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Jason wasn’t really sure what to make of the man standing in front of him. The man was extremely tall, not quite slender but Jason wouldn’t exactly call him muscled. The most stand-out thing, however, was his golden hair and eyes. Not light brown, straight up golden.
Actually, maybe the strangest thing about this man was his combination of bare feet and a razor coiled around his arm. The weapon itself wasn’t crazy, it would’ve been stranger for someone to be unarmed in a Gotham alleyway, but bare feet was certainly an odd choice.
“…hello?” The stranger tilted his head and cautiously stepped forward. Jason didn’t back up, instead he frowned behind his mask. He had a light voice, although he could’ve been pitching it higher to sound more harmless. “Uhm, where am I?”
“…You’re in Gotham” actually, the more Jason took in, the more he realized there was something off about this guy. His clothing was closer to armor than actual cloth and, as he stepped forward, Jason realized the skin around one of his eyes was scorched off. “How did you get here?” Subtly, Jason shifted into a fighting stance.
“I’m not sure” The man’s eye scanned Jason for a moment. Not knowing what he was looking for, Jason mentally recalled the alleyway’s layout as well as the surroundings. If a fight broke out now, he knew he’d have the upper hand.
“Did something teleport you here?” Maybe he was a smaller hero, or villain, who’d been beamed here from a fight. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time.
“It seems so.” The man held up the arm with the razor whip. Examining it for a moment, his eyes seemed to cloud over in thought. “I was in a fight with…someone. Then something exploded and I found myself here.”
“I see.” Should Jason pry further? The man was worn down and looked ragged, his armor was chipped and the burn on his eye, while old, didn’t look great. Still, Jason wasn’t sure if he wanted to stick his nose into something he didn’t fully understand, especially with a stranger. The man could be a mustache-twirling villain, after all. Yet, the longer he watched the man, the more he noticed signs of confusion, some desperation. After a moment, he asked, “who were you fighting?”
“...The Slave King.” He said after slight hesitation. Jason hadn’t heard of a villain (or hero) with such a name before. The stranger didn’t seem surprised by Jason’s lack of reaction, instead, he nodded slightly. “You probably haven’t heard of him. He’s a dangerous, brutal man. I hope, for your sake, he did not follow me here.” Hmm. After a moment, Jason jerked his head towards the alleyway’s entrance.
“What’s your name?” The man paused, watching him carefully, then began following him.
“Lysander. Lysander au Lune”
~~~~~~
Dick was thinking about…well actually not much at the moment. He’d just gotten back to Gotham and planned on swinging over to meet with Bruce, but he wanted to take a moment for himself first.
Gotham was a busy place, it never really “slept” the way some other cities might’ve. Yet, there was something peaceful to be found sitting atop a roof and staring down at the darkened streets. He’d intended on sitting there for a little while then getting on his way, yet suddenly he tensed. There was something, or someone, watching him.
Without making any outward movements, Dick listened for any sound or indication of location. After a minute, he heard some slight shuffling off to his right. Before he could jump up and turn, he heard a deep but quiet voice.
“Who are you?” Pausing, Dick discreetly reached for his weapon.
“I’m Nightwing. Who are you?”
“…what are you doing here?” The voice sounded male and slightly uncertain. He was clearly trying to hide his uncertainty though, which made Dick frown. It didn’t seem like a villain, but civilians would generally recognize him. He also didn’t recognize the voice.
“I’m just relaxing. What about you, why are you here?”
“I’m…not sure.” Huh? Dick took the moment to quickly stand and turn to look at this stranger. The man’s appearance almost made him step back in shock, which would’ve been bad considering his position on the roof’s edge.
He was extremely tall, with a shock of golden hair and eyes to match. His body was almost similar to Bruce’s with how built and scarred he was, except if Bruce suddenly bulked both out and up. As his eyes moved down, Dick felt another shock at the man’s barefoot status.
“Uh, why aren’t you wearing shoes? That’s dangerous.” There were way too many bits of glass and needles strewn around the streets.
“…I was wearing boots, but they got damaged, so I had to take them off.”
“Oh, were you in a battle?” It wouldn’t be the first time someone had gotten teleported here during a fight. As the man moved slightly further into the light, he saw something that looked like a razor wire wrapped around his arm. Dick worried it was cutting into him, but upon further examination he saw it was wrapped carefully.
