The moment I set foot in that damned throne room, I knew we were in deep. Deeper than any of us had realized.

Damian sat there on that oversized golden chair like a king—or more like a predator, watching, waiting. The air around him crackled with power, thick and heavy. His calm demeanor, the way he lounged with that calculated, detached confidence, only made it worse. The kid looked older, more dangerous. But the eyes—those eyes. One green, one blue, both glowing like the fires of Hell and Heaven themselves were burning right behind them. Damian Wayne wasn't the same boy I'd crossed paths with years ago. No, this was someone else entirely, or worse—something else.

"This isn't going to be good," I muttered under my breath, cigarette still dangling between my lips as I took in the scene.

"Ra's al Ghul was never just a man," Damian's voice cut through the silence, smooth and controlled, as if he'd been practicing this speech for years. "He was the son of the King of Hell. And now, his legacy is mine."

He spoke with a calm that didn't fit the gravity of what he was saying. Like he was laying out the weather forecast, not the cold, grim truth of Ra's al Ghul being the bloody Antichrist. Yeah, you heard that right—Ra's, the big, bad head of the League of Assassins, the man who'd been obsessed with immortality and world domination for centuries, was also the bastard son of the Devil. Just perfect.

His eyes—those freaky glowing things—locked on mine, and I had to suppress a shiver. I've stared down demons, dealt with creatures from the bowels of Hell, and none of them unnerved me quite like this. This wasn't just some possession or spell gone wrong. This was worse. Much worse.

"You don't look very happy, Constantine." Damian tilted his head, almost amused.

I could feel Raven tense beside me, but I kept my cool, leaning on my usual crutch of sarcasm to keep the panic at bay. "Oh, I'm bloody thrilled, mate. Another Antichrist running around. My week was missing just that. Care to explain what else I've missed in this nightmare? Maybe a plague or two?"

Damian's lips quirked up at the corners, a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I inherited more than just the mantle of the Demon's Head. Hell Fire. Holy Fire. They both live inside me now…"
He trailed off, his eyes glowing brighter for a second, like the fire inside him was reacting to his emotions, rising just beneath the surface. "Now, I carry them both. And they're... unpredictable."

I felt my gut twist, and the cigarette in my hand suddenly tasted like ash. Hell Fire and Holy Fire. In the same body. That was a recipe for disaster, plain and simple. I've seen the effects of Hell Fire—it's not your run-of-the-mill flames. It burns everything. Flesh, soul, spirit—gone in an instant. And Holy Fire? Just as deadly, but in the opposite direction. Purification that could obliterate anything tainted by darkness. The two forces weren't just powerful—they were opposites. And shoving them into one mortal body?

"Well, that's just fantastic," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "You know what that means, don't you?"

Damian's eyes flicked to me, a flicker of something—maybe amusement, maybe annoyance—crossing his face. "Enlighten me, Constantine."

"It means you're on borrowed time," I snapped, stepping forward, my patience wearing thin. "Hell Fire and Holy Fire don't mix, kid. They'll tear you apart from the inside out. You can't hold them both for long. You're basically walking around with a ticking time bomb in your chest, and when it goes off? It's gonna take everything with it."

Damian didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. "I'm aware."

There it was. That cold, detached calm again. Like he'd already accepted it. That knowledge settled in my gut like a stone, and for a second, I didn't know whether to be impressed or horrified. Damian had always been... intense. But this? This was something else entirely.

Beside me, Raven hadn't said a word. But I could feel the weight of her emotions through the air—grief, worry, fear, all tightly wrapped up and controlled, but barely. She wasn't the type to let her emotions get the better of her, but this? Seeing Damian like this, knowing what he was carrying? It was cutting her deeper than she'd ever admit.

Damian continued, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "Ra's believed in control. He thought he could control life and death itself. But he was wrong."

"And now you're sitting on a throne, waiting for the explosion?" I shot back, frustration bleeding into my tone. "That's your grand plan? Just let it happen?"

