and back. "I'm sorry about that." She said quietly, her voice sounding scratchy and pained. "I should have knocked." She was apologizing. To him. For not knocking on a prison cell door and then getting attacked for doing her job.

God. If he didn't feel like a jerk before, he did now. "No." She jumped and took a step back. "I mean, no, you don't need to be sorry." He hurried on. "I should be sorry. I am. Sorry that is. You didn't do anything." He ran a hand through his spiked hair, wondering what to say that would make up for trying to strangle her. "I'm Robin by the way."

She seemed to consider this, and opened her mouth as if to answer when the wooden door began to glow, signaling that someone was coming through. The girl glanced back with a gasp of surprise, and Robin dropped into a defensive stance, ready to attack if this arrival proved to be more dangerous than the last. A tall masked figure appeared a moment later, a long black cloak whipped out behind him as he stepped out of the portal. He glanced around the cell, his single eye lingering for a moment on the spilled tray, and the girl that was now eyeing him with open hostility, before settling on him.

"My, my, what kind of fun have you two been having?" He teased lightly.

Robins masked eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" From the looks the girl was giving him, his presence could mean nothing good.

"I'd merely come to check up on a few prisoners," he began, ignoring the question, "when I heard the most god awful racket coming from this cell. I though it was my duty to investigate. Lest someone attempts to kill themselves before they can be properly questioned. That would be most foolish." He leaned toward them, covering one side of his face with a hand, as if he were sharing a secret. "I hear that Trigon has something special planned, and he's inviting all the prisoners to join in." He straightened up. "You wouldn't want to miss it."

A muscle in Robins jaw twitched, but he refused to be baited. "Well, we're both fine here, so why don't you get the hell out and scurry back to whatever hole you crawled out of."

The man laughed at this. "I do believe it is you who is currently living in a hole." He glanced back at the girl. "And speaking of holes, you look familiar." He moved quickly towards the girl, snaking one hand out to tangle in her hair. "Have I fucked you before?"

She pulled back a fist and lunged for his head, her eyes almost glowing with anger. "I make it a point to avoid you, Slade." He caught the attack in the palm of his free hand and used it to jerk her closer to him.

That was it. No more playing around. Robin launched himself forward and swung a punch at Slade, intent on forcing him to release his hold on the girl. But at the last second Slade spun around, placing his captive between them. The spiky haired hero managed to change the course of the attack at the last second and instead open his palm and push off the wall, once again intent on breaking them apart.

Slade, however, continued to dodge, each step bringing them closer to the door, and with a final mocking laugh he ducked through it, taking the struggling girl with him, and leaving him once alone once again.

Robin screamed in frustration and slammed a steel-toed boot into the door. It caused no more damage than the other ten-thousand times he'd tried. With a last pained glance he began to clean up the mess on the floor. Better to keep busy than continue to worry about the future.

And what horrible things Slade would do to that girl.

"Crap. I never even found out her name."

0 0 0

On the other side of the door Raven finally let her pent up magic out, and it slammed full force into Slade's chest, knocking him hard against the opposite wall.

"What the hell was that?" She demanded, eyes leaking black magic. "If you ever touch me like that, or compromise my plans again I will string you up from the rafters. Do you have any fucking idea what will happen to me if I can't get what I need out of that prince? Trigon will kill me for it! And I am not going to get my soul sucked out, and my body zombified because you want to play mister big and bad in front of the prisoners!"

Slade straightened his clothes and brushed the dust off, ignoring her. "Oh, is that you, Raven?" He smirked under his mask when she bristled with rage. "Alright, alright, so I had a little fun. I didn't mean to get you in a huff."

"You were spying on me!"

"When have I ever spied on you?"

"…"

"I see your point. Fine, I'm sorry. There. Feel any better?"

Raven marched up to him and stabbed a glowing finger into his chest. "You are up to something. And I am going to find out what. But right now I have work to do. So shove off."

Slade brushed her accusing finger away and crossed his arms over his chest. "And what kind of work required you to play dress-up so early in the year?"

"Orders from Trigon. Orders that you are getting in the way of. So unless you want an angry demon lord chewing on your ass, I suggest you go back to your own work, and leave me to do mine." Even with her dark skin she was flushed with anger, and a degree of embarrassment. "Gods know this will be hard enough with out you getting in the way."

Slade sighed and patted her lightly on the top of the head. "Why can't we seem to get along, Hun?" She punched him in the nose. "It must be your fighting spirit. You are so much like a wild horse." He grabbed her wrist as it moved to repeat its attack, then the other, and spun her around, pulling her arms behind her back and twisting them painfully.

"Azarath, Mentrion, Zin-" Her chant was cut off by a gasp of surprise.

"I will break you to the saddle." He released her and jumped back in one fluid motion, his mask back in place, and the smoke of his escape already dissipating by the time she turned around.

"Did you just bite me?"

0 0 0

The note of the Author: Yeah, it's been like, what, a year? It's been a long time. I know that. I very long time. I understand that an extra long chapter wasn't worth the wait, but I can only hope it makes you want to kill me less.

So anyway, I was reading through my old chapters and finding buckets of mistakes. That's right buckets of them. They make me feel pretty silly, so I'll eventually get around to fixing them. But as it is I'm counting on you, the readers, to be smart enough to figure out what I mean.

I think at some point I use the word imgured, or something like that, in place of "emerged". I'm sorry. Forgive me?

Read this note please:

And also, you may have noticed a slight change in character personality.

Just to be clear, Raven was acting the part of a serving girl (who would not have magic powers, nor any fighting ability), which is why she got caught by Slade so easily in the cell, and why she didn't escape from Robins hold. I tried to make that as crystal as I could, but I just want to make sure.

My language has also been cranked up a notch, as has my rating. This is mainly because I wanted Slade to say the word "Fuck". I've been yearning for it forever, and finally saw my chance.

With love,

NumbuhZero