“…yeah, I suppose you could say that” Dick racked his memory, but he couldn’t think of any superhero matching this man’s description. Frowning, he also reviewed his knowledge of villains, but none matched either.
“Er, who were you fighting?” Maybe Dick should’ve asked his name. But he figured the man probably wouldn’t have answered. He wasn’t showing any outright hostility, but his body language was still quite closed off.
Instead of answering, the man examined Dick, mind obviously weighing the benefits and costs of answering. That wasn’t good, although it might just be a byproduct of not knowing who he was. Before he could reassure him, the man tilted his head and stepped forward.
“What color are you?”
“…what?” Dick was momentarily stunned into silence. Was…was this a racial thing? While his suit covered most of his body, his face was obviously Caucasian. “I…white? Caucasian, I guess. Why?”
The man frowned, confusion clear on his face. Dick would hazard a guess their faces matched each other in their confusion. Oddly enough, the man’s eyes lingered not on Dick’s skin, but on his hair. In turn, Dick studied the man’s hair.
It wasn’t light brown or blonde, it was straight up golden, the exact same color as his eyes. The starkness of the color made them almost shine in the darkness. A fight…color…didn’t know location or Nightwing…oh no.
“Can I hazard a guess? Is – are you golden? Like, is your color gold?”
“…yes. I take it that isn’t…that isn’t a thing here…” The man looked so incredibly lost for a moment before snapping a poker face back on. It made Dick feel quite sympathetic. He’d seen a few aliens suffer culture shock from comparing Earth to their own world, it could be rough. Especially since it seemed like this man (alien?) hadn’t previously known there were other worlds.
Slowly, Dick moved towards the man. While he stiffened and shifted into a defense stance, he didn’t make any aggressive moves. Dick was already planning on meeting with Bruce, maybe he’d know how to help this man get back to his home.
“What’s your name?” He simply stared at Dick for a while, so long that he was about to ask something else before answering.
“…Darrow. Darrow O’Lykos”
~~~~~~
Jason stared at the man sitting across from him. He hadn’t wanted to continue their conversation in a random alleyway, but he was starting to wonder if bringing Lysander to his hideout was a good idea. He hadn’t talked at all on the way here, instead opting to silently stare at their surroundings.
This hideout wasn’t one of Jason’s main ones, he hadn’t wanted to risk it, but it was still decent. Well stocked for a fight if needed.
“Are you okay?” Jason had offered Lysander a soda, but instead of drinking it he just stared at the can.
“Yes, I’m just thinking about the man I was fighting before I got sent here.” His golden gaze met Jason’s and, even though he still had his helmet on, he felt like the man was staring straight into his soul. “I’m worried he followed me.”
“Right.” Jason thought about sending a message to Bruce or maybe Dick, but then he remembered that Dick was in town for a few days. “Well, if you want, I can bring you to Gotham’s main superhero. He’s handled quite a lot of villains.” Jason chuckled a little, thinking about the fights Batman faced on the regular.
“Of course” Lysander seemed to relax a bit more the longer they talked. Weirdly, Jason felt the opposite. “I’m not trying to discredit the accomplishments of your…superheroes. I’m just worried based on my experience with this man.”
“Uh huh.” Jason quickly typed out a message to Bruce explaining that he was bringing someone over. He also warned him about the potential danger and to be prepared. “So, tell me more about this, uh, Slave King.”
“Sure” Lysander smiled. “He’s a dangerous man, possessing immense martial arts capabilities. He trained with some of the best fighters and beat several more. However,” Lysander suddenly leaned forward in his chair, his eyes hardening “the main reason he’s so dangerous are his…ideals. As well as his ability to twist people’s thoughts into complying with his own goals, despite the danger he poses to them.”
Jason nodded, once again thinking about the various villains he and his father fought. It wasn’t too dissimilar, yet there was still something about the man sitting across from him that made him feel…off.
~~~~~~
Dick thought about swinging his way over to Bruce, as was his initial plan, but discarded it in favor of walking alongside Darrow. Fortunately, the streets weren’t too populated around this time, and the Gothamites who were out knew well enough to avoid them. They started off in silence for a bit, but eventually Dick gave into his curiosity.
