"May I sit here?"

The voice was smooth and strong, but not overbearing. It was rich in tone, neither deep nor shrill, well enunciated and possessing no discernible accent. It was a voice made for speaking.

Raven didn't look up from her book, nor did she reply.

"Very well, then. Silence gives consent." A quiet scrape of wood upon wood, a soft rustle of cloth and the settling of another aura nearby were the only indications of his presence, and then near-perfect silence. Despite herself, Raven was curious. Several moments had passed and he hadn't attempted to start up conversation. Further, his aura read like he wasn't even paying attention to her. Not that she was complaining, mind you, but the reality of it was that the Titans simply weren't ignored when they were in public. After several minutes Raven broke the silence with a question, although her eyes never left the book in her hands. "Why are you here?"

A brief flicker of surprise flashed across his aura, but his voice was smooth and unaffected. "Since I assume you're not opening a conversation with philosophy, the simple answer is that I'm here for the reading."

Smothering a tinge of annoyance, she clarified. "More specifically I meant, 'why are you here at my table?'"

"Ah, yes. My apologies. There are no other seats."

Raven blinked and raised her head to scan the coffee shop. Indeed, every table was full, the bar was at capacity, and there were even some people standing or in folding chairs. Her table was the only one with available seats, and nobody was even looking at them. A small smirk played across her face for a moment. The regulars certainly knew not to intrude upon her space. Which begged the question...

"You're not from around here, are you?"

The small stage that the coffee shop boasted had a spotlight trained upon it, a young woman standing upon it and speaking into the microphone. She was apparently introducing the reader for the evening, but Raven's attention was drawn towards the man sharing her table.

"Indeed not. I just got in this morning from Japan," he replied, flashing a grin over his shoulder that revealed a heavily tattooed face. "I'm Jon, and as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I believe the mob will lynch me if I don't get on-stage." He stood and walked towards the stage, leaving Raven with one eyebrow cocked up and gazing at the relevant information on a small poster that had been blocked from view by his body:

Guest Poet: Jon

Author of: Begin at the End and Song of Divinity

After blinking a few times, Raven flipped her book around to inspect the spine. In simple gold letters against the black leather of the binding were the words "Song of Divinity". A moment passed before a soft groan was heard from the depths of her hood.

"This is just going to be one of those nights, I can tell."

"I don't believe I got your name."

The girl hesitated, shoulders tensing for a moment under her blue cloak. She turned swiftly, the edges of her cloak lifting as they caught air. Long pale legs flashed in the dim light that filtered through the dusty windows. She faced me, her hood throwing shadows across the top of her face. Despite the obfuscation, her eyes shone with a inner light, both bright and captivating. There was something about her that simply called to me, like a spot of shade in a blistering desert. At her continued hesitation, I offered, "My name, as I'm sure you've gathered by now, is Jon."

She studied me a moment, and I knew not what she was searching for. Presumably she found what she sought after, for she replied. "Ra-... Rachel. You may call me Rachel."

I bowed my head slightly. "Rachel, then. It is a pleasure." Her hesitation was certainly understandable. Used as I was to how my appearance affected others I would expect nothing less, and possibly much more. In fact, the last time I met a woman in an alley she nearly gave me a concussion. Being covered in twisting lines of tattooed ink from exposed scalp to foot-sole tended to startle people. "I was hoping you would allow me to walk you home. It is rather late, and I'd hate for anything to befall you."

A quick flitter of pale emotion passed her face; scorn, surprise, and finally a sort of faint amusement. "That's... not exactly necessary. I can take care of myself."

Vaguely worried that I had given some offense, I raised my hands in a calming gesture and replied, "I didn't mean to intimate otherwise. It's understandable that my presence may be unwelcome. Your boyfriend, I assume, would look unkindly upon your return with another man?"

She snorted softly, spun back around towards the alley's exit and said, "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Very well. If, however, you wish to discuss 'The Anointed One', you'll know where to find me."

With that last floating through the air, she turned from sight. I decided to head towards home myself, and exited the alley in the other direction.

Raven meditated, floating several feet above her comforter. In her mindscape, galaxies spun silently through space and worlds lived, flourished, faltered, and died. Time was a foreign concept, matter and energy likewise, all illusions of the body. There existed only the mind and pure nothingness.

