The constant ticking of the clock hands on the wall lulls her into oblivion; tendrils of dreams not remembered reaching, grasping, her mind pulled deeper into inky black. She's falling through the cracks of reality, an endless chasm below.
Flashes of images sear across her mind, too quick to be captured. Images of pain, of suffering wrought against the undeserving. She chokes on vile smoke, the sounds of screams ringing in her ears. Whether those of the damned around her or her own, she does not know. She falls deeper, scrambling for purchase against the nothingness of her mind.
The last tether securing her in this reality, tying her to her last strands of sanity, snaps, giving way to endless nightmare. The frayed end of her salvation sways above her. For a moment, all she feels is the infectious spread of despair and heartache.
Her head slipping off her curled fist brings her back. The clock hands still mock her, their continuous marking of minutes, of hours spent here. Those unknown moments of her dreams, her nightmares, are left forgotten in the unwaking world, premonitions whispered into obscurity. She stares ahead unblinking.
Her newest patient's file stares back, words blurring together as she grinds her palm against her eye, trying to swipe away the lingering fatigue. Her shift finished long before, but the grip of duty kept her firmly in her office chair. She feels the pull of her dreams, but like a descending fog, all is shrouded in a never-ending haze.
Closing the file, knowing how futile it would be to continue, she dumps it alongside the dozens more in her open cabinet. No more for these early hours, she would return in the afternoon, refreshed, and ready to tackle the next assignment.
The cool air of morning twilight was welcome. The burning red lights of the hospital sign buzzed in her ears, chasing her down the street. She could hail a cab home but thought better of it. These early hours in Blüdhaven were unpredictable, and the nighttime far more welcoming than the tattered backseat of a taxi.
Walking past the gated entry of St. Eustace Church, the predawn light began to crest the horizon, a shot of copper lighting the edge of the cityscape. She pauses, her mind feeling drawn to the shadowed arches of the cathedral. Though not understanding the impulse, she remains suspended in that moment, feeling anticipation pulling at her. The ticking of the clock plays in her mind, counting the seconds. Tick, tick, tick... the monotony is fractured by the sound of shattering glass, a sound not uncommon in this city, but striking her from her stupor, nonetheless. As she begins to fade through shadow, she feels she has been trapped by a siren song of inevitability.
A moment later, she steps from the darkened corners of the southern transept of the building, looking for the intruder. Her body is now encased in the black velvet feathers of her namesake, the plumage stretching over and obscuring her face. A black bird of death, indeed.
A man is hidden in the shadows of the apse, a stone altar before him. Glass lays fragmented, glittering at his feet, wind whistling through the broken window behind him. The stained-glass figure, arms out in sacrifice, now lay shattered at the foot of the altar.
As dark shadows reach forward, creeping over the ground towards the intruder, the man pitches himself backwards away from the imprisoning grasp of her powers. Vaulting the altar, he strikes out with his arm, hoping to subdue the interloper quickly.
Using his momentum against him, she grasps his reaching arm, her talons encased in shadow, flinging his body toward the pews. He crashes against the wood, fibers splintering on contact. He does not yield.
Flinging a pellet at her feet, the crossing fills with smoke, obscuring his movements. Undeterred, he strikes again, his hand grasping at her throat, pushing her to the ground. Grabbing his wrist, she pulls the shadows to her, wrapping them around his torso and shoving him off her body and to the right. Skidding on hands and knees, he falters. The embrace of her powers plucking at a forgotten thread in his psyche.
Capitalizing on his momentary distraction, she leaps at the man, wishing to end this dark tango. As she alights from the smoke cloud, the man strikes out with his leg, tripping her in her pursuit. His arm snakes under her left, trapping it between them, while his other wraps around her throat, choking the air from her lungs. Her body firmly secured against his, her remaining hand grasps at his forearm, seeking release from his hold.
"My how you've grown, Raven." Cold shock slips down her spine, the early morning sunlight now peeking through the stained-glass windows, catching the copper and black of his mask.
His name escapes on a gasp, the constricting arm loosening. "It's been a while, little bird. I hope you bring better tidings. I'm not fond of seeing dear ol' dad quite so soon."
Releasing her, Raven spins in his grasp. Black shadows creep up his body, slamming him into the stone pillar of the crossing.
Sneering, "Why are you here, Slade? What brought you out of the hole you crawled into?"
A chuckle gasps from his chest, the magic constricting his breath. "What, can a man not seek absolution? Are the wretched no longer welcome in such hallowed halls?" He knows his words will affect her.
She scoffs, "Most don't break into abandoned churches seeking redemption." However, her magic recedes, releasing Slade. His levity lowering her guard, reminding them of unspoken promises.
Brushing himself off, he responds, "You'll find I'm not most people."
Before she could reply, the doors at the end of the aisle creak open, admitting a small group of hooded individuals. Sensing the danger, Slade grasps Raven's arm, pulling her with him into the shadows of the transept, lightly covering her mouth to withhold objection. Whispering against her ear, "Do not speak. We will not be welcome here. It's time for us to depart, little bird."
The lead figure immediately notices the disturbance from the pair's fight. As he calls for the others to scour the building, Raven and Slade are embraced by shadow, slipping away.
Author's Note: This work of fiction will be influenced heavily by the DC comic universe as well as the DC animated universe. While the Teen Titans animated show inspired aspects of this story, it is much darker than the content in the children's show. Much of the personalities are influenced by other iterations of the characters beyond the show and are depictions of the characters as adults. Unfortunately, this website does not provide a useful tag system to make this more obvious before you click onto the story. Be warned.