A pool of blood formed beneath her fingers. Her body seemed to be covered in wounds, the streams of red forming, as rivers do, into a sea of infection across her face and arms.
Even her vision was hazed by inklings of burgundy. A nasty cut above her eyebrow cried corrupted tears into her eyelashes until it dripped like raindrops into the crevices of her sockets.
Sniffling, she ran a hand over her massive, blue eyes, flicking the droplets of red away from her. As her nails passed over her sight, Slade vanished into thin air. He had been standing arrogantly, assessing her frustrating predicament, but now he was once again faded into the pitch black.
The twinkling of her darkened power had dimmed into exhaustion, and he knew she had nothing left to give to the meaningless fight.
He pondered his next few actions, wondering if now was really the appropriate time to carry out the next step of his plan. Ultimately, the decision was made for him when a spiky-haired boy jumped into the picture, his bo-staff unsheathed.
A glimmering sparkle of metal lay before her weakened gaze, a flurry of infinitesimal hope burned quickly through her stomach as a friendly face emerged from the darkness, a crumpled mask wrinkling all the more with anxiety and worry.
Opening her mouth to scream, he was already kneeling next to her, a gloved finger pressed gently across his lips. Immediately, she recognized the idiocy of a girlish squeal, it was practically a neon sign blaring "Kill me".
Keeping low, the boy wonder flicked his head around, ears pricked for any sound. A couple seconds passed, the shadows did not betray Slade's position.
Quietly, softly, he snatched Raven's pale, bleeding arm and began to drag her up.
"Can you walk?" he whispered, to which she leaned in to hear him.
Shaking her head, he grimaced and she felt the shaking of his body, the rage already beginning to build inside of him. It didn't take a genius to know that Robin struggled with his darker side but, then again, so did she.
Motioning his head, and expanding his arms like a saint he urged her into them. Dragging a limp, sore girl would not provide a quick escape, and right now that was all he had in mind.
He would kill Slade later.
Stifling the pain of movement down her dry throat, she tried her best to ease into him. Thankfully, he quickly scooped her up and began moving, running in the direction he came.
The moon hid behind a puff of dark cloud, and the city was soberly silent. The neon lights and sounds that usually screamed were only a glimmer in the early hours of the night. Robin's feet sprinted and scurried, and as much as he tried to remain a ninja, the extra weight betrayed them both.
A single pebble was kicked against the slab of stone, and they both froze. It bumped and rolled, clicked and sang, the birds closed their eyes in incoming despair. They were both ripe for the taking.
Slade did not disappoint.
Raven fell, her body hit the ground with an unpleasant crunch, and she cried out in pain.
"Going so soon?" came the psychotic voice of Slade.
Her mind shutting down with complete energy depletion, she could only hear and feel the two dance as they struck out against one another.
Robin roared countless times, and she could decipher the impressive cracking of bones as time passed. The cement rippled, a warm sensation of liquid pooled beneath her, the fighting seemed to continue for decades, until finally, all was quiet once more.
All she could make out was the intense beating of her fragile heart, and the pained breathing of a man.
Robin had won.
The story of Slade had ended, this new evil front concluded and she managed a sigh of relief before she allowed herself to slip into blissful unconsciousness. Shuffling steps against pavement was the last thing audible, it came closer to her broken body before stopping.
Crouching, he tenderly put his arms under her waist and heaved her into his arms. Strands of violet hair whisked into the still, pitch-black air, landing gracefully upon the rock, into the crevices that marked a glorious battle.
Gurgling like a child, blood was coughed up from the mouth of the loser, seeping out next to his cheek. Gashes of intensity ran deep across his torso, his legs were scrapped, his face carved up. He had fought with all the strength left in him, but no one could hold up against such anger.
What had ended the confrontation was a multitude of intense beatings, coupled with a set of harsh throws to the wall, leaving the spine and neck bruised and battered. To end it, the unfortunate had run into his own demise, a poorly placed radiator, where the sharp, unkempt edges had cut in too deep.
He had taken a few minutes of less than extraordinary defenses before finally succumbing to his fate at the feet of his opponent, and now lay a bloody mess as the victor stepped over him to retrieve the thing they both were fighting for.
Kicking the petulant child aside, he took a last look at the rather disgusting wound that would ultimately end the life of one so young. Shaking his cloaked head in a motion of utter contempt, he sauntered off peacefully with a dead to the world girl, leaving the blubbering boy behind.