Pure void.

Pure peace.

In this wondrous place there were three truths.

"...Azarath..."

"...Metrion..."

"...Zinthos..."

Eventually the body could no longer be subsumed. With a gentle sigh and a slow fluttering of the eyes, the demi-demon returned to the world of mortality. A soft chirping interrupted the silence, and she reached to her side and flipped the yellow communicator open. A voice raspy with disuse melded with the silence, responding to the call.

"Raven here."

A face whose eyes were concealed behind a domino mask appeared on the screen, perched above a colourful amalgamation of cape and tunic. "Raven, can you come down to the evidence room? There's something here that I'd like your opinion on."

A shift of violet hair against gray skin was the only indication of a barely perceptible nod. "On my way."

As she floated out of her room and down the hall, she thought about Jon's cryptic parting words. It was simple enough to figure out how he had known of her interest in "The Anointed One." The book she was reading was open to that particular poem, and the margins were full of notations. No, that wasn't the mystery. What was curious was that he said she would know where to find him. It was possible that he meant at the coffee shop, but he was only a guest speaker there. Indeed, he was only slated to appear at the shop for the single night. Approaching the door forced her to abandon the thought process for a time, forced her to refocus on the gaudily dressed individual sitting in front of the terminal in the darkness. Without turning around or otherwise indicating how he was aware of her presence, he spoke.

"These symbols have been appearing around the airport and docks for the past week." A click of the mouse threw the images onto the wall-screen. Despite herself, Raven loosed a short gasp. "As you can see," Robin said in a flat voice, "they've been carved into flesh. The victims report that they did not see their assailant, and that they were awake and completely aware during the procedure." More clicks put more pictures onto the screen. Robin continued to speak, but Raven wasn't listening. She examined the photographs splayed unashamedly across the wall, her emotions encased in bonds of black ice. There was a young woman, tall and pale, elegant and refined if one ignored the cruelty performed upon her person. A larger black man, graying at the temples with a symbol carved into his tongue. Raven stopped dead as she looked at the final image, a young child that appeared to be between seven and ten. The child's face was savaged, her left eye popped and missing, flesh parted to reveal the white gleam of bone beneath. Further details were unable to be determined since the wall-mounted monitor system glowed in a dark nimbus and imploded.

There was a sudden darkness and silence that was pierced only by the occasional sizzling spark.

"Raven, are you-"

"It was almost like Ancient Sumerian. Perhaps a branch dialect, or a proto-language." Raven's eyes glowed white-hot in the darkness. Robin tactfully ignored the fact that his teammate had just performed demolitions work on his computer system.

"Could you translate it?"

The light of her eyes began to dim. "Maybe. No promises."

Finally her eyes stopped glowing, and she turned to leave. As the door slid open, Robin called out to her. Against her better judgment, she stopped and hovered in the doorway.

"Raven... will you be alright? Can you handle this?"

A brief hesitation, and then the words, "Why wouldn't I?" were his only answer. As she left, a ceiling-mounted light fixture fell to the floor and shattered. Robin examined the damage in the dim glow filtering through the open doorway and sighed. Pulling out his communicator and pressing a button, he said "Cyborg, I could use a little help in the Evidence room..."

Weeks had passed, and I was beginning to wonder if the vision had been interpreted correctly. It was always a tricky business to discern meaning from visions, but this particular oracle was well-regarded and had used her gifts to great effect in the past. It seemed that the haste with which I'd left Japan may not have been necessary. Still, if there was one thing that I was very good at, it was being patient.

In the meantime I had begun to turn my current domicile into something more like a home. The room I was currently occupying was small but functional. It contained a set of bookshelves which were already groaning under the weight of a portion of my collection. A dresser stood unobtrusively in one corner, and a small bed ran along one wall. A window and door to a bathroom completed the place that would be home for the foreseeable future. The warding had been completed upon arrival, the contents of the various books and scrolls entirely too precious and dangerous to not be protected from harm. A cursory check of the energies tied into the structure revealed the need for recharging, something that was required with increasing frequency.

