Raven part 1

Darkness.

Cold, heavy, dense, and eternal, surrounding and permeating everything. And yet, she felt at peace, floating in it, like a sea creature swimming in the bottom of the ocean. The silence was almost like a song to her, a song she learned to appreciate.

And then four red eyes appeared in the sky, glowing like infernal flames.

The heat was the first thing to change. A massive blast of hot air swept the place and the shadows were blown away like smoke in front of a tornado. The red glow cut the darkness and suddenly the world was burning.

Everything was fire, blood and bones and the scream of the damned souls filled her ears.

Raven opened her eyes, fear spreading through her, and called her power by pure instinct; the mass of darkness was blasted from her hands before she even realized what she was doing, crashing against the man in the room with a thunderous noise.

Guilt and dread flooded her body as soon as her panicked mind caught up with what she was doing; she held her breath. Raven rarely lost control of herself or her powers, but she was familiar enough with her abilities to know they would destroy everything in their path.

Except they didn't.

The mass of black energy clashed against the man and stopped in its tracks, like a sea wave hitting a mountain. He grunted in effort, his shirt being shredded to pieces when he was pushed back, but to her shock, he stopped the attack; opening the arms crossed in front of his chest, the man broke the energy field, ripping it in two and deflecting them against the wall behind him.

The entire room trembled, the lights flickered, and the walls cracked. Then there was silence.

"Wow, I should've seen that one coming," the man muttered, eyes wide.

It was only then that Raven finally realized what she had just done; and to whom. He was wearing normal clothes instead of his usual outfit, but it was unmistakably Superman himself.

The same person that had saved her life.

She opened her mouth, the desperate apology already on the tip of her tongue, but Superman interrupted her quickly.

"It's okay, it's alright," he said, fast, approaching slowly, as if to show he wasn't a threat. "I should've realized you would be scared." He looked at the cracked walls and at his ruined shirt for a moment. "All things considered, it's a good thing it was me and not anyone else," he said, giving her a warm smile.

Raven didn't know what to say to that.

This was not normal. Nothing about this was normal. Losing control of herself like that… It was something that shouldn't happen, that couldn't happen, in any way, never. And Superman's reaction to it was also something Raven had never seen before. He didn't scold or reproached her, he didn't try to subdue her immediately.

But weirdest of all, he didn't feel a single shred of fear.

"I-I apologize for this," Raven finally said, taking a moment to regain her cool. "It will not happen again."

"Like I said, no problem," Superman retorted, still smiling. "I didn't expect this, but I did expect something. It's why I was here. Anyway…" His face turned serious as he approached. "How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?"

Without thinking, Raven touched her stomach, her hand feeling the bandages on top of the wound; the sharp pain brough forth the memories of what happened. Being drugged and locked inside a container, waking up frightened when the container toppled, the raw fury she felt when she was released, killing the man who captured her…

An arrow shot through her, blood, burning pain and then nothing.

"I remember," Raven answered, simply, her voice emotionless.

"You went through surgery," Superman explained, gently, sitting down by the bed. "I did what I could to stop the bleeding at the docks, and then I brought you here, to the Avengers Tower, so the doctors could save your life."

So that's where they were. Raven had never set foot inside a hospital, not that she could remember anyway, but she imagined it would look like exactly like the room they were. Full of beeping monitors, IV bags, those elaborated beds with hundreds of different features for maximum comfort, a TV…

And all the bleakness and lifelessness of a piece of sterilized and disposable equipment.

Still, it was a good thing that this room was located inside the Avengers Tower and not in some hospital full of defenseless people. Her enemies did not care about who got in their way and Raven couldn't very well defend herself if she needed to worry about innocent people around her. And the Avengers — if her many Astral strolls to learn about these lands were worth anything — were heroes.

She might even find some help where she was, the hopeful thought occurred her, before Raven forced herself to dismiss it; wishing for the best had never worked for her.

Well, it did once, Raven remembered, turning to Superman.

"Are you feeling any pain?" Superman asked when she looked at him. "You're under medication, so you shouldn't, but I don't know exactly how well these drugs would work on you."

Pain was ultimately an emotion and Raven was a master in controlling them. Meds or not, it wouldn't bother her.

"I feel fine," Raven said. Then she looked at him. "I thank you for the help, Superman."

He smiled again. "No need. Listen, there's a doctor here named Helen Cho and she developed a treatment that can close that wound in a few minutes." He pointed at the door. "She's just getting her equipment ready, that's why I came here to wake you up. The treatment can print living tissues, apparently," he explained, seemingly impressed, "so that wound shouldn't give you any more trouble. You'll still need to continue the treatment for the poison, but you'll feel a lot better."