His gaze didn't waver. "No. My plan is to make sure when it happens, I'm the only one who goes. Why did you think you found no obstacle on your way to the throne room? I made sure everyone and everything was moved to Infinity Island months ago."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. I cursed under my breath again, the reality of the situation sinking in. Damian wasn't just sitting here, waiting for his death sentence. He was planning it. He knew the fires inside him were too powerful, too volatile to control, and when they finally tore him apart, he was going to make sure no one else got caught in the flames.

"Brilliant," I muttered, pacing in front of the throne. "Bloody brilliant. The kid's got a death wish."
Raven finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. "You can't do this, Damian. There's got to be another way."

Damian's eyes flickered—just for a second—before his expression hardened again. "There isn't."
"You don't know that," Raven insisted, stepping closer, her voice trembling with emotion. "There has to be a way to—"

"To what?" Damian interrupted, his tone sharp but not unkind. "To save me? To contain this?" He gestured to himself, to the fires flickering in his eyes, the power radiating off him like heat waves. "These are the fires of Heaven and Hell. It's only a matter of time."

I exchanged a look with Raven, her face pale, her eyes wide with desperation. Damian might've accepted this fate, but she hadn't. Not yet.

But me? I knew better. I'd seen enough of this world—and the next—to know how this story ends. Hell Fire, Holy Fire, and an unbreakable legacy of darkness. There wasn't a happy ending in sight.

I sighed, running a hand over my face. "Well, shit. Looks like we've got ourselves another apocalypse on our hands."

I felt Raven tense beside me, but before she could speak, Damian's eyes locked on mine again, and his voice cut through the tension like a knife.

"Then you better hope I burn alone."

Raven shook her head, not wanting to believe Damian. "How do you know?!"

"It's been a year since Lucifer came to Infinity Island," Damian begins, his gaze lingers on Raven a second longer than it does on me. "He left me with a warning: the powers inside me—the Hell Fire, the Holy Fire—they weren't going to stop tearing me apart unless I found a way to balance them."
He pauses, and for a second, I think maybe he's holding back, but then he lets out a bitter chuckle, the kind that makes my skin crawl. "And the thing is... it's not the Lazarus Pits messing with me. It's not even Ra's. It's something much worse."

I'm already lighting another cigarette before I realize my hands are moving. Instinct, I guess. Anytime someone starts a story with "something worse," I know I'm going to need a smoke. I blow out the first puff, trying to figure out where this is going.

Damian keeps talking, his voice growing colder, more clipped. "The shard of chaos inside me... it's unstable. It's what kicked off the whole mess. And if I don't find a way to balance it, well..." He trails off, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm going to burn out."

Raven's face goes pale. She doesn't say anything yet, but I can feel the fear coming off her in waves. Even I'm a little rattled. Chaos magic? That's not something you just toss around like a toy. I've seen what a chaos magic can do to someone—turn them inside out, eat them alive from the inside. And Damian's carrying one around like it's a time bomb in his chest.

He continues, and I can tell that this is the part where hope starts circling the drain. "I've spent a year searching for answers. Every lead, every ancient text, every League informant I could find... they all pointed to one thing. I need another shard of chaos. Another fragment to balance the forces inside me."

"And let me guess," I mutter, flicking the cigarette ash onto the floor. "No one knows where to find another shard, do they?"

Damian's gaze flickers between me and Raven. "No. No one knows if another shard even exists. If it ever did."

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. I can hear the air leave the room as that grim truth sinks in. Raven's breath catches, and when I glance her way, she's gripping the edge of her cloak like it's the only thing keeping her grounded. Her eyes are wide, and for a second, I think she's going to say something—maybe try to find some sliver of hope to cling to—but then I hear it.
A soft gasp, barely audible, followed by a choked sob.

Damian's fists clenched at his sides as if he's trying to keep himself from shattering under the weight of what he just admitted. But Raven? She's breaking. I can see it in the way her shoulders tense, the way her lips tremble as she stares at him, her emotions swirling in a storm so intense I can practically feel them clawing at the edges of my skin.

"Damian..." Her voice is small, fragile, like she's trying to hold back the tidal wave of grief threatening to swallow her whole. "You're... you're dying?"

