The last fight went to The Joker, so check out Jjp55's profile to see where this story is picking up from.

Intermission 1

Surviving

She woke, a throbbing rhythm coursing through her brain. At first she thought it was from the rain beating down on every inch of her body, but as soon as she fully regained consciousness she realized how much her psychotic opponent had left her with.

Screaming, white hot pain tore through her head as she opened her mouth. The sticky tissue of her cheeks tearing the frail hold it had re-grown in her hours of blackness, blood pulsed freshly into her mouth. She rolled onto her face, allowing the blood to seep into the soaked earth instead of choking her throat. She clenched her teeth tightly.

The water running through her torn skin felt like new slices of the Joker's blade with every droplet. She lay in the mud for minutes or hours unable to think of anything; only aware of the burning pain and a dull wish to return the black sleep of unconsciousness.

The rain beat down on her harder and harder. Finally the pain receded a fraction and Black Mamba gained a vague awareness of the need to find shelter. Carefully keeping her mouth closed she rose to her knees and looked around. The sky was dark as night, a possibility since she had no idea of the time, and the thickest trees were being whipped around like shredded streamers by the wind. The Lake was now only a few feet from her and riddled with debris.

She placed her hands over her cheeks without actually touching, stood, and shakily made her way to the forest. Nearly at the tree line, she stepped on something and fell as it slid in the mud. Her cheeks seared hotly for a minute but she hadn't jarred them too harshly. She twisted to check her foot. Her shoe was intact but there was a cut across the treads and she found her knife lying on the ground nearby. She closed her eyes in silent thanks for a moment, then wiped it clean and replaced it in her leg holster. Then, once again, she rose and made her way under the cover of the trees.

After a few minutes deliberation she turned she turned toward the direction she thought would take her to the mountain. The chance of falling trees worried her, but she needed to find higher ground and was willing to risk the danger for relief from the rain. The closely knit trees slowed the water's progress enough that it was tolerable on her cheeks, and the winds were also subdued.

. . . . . . .

Half an hour later she was starting to stumble into trees from hunger. She had managed to drink a few handfuls of rain water, though it stung her cheeks, but she desperately needed food. She needed to find a form of protein she could eat without chewing.

Mamba groaned inwardly as she realized what her dinner would be and headed to the nearest rotting log. Pulling the loose bark away she found five large grubs. Once she got past the process of swallowing a wriggling mush, they were greatly satisfying to her gnawingly empty stomach. It was definitely easier to continue trudging through the deep mud once she had some energy to draw on.

After hours of forcing herself to go one more step again and again the ground became rockier and she found a cave. It was empty but judging from the stack of firewood at the back and almost warm embers near the entrance, it wouldn't stay so for long. It took all of her will not to collapse right there. She continued on up the increasingly steep, muddy terrain until she found a smaller, truly empty cave. Still, she didn't allow herself to rest but went back to the first cave, stole some firewood and matches, and quickly returned.

Through her shivering, Black Mamba managed to start a flame and build a fire. She stripped off her soaking clothes and spread them out on the rocks next to the fire, then crouched as close to the fire as she could.

She gingerly felt her raw cheeks with her fingertips. She felt a slice of white pain through her head again but managed to stay upright. She didn't have anything to sew them with, but she had to do something. If she left them alone they would never heal enough for her to fight properly, she wouldn't be able to breathe as steadily, and the collisions of battle would be too much pain to take. If she was going to survive this tournament she needed to close her wounds.

. . . . . . .

Black Mamba lay on her back, now in warm, dry clothes. In her hand she gripped her knife tightly; bits of skin still clung to the fire blackened blade. Melting the skin together had seemed like the best option at the time, the only option aside from natural healing, and her cheeks didn't hurt much more now than they had before, but she still worried about the effects of this healing method.

She forced herself to sit up and clean her blade, then checked her results in the parts of the metal that were still reflective. Craggy scars ran two inches from each corner of her mouth. They were not as grotesque as The Joker's scars, but they definitely caught the eye.

The salty tear stung her skin. Black Mamba impatiently wiped her eyes clear.

"Mommy's not so pretty anymore B.B." She whispered, wincing at the movement of her lips, "but I'm coming back for you, baby."

She looked at the knife blade again, her eyes reflecting the now cold steel, and whispered once more.

"I'm coming."