Teen Titans Fan Fiction ❯ Teen Titans: Future Storm ❯ Dichotomies ( Chapter 7 )

 

“Teen Titans: Future Storm”

Arc 2: “Mentality”

Chapter 2: “Dichotomies”

Disclaimer: The concept of Teen Titans does not belong to me; it belongs to DC Comics and Warner Brothers. The characters Nightstar and Mercury do not belong to me, either; Nightstar is owned by DC and Mercury is jointly owned by DC and Marvel Comics.

Author's note: Down the spiral he goes. Further down the spiral he goes, “he” being Raziel. Let's just say for the time being that a lot of unpleasant stuff is gonna go down.

Raziel peered into the shadows to behold his attacker, who leaped down from the rooftop of the church and landed in front of him.

The assailant wore a form-fitting yet loose black suit with an Asian-style collar. Leather guards that ended in rings around his middle fingers covered his wrists, as did metal bands with rubies embedded in their centers. Leather guards covered his shins and the hilt of a katana could be seen protruding from his back. A silver mask with black slits for his eyes and a black dragon coiled beneath those slits covered his face.

“Wyndragyn,” Raziel snarled.

The assassin drew a katana and shifted into a battle-ready stance.

Raziel reached into one of the many pockets on his pants and pulled out three senbon needles, holding them between his fingers. He propelled them at Wyndragyn, who deflected them with his katana.

“Good reflexes,” Raziel remarked.

Wyndragyn didn't answer, simply lunging at Raziel with his katana. Raziel barely sidestepped the charge and swung down his psychic blade to slice the katana apart. Shockingly enough, Wyndragyn simply moved his katana to his left hand and twisted out of the way.

“Pathetic, Crestmore,” Wyndragyn remarked. “I expected more from the Kokuryu no Kiba.”

“That is no longer my name,” Raziel stated as he slashed at Wyndragyn again. The masked assailant simply weaved out of the way of Raziel's attack and swung his katana at him. Raziel flipped out of the way of the swing and threw more senbon needles at point blank range. Just as before, Wyndragyn blocked the needles with his katana.

Wyndragyn slashed at Raziel again and this time cut him across the chest. The wound bled slightly, only to stop mere seconds later.

Raziel rushed Wyndragyn and swung at him. This time, Wyndragyn caught him by the wrist and twisted brutally, fracturing it. Raziel gritted his teeth, refusing to give the assailant the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. Instead, he dropped and kicked his legs out from under him. Wyndragyn landed on his free hand and flipped into a standing position.

Raziel took his wrist and twisted it back into place despite the pain of doing so. It was still fractured, but it would have a better chance of healing properly.

Wyndragyn sheathed his katana and kicked Raziel's legs out from under him. Raziel landed on his hands, which sent a flare of pain up the arm of his injured wrist. Ignoring that pain, he flipped into a standing position and kicked Wyndragyn, who blocked the kick with his wrist. Raziel flipped back and Wyndragyn kicked him right where he'd cut him earlier.

Raziel thrust his psychic blade at Wyndragyn, only for the attack to be parried by the masked assailant. Wyndragyn lunged at Raziel again, knocking the psychic onto the steps of the church. The masked assailant proceeded to bash Raziel's head into the steps as he performed a cartwheel over him.

“Look at you, Kokuryu no Kiba,” he sneered. “Life with the Titans make you soft?”

Raziel rose to his feet and removed several marbles from one of his pockets, proceeding to shoot them at Wyndragyn, who dodged them all with ridiculous ease.

“What do you want?” Raziel asked.

“What do I want?” Wyndragyn asked. “It's just a matter of business. My employer wants you dead.”

Raziel slashed at him again with his psychic blade, only for Wyndragyn to block the attack.

“Give it up, Crestmore,” the assassin sneered. “You're no match for me.”

“Wanna bet?” Raziel growled as his knee shot up to brutally impact against Wyndragyn's stomach. Seizing his opportunity, he chopped the masked assassin in the spine, causing him to fall facedown on the church steps.

“Not bad, Crestmore,” Wyndragyn remarked as he got up. When Raziel looked at him, he saw a jagged diagonal crack in his mask. “I'll see you again . . . very soon.” He threw down a smoke bomb, the explosion obscuring Raziel's vision. The psychic raced into the smoke, only to find nothing when he exited the cloud.

Raziel sighed and walked away from the church, getting on his motorcycle and driving back to Titans Tower.

“So what happened?” Bladefire asked.

“I have no idea why you're asking,” Raziel replied.

“Your wrist is bruised, probably fractured, and your shirt has a tear in it,” Bladefire observed.

“I got into an accident,” Raziel explained. “No big deal. I heal fast.”

“Actually, you look more like you were in a fight,” Bladefire noted.