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Damian doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. The silence speaks for him, louder than anything he could've said.

Damian's eyes hard, emotion buried deep beneath layers of control. "I've been searching, trying to fix this. But the truth is..." He hesitates, the mask slipping for just a moment. "I don't know if there's anything left to fix."

I can feel Raven's despair growing, threatening to spill over. And honestly? I can't blame her. This isn't some small curse we're dealing with. It's chaos—raw, uncontrollable, and deadly. And it's inside him, tearing him apart from the inside out.

I take another drag from my cigarette, exhaling slowly as I eye Damian. "So, you've been spending the past year searching for something that might not even exist? Brilliant. Love a good wild goose chase, me."

Damian's jaw tightens, but he doesn't snap back. Instead, he meets my gaze, his eyes flickering with something—determination, maybe, or exhaustion. "I don't have a choice, Constantine. It was either that or wait for the fires inside me to burn me alive. Which is what I ended up doing anyway."

"Well, that's a cheerful thought," I mutter, my eyes narrowing as I study him. He's too calm. Too controlled. Like he's already made peace with the fact that he's got one foot in the grave. And that's what really worries me.

Raven steps forward, her voice shaking. "There has to be another way. There's always another way."

Damian looks at her, something flickering in his gaze, but it's gone too fast for me to pin down. "I've tried everything."

The room feels smaller, the weight of the revelation pressing down on all of us like a vice. And for once, I don't have some sarcastic quip ready to go. Because what do you say when the kid in front of you is carrying the kind of burden that's going to end him, and there's nothing you can do to stop it?

"I'm not letting you burn out," Raven finally says, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes. "We'll find another way. Together."

I flick the cigarette butt to the ground, grinding it under my boot. Her confidence was inspiring. But as I stood there, I had nothing. No spell. No deal. No miracle waiting in my back pocket. I shook my head slowly, muttering a curse under my breath. It's not like I hadn't seen this sort of thing before—someone trapped in a game rigged from the start, odds stacked against them, the end written before they even had a chance to fight. But this... this was different. This was a kid—Spooky's kid—sitting here, telling me he was running out of time. And I couldn't do jack shit to stop it.

"Bloody hell," I whispered, my voice low, frustration gnawing at me. "If Lucifer himself didn't pull some trick out of his hat to save him, mate... what makes you think we can do anything?"

Raven turned to me, her eyes wide with desperation. She didn't say anything, but I could feel it—her hope, hanging by a thread, looking for something—anything—to cling to. Like I was supposed to have the answer. Like I could fix this mess.

But my face must've said it all because the hope in her eyes flickered, like a candle about to go out.

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head again. "Sorry, love. I'm not a bloody miracle worker."

It wasn't like I hadn't been in tight spots before, but this? This was impossible. Shards of chaos tearing Damian apart from the inside. The fires of Hell and Heaven battling it out in his chest like some cosmic joke, and we're here grasping at straws.

Raven's voice trembled, though she tried to keep it steady. "There has to be something, John."

"Yeah?" I snapped, harsher than I intended. I caught myself, took a breath, and let out a slow exhale, trying to reign in the frustration bubbling under my skin. "There's always something, but not this time. Not without the right tools. And even if I had those... well, I'm not sure I'd be able to pull it off."

I saw the confusion flicker in her eyes before the frustration took over. "What are you talking about?"

"The Rock of Eternity," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. "The bloody Rock of Eternity. You ever heard of it?"

She shook her head, and I could see the hope in her eyes slipping away even more. Damian, on the other hand, didn't react much. His face a mask of calm as if none of this was really getting to him. Stoic. That's how Wayne's always looked—like they've already accepted every worst-case scenario. It pissed me off, if I'm being honest.

"The Rock of Eternity," I continued, "is—or was—a magical nexus. The center of all magic in the universe. A place where anything and everything that ever was, every spell, every incantation, every bloody secret, could be found." I flicked my cigarette away, my voice bitter as I kept going. "That infinite library? Might've had the answer to save your life."

Raven's breath caught in her throat, her eyes flickering with something close to hope. But I cut it down before it could grow. "But it's gone. Sealed. Captain Marvel—Shazam—he's dead. The Rock's been closed off for good."

