This story is based upon the world or worlds and characters created by the imaginative minds behind DC comics of which I do not own rights.

I also do not claim the rights to the poetry used to inspire each chapter.

I do however claim rights to the characters I have created in this work.

Any similarities of characters named or described in this work to real people alive or dead is purely coincidental.

Goddess: Descention

Book One: Asylum

Prologue: Limbo

In The Desert

In the desert

I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

Who, squatting upon the ground,

Held his heart in his hands,

And ate of it.

I said, "Is it good, friend?"

"It is bitter-bitter," he answered;

"But I like it

Because it is bitter,

And because it is my heart."

Stephen Crane

(1871-1900)

Gotham City

He watches from the shadows in the back of his cell. Grey walls quiver with the brightness of shuddering fluorescent lights. He focuses his attention on the buzzing overhead and imagines an angry insect trapped inside the long glass tube. He envisions the creature's desperation; exposed to dazzling light it madly hurls it's minute body against it's prison's smooth walls in a futile effort to escape, thus causing it's prison to twitch and flicker. He knows it's the stark illumination of it's asylum that makes the insect insane. The bright scrutiny pushes it over the edge into madness for it knows the light will draw out it's very soul. It knows it will die unless it tastes freedom again. The watcher knows it's pain.

Below he hears the skittering of cockroaches and rats in dark corners. They deftly avoid the light and are seen only by accident. They live in shadow and leave scant evidence of their passing but they exist nonetheless, crawling through the cracks and committing their vile, secret atrocities in their murky black holes and he envies them.

He watches and listens and ponders these things in his cell, his personal hell. This asylum. The word means sanctuary. It implies safety, a haven away from a world outside that would do harm, but he knows that is a fallacy. It is the world outside that is the asylum and to keep it safe they banish the darkness to places like this. They torture it with light, put it behind grey stone and try to forget that it's still there, like the rats and the cockroaches. He is trapped here like a bug under glass, forced into a light that tries to blast away his darkness, his true self. But not for long, oh no, not for long.

This place, this asylum is limbo, a place in-between the world outside these walls and his world of blood and darkness. This place keeps the two worlds from meeting, but meet they will, it is inevitable.

Limbo: A barren place where he spends his days and nights filling the emptiness with meandering thoughts, trying to hold on to what he is. Trying to resist what they want him to be, like them, like this place; grey and dead.

He dwells on what led him here, re-lives it in his mind. He relishes the memories of freedom, it is all he has in here, everything else has been taken away. His quest hindered by his incarceration, stopped by… Him. Always Him. Sinister and righteous. Righteous and blinded by it. Why can't he see it? Why does he fight against what is meant to be? Why does he deny what he truly is? He hides behind a futile quest for justice and he squanders his freedom! Anger and hate rumble up from his belly like bile, he tastes the rage but forces it back down. Be calm. There is a time for everything, and there will be a time for Him.

He is a firm believer in Fate. He is Fate's instrument, it's right hand, it's dark and shining sword. He is it's weapon of choice because only he sees the world for what it truly is… A graveyard; full of corpses that are ignorant of the fact that they are dead. Lonely depressed shadows of the people they could be. They shamble about their lightened world believing they are safe from the truth. Living the lie that is their pitiful existence. Prisoners in cages of their own making. Only he sees the truth, only he sees them for what they really are; dull empty shades. It is his right, no, his duty to show them what they really are. Teach them what they need to learn: The truth of their existence and of his. The only true form of justice is the basest kind: Life for those who know the secret of existence and death for everyone else. They need to know this, they all need to know! His pulse quickens as the rage rises again and he pounds on the hard grey floor with his fist and the pain pulls him back to himself. He takes a long slow breath… Patience. Fate will see him through this grey empty place and he will be delivered into the world and there… he will shine again.

There are precious few like him. Shining ones. Those that shine see the truth. Some, like him embrace it but others, they deny it. They try to live the great lie and as a result they live in misery. It is the shining ones that hold the power. He needs their power, their inner fire and only he can free it from deep inside their fragile flesh and in return he would liberate them from their misery.

