Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I am no fair maiden nor saint. I was born the exact opposite. Demon. Ones that your parents have told that claw and feast upon your soul once you sin. One whose horns and fangs are sharp enough to tear your flesh easily.

Yet, you’re wondering, why am I here? Living amongst heroes who fight off evil.

Maybe because the moment I was born, I was told of my father’s cruel hold on me. How we could never be apart, that he shall soon come to claim me. The prophecy that would quickly come, second by second, lurking in the bay. 

I grew up hating him. Constantly repelling his visions, his nightmares.

Every single night.

It was hard; his echoing, sonorous peals of laughter that always bays in my mind. He never halted, never tired. He knew I would break sooner or later.

Deep down, I was scared that it was true. 

Scared that the time my fate would be fulfilled, everything I’ve cherished would turn to ashes.

Scared that in such a short amount of time, I’d made so many memories amongst them. To see those people who’ve placed a spot in my heart fade was heart-wrenching. 

I was scared that after all those attempts I’ve tried to repel my heritage, it would all just be fruitless.

The tighter I’ve held to my humanity, the stronger my heritage clawed to me. It does not let me seek solace; their never-ending whispers are a constant reminder I can run but not hide. It always lurked in the shadows, crimson eyes splitting wide open to laugh at me, to torment me. 

His presence may be weak in this realm, but I knew he would always find those crevices slipping in quietly. 

I am scared that my humanity will perish after all I’ve done.

What if this Raven, this personality I’ve developed, is just a mask covering my real character? What if, truly deep down, I would enjoy the moment brimstone covered this ambient earth? When the flesh has turned into stones, and skies bled red. Would my stomach still churn, my mind grow dizzy at the sight of it? Or maybe I would be cackling amidst the ashes, the thick-laden smoke nothing but intoxicating. 

The mirror I stared at before gave no answer. Just large, innocuous eyes staring back. Much confused as I. Desperate for an answer, one I cannot unearth. 

Maybe there were no answers, only endless questions that would drive me to insanity.

Chapter Text

TRIGGER WARNING: SLIGHT GORE DESCRIPTION

The shadows make me afraid. They are a constant reminder that I am one of them. I can bend them to my will to manipulate their shapes. To others, shadows are merely nothing but an absence of light.

For me, something always lurks in the shadows. They always stare back at me, sets of eyes appearing in a heartbeat but gone as fast as they showed. They didn’t talk to me, didn’t disturb me.

Yet I know they want something from me because I am aware of their existence. However, try as I might to converse with them, they retreat. 

I always had the power to be with them, but as much as possible, I restrained myself. I rely on my soul-self to do its job for me. Although some situations require stealth, my soul-self can’t just do its job.

When I look at a shadow, they open their eyes, beckoning me to be one of them. Unrelenting, they always seem to call me with their gaze alone, promising me something that I cannot put a name on. 

They bask me in their cold embrace, swallowing me in with ease as they move corner to corner. Whispers dance in my ears from their request, telling me to go  there.

I say  where,  and they tug me deeper than the floorplan we memorized. Past the foundation, past the dirt, and I gasp as we descend. I transcend areas my team could not cover in a short time, and the silence is jarring inside them.

I halt before a room hidden from the floorplan, beckoning me to enter and find its treasure, mine to claim and witness. I accept its call, slipping silently, the shadows gently guiding me between the space one can’t fit through.

What lies before me churns my stomach, and I was glad I have yet to eat a meal, for indeed I have wretched it out right now. The floor is heavily covered in pools of blood, the metallic scent assaulting my senses as I egress from the shadows.

Several corpses hang in the ceiling, their entrails carved out hollow. I hit the ground roughly, my hands barely capturing my landing because I shook so badly.

I scramble to retrieve my communicator, pressing the emergency button. I can’t form a word or think; my eyes lock on the hollow sets of eyes. The shadows lurk near me, circling me, and soon, they claw at me in desperation.

“Raven?”  Robin’s voice sounds out from the comms, yet I barely register it as the shadows demand my attention.

“Is this what you wanted me to see?” I ask shakily, and the shadows still; they return to where they should be, and all is silent. I shakily grab the communicator, Robin’s concerned gaze on the screen. 

They wanted closure; they wanted someone to find them. And they found me, as I found them.

“Rest in peace,” I mutter to no one, casting my gaze away from the horror I’ve seen. 

The next time I am swallowed by the shadows fear no longer taints my mind. 

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The world, as my team says, lies before my fingertips. How teleportation was very handy, popping from place to place in a heartbeat, effectively topping over their flight and vehicles. 

They question me, with such power existing within me, why do I not visit places I see frequently in the televisions, locations each of them desire to visit at least once when duty does not call, or one those other Titans recommended to me.

As Robin said, the world is on my palm, why do you not egress and seek out beauty?