Her face fell. I could practically see the light dim behind her eyes, the last bit of hope snuffed out like a flame. She turned back toward Damian, her voice shaky. "There's no other way? There's nothing else?"

I let out another harsh laugh. "Love, if I had access to that place, maybe— and that is a big maybe—I could've found some ancient trick, some spell hidden away in the back of that library. But without it? We're flying blind here. Best I've got are some half-baked incantations and a bag of bad luck."

Damian, who had been so still, so composed, finally spoke. His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it was sharp. Cutting. "Then I die."

I looked at him, really looked at him. The way his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the way his jaw tightened like he was fighting against the weight of his own words. He wasn't scared. He wasn't angry. He was... resigned.

"That's it?" Raven's voice cracked, her emotions spilling over, raw and desperate. "You're just giving up?"

"I'm not giving up," Damian said, his tone calm but firm. "I've been fighting for a year, Raven. A year of chasing dead ends, hoping for something that doesn't exist. I'm not giving up." He paused, his eyes locking onto hers. "I'm just accepting reality."

The words hit her hard. I saw it, the way she recoiled like he'd slapped her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she shook her head. "No. I don't accept that. I won't."

Damian's eyes softened for a moment—just a flicker, barely noticeable—but it was enough for me to catch. "I don't want this either," he said quietly, his voice a shade gentler. "But we don't always get a choice, do we?"

I cursed under my breath again, the frustration boiling over. I hated this. I hated feeling useless. I hated standing here, knowing that no matter how many spells I knew, no matter how many deals I could make, this wasn't something I could fix. And I hated that Damian seemed to be the only one here who was fine with just... accepting it.

I threw my hands up, exasperated. "Bloody hell, kid. You're a Wayne and an al Ghul. I thought the whole point was fighting for survival, not rolling over and dying."

Raven's eyes darted between us, her emotions churning, and for a moment, I thought she might fall apart. But instead, she stepped forward, her voice shaking but resolute. "We'll find another way. I don't care if the Rock of Eternity is gone, or if every magical solution is off the table. I won't let you die, Damian. I can't."

The mention of the Rock of Eternity pulled me under, dragged me back to a place I'd rather forget—a place that haunted me even when I wasn't expecting it. The image of Billy Batson slammed into my mind like a fist to the gut. I hadn't thought about that day in a while. Didn't want to. But the memory's always there, lurking beneath the surface, ready to claw its way out when I least need it.

Billy. Christ.

I remember the day I found him—or what was left of him. The scene was seared into my brain like a scar I'd never shake. There was nothing left of the mighty Captain Marvel, no invincible hero to save the day. Just the mangled, broken body of a child—dismembered, torn apart by Darkseid's bloody parademons.

I could still see it in my head. The red suit, once bright and pristine, now soaked in blood. His arm... gone. His leg... torn to shreds. His eyes, wide open, frozen in terror.

Billy Batson had been dragged into a war that wasn't his, a war he never should've been part of. A kid, for God's sake—a bloody kid, who carried the weight of a god. And he'd been cut down like nothing. Like he didn't matter. And me? I'd been too late. Too slow. Like I always am when it counts.

I could hear the screams again, feel the pulse of the battle around me. I should've done something. I should've saved him. I should've—

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood, the sharp pain snapping me back to the present. My hands were trembling, just a little, but I shoved them into my coat pockets before anyone could notice. Couldn't let them see the cracks.

"Constantine?" Raven's voice broke through the fog, trembling, desperate. She was standing in front of me now, her face pale, her hands outstretched like she was about to grab onto me, like I was some kind of lifeline. "Please... you have to help him."

I blinked, shaking the memory of Billy away, though the guilt stayed, hanging over me like a storm cloud that wouldn't budge. I looked at Raven, at the tears welling in her eyes, the fear tightening her expression, and I felt that same old wave of guilt crash over me again. When Darkseid had come Damian had not been much older than Billy. However, Spooky's kid had gotten the chance to grow. Yet here we were, again—another kid thrown into a fight that no one should have to face. Another kid I was supposed to save, but probably couldn't.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words got stuck in my throat. What was I supposed to tell her? That I had no bloody clue what to do? That her friend was screwed and there wasn't a spell or ritual in my bag of tricks that could fix him? That maybe, just maybe, this was all going to end with Damian going up in flames, and we'd be left to pick up the ashes?