“So, why did you ask me about my color? Actually, scratch that, what does ‘color’ mean to you where you come from?” Instead of answering, Dick watched as Darrow silently observed a couple passing them by. Once again, his eyes lingered on their eyes and hair and, oddly, their exposed wrists. For a moment, Darrow tensed and squeezed his eyes shut before murmuring,
“Where I’m from…right…” Before Dick could say anything, Darrow turned forward and explained, “color is a hierarchy; it determines your place in society and what your role is.” Darrow gestured at Dick’s black hair. “If you were a Black, you’d be an Obsidian. Destined to live and die fighting for others as a slave knight.” Glancing at Dick, Darrow muttered. “Although, you don’t quite match the, uh, physical build of our Obsidians.”
“…oh.” Dick barely even registered the absurd comment implying there were creatures larger than the man walking beside him. “Do you…are you born into these roles?”
“Mhm. Some are born to be medics or researchers, some live and die as servants, and some exist only to pleasure their masters.” Wow that sounded insanely messed up.
“So, what does Gold mean?” Darrow took another minute to think before answering, although this time his answer seemed to almost pain him.
“Golds are at the very top of the hierarchy. They’re the rulers, built to…well be better than everyone else, I suppose.”
“Ah.” Dick thought over what he said, before noticing something odd. “’They’re the rulers’ are you…not?” Darrow tensed immediately, the razor curled around his arm tightening in reaction. Dick worried for a moment he was about to attack him, but Darrow just frowned.
“No, well, yes, I am, physically. But I wasn’t…always. I used to be a different color. One much…lower.” Wait, so could you change colors? Dick almost wanted to ask if they had hair dye or colored contacts, but Darrow had visibly clammed up, so Dick let it slide.
“Right, well, you said you were fighting someone?” Hopefully Darrow was fighting against such a terrible system. Dick didn’t want to impose his own judgements on a culture he knew nothing about…but jeez that just sounded like such a terrible way to live.
“Mhm, well I guess it’s more accurate to say I was fighting a group of people. Well, no in the moment I was fighting a certain person.” Darrow sighed in frustration. Dick sympathized; it was difficult to explain such a complex concept without any background context. He could tell Darrow was, at least, some type of warrior. Maybe even a leader, given the way he carried himself. The man had clearly been through stuff.
“Who was the person?”
“…Lysander” Darrow’s eyes suddenly hardened, pure hate coming off him in waves. “Lysander au Lune”
~~~~~~
Jason initially planned on heading straight to Bruce after learning more, but now he was second guessing his plan.
“What are his ‘ideals’? Actually,” Jason thought back to the name itself “why do you call him the Slave King?” Lots of villains named themselves crazy things, but there was something about that name that made Jason think there was some deeper meaning.
“Well, I need to explain a little more about our world to fully illustrate why he’s so dangerous.” Lysander gestured towards himself, specifically his golden hair. “In our world, the people are born different, physically and genetically. Some are born with extremely large bodies primed for fighting. Some with dexterity and sturdiness perfect to survive harsh conditions. Unfortunately,” Lysander tapped his forehead, just above the ruined eye “they lack the mental aptitude for higher level thinking.”
“What does that mean? Like, they can’t hold a conversation?”
“No, they’re capable of conversating, although some might struggle. Think like a great warhorse.” He paused for a moment, clearly wondering if Jason’s world had such a thing. At his nod of recognition, Lysander continued, oblivious to Jason’s rising unease. “Warhorses are marvelous things, worthy of respect in their own right. However, well, you’d never see one in a school or directing battle plans.”
“Right. And they’re genuinely incapable of this…higher level thinking?” Or, Jason mentally questioned, are they just forbidden to?
“Yes, they are genetically incapable of it.”
“What’s your hair got to do with it?”
“Huh?” Lysander had no business looking so confused, Jason wasn’t an idiot.
“You keep touching your hair.”
“Ah” Lysander smiled. “I’m sorry, it’s difficult to remember I’m in a completely different place. Both my hair, eyes, and sigil represent my place in the hierarchy.” He held one of his wrists out, a golden marking shining just under his palm.
“Wait, so you’re saying your hierarchy is color-coded? What does Gold, er, your color represent?”
“My color represents…” Lysander trailed off for a moment, staring at Jason instead. Jason gestured for him to continue, but it still took a bit before he would. In that time, Jason mentally recalled everything this hideout had and where all his weapons were. “Golds represent safety for the other colors. It’s our job to guide and protect them.”
“Right, so you guys are like police, or guards?” Or, he thought, superheroes.