Oftentimes, they joke about borrowing my power, longing to visit they yearned for years. Sometimes, they laugh at me as how I, not born on Earth, am not ecstatic to go see such breathtaking views.

Yet do they not see that the most wonderful place is to be with them?

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We’re all running away from something.

Raven stopped writing, the nib of the pen hovering above her journal, eyeing the dawn that was currently happening over the horizon, coating the starless night with its radiant illumination. 

For we fear the unknown, because they hold so much suffering and uncertainty. How many have stumbled, blindly reaching into the darkness, anything to anchor them amidst the abyss? 

The common room was still missing its other occupants, deep in slumber and having their colorful dreams.  Perhaps it wanted to house only one, for now, to offer solace to an empath hovering before the window, legs crossed high up in the air, cradling the pen that looked worse for wear. 

How often had it made us astray? To feel we trudge in a never-ending path. Desperate and weary. 

Darkness ebbed away, paving a path for the light to consume the room, basking the heroine with warmth. It might have also been a light in the darkness for her troubled mind, chasing away the shadows that lurked. 

Her legs unfurled, touching the ground. The thick journal closed softly, the pen wedged between the pages that contained the deepest secrets. She turned, cloak flowing smoothly like a summer breeze as she approached the kitchen, searching to soothe her hunger. 

A creak of a cupboard, and the first thing that greeted her sight was Terra’s old mug. She grabbed it, cupping it in her palms and rotating it. It felt heavy for such an empty mug. 

Raven placed the mug on a coaster, sat on the stool, and placed her journal on the table. It looked like she was going to draw the mug, but no, she just stared at it.

Was that how Terra felt? Her smooth penmanship wobbled for a moment as her hold on the pen slipped. Had she felt there was no escape?

Terra was nothing but a transient presence in her memory, but that would be too cold to say in front of her friends. Why lament a fate that was only running its course? She didn’t want to look back and trouble herself with “what-ifs” that could’ve avoided the geomancer’s betrayal. She had her own to deal with.

She paused, loosening her hold on the pen to trace the outline of the mug.

“Who am I kidding,” She muttered. She knew she was lying to herself. Her mind had raced a lot of “what-ifs” scenarios the moment she fought the geomancer and when she was already choking on mud. 

I could’ve helped. She wrote in one quick succession. Perhaps we had something more in common than we thought. 

They were both running away from the inevitable fate. The prophecy clung tight to her heels just as insanity clung to the geomancer. Had she reached out, would there be a chance the geomancer stood with them right now?

We’re all running away from something.

And Raven was running away from her thoughts. And she was inviting madness and suffering.

Chapter Text

Raven is always discombobulated with Earth’s beliefs. It was contradictory, complex, and so…inhumane. People here had several beliefs that clashed with one another, an ever source of conflicts and misunderstandings. 

She shuffles her weight from clothed boots to the other, staring at the tiled floors of the church they are currently standing on. Being in such a holy presence or a place does not really affect her despite the common saying. A high being like her, holy water and crucifix are nothing but a laughing matter. Still, the place is unnerving.

“In the name of…” The priest drones in the ongoing mass ceremonial. Rows of people imitate the sign of the cross, chanting words in a monotone voice. Why does it look dead? Robotic, even. The Church of Blood had more passion.

Why is she here in the first place? The place reminded her of Azarath.

“The demon will always tempt you!” The priest tells the people, his voice carrying an anger these people will see as justified. “Cast your eyes away, and do not give in!” 

That is true. The longer she stands here, the longer she feels like lightning dances in her milky skin. She feels like a clap of thunder will summon from the clouds and strike her, a message from the angels not to taint their place with her dirty and sinful race. 

Yet…why do humans hate more? Why do they try harder to drown their own people rather than lend a helping hand? It sounds disheartening to hear they step on one another, blinded by avarice, an unending race toward hedonism. 

Is this why Azarath was created? Away from these vomiting emotions and enjoy a life of paradise?

In a place of worship, why is this place teeming with rot and decay? She cannot stomach it any longer. 

Are they living a life of facade or are they sinners seeking forgiveness?

These hands that rise with worship are hands that have caused the skin to tear and drip with blood. These eyes that read their verses are eyes that turn a blind eye to those in need. A mouth that speaks of scriptures also drips with venom and bile. 

Raven is always wondering what really drives humanity. 

They hate her race, but she does not blame them. Demons are the existence of all vile. 

So…what does that make her?

Will they know that the hero that stands among them is one they chant to be put on fire? 

How will they react once they know a demon has already turned their lovely home into another Hell? Will she be exorcised and shunned? 

It does not matter. 

Raven is content to keep this secret with her; her friends do the same. Keep this hidden until they die. 

When the time comes they aim fire at her, she will not fear.

She is the one who controls the flames.

Raven remains seated in the pew.