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Damian didn't respond, not at first. He just stood there, watching her, his face unreadable.

"John," Raven whispered, her voice cracking, the vulnerability in her tone slicing through me like a blade. "I can't lose him... I can't. Please, just tell me there's something—anything—we can do."

Her words hung there between us, heavy with the weight of desperation. And for a second, I thought about lying to her. About telling her what she wanted to hear—that there was hope, that I could pull off some miracle if I just had enough time, enough power. But the truth sat like a lump of lead in my chest, refusing to budge.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Raven, I..." I trailed off, biting back the truth, trying to find some way to soften the blow. But there wasn't one. "I don't know if there's anything left to do."

Her face crumbled for a split second, her eyes filling with unshed tears, and damn it all if that didn't twist the knife just a little deeper. I looked away, focusing on the cracked stone beneath our feet, trying to keep my own emotions in check.

"No one has access to the Rock of Eternity, not anymore," I muttered, dragging the words out like they were poison. "And without that—without a place to find the answers we need—Damian's..." I hesitated, the lump in my throat making it impossible to finish the sentence.

Damian's screwed. That's what I wanted to say. He's done for. He's a walking time bomb, and the countdown's already started. But I didn't say it. I couldn't. Not when Raven was looking at me like that, her whole world crumbling around her.

"Damian's not just carrying fire," I said instead, forcing myself to look up and meet her gaze. "He's carrying the weight of both Heaven and Hell, and those forces—they don't just sit around and play nice. Unless we find something strong enough to balance them—something like another shard of chaos—it's only a matter of time before it kills him."

Raven swallowed hard, her lips trembling as she tried to keep it together. But I could see it—the cracks starting to form, the tears welling up, the panic creeping in. She didn't want to hear this. Hell, I didn't want to say it. But there it was. The truth, laid bare and ugly.

I looked over at Damian, who hadn't moved from his spot. His face was still a mask of calm, of quiet acceptance. Like he'd already made peace with it. Like he'd known this all along and was just waiting for the rest of us to catch up.

Raven's voice broke the silence, barely a whisper. "I canmot believe it! There has to be something else... There's always another way."

"Not this time, love," I said softly, hating every word that came out of my mouth. "Not unless we can find that shard. And from what Damian's been saying, it's like looking for a needle in a bloody multiversal haystack. No one knows where it is—if it even still exists."

The room felt like it was closing in, the weight of everything pressing down on all of us. I couldn't stop thinking about Billy, about how I'd failed him, how I'd been too late to save him. And now, here I was, about to fail another kid. Another bloody hero left to die because I didn't have the answers.

Damian, of course, just stood there, his eyes calm and distant. "There's no use worrying about something we can't control," he said, his voice almost... clinical. "I've been searching for a year. If the shard is out there, it's not anywhere we've looked. And there are only so many places left to check."

I let out a humorless chuckle, shaking my head. "You're a real optimist, aren't you?"

He didn't respond. Didn't need to. We both knew how this was going to end if we didn't find that shard.

I cursed under my breath again, feeling the weight of Raven's desperate gaze on me, and the crushing weight of my own failures sitting heavy on my chest.

Billy's face flashed in my mind again, his eyes wide with fear as the parademons tore into him. Another kid, another life torn apart by powers far bigger than them. And I hadn't saved him.

The air around Raven thickened, heavy with something dark and dangerous. I felt it immediately—a pulse, subtle at first, but then growing. Her breathing hitched, sharp, and her eyes, normally that cool shade of violet, flickered with a glowing red undertone. Oh, bloody hell.

I knew what this was. Knew it all too well. The second her emotions started spiraling, Trigon was waiting, ready to grab the reins.