“No, the police are a different color, that’s grey. But, from my understanding of your superheroes, yes, I’d say that’s pretty accurate.” Lysander gestured to his razor, still coiled against his arm. “When us Golds are born, it is understood that we enter an agreement, a pact, with the other colors. It is our responsibility to protect and lead them, and their responsibility to act appropriately.”
“Act appropriately?”
“Hmm, think of us Golds like Shepards. We keep our sheep safe and guarded as well as lead them to proper grazing pastures. We ensure they thrive. Meanwhile they provide us with needed materials like wool.”
The more Lysander spoke, the more…animated he seemed to get. He never gestured wildly or anything, yet Jason could sense almost a fervor to his words. Despite the…disturbing picture they were painting.
“So, why were you fighting the…Slave King? What are his ‘ideals’?” As Jason talked, he discreetly reached down to the gun attached to his thigh.
“Well, imagine this for me.” Lysander gestured to the table in front of them. “Instead of a Shepard guiding and protecting his sheep, a sheep decided to try his hand at directing other sheep.” How had Jason ever thought this man was sane? The light within his Golden pupils reflected a level of delusion and insanity he never wanted to see again.
“Imagine how dangerous that would be for everyone, including that sheep’s own herd. He’ll only lead them into danger and cause ruin wherever he goes.”
Leaning back, Lysander crossed his arms, his ease sharply contrasting Jason’s tense posture.
“That, my friend, is the Slave King.”
~~~~~~
They walked in silence for a few minutes, Dick could only guess what was going through Darrow’s mind. Personally, he was just aghast that such a place truly existed. It sounded absolutely terrible, and the haunted look in Darrow’s eyes added to his conviction.
There were so many things he wanted to ask regarding his world and Darrow’s own role in it. Hell, Dick was tempted to ask Bruce if someone on the Justice League knew where Darrow’s world was so they could…do something.
However, the longer he thought about it, the more he realized Darrow probably did not need to be bombarded with questions. At the moment, the large man looked more corpse than human (alien?). So, pushing down his inquisitive urge, Dick instead asked,
“Are you okay?”
“Huh?” Darrow’s head snapped towards Dick’s; he must’ve been lost in his own thoughts. Upon repeating the question, Darrow’s eyebrows creased in a concerningly confused way before returning to his stoic expression. “Oh, I’m just…thinking I suppose.” Shaking his head, he huffed tiredly “Am I okay? Yes, once I get back to the fight I will be.”
“Rrright. Well, uhm, once we get to Batman’s place I can help patch you up” Dick nodded towards the various cuts and wounds littering the man’s visible skin. His…suit(?) covered most of his body, so it concerned Dick just how many scars he could still see. How many were beneath the suit?
“…alright. Thank you.” They lapsed back into silence, although this one felt more comfortable. Dick thought about letting it hang longer, but he couldn’t help but want to know a little more about this man.
“Soo, you said you were sort of fighting a group of people?” At Darrow’s nod, Dick continued. “What were you…I guess fighting for? Is it a specific person, or an ideology? Batman and I, we fight for the people that live in our respective cities. Although that’s not to say I don’t fight for Gotham too.”
“Well, I guess it’s sort of both. I’m fighting specific people like Lysander because they believe in upholding the hierarchy.”
“Ah. Let me guess, they’re at the top of it?” Darrow raised an eyebrow at Dick’s response but nodded. “Knew it, I’ve fought plenty of villains who fight for systems specifically because it benefits them, regardless of everyone else.” Was someone agreeing so readily really such a surprise to Darrow? I guess if it took such a harrowing battle to fight against such a rigid system, it must be.
“Yes, they’re Gold.” Huh?
“Oh, so you’re fighting against your own color for the other colors. Like, on their behalf?”
“Uh, no. Well, yes technically yes.” Darrow, once again, looked uncomfortable. There was clearly more to the story, but Dick didn’t want to pry, so he moved on.
“Right, well maybe this is a good opportunity to rest for a bit. Batman will trust my vouch and provide a safe place to rest.”
“…No. No, I shouldn’t rest, I need to start finding a way back to my world as soon as possible. I got taken away in the middle of a battle, the longer I stay away the more people will die.” Despite his words, Darrow’s face is haggard, his posture stiff, and eyes darkened.
It reminds Jason a little of Bruce, especially when he was younger. A man holding a world on his shoulders, destined to be crushed by its weight.