Raven nodded, absentmindedly touching the wound again. Poison? The one that shot her really wanted her dead, it seemed. And the worst thing is that she couldn't bring herself to disagree with the notion that much.

She didn't want to die, she wasn't suicidal, but at the same time Raven knew better than anyone what she was and what she was capable of.

Maybe dying really would solve everyone's problems, she thought for a moment.

"Hey," Superman touched her hand, delicately getting her attention. She stared at his very blue eyes. "Nothing about this whole situation was your fault, okay? And we're going to get to the bottom of this. You are safe here, you have my word."

Against all odds, Raven believed him. Even if she felt a bit silly for doing so.

"Your name is Rachel, right? Rachel Roth?" Superman asked.

Rachel Roth… It had been some time since she heard that name. It didn't feel right.

"I prefer Raven," she replied.

He smiled again. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Raven, even though the circumstances are less than ideal."

Raven caught herself almost smiling back, before she controlled her emotions once again; instead, she nodded one more time. A moment later, an Asian woman wearing a lab coat entered the room, probably Dr. Helen Cho; she immediately stopped, her eyes fixed on Superman.

More accurately, focused on his bare chest, visible to the world after Raven attacked him by accident and destroyed his shirt.

Noticing his state, Superman quickly explained the situation and apologized — to both of them, even though Raven was the one to blame, she remarked with some amusement — and left the room to pick up another shirt.

There was a moment of silence, before both women shared a look.

"Well, it wasn't bothering me at all," Dr. Cho muttered, probably a little louder than she intended.

Raven felt her cheeks burn for a second, silently agreeing with her, before swiftly reigning back her stubborn emotions.

She really needed to meditate.

"Amazing," Bruce muttered, studying the healed wound on Rachel's — Raven, Clark corrected himself — stomach. "Not even a mark."

Not quite true, Clark thought also glancing at the wound, after the doctors allowed him in the room; he could see a difference between the reconstituted tissue over the injury and the rest of non-hurt skin, but he supposed that it made no difference to the human eye. He certainly wouldn't mention anything, even if he thought that the scar would do anything to diminish anyone's beauty, though Raven didn't seem like the type of girl to care about that either way.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Cho asked Raven. "Any discomfort?"

"None," Raven answered, her tone as emotionless as her expression. "It feels as if it never happened."

It was quite a treatment, he pondered again, more than impressed. He knew Tony had used it to heal his wound — the deep hole in his chest, where the Arc Reactor was kept —, but to see the "before and after" with his own eyes had marveled him. Dr. Cho truly was an expert.

"We will keep the treatment for the poison for now," Bruce said, giving several pills and a glass of water to Raven, "but you're reacting nicely. You'll be good as new in no time."

It was excellent news, especially after she got so close to dying the night before. The wound was healed to the point that it barely scarred, the treatment against the poison was working and she was already able to even walk a little bit. Raven should be overjoyed.

Her expression, however, was blank.

Clark could understand if she were feeling afraid or intimidated and trying to pretend she wasn't — she was in the Avengers Tower, after being kidnapped and almost killed. Or maybe just uncomfortable in general and doing her best to endure the harsh situation she just went through. But he had a feeling it had nothing to do with that.

For the first time, Clark took the time to really assess the girl in front of him. Raven was a teenage girl, pale like the fairytales told Snow White was, with very dark hair that fell just above her shoulders and violet-blue eyes. She was not very tall, but she was athletic; not fit like Natasha or Sif — they were elite warriors, after all —, but visibly in good shape, which meant she was used to physical activities. In a few years, Clark could tell she would grow up to be a stunning beauty, just like her mother Angela Roth was, if the pictures Natasha found could be trusted.

He tried to look beyond her appearance, however, ignoring for a moment the healed wound and how tired and small she looked while wearing a hospital gown.

What he saw, was tranquility. And that, in on itself, was peculiar.

Her composure was too well crafted, her serenity in front of such tremendous adversity was too much, especially for a fifteen-year-old girl that almost died. That wasn't a matter of personality, that spoke of training.

Like Natasha, Raven had been trained to remain cool at all times; Clark could only hope that the reason for that training — and the methods — were not the same.

"Do you think we could talk now?" Clark asked, suddenly, and Raven glanced at him. "If you're feeling tired or unwell, we can do it later, but—"

"We can speak," Raven interrupted.

"You will remain in bed for now," Dr. Cho ordered; then she turned to Clark, a truly frightening expression on her face. "She should be resting now, so the moment she gets tired, you stop."