I frowned. The magic wasn't working correctly, or at least not in a manner that I had come to expect. Generally, the ambient magic of a location was enough to shore up a static pattern and it only required recharging when the energy in the pattern was expelled. If one was lucky, then the ambient magic was plentiful enough to recharge and strengthen the pattern. This draining of the pattern's energy was usually a symptom of endemic magic depletion, but there were no other symptoms of such an imbalance to be found in the city. Indeed, the feel of the city seemed indicative of endemic magic augmentation. It was like a strange combination of Metropolis and Gotham, the cities cited as examples of augmenting and depleting locales by my mentor.

A circle was inscribed upon the floor, something I had done when the necessity of frequent recharging had become apparent. The symbols etched within had been lost to the ravages of time long ago, remembered only by those who recognized their power and meaning. I grimaced, thinking about the toll the ritual would take upon me as it added to the debt I had accumulated. As a general rule I avoided mystic workings, both by nature and sensibility. The fact that the universe tended to take affront at being told what to do also bred a healthy respect for the gravity of the arts magic.

Still, ya gotta do what ya gotta do.

I entered the circle and sank into seiza, careful to avoid the characters inscribed within. Even though I couldn't scuff them or blur their outline like with a chalk mandala, the energy would flow better with them unobstructed. Light slanted in through the window; the sunset cast the room in a ruddy glow. Sunrise would have been a better time for the ritual, but the pattern would likely break before then. After a moment of focus, I began the chanting.

"Ygratha Metrintacal Shendrithicadshendrithos... Ygratha Metrintacal Shendrithicadshendrithos..."

The circle glowed as it channeled my energy into the wards. Pale yellow tendrils of mystic energy were formed at its periphery and stretched towards the walls. Within the circle I was surrounded by a diffuse nimbus of the same colour, sharply cut off at the inner edge of the runes. These glowed strongly as they directed the magic into usable forms.

After a time the wards couldn't accept anymore magic. The circle winked out and the ritual ended. The sky had become a velvety dome across the sky, punctuated now and again with a glistening diamond. I winced as my attention was forcibly returned to my body. Sitting in that position on hardwood was not conducive to comfort. I stood and stretched, then grabbed a coat and headed outside.

Nothing quite replenished spent magical energy like a huge container of ice-cold Dr Pepper.

...At approximately 0045 a massive gang war erupted between the Wildcards and the Razorleaves that was causing massive property damage and loss of life. The altercation between the warring gangs soon engulfed a full city block and involved nearly every unit in the JCPD arsenal. Through the use of highly trained anti-riot and SWAT units, the uprising was contained by 0115.

The First Jump City Bank and Trust on the opposite side of the city had the automatic silent alarm tripped at 0104.

Since all available units were already involved in the altercation, the dispatchers forwarded the call to the Teen Titans, who arrived at the bank at 0110. According to the Titans' report (attached) they entered the building through a door on the roof that had been compromised. They reached the vault to find that five figures dressed in black outfits had already gained access and were loading bundles of cash onto a trolley. The Titan's confronted the suspects and requested surrender and compliance.

At 0113, everything went FUBAR...

-Excerpt from a JCPD incident report.

The shadows erupted with thunderous fire.

In the confines of the bank the overlapping krrkrrkrrk of automatic fire was deafening. Solid void sprang into existence long enough for the Titans to fall back. Green blasts were launched into the concealing darkness, blue rays of condensed sound were sent out as cover fire, and spinning discs full of chemical sleep found their marks. The ground shook under a constant assault of green paws, green hooves, and green claws.

The air screamed as a thing alive, heat and sound concussing in a never-ending testament to the fury of modern warfare. The deadly dance between criminal and hero played out at a frenetic pace, thought becoming subsumed in a race between sense and reflex, action and reaction. The slower moments of the battle were remembered by the Titans as a sort of disjointed montage of destruction...

