Deep within the crevices of the Earth, a man sat upon a stone throne, a single light focused center stage amidst churning cogs.
Eye shut firmly, he became immersed in his intentions.
The girl knew of her destiny. Unlike his first, she would not be left alone to escape. The Titans had not been shown his worst side yet. Obsession and need for an end to all things, he let his warped mind run wild with new imagination.
Similar in design, his schemes always involved an essence of corruption. This time was no different, but it was, in effect. He had never truly lusted over someone as peculiar as her.
There was Terra, but how positively weak she was, through and through. Her training was riddled with failure, hidden in the text, to which he refused to acknowledge. Letting her believe it was for good, believe that she would be as strong as him became the ultimate problem.
It was done, yes. Going it over, it seemed he got the better conclusion. After all, who was suffocated in stone, and who was alive?
He would have to thank her.
But, then, he already did.
Now, it was time to move on- something old and something new taken from the archives of his memories, and how perfectly it was beginning to unfold, this plan.
Shivering suddenly, it was a signal his body gave him now and again. More frequently, however, it was beginning to interrupt his meditations, but he never minded it, really. It was, of course, the perfect opportunity for some fun.
Eye blaring open like the reawakening of a beast, or the call of judgment day, he quickly stood and stepped down the two steps of cement. One wall, covered in monitors of different people, he searched for one in particular.
"Now where did I…?" he asked himself, his own voice ringing off the lonely rocks. "Oh, yes. There you are."
Leaning over, he peered more intently at a shining screen. A figure, face hidden, dared not move.
"Come on," he chanted silently. "Do it."
As if aware of his instruction, this tiny speck of black inched ever so slightly to the right.
He loved getting his way.
Thumb smashing down upon a button below the monitor, he cleared his throat.
"You know better, Sarah."
His index crawled slowly to another trigger beside where his thumb was arched, and he gently pressed it with the smallest amount of pressure, adrenaline began to course out of the currents of his mind.
A whimper was heard singing through the caverns.
Fully removing his thumb, he now put more and more weight upon the activation, a smirk evolving into grin underneath the splits of his mask.
Screams of a woman now rang like church bells all around him.
The shivering of his toes and shoulders halted, his entire body listened to the music of pain. It grew louder and louder, until all he could hear and feel was her constant struggle for life. Too much, too much, he decided this candy set before his eye was all too tasty to pass up on.
He dug his nail further into it until the muscles in his finger hurt from too much force, the plastic circle completely engulfed in its electrical socket. The tiny speck now vibrated.
Yells, cries, screeching, he did not care at all. No audible speech or language spoken, only the simple, the banal, the vibrations of lungs and throat conflicted into one horrifying howl.
This one lasted for a good long time, longer than most, actually, until it ceased.
That was the best part. The massive cry and exhalation of extreme noise hitting a brick wall of death and never to exist again, it was beautiful. Taking the last chocolate from the last box, it tasted the sweetest, and was always sucked on the longest.
His aching finger was finally released from its hold, and he breathed out one content sigh.
The trembling of his blood also halted, for the time being, and his head was cleared.
Only a matter of time, and she would put up the best fight, the one to end all the others.
Nightmares had riddled her already crowded mind.
How could she meditate, now that her entire sanctum was a trap, metal and rigged with spikes with an appealing carrot placed right in the center for her furry foot to step into and be caught and left for dead?
No, never again.
Unfortunately, this new resolve would be difficult. Meditation had always been there for her, even when the world ended. At least Trigon left her alone for the majority of its duration. With Slade there, who knew what else he could trick her into?
Like Robin said, she should sit this one out.
Boredom, however, told her differently.
Cyborg had been in and out almost every hour on the hour, running for tests, which at first she hated; however, when it became apparent she would have to spend a couple more days in the hospital ward until she would be medically cleared, or at least until Robin felt better, she started enjoying the company of others more and more.
Yet, this left her with almost an entire day's worth of thinking.
With a massive, silver 'S' tattooed to her back, it wasn't hard deciphering just what she was mulling over.
The conversation she had with him was repeated in her mind countless times, his familiar, egotistical phrasings and tone branded, like her skin, into her sub cranium.
Yet their dialogue, in its entirety, wasn't of huge concern, but snippets. Little sentences with gigantic meanings and worst fears laced in every syllable and word sputtered from his hidden mouth, but recognized in his foul eye.
"Robin isn't a woman."
That was one she certainly came back to time and time again. The thought of him actually saying it made her blood run cold. Hell, anyone saying that would make her freak.
The implication he made left her with two very grotesque options to which she was not going to entertain, not yet, while she was safe, at least.