“So I was busting up a few criminals and it happened to be a little rougher than I'd anticipated,” Raziel stated. “Again, no big deal.”

“You'd better go see Samara about that wrist,” Bladefire advised. “You may heal fast, but that doesn't mean you heal properly.”

“Fine,” Raziel yielded and rose from his couch to see Samara.

“Well, it's not as bad as it looks,” Samara remarked as she gripped his wrist gently. A purplish aura engulfed her hand and passed into his wrist, setting the bone and healing the fracture. “Good as new. Just don't get into any more fights with street thugs.”

“Thanks,” Raziel said. “I'll note that advice.” He looked at Samara. “Samara? Do you think I'm a good person?”

“What brought that question up?” Samara inquired.

“Just answer . . . please,” Raziel pleaded softly.

“I don't know you very well,” Samara admitted. “But from what I've seen, I think you're a decent person.”

“Thanks,” Raziel said and rose to leave Samara's room.

At lunch the next day, Mercury was hard at work crafting Inferno's class presidency campaign.

“So here's what we do. The school newsletter's a pretty good angle to work with. We can show that you're really concerned with getting unadulterated information out to your peers. We could also emphasize your record as a Titan. You save lives on a daily basis, man. That'll be pretty hard for anyone to compete with.”

“Hmm. Good points.”

“Who's gonna write the speeches?”

“I'll handle the speechwriting, Terri. I am a master of the English language.”

“That's how you barely passed English.”

“Not my fault the class was boring.”

“I'll write my own speeches, but thanks, anyway.”

“Can I at least edit them? Y'know, for time and content and all that stuff?”

“Sure. What else?”

“What else? We also emphasize how you intend to improve the school. More funding for the arts and such.”

“Oh, yeah . . . like `for too long the office of class president has been used to pander to the interests of so-called elites within the student body to the detriment of the common student' and such.'”

“Uh-huh.”

“You've practically won already, Fern. All we gotta do is make it official.”

A pointed glare directed itself at the fast-talking teen. “Don't call me Fern.”

“Sorry.” The younger boy held his hands up in surrender. “Won't do it again.”

“I think what you really ought to emphasize is your sheer integrity.”

“Integrity?”

“Yes. Name any instance you recanted on something you published in your newsletter not because you were wrong but because you were intimidated or bribed into doing so.”

“Can't name any.”

“Exactly, Jeremiah. You're incorruptible. That's what's going to give you your edge in this campaign.”

“I'm kinda flattered, Samara.”

“Don't be. I'm only telling you the truth.”

“All right, I think I got enough material for five speeches at least!” The pencil moved so quickly as guided by the speedster's hand that it was a blur. When he was finished, he handed the pages to Inferno for review. “What do you think?”

“Not bad,” Inferno remarked, “although it could use some editing.”

As all this was going on, Nightstar and Bladefire were eating their lunches. Raziel was doing his best to eat, but more for the sake of projecting a façade of normality than any actual desire to eat.

The silver-haired young man reflected on the fight between him and Wyndragyn. Judging from the symbol his assailant bore on his mask, he was a member of the Kokuryu yakuza syndicate.

Raziel repressed a shudder. Thinking of the Kokuryu brought back bad memories for him.

He became aware of Samara's pointed gaze as a tendril of dark power subtly attached itself to his brain stem through his skin. The tendril's intrusion was somewhat painful, but Raziel was used to pain. It didn't bother him much.

What's wrong? he heard her silently ask him.

Nothing, Raziel replied.

Bull, Samara stated. I know well enough when someone's hiding things from me. Does it have anything to do with what happened to make Bladefire send you to me for healing?

Yes, but I can't tell you, Raziel answered.

Why the hell not? Samara inquired.

There are things about me you shouldn't know, Raziel responded. Things that no one should ever know.

Quit the mystery boy routine and tell me, or I swear to God I will leave you nothing but a vegetable, Samara threatened.

You wouldn't do such a thing, Raziel stated calmly and a soft smile came to his lips.

Don't try to call my bluff, Raziel, Samara stated. I mean it. I'll rip as big a hole as I need in your defenses to find out and if you do become a vegetable, it'll be your own fault for trying to hide from us.

My defenses are stronger than you think, Samara, Raziel challenged.

Suddenly, the tendril pulsed inside him and Raziel felt Samara pushing through his defenses. He gritted his teeth and dug his heels in, refusing to give even an inch to her. This just made Samara push harder, but the walls that guarded his secrets thickened.

Damn it, Raziel, he heard her think. Why are you trying so hard to shut me out?

Forgive me for not liking the idea of someone poking into my mind without my consent! Raziel retorted.

Try a brain-hack on her, Gabriel suggested. If that tendril connects her to you, then the connection might work both ways.

Good idea, Raziel answered.

Suddenly, Samara could feel Raziel worming his way into her mind, slithering past her defenses. The part-demon psychic summoned her defenses as well and now they were straining against each other, each trying to force their way into the other's mind.