-starbolts hit the gun and knock it from the man's hand. The world flips around as Starfire's flight is disrupted, her shoulder struck by a bullet that-

-ricochets off the left side of his cranium. A blast of blue fire towards the source before auxiliary sensors indicate another behind him. Spinning around, Cyborg delivers-

-a kick that breaks the man's collarbone, springing into a forward flip as the man screams and bullets graze his mask. The momentum from the flip builds with a forward roll across the floor, a handspring clearing the distance to-

-a black sphere that shudders and cracks. Debris lifts into the air, a whirling cyclone that begins to spit rebar and marble towards-

-a vicious bull-rush off the mezzanine. Senses flare and the bull becomes a fly that is subsequently buffeted by the air displaced by the bullets. A falcon springs into existence, diving towards the enemy's-

-eyes glow green, teeth bared into a vicious snarl as-

-the pile grows larger, metal impacting flesh when-

-birdarangs, no more tricks, no staff. Titanium soles flash-

-in the darkness, emerging as whimpering, puling wastes of flesh-

-covered in scales, roars drowned out by the hail of gunfire, claws-

-flashing as the charges detonate, screams when men fall, hands bloody from-

-the crushing force of the pillar. Servos whine as the mass of marble and concrete-

-falls, blocking his fall-back. Gunshots, a horrible pain as his cape-

-intercepts the latest burst, persisting bands of ebony that slowly fade. Then, -

-the final man falls. Saurian eyes scan the area, and a vicious roar echoes into -

Silence.

Dust sifts from the ceiling, shaken suddenly by a mighty roar that becomes a faint voice.

"OK! Does anyone else want to shoot at us?" The frustration in the greenling's voice is quite apparent. Groans and heavy breathing are the only response. Suddenly, his communicator chimes a familiar nine-note jingle before crackling with Cyborg's voice. "Titans, status report."

"I feel like a glathoring blartworm, but am otherwise uninjured."

"Fine."

"Dude, we totally kicked their butts!"

A protracted silence. Cyborg's voice came over the communicator again. "Robin, do you copy?" When no response was forthcoming, Cyborg spoke again. "Guys, fan out and find Robbie. He can't seem to hear-"

Crackling static overlaid him for a moment before Robin's strained voice could be heard. "-bin, is everyone alright?"

"Cyborg here, Robin. We're fine. Where are you?"

"I'm -...-e side entr-...- was shot, but -...-k most -...- I'll -...-ere soon."

"Gotcha. See you soon man. Titans, assemble outside the front entrance."

With the battle over, Raven settled back to the ground and settled her cloak more comfortably about her person. The frantic nature of the fight had left her somewhat disoriented, her center momentarily lost. As Robin interrogated the seeming leader of the group and the others rounded up the members of the army, Raven closed her eyes and attempted to calm her mind into a usable state. There was no time for meditation on the battlefield, but a quick re-centering exercise should do for a time.

Since she had her eyes closed and her attention turned inward, she failed to notice the rapid approach of a certain individual of her acquaintance. A shout of "Rachel!" startled her into awareness and before she could turn towards the source she felt a heavy body impact her roughly, sending her sprawling to the ground. At the same time the all-too-familiar sounds of gunfire cracked through the night air, drawing the other Titans into action. Raven's hair fanned out as she whipped her head around in time to see a heavily tattooed man fall to the ground nearby. She scrambled over to him and checked for a pulse, eyes wide in something like shock. It was slow and weakening, each pulse timed with the widening of the pool he now occupied. A voice spoke, nearly incomprehensible through a gurgling distortion that told clearly the extent of injury.

"Rachel..."

Examining the face of her patient for the first time, Raven gasped in recognition. "Jon..."

His face was deathly pale, a pallor that caused the twisting lines of ink to show in sharp relief. His eyes (blue, Raven incongruously noted) were clouded with pain and unfocused, but turned in her direction at the sound of her voice. His breath bubbled, hinting at a perforated lung, and was labored. Visibly gathering strength, he managed to force out, "You... ok...?"

The unaccustomed sting of tears accosted her eyes, blurring vision and making it difficult to breathe. Her voice was as steady as she could make it, but still wavered. "Yes."

"Good..." and his eyes closed.

Casting a frantic look around revealed that the group of men hiding in the alley had been apprehended and disarmed. "CYBORG!" Her desperate cry drew the large hero running, the others also following. Cyborg's survey of the scene upon his arrival produced an uncharacteristically harsh curse. A quick scan of the wounded civilian drew another curse.

"He's bad Rae. He won't make it to a hospital in time, and even if he did..." his voice trailed off sadly.

Raven glared towards the large amalgam of man and machine, a tear drawing a path down her cheek from eyes that glowed white hot. "Those bullets were meant for me, Cyborg. He's coming to the Tower. So are you."

With no further warning a black portal opened under them, leaving their teammates and blood-soaked asphalt behind.