I took a step back, eyes narrowing as I watched her struggle to keep control. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, her knuckles white as she fought it. Fought him. But the desperation, the fear for Damian, it was starting to crack her open, and I could feel the shift in the room like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. If she lost it now, we'd be screwed six ways to Sunday.

The glow in her eyes grew brighter, and for a split second, I saw the faint outline of him—Trigon's influence bleeding through. His power. His control. And all of it ready to tear us apart the second Raven's defenses slipped.

"Raven, you need to get a grip," I muttered, keeping my voice low, but with a sharp edge. "Now!"

She barely heard me, her eyes locked onto Damian, her whole body shaking as she tried to push down the darkness crawling up inside her. "I can't... I can't lose him, John."

Damn it. I could feel the magic warping around her, twisting, pushing at the edges of her control. This wasn't just about losing Damian. This was about her own nightmare, her own fears—losing herself to her father, to that thing inside her. She was terrified that if she didn't save Damian, she'd lose everything, including herself.

"Focus!" I barked, stepping forward, grabbing her arm, trying to pull her back to the present. But it was like trying to hold onto a storm. "You go full Trigon right now, and you'll lose more than him, love."

Her head jerked towards me, but the red glow in her eyes was starting to bleed out, her pupils shrinking into tiny pinpoints of fury. I could see it—feel it—Trigon clawing his way to the surface, ready to take over. "I won't—" she choked, her voice trembling, but growing darker, deeper. "I can't—"

Bloody hell. I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening on her arm as I tried to snap her out of it, but it was no use. Her powers were out of control, too much emotion tangled up in everything. And if Trigon broke free? We'd all be screwed. Raven had power enough to level Nanda Parbat twice over if she really lost it. I wasn't in the mood to die today.

Then, before I could say another word, Damian's voice cut through the tension, calm and steady.
"Raven."

That one word, quiet and controlled, brought her back just enough to pause. He was still sitting on that damn throne, looking too much like a king for his own good. But the moment he saw her struggling, saw the red creeping into her eyes, he moved. Slowly, deliberately, he rose from the throne, the fire in his own eyes dimming just a fraction as he stepped down toward her.

The kid had a way about him—always so composed, even when everything around him was falling apart. He didn't rush, didn't panic. He just walked toward her, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You need to breathe," Damian said softly, his tone calm, soothing even. The kind of tone that made you want to believe everything would be okay, even when you knew it wouldn't be.

Raven's chest was heaving, her whole body trembling with the effort of keeping her father's influence at bay. But Damian's presence—hell, maybe it was his stupid, Wayne-bred confidence—was enough to give her pause.

Damian stepped closer, his green and blue eyes flickering with that eerie fire that lived inside him, but there was something softer in his gaze as he reached out, carefully taking her hand. "You don't need to do this alone," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm still here. You won't lose me. Not yet."

For a second, I saw Raven's shoulders relax, just a bit, the glow in her eyes flickering before it started to fade. Damian's words were pulling her back, steadying her. But more than that—it was him. It was the fact that he was still here, still fighting, even if he was burning out from the inside. That connection between them was enough to keep her grounded.

The issue, is what will happen when she loses him?

I took a breath of my own, letting go of her arm slowly as the demonic energy in the air began to dissipate. Thank God. If she'd fully slipped into Trigon's grip, there wouldn't have been much left of this room—hell, probably not much left of us, either.

Raven swallowed hard, her breath finally slowing, the glow in her eyes fading until they were back to their usual violet. She looked down, blinking rapidly as if trying to pull herself back together. "I'm... I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's alright," Damian said softly, his thumb brushing over her hand in a rare show of affection. "You're not alone."

I watched the two of them for a moment, Damian's calm presence slowly pulling Raven out of her spiral, grounding her. The way she looked at him, like he was the only thing keeping her anchored to reality... it made me feel like a third wheel.

The air between Damian and Raven thickened with something I had no right to be part of—something private, raw, like a wound that refused to heal. The tension I'd been trying to keep at arm's length snapped, replaced by the weight of their shared pain, grief, and whatever the hell else they'd been carrying around for years. It filled the room, swallowing everything else until it was just the two of them, standing there, unraveling together.