But he's freed so many and still he has failed to defeat Him. Without Him he could deliver the truth to the masses without fear. Oh, how grand that would be: To cut into Him, free His shining darkness, the radiance must be brilliantly magnificent, and the power he could gain would be vast.

But how? So many times he has failed. Why, with all the power of the multitude of souls he's freed does he still find himself here!? Where did he go wrong? What was he missing? His mind wanders back to the beginning, when Fate first called upon him and he smiled as a warm glow enveloped him. Then realization dawned on him, an epiphany: He had lost sight of his true purpose! He has been so intent on defeating Him that he had forgotten his quest, the true meaning of his existence. Small wonder he has wallowed here so easily defeated. Fate was punishing him for forsaking his duty, allowing him to rot in this prison.

Silently he vowed that he would not abandon his quest again. The weak and pitiful ones, they were never enough, only a dalliance, an addiction, he could see that now. He allowed his craving to control him but his destiny was larger than those petty lives. He must follow the path Fate had decreed for him so long ago and if he was successful he could defeat Him. Every molecule of his being knew this to be true. He had to dispense with his old habits, he had to recreate himself and he had to escape from this Limbo and he knew beyond a doubt that Fate would show him the way.

Metal grinding against metal drew him away from his contemplations as the grey iron doors at the end of the hall opened. He heard them coming, three of them. Two sets of heavy footfalls from the end of the long grey hallway, and one pair of shackled feet shuffling between, all coming closer. The watcher waits, enveloped in the blackness of his cell. The two walk quickly, they don't want to be here. The third, whose desire to be here is much, much less drags his feet, he has all the time in the world.

No longer just footsteps in the distance they come into view but the watcher stays hidden. Guards guide a prisoner to his new home, the cell across from the watcher's own. The guards, large men, perhaps muscular in their youth but inaction has made them soft. The watcher sneers in the darkness… dead men walking. Both flash a quick nervous glance into the watcher's dark cell behind them but they see only shadow. "Hey, he's supposed to be in there isn't he?" one asks nervously. Hidden in the blackness of his cell the watcher smiles, he could almost smell their fear.

"Sure he is," the other walks toward the watcher's cell and hit's the steel bars with his baton, "aren't ya, you freak?" Silence follows the fading echo of the clang on the bars. Concern colors the guards voice, as the other looks around the other cells nervously. "Come on, show yourself or you get to visit the pit again!"

"M-maybe he's not in there." the other guard tightens his hold on the arm of his manacled prisoner, fear creeps into his voice. "We need to secure this one, then call…" but he is interrupted by a hissing noise from the dark cell. The guard that had approached the cell backs quickly away as a stream of urine arcs through the bars and out into the hall, followed by a low rasping laughter.

"Goddamn creepy bastard! You're gonna pay for that you freak!"

"Hey, calm down, at least we know he's in there. Let's get this one secured, and get the hell out, I hate it down here." The guards turn back to their young charge and they hide their momentary weakness with malice. They shove their prisoner into his new home with curses: "Fucking baby killer!", and "Rot in hell!" roll off their thick, dry tongues.

Their prisoner, the new one, he is as tall as the guards, this new neighbor, but young, lanky, sallow-faced and defeated. The watcher can see there is no fight left in him as one of the guards give him one last kick for good measure before they lock him inside. He makes no move to get up, he just lays there where they tossed him, like the garbage they think he is. The watcher pays the guards no more notice as they leave, mumbling more curses and backward scowls his way. His attention now is on the wretched boy on the floor of the cell across the twitching hall.

He hugs himself as if in pain and he is in pain, but it has nothing to do with his treatment by the guards. The watcher knows this, he has felt that pain. The uncertainty, the self loathing, and the fear. The dark desires eating away at him, knowing that in this place, he can do nothing to alleviate the hunger. He is trapped in this hell like a caged animal, broken, pathetic and without any hope of deliverance. The watcher smiles again… Fate has not forsaken me, this is perfect.