"Of course, Dr. Cho," Clark said, immediately.

Mollified by his answer, Dr. Cho nodded and grabbed her things. Bruce helped her, sparing him a nod, before leaving as well. Clark waited for a moment, giving time for Raven to get comfortable in the bed; Natasha would certainly like to be here for this conversation, but she thought Raven might react better to the person who saved her life than to any other; her time, she said, could be better spent interrogating Leland Owlsley.

Clark grabbed a chair and sat by Raven's bed.

"I know that the last thing you want to do right now is talk about this," Clark started, gently, "but your memories are fresh now. The people that kidnapped you? I'm trying to stop them. And I could use your help." He leaned a little closer, Raven still holding his look with an emotionless expression. "Why did the Hand kidnap you? Why they were so obsessed about the 'Black Sky'?"

Raven stared at him with a bored expression.

"There is no need to coddle me," she said, impassive as ever. "I am not a child."

"You don't have to be a child to be scarred by a traumatic event," Clark answered, softly. Raven looked down for a split second, before staring at him again. "But I'm glad to know you're as strong as you seem."

She didn't say anything for a long minute and Clark remained in silence while Raven gathered her thoughts.

"To understand why they wanted me," Raven said, suddenly, "we have to go back to before I was even born." She looked at Clark. "It began with my mother, Arella, though you probably know her as Angela Roth."

Raven, Arella… Fake identities? Or new names for new lives?

"My mother had a difficult life," she started, her voice low. "No family, no real friends, no future. She grew up by herself, a rebellious young woman, angry at the world. If you know the name 'Angela Roth', then you probably already know about all the times she broke the law. Not because she needed it, but because it was the only way she had to vent her anger. She was lost, alone and without a purpose in life. At that point, she was looking for anything that would give her life any meaning, that would make her feel anything, and she found it: religion."

Clark managed to hold back a wince, but something about his reaction must've had shown in his face, because Raven gave an almost imperceptible smile. He didn't have anything against religion; on the contrary, faith was a powerful thing and when used for good it could help a lot of people.

But lost and desperate people were often easy prey to those who wanted to take advantage of them. And religion often offered the perfect camouflage for such predators.

"As you can imagine," Raven continued, "the Church that took my mother in wasn't kind-hearted and altruistic, though they appeared to be in the beginning. My mother wanted to belong, to do something that mattered, and they sold her that illusion. She was naïve, she was hopeless, and by the time she noticed there was something wrong with it, she was already too far gone to return."

"What happened to her?" Clark asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"She was promised to their God," Raven answered, simply. "She was to become His new bride and give birth to His child. An honor beyond anything she could possibly imagine, or so they told her. She would be their Church's Mary of Nazareth and give life to their God's baby." Raven sighed. "What she didn't know was the true nature of their God. Or who that God was: Trigon the Terrible."

Clark widened his eyes. He knew that name, he had heard it from the Ancient One's own mouth when she was listing the infinite threats kept at bay by Agamotto's barrier. Beings so powerful that they could destroy entire realities.

And somehow a being like that had entered their world and — he didn't exactly need to wait the end of the story to guess — sired a daughter.

A daughter that was, at that very moment, sitting right in front of him, telling the story of her life.

He suddenly remembered the sheer amount of power Raven had unleashed at the docks the night before. A tower of darkness that reached the heavens and made the world quake; Clark had imagined, back then, that the tired teenage girl must have had pushed herself to her limits to do all that, a last desperate attempt to save herself.

Knowing what he knew now, however, Clark was certain he had things backwards. Raven wasn't pushing herself to unleash all that. She must have been pushing herself to do the exact opposite, to regain control over the power she inherited from her demonic father, Trigon.

Clark had enough issues with controlling his abilities when he was young to know what a constant struggle that should be for Raven. Could that be the reason for her constant calmness?

"You've heard the name before," Raven stated, eyeing him, getting his attention back.

"Yes," Clark admitted a few seconds later. "The Sorcerer Supreme mentioned it when she told me about Agamotto's barrier." She didn't look surprised about the mention of the Sorcerer Supreme or the barrier, which told Clark Raven knew exactly what he was talking about. "Raven, how did Trigon cross into this world? It was supposed to be impossible."

"He didn't," she answered, simply, confirming his suspicion that she wasn't ignorant about magic matters. "Not completely."

"I don't understand."

"He was summoned," Raven explained. "The cult temporarily opened a rift in Agamotto's barrier so Trigon could send a fraction of himself through." She stopped for a moment, gathering the right words. "When I say the word 'God' — or demon, I should say, even though the terms are ultimately irrelevant —, what comes to your mind? A higher being, like Asgardians or even yourself? Trigon isn't anything like that. Don't think of him as a person. He is an entity so beyond anything we can imagine that our minds can barely comprehend just what he is."