Damian moved first. Slowly. Deliberately. His usual sharp-edged calm was gone, replaced by something softer, something I hadn't expected from him. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Raven, pulling her close against his chest.

I'd seen a lot of things in my time. Things that'd make most people piss themselves and run for the hills. But this? Watching Damian Wayne, the kid with fire in his veins, hold Raven like the world was falling apart around them? That hit differently.

Raven broke, her sobs coming out in ragged, uneven gasps. The sound was raw, broken, like she was falling apart from the inside out. She clung to him, her hands twisting into the fabric of his green robes as if she could keep him from slipping away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt. "I'm so sorry, Damian."
She kept repeating it, over and over again, each word more desperate than the last. Her face was buried in his chest, her tears soaking into his robes. She was clutching him so tightly, like if she let go, he'd disappear, and she'd be left standing there with nothing but the ashes of everything she couldn't save.

"Please don't die," she choked, her words barely audible, her entire body shaking against him. "Please... I can't lose you too. I can't..."

Damian's arms tightened around her, his chin resting on the top of her head as he whispered something I couldn't quite hear. It didn't matter. His voice was low, soft, full of something I hadn't seen in a long time—something close to tenderness.

He wasn't like me. I would've made some dark, sarcastic quip, deflected the pain with a sharp edge. But Damian? He wasn't like that. He held her, let her fall apart in his arms, and didn't flinch. He didn't offer empty promises. He didn't tell her everything would be okay—because it wouldn't be, and he knew it. They both knew it.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, his voice steady, though there was an undercurrent of sadness there. "Not yet."

Raven's grip on him tightened, like she wasn't sure if she could believe him. Like she wasn't ready to accept that "not yet" meant "soon." Her fingers trembled as they clung to him, her breath ragged, her face pressed against his chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, and this time, her voice broke in a way that made me wince. "I left you. I shouldn't have left. I should've been there..."

Damian shook his head slightly, his voice calm, almost too calm. "You did what you had to do, Raven. I don't blame you. Not for any of it."

His words should've sounded hollow, but they didn't. There was something solid in the way he said them, like he meant every damn syllable. The weight of their shared pain—of years spent apart, of choices they couldn't undo—it was suffocating, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. Just their grief. Their guilt. Their connection.

I shifted, uncomfortable, and lit up another cigarette just to have something to do. The room felt too small for what was happening between them. I wasn't built for this kind of emotional weight, and I sure as hell didn't want to be here for it.

But there was something about the way Damian held her, the way he didn't try to fix her or even promise her things he couldn't deliver, that made me pause. It was like he knew this was it. Like he understood that all the fighting, all the magic in the world, might not be enough. But for now, in this moment, he could at least give her this.

He could give her peace. Or at least, the illusion of it.

"Raven," Damian said, his voice soft but firm. "I get it. You were trying to protect me. To protect everyone. But this—" He exhaled slowly, his breath stirring her hair. "This isn't your fault. I'm the one who's going to deal with it."

She shook her head against his chest, her voice breaking again. "No, we'll find a way. We have to. You don't get to—"

"Raven." His tone was firmer now, but still gentle. "You can't save me."

The silence that followed was deafening. I could see the way his words hit her, the way they shattered whatever hope she'd been clinging to. But he didn't pull back. He didn't let her go.
He just held her. Let her cry. Let her break.

And me? I felt like a damn intruder in this moment—like I shouldn't be here, watching them fall apart in each other's arms. But there was something about it that I couldn't tear my eyes away from. Maybe because, for all my cynicism, for all my years of surviving the absolute worst of the worst, I hadn't seen anything this real in a long time.

I took another drag from my cigarette, letting the smoke curl up into the air, and muttered under my breath. "We're all bloody screwed."

I stood there, watching the scene play out in front of me like some twisted tragedy that I had absolutely no part in, but couldn't escape from either. Raven was still pressed into Damian's chest, her sobs barely audible now, just broken whispers that I pretended not to hear. Damian, for all his stoic composure, looked like he was balancing the weight of a thousand worlds on his shoulders, but his arms stayed steady, wrapped around her like he could somehow hold everything together.
A part of me wanted to tell them to snap out of it. The sharp sting of helplessness gnawed at me, that familiar burn of guilt coiling in my gut like a bad hangover.