As they fought, images began to rise unbidden. Images of a school, of lessons, of a man hidden in foreboding shadow, and of a black dragon.

Finally, Samara separated from him, fearing the possibility of being overwhelmed by the intensity of the images she had seen.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Raziel stood up and walked away. However, Samara caught his last words.

“That is a question I often ask myself.”

Once again, Raziel was in the soccer field practicing his katas.

“Hey,” Nightstar greeted. “Want someone to spar with?”

“What I want, Mar'i, is to be left alone,” Raziel answered.

“Too bad,” Nightstar shot back. “We have a right to know what's going on with you.”

“Is that why Samara tried to force her way into my mind?” Raziel inquired with a pointed gaze.

“Not condoning it, but what choice did she have when you wouldn't be honest with her?” Nightstar questioned.

“There are things I can't tell you,” Raziel responded.

“Why not?” Nightstar asked, reaching out to gently stroke his face. “I want to help you, Raziel. I truly do, but how am I supposed to help when you won't tell me what's wrong?”

Raziel stroked her hand. “Mar'i . . .” he whispered, his voice suddenly low and velvety. “You want to help me?” He looked into her eyes and she froze on the spot like a deer in headlights. His eyes smoldered with want and shadowy ardor.

“Yes . . . I do . . .” Nightstar whispered, the look in his eyes virtually hypnotizing her. She leaned closer to him, her eyes closing, her lips parting.

Raziel watched in silent horror as the persona that had taken over his body leaned in for the kill . . . or rather, the kiss.

“Mr. Crestmore, Miss Grayson, engage in your tryst somewhere other than school grounds,” a sharp, strident voice spoke, breaking the spell of seduction that this alternate personality had woven.

Raziel retook control and he and Nightstar looked upon the disapproving expression on Mrs. Stowe's face.

“Mrs. Stowe . . .” Nightstar spoke.

“I understand that you're young and that the hormones are flying, but try to contain yourselves until after you get home from school,” Mrs. Stowe advised. “In the meantime, lunch is over, so you two had better get to your classes.”

“Yes, Mrs. Stowe,” Raziel spoke.

After school, Raziel sat in his room pondering what had happened between him and Nightstar as the relentless sound of heavy metal ricocheted all around the room.

What did you do that for, Samael? he questioned silently.

I only did what you wouldn't, the other persona replied, his voice a velvety purr of seduction. Silly boy, can't you feel her want for you? Every inch of that delectable body of hers just screamed, “Take me.” So why shouldn't you?

There are reasons I can't be involved with her, Raziel stated. You're a big part of that.

It seems that being with the Titans has given you a moral streak, Samael commented. You used to have no problem taking what you wanted.

That was then, this is now, Raziel responded.

If you don't do something, I will, Samael asserted. Oh, don't give me that look, Raziel. I'm no rapist. By the time I'm through, she'll want me too much to think coherently.

Raziel let out a hissing sigh. I see why I gave you the name Samael. You truly are the devil.

Yes, but I'm a devil you created, Samael answered coolly. So that makes you responsible for every sin I commit.

He heard a knock on the door. “Yo, Raziel! Open up!”

“Come in, Peter!” he shouted.

The door slid open and Mercury stepped in. “What's up?”

“Nothing,” Raziel answered.

“Don't B.S. me, Raziel,” Mercury stated, amber eyes burning into Raziel's violet orbs. “Something's wrong with you, has been wrong, and it all started showing itself when that girl showed up at our door. Now who is she, how does she know you, and why did she come looking for you?”

“I can't tell you that,” Raziel answered.

“Why not?” Mercury asked. He suddenly perked up. “Holy crap, I love this song!”

The silver-haired young man just marveled internally at his younger friend's tendency to get distracted by “shiny objects.”

“I had a dream set to this song once,” Mercury remarked. “In it, I was fighting a blind samurai and the guy was kicking my ass.”

“Like Zatoichi?” Raziel presumed.

“Yeah, like that!” Mercury confirmed. He growled. “Don't change the subject! You didn't answer my question!”

“It's your fault for getting distracted,” Raziel answered.

Mercury grunted. “Well, if you won't talk to me, you can at least help me with my chem. Project.”

“Sure,” Raziel conceded.

About an hour later, Mercury had figured out how not to make any kind of explosive substance.

“So what do you like about chem.?” Raziel asked.

“Terri's in it,” Mercury replied. “That's all.”

“You really love her, don't you?” Raziel mused.

“Yeah, I suppose you could say that,” Mercury admitted shyly.

“Why don't you tell her?” Raziel inquired.

“I don't know,” Mercury replied. “She's the first girl I ever loved like that and . . . hell, I suppose I'm scared. Like you.”