Remembering, she noticed how much a pervert the man really was. How sick, demented, infuriating, arrogant, shallow, crazy, insane, dark, perplexing…there weren't really enough adjectives she could use to describe him.
Funny thing was, about half the words she conjured fit her as well.
It wasn't the first time she noticed their similarities. It wasn't the only time she compared herself to any villain they faced. An odd man out, it seemed she played for the wrong team.
Dark, brooding nature and a hellish attitude to boot, it was no wonder she always felt so alone.
But, she didn't need anyone.
She could take this fight, with or without her friends, she had done it before. Facing her fears, conquering her worst enemies, and solving any mess, and all of it was on her own.
Epiphany, she realized that sitting in this bed wasn't helping anyone.
Her friends knew nothing about what he was really up to, and telling them would only make her situation worse, make them more concerned, and then they were all bound to be wrapped up and sent to Slade's doorstep, perfectly packaged and handled.
What they needed, what she needed, was a boost, a catalyst. Like a stalemate, both sides were getting nowhere, and the only way this war ended was with a big bomb marked "See ya Slade!" Running away, letting go, was never her thing. So why start now?
Rebellion and intrigue beginning to bolster through her system, she almost wished that Robin found a breakthrough or the alarm went off so she could get back in the action.
But with the dry spell of crime and Robin's acute unawareness of what was really going on, neither was going to happen any time soon.
Throwing the covers away from her in frustration, she snatched the IV out of her forearm and gently pressed her bare toes against the ungodly cold tile floor. Quickly, before she obtained frostbite, she sprinted to the bath room to get a better look at this mark Slade had implanted on her.
Only through mirrors and descriptions was she able to get the gist, that and the constant radiating of ache sprouting from it like a nasty welt or bruise.
Spinning her back to the reflection and neatly untying the strings of her blandly white gown, she twisted her head around to get a better look.
A low whistle and a gasp escaped as she unfurled more and more cloth.
"What a sick-o," she muttered.
Her friends had aptly described it. Long, twisting, and sharp, it was a quintessential Slade 'S'. The only difference was that it stretched from her shoulder blades to the lower vertebrae, always noticeable.
That she had been prepared for, Cyborg had told her of its extreme size.
What surprised her were the additions.
Sparkling like the brightest and most expensive silver, it almost hurt her eyes to gaze at it. The tips of the letter also seemed to drop off and form small pools exactly on her shoulder blade and directly behind her hip. Upon closer inspection, she realized that this puddle of twinkling was simply more letter S's, cluttered together to seem like a unified speck.
What was worse, is that the main contributor to the little ones was growing dimmer. It still sparkled and glimmered, but even in the few minutes she sat observing it, the coloring faded.
Somehow not mad or angry, but intrigued and mystified he had been able to do such a thing, she than began to wonder if she had really seen him.
First hand, she was a witness to the power of insanity, how much damage it could do to the body and soul. She was beginning to doubt her pride, and her stability.
"Hurry young Titans."
"You've gotten soft."
"I can understand your frustration…"
"You and I are so very much alike."
The mask grew heavier, the burden more weighted and lost to anger as the time passed. Leaning over a table completely covered in hard evidence, a single light bulb swinging in and out of shadow, the boy wonder sat stumped.
Or rather stood.
Standing for hours, more than hours, but days, more than days, but years stretching into infinite time, he had found it, but could not follow the trail without hitting dead ends.
His implanted father had one.
A white, painted face of complete and utter insanity briefly skated across his mind.
How different his had turned out to be.
Peering quickly at the wall, a trophy hung, goading him.
"Who knows, maybe I'll be like a father to you."
Why was it every time he left, seemed to be dead or gone, he came back? Worse than ever. With this monster, this man, Robin simply did not understand the complexity of humanity.
Raven, she was in danger. Did she even know? Did she even care? From her jaded and bitter demeanor he couldn't really answer either question.
The bond told a different story.
It revealed her insecurity, instability, and incomprehensible loneliness.
He couldn't think like that.
No, she was in trouble, more than that, she was marked for death. Literally.
Then why couldn't he be there for her? What stopped him from rushing and staying by her side until the end? She had done the same when he needed it. Guilt set in for the spiky-haired lad, and he almost turned around to carry out such a deed for a close friend.
Almost.
Keeping him tethered to the drawing board was Slade. It was always Slade. No matter how hard he tried, how much he fought, forgot, and forgave, this beast, this mask, haunted every footstep.
Now, it was threatening to tear his team apart. Blame and distrust blurred his sensibility, but doubt and reason claimed otherwise.
The particles were Raven's. The marking originated from her same energy.
She said she didn't have a clue.
She was lying.
"Attack, Robin. It's the only way to save them."