I muttered another curse under my breath, flicking the butt of my cigarette to the ground and grinding it under my boot. "Bloody hell..."

The irony wasn't lost on me, though. Here I was, surrounded by the remnants of people who should have had all the answers, the power, the damn legacy, and yet we were all standing around like lost kids in a nightmare we couldn't wake up from. Damian was supposed to be the sharp one, the kid raised by assassins and bathed in blood. Raven, a walking powerhouse of dark magic that could obliterate entire realms if she let herself go. And me? Well, I was the one who knew all the loopholes, all the shortcuts through the shadows.

Except none of that mattered now. Because this wasn't just another magical puzzle we could solve with a bit of ritual and luck. This was a ticking time bomb wrapped inside a boy who'd seen too much, done too much, and was burning up from the inside out.

My mouth twisted into a bitter smile, but there was no humor in it. "You know," I said, breaking the thick, oppressive silence, "I've seen my fair share of shite, but this... This might take the cake." I sighed, running a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of everything pressing down. "I'm not gonna lie, love. This is a mess. A real bloody mess."

Raven pulled back slightly from Damian, wiping her face with the back of her hand, her eyes red but determined. There was something in her expression that made my chest tighten—hope. She still had hope. And it was that fragile, desperate kind of hope that made me feel like the world was crumbling a little more around us. Because when you're in my line of work, hope is just a prettier word for denial.

Damian's gaze shifted toward me, his eyes sharp but weary. He didn't say anything, but the look on his face was enough. He wasn't holding onto any illusions. He knew what was coming, knew what he was up against, and for some reason, he was okay with it.

Well, I bloody wasn't.

I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and looked around the room, my mind racing for something—anything—that might give us a chance. "Alright, enough of this," I said, waving a hand between them. "We're not gonna find the answer standing around here waiting for you to self-combust, mate."

Damian raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into what I could only guess was supposed to be a smirk. "I didn't realize you were so invested, Constantine."

I shot him a look. "I'm not. I just don't fancy getting caught in the crossfire when you decide to go all supernova, alright?"

He didn't respond, but I could see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, that dry, sardonic wit just beneath the surface. If nothing else, the kid had a sharp tongue. Just like his father.

"Look," I continued, crossing my arms as I paced in front of them, "cannot reach the Rock of Eternity, and God knows that'd make things a hell of a lot easier. But we've still got options. Hopeless ones, but they are still options."

"Like what?" Raven asked, her voice still rough from the crying, but her posture stronger now, more composed. The shadows around her seemed to settle a little, like she was pulling herself back together. "There's nowhere left to go."

I smirked, though it didn't reach my eyes. "Oh, there's always somewhere, love. We've got the House of Magic. It's got a library. Not quite the Rock of Eternity, but it's decent enough to start with."

The House of Magic... Just saying the name felt like a half-baked solution, but we didn't have time to be picky. The library there wasn't infinite, but it was close enough to hold a few forgotten secrets—if I could get us in, and if we could find something in time.

Damian crossed his arms over his chest, looking at me like he was already weighing the odds. "You really think there's something there that could help?"

"I think it's better than sitting around here, waiting for you to go up in flames, yeah," I shot back, lighting another cigarette because this whole thing was starting to feel too heavy, too final. "Look, I won't make any promises. This isn't the kind of thing you fix with a wave of the hand. But it's a start. And right now, we need all the bloody help we can get."

Raven looked at Damian, her eyes still glassy but filled with that stubborn determination she always seemed to have when it came to him. "We have to try. Please, Damian."

He didn't say anything at first, just kept his gaze fixed on her, something unreadable passing between them. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded. "Alright."

As we prepared to leave, the tension in the room didn't lift. It stayed, heavy and suffocating, a reminder that no matter where we went, no matter how many books we searched or spells we tried, we were on borrowed time.

And the clock was ticking.