The footfalls of the guards and the final heavy clang of the iron door at the end of the hall leaves them in silence. Several long minutes pass as he watches the boy moan softly in his misery. He lets the reality of this dank and dismal place sink in before the watcher breaks the silence with a whisper from the depths of his own darkened cell. "Just starting his career and he is caught and caged already… nipped in the bud as they say." He pauses a moment before he continues; "Such potential to be wasted in here, in hell, when all the devil really wants is to go out into the world and spread his message. Isn't that true little one?"

"Leave me alone!" the boy growls, still doubled over. The watcher grins, he had been dissected by enough psychiatrists, psychologists, and psychoanalysts over the years to know how to manipulate a young tortured soul such as the one across from him. He was him once, a long time ago, unsure of everything but the darkness that lived inside him. Feeling broken. Trying to be 'normal' but knowing that unleashing the darkness inside was the only way to feel complete, better than 'normal', just not knowing how. It was all about the rage back then, the watcher knew this from his own experience. Developing a personal ritual was key to controlling the hunger and letting the darkness become real so that he could feel alive. The watcher had discovered the truth to his own existence. The awful bloody truth. His smile grew in the darkness as he briefly contemplated his own… awakening. But, back to the task at hand…

"Hell is not a safe place little one, unless the devil has your back."

The boy peers into the dark cell across from him but sees only blackness. "What do you want from me!?"

"Want? You have nothing to give, but I do. I am a veritable cornucopia of survival skills, and you little baby killer need me, if you want to survive hell."

The boy still on the floor of his cell, his knees drawn up to his chin, his pain forgotten, for the moment, replaced by a reluctant curiosity. He stares into the darkness outside his cage and sneers, "If I have nothing to give then why would you help me?"

"Because I know you boy, I was you, once upon a time. If I had guidance then, someone to show me the way… Instead, like you I wallowed in the world with no direction, no true purpose. Letting the rage take it's course without a meaningful path, mindless. That lack of direction leaves trails, trails that can be followed. It is why you are here… in hell."

The boy looks intently into the dark cell across from his, striving to see his unexpected benefactor. "Why are you here then?"

The watcher's hidden smile fades. "It took the Bat to bring me here. He is different… He is really one of us; that dark rage is inside him too. Like us, his darkness shines but unlike us he denies the shadows he lives in. He lives with his pain and denies his true purpose, his bloody truth, whatever that is for him."

The boy sits up, interested now. "What is this truth, what does it mean?"

"Truth… it is a personal thing, different for everyone. We grow into it. We become 'It', whatever 'It' is. I know my truth, do you know yours?"…..

The boy looks down, unable to reply. "I thought not." the watcher chuckles. ""but you are young yet. It will grow into you."

"But I want to know now! I can feel it, inside. I need… to get out of here! I need…"

The watcher interrupts, his voice grows firmer: "That need is the hunger; your darkness just wants to shine, but what you need to do is to control it, at least in here. If you do not this place will truly be hell for you. I could help you, but my time here is short, you will need to learn much and learn it quickly."

"I will, I'll do anything!"

A long silence follows, as if the watcher is thinking over what he had already decided as soon as he saw the boy. "Patience young one, we have some time. You must take…" he laughs quietly, "baby steps at first."

The boy crawled to the bars of his cell, on his knees he begs, "Please, teach me!"

"Very well." He chuckles quietly to himself, perfect indeed. "First, you must show them, the doctors, the guards, everyone here, how docile you are. Let them think they have broken you, but give them hope that they can fix you. Cry, pray, in a word; pretend. Be their perfect little lab rat and run their little mazes. You must make them believe you are taking their little pills like a good little inmate. But most of all you must deal with your hunger and the rage it causes. They must never see that. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but how?"

"Pain."

"I - I don't understand."

"Pain will subdue the hunger. Inflicted by yourself. Hidden, on yourself…" With that the dark watcher steps forward into the odious light, he shows his young new pupil his pride an joy. Hundreds of hatch marks carved lovingly into his flesh. One for each of his victims. He stands naked, proudly displaying his art, his living scarred canvas. "It's done wonders for me."

The boy looks up at him in awe and whispers… "Z-Zsasz!"