Raven looked into his eyes, to see if he understood what she was trying to say.

"There are infinite dimensions like ours," Raven said, "but there are also higher planes of existence located above the Multiverse, realms that house superior entities such as Trigon. Entities so powerful that the mere act of entering our dimension would break it into nothingness. Trigon isn't so much as a person as he is a force, a mass of energy so formidable that nothing here could ever stop him. He is pure power. And pure Evil."

She swallowed, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Glancing at such a being would be enough to completely shatter the mind of a mortal," Raven said, opening her eyes. "The human mind was not made to comprehend entities from higher planes and Trigon, on top of all that, is not a benevolent being. He relishes in chaos and destruction, and nothing delights him as much as corrupting and twisting everything around him." She turned to Clark again. "What stepped in our world was a fraction of Trigon's essence, a mere grain of dust from the entirety of his being. But it was enough to take physical form, to create an avatar so he could consummate his marriage."

Raven's eyes became glassy and Clark felt sick to his stomach; no child should have to describe such a vile thing about their mother.

"He nearly destroyed her," Raven said, eventually, her voice almost inaudible. "His mere presence was enough to send her into madness… And he was not gentle." She stopped talking for a few seconds and Clark considered leaving the story for later, but she went on. "Years later, my mother told me that the only reason she managed to come back was me. All those months she spent in the Church's maternity ward, wrapped up in torment, she would feel me inside her womb. Not as the fruit of Trigon's assault, but as the hope of a new life. And a few weeks before I was born, my mother regained enough of her mind to escape."

Clark could barely imagine the inner strength necessary to get back up after something like this, but he was very happy that Raven's mother managed to do it.

"The Church's acolytes weren't expecting it," Raven continued, "and when they realized what happened my mother was already gone. But she didn't go far. She was half-mad, weak, in the final stages of pregnancy and penniless. She had no family or friends to call, nor she trusted anyone else to ask for help. Eventually, she had no choice in the matter: her water broke and she needed to go to a hospital."

She gave Clark an unnoticeable smile.

"I'll spare you the details. The important thing is that I was born, and my mother named me Rachel Roth." The birth certificate Natasha managed to find, Clark realized, but he had no time to think about it, because Raven continued. "And at the same night, the Church's acolytes found my mother."

Raven all but shrugged.

"My mother knew there was nothing she could do. They were there for me and they would kill her for it. There simply wasn't a way to escape or to fight. So she did the only thing she could, she prayed. I have no idea if any deity listened, but someone else did: the Monks of Azarath. They saved us from the acolytes and took us to a safe place, Azarath."

Clark had never heard of these monks, nor had he heard of Azarath, but the fact that they appeared to save Raven and her mother was a point in their favor. He didn't even want to imagine what would have happened if they didn't. Angela — or Arella — would be either dead or a prisoner again, this time possibly for the rest of her life. As for Raven… She would probably be raised by that Church, taught to hate the mother that tried to save her life, and to love the father responsible for all that.

And with that they would have Raven's allegiance as well as her powers. A dangerous combination.

"Azarath?" Clark asked, curious.

"Azarath is a realm within our realm, a universe created by a mystic society to house the Temple of Azarath," Raven answered, and Clark raised his eyebrows.

A pocket dimension, like K'un-Lun, but one full of mages. Incredible. No wonder Natasha hadn't managed to dig up anything about Angela and Rachel Roth's past, they were in another world entirely; the spymaster would certainly like to know she wasn't losing her touch.

"It was created long ago, by a sorceress named Azar, and the Monks of Azarath were the followers of her doctrines. They were peacekeepers, pacifists and protectors… But most importantly, they were Trigon's greatest opposition in this world."

One would think that a group of pacifists wouldn't be of much use in a battle against a demonic entity that destroyed universes, but Clark knew better. A pacifist strived for peace, an end to conflicts and violence, but it did not mean they were passive to all that. Clark himself was a pacifist.

It didn't mean he was harmless.

If the Monks of Azarath were able to keep Raven away from Trigon and his minions, then they, like himself, were no strangers to battle, even though they probably didn't like to be in one any more than he did.

It raised the question, though: if the Monks of Azarath were Trigon's enemies, what was their reaction to having their version of the Antichrist within their grasp? It was hard to believe Raven would be safer with the Church, but at least they wanted her alive.