“Well, I don’t fully know your circumstances, but I do know someone who was tasked with protecting people against an unforgiving reality.” Jason’s head was turned away from Darrow, but he felt his eyes on him. “It was killing him, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Not just the physical danger, although that was brutal of course. No, I think it was the loneliness, the anger and sadness surrounding him with no hope. It was killing his spirit.”
“…and where is he now?”
“He’s waiting for us at his mansion. He’s the man who protects Gotham, this city.” Dick saw the question left hanging, the one Darrow clearly wanted to ask, but didn’t know how to phrase. In an odd way, it felt strange to share this with a stranger. But Dick knew he needed to hear it. “The reason he’s still here, still keeping us safe, is because of the people he surrounded himself with.
“…I’m not alone. I have people who protect me as much as I protect them.” For a moment, a wave of pure grief overcomes Darrow. He almost stumbles, then quickly rights himself. Before Dick could ask what happened, or who he remembered, Darrow continued. “It’s because of those people, my wife, my son, all the colors that look up to me, that I can’t stop.”
“That’s not a sustainable way to live, Darrow. It could kill you.” Taking a deep breath, Darrow stopped and turned to face Dick.
“If I don’t fight, I’ll die anyways.” He held Dick’s gaze for a moment, before looking away and quietly murmuring “I don’t think I know how to live a life without fighting.”
~~~~~~
The man sitting across from Jason was both a supremist and certifiably insane. He remained seated after finishing his horrible speech, despite Jason slowly standing. Even though Jason was wearing a mask, his body language should’ve given away his hostile intent. Yet, Lysander remained seated, not even moving to uncoil his razor.
“You should draw your weapon.” Jason nodded at Lysander’s arm. “Wouldn’t want you to cut it off in the heat of the moment.” Immediately, Jason drew his gun and shot straight at Lysander’s chest. Unfortunately, he managed to move away just in time, the bullet grazing his arm instead.
“Thank you for the warning” Lysander glanced at his arm before suddenly drawing a gun of his own (where had he been hiding that?) and shooting at Jason, who swiftly dodged. “You know, The Slave King was actually the one who inspired this style” he gestured to the coiled razor. “Only a man as audacious as he would have the confidence to wear a blade so close to his skin. Unfortunately, he had to skill to match.”
Both Jason and Lysander drew their guns, each muzzle pointed at the other’s forehead.
“I’ve never met this ‘Slave King’ before, and maybe there’s more to this story. But just from hearing your side of things,” Jason narrowed his eyes, aim true. “I know who I’d fight alongside.” Pulling the trigger, a single shot rang out through the building. Just as he felt the gun’s kickback, a bright flash of light blinded him.
Quickly, expecting Lysander’s bullet, he ducked and moved to the side. Yet, when his vision returned, Lysander was gone. Looking around, Jason found himself in an empty hideout, no trace of a golden-eyed man to be found.
“…he must be back in his world.” Glancing back, Jason saw that there was no bullet hole where he’d been standing. Smirking, Jason looked across and saw his own bullet in the wall, it would’ve been a clean shot through the forehead. “So much for your genetic superiority.” Lysander hadn’t shot fast enough.
~~~~~~
Dick silently thought about Darrow’s admission. Truthfully, Dick knew he lacked a serious amount of information and context regarding Darrow’s situation. He was only hearing one side of the story, it was possible that, knowing everything, Dick would be scorning or even fighting the man.
Yet, knowing what he did, Dick did not want to scorn this man. He didn’t want to fight him. He wanted to take him somewhere safe. He wanted to give him the same sense of safety Dick himself felt at Bruce’s home, his home.
This man so desperately needed a level of comfort and safety his world clearly did not intend on giving him. So, instead, Dick did the only thing he could do.
“Can I hug you?”
“…what?”
Moving slowly, telegraphing his movements clearly, Dick raised his arms and moved closer to the man. Despite his large size and build, Darrow’s unease made him feel smaller. Still, he held firm, not moving away.
Smiling softly, Dick moved to encircle his arms around Darrow’s large arms. Yet, just as his arms brushed against Darrow’s, a bright flash of light blinded him. Shaking his head vigorously, Dick jumped back, prepared to fight or defend. But when his vision returned, he found himself facing an empty street, no trace of Darrow to be found.
“Oh…he must’ve returned to his world.” Looking up into the sky, he gazed at the shining moon and felt a wave of grief for the long-gone man. “I hope you can find happiness away from the fighting Darrow. You deserve it.”