“What do you mean, like me?” Raziel questioned.

“The sexual tension between you and Mar'i has been blatantly obvious since you became part of this team,” Mercury observed. “Yet neither of you will make a move.”

“I can't be with her in that way,” Raziel murmured.

“Why not?” Mercury asked. “Does it have anything to do with whatever it is you're trying to hide from us?”

Raziel didn't answer.

That night, Raziel sneaked out of Titans Tower. Instead of wearing his usual Titans attire, he wore a leather jacket over a black Chinese shirt and black leather pants with his usual steel-toed boots. His jacket's pockets were filled with needles, darts, marbles, dice . . . and bullets. He wore his hair in a samurai's ponytail.

He slipped on his motorcycle helmet and straddled his motorcycle, starting it and driving away from Titans Tower for what he felt would be the last time. For what he was going to do, the other Titans would never allow him back with them.

Disregarding traffic rules, he ran red lights and drove at the motorcycle's maximum speed of 200 mph. Finally, he stopped at what looked like a school building. He knew better what lay in the depths of that so-called school.

This was where the Brain Trust operated. The school was just a front.

Raziel got off his motorcycle and removed his helmet, placing it in the helmet compartment. He closed his eyes, slipping into the coldly logical persona of Uriel.

Soon enough, Ariana exited the school, approaching him. “Raziel . . . I wish things didn't have to be like this.”

“Things are the way they are for a reason,” Uriel answered coldly. “You chose your path. No turning back now.” He reached into one of his jacket pockets and removed four marbles.

An aura of heat emanated from Ariana and she pushed it outward, toward Uriel, who flicked the marbles at her with deadly speed and accuracy. Unfortunately, Ariana's heat wave melted the marbles before they struck her. Uriel charged at Ariana, relying on his aura to protect him from the heat. He thrust his hand onto her chest, a burst of locomotive force knocking her back.

Ariana got up and concentrated, clusters of air molecules exploding all around Uriel, who drew six needles - three in each hand - and propelled them all at her. Ariana melted them with her heat aura, but Uriel threw more and varied weapons at her and some of them managed to survive long enough to strike her.

The Brain Trust assassin now bled profusely from her shoulder, abdomen, and leg.

“You . . . didn't kill me,” Ariana uttered.

“Not yet,” Uriel contradicted. He rushed Ariana, ready to impale her heart with his psychic blade. She managed to grab his wrist and began infusing it with her heat aura. Uriel ignored the pain and kicked her in her injured leg, causing her to let go of him and thus allowing his own aura to begin its healing work.

Ariana swept out her uninjured leg to trip him, but he jumped over it and stomp-kicked her directly in her wounded abdomen. Despite the pain, she grabbed his ankle and pushed him off her. She struggled to her feet as she continued to bleed.

“You are aware you're going to die,” Uriel stated coldly.

Ariana simply set off more explosions around Uriel, knocking him around a bit. The emotionless persona recovered quickly and charged for the kill, intending to slit her throat with his psychic blades. Ariana closed her eyes, preparing for her death.

Suddenly, Uriel stopped.

You can't do this! Gabrielle cried out internally. You can't!

Watch me, wench, Uriel answered and brought his psychic blade down, only for it to be stopped by another psychic blade.

“Greetings . . . son,” a familiar and much-loathed voice stated.

Uriel looked up and into the face of a man that could have been an older version of him. Same silver hair, same purple eyes, same cold expression.

“You,” he hissed.

“Yes,” the man confirmed before slashing Uriel with his psychic blade, which was more akin to a sword. The black Chinese shirt he wore turned even darker with his blood, but he ignored it and struck back at his attacker, only for the attack to be effortlessly parried. The man proceeded to dislocate Uriel's shoulder with one punch.

I won't die here, Uriel whispered internally and propelled the bullets at the man, who simply stopped them in midair and shot them back at him at the same speed at which they'd been propelled. Uriel put his aura-enhanced reflexes to work dodging the bullets, although he wasn't quite fast enough to avoid all of them. The one bullet that made its mark did so in his knee, effectively crippling him.

“Helpless. Weak,” the man spoke as he looked upon the fallen Uriel. “You are unworthy.” He raised the psychic sword. “Goodbye.”

End Notes: Considerably shorter than my usual chapters, but I don't have as much enthusiasm for this particular arc as I did for the first or for the arcs that I will write in the future. Then again, I can probably attribute that to the fact that I'm trying too hard to stretch it out. I can't say it would have been better as a one-shot, as there is too much material to fit it all into a one-shot.

Yeah, nasty cliffhanger I have here. Raziel/Uriel is at the mercy of a man claiming to be his father. Will he live? Well, duh. It's not like I'm going to kill off any of the Titans. It's how he's going to live that you're all probably waiting to find out.

Translation: Kokuryu no Kiba - Fang of the Black Dragon