"I can feel your worry," Raven announced, surprising him. "There is no need. The Azarathians wished me no harm. As I said, they were pacifists. And even if Trigon's blood flowed within me, killing an innocent baby would be something they would never do."

"They wanted to keep you away from him," Clark guessed.

"Yes. And to teach me how to control my abilities, to stop Trigon's corruption from spreading." Raven stared at him. "I was raised in Azarath since I was a baby. They saved my mother and I. They gave us Azarathian names — Raven and Arella — and a place with them. They healed my mother's mind and body, and taught us both their ways. We learned how to defend ourselves, how to cast the Mystic Arts, how to protect others. I learned how to calm my emotions, how to keep myself from falling under Trigon's influence, how to ignore the eternal call of his tainted blood. We were happy."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, her face unreadable.

"And in a single moment, I destroyed everything."

The words were spoken without any emotion, but Clark could feel the raw pain inside the girl.

"I lost control," Raven continued, her eyes staring at nothing. "It took but a moment, a single moment, and all the Evil inside me came forth. Trigon reached Azarath through me and turned everything and everyone to ashes."

"How did you—" Clark began.

"How did I escape? I did not. Trigon destroyed everything and he would have taken me with him if not for my mother." She breathed deeply, clearly getting her emotions back under control. "She sacrificed her life to cast an ancient Azarathian spell that banished Trigon back to his dimension. And I was left alone, surrounded by the dead."

Clark had no words to comfort Raven. He knew nothing he could say would ever erase her guilt or make her feel any better. So he did the only thing he could: he held her hand. She didn't say anything, but she didn't pull away.

"My fault, all of it," Raven whispered. "And there was nothing I could do to fix it. So I left. I came back to this world, hoping to reach the Sorcerer Supreme and place my life at her hands."

"You would allow her to kill you?" Clark exclaimed.

"If she thought it was necessary to keep this world from harm, yes," Raven answered, as if it were obvious. She glanced at him. "Wouldn't you? Die for this universe to live?"

He suddenly remembered the day he formally met the Ancient One, in Kamar-Taj, and found out that the reason she battled him and freed him from Lorelei's enthrallment was because he became a threat to the Sanctums Sanctorum in some of the possible futures the Sorcerer Supreme saw.

And he remembered the question he asked her: why hadn't she killed him?

If he was such a threat, wouldn't that be an acceptable outcome, if not a desired one? To die, to save the universe? The answer she gave him was as direct as it was brutal: yes, she would have killed him if there was no choice.

But not if she had means to save him. Not if the possibility to keep him alive and save the universe also existed. Killing him would've certainly been easier, and the same could be said about Raven.

But it didn't make it the right choice, not while they had other means to deal with this.

"I would die for the universe to live," Clark answered, looking seriously at her, "but not before fighting to live in it as well. Raven, I cannot imagine what you felt when that happened, but giving up is not the answer. Would your mother agree with it, after fighting so much for you? Would the Azarathians?"

The fact that she didn't answer was, in on itself, already an answer.

"It didn't matter either way," Raven finally said. "I never reached the Sorcerer Supreme. The Hand got to me first."

He squeezed her hand again. It probably hadn't been difficult to capture Raven, especially if the Hand somehow knew what happened to Azarath and had been expecting her. She was in an unfamiliar world, guilt-ridden and most likely completely unwilling to use her powers to any degree that she might consider dangerous.

The question of why the Hand wanted her, however, remained.

"Raven, do you know why the Hand captured you?" Clark asked. "Were they connected to the Church that worshipped Trigon?"

She considered the question for a moment.

"They could be, but I'm not certain. Trigon has been worshipped by several cults throughout human history, but the Church of Blood itself is newer than the Hand. Could the Hand have created the Church of Blood to fulfill their agenda? Possible. But ultimately, the Church of Blood's allegiance is to Trigon and Trigon only. It is more likely they are allies of convenience."

Clark was a little bit amazed by Raven's knowledge.

"What did they want with you, then?" Clark asked again. "Would they hand you over to Trigon's Church?"

"Perhaps after they drained enough of my blood," Raven said, almost bored, as if the act of bleeding her wasn't something heinous. "They never told me exactly what they wanted with it, nor do I know anything about their operations. But I gathered from the little I heard that the Hand was planning to use my blood to achieve immortality. And to revive a dragon."

He just stared at her, jaw agape, the words escaping him. It wasn't simply because of what she said — about resurrecting a dragon, maybe even the one called Ao Shun, the dragon Thor killed and whose tomb he and Natasha found under Pyramiden —, but because of how Raven said it. She was talking about things like immortality and resurrection as if the concepts were as mundane as doing laundry.

"Is that even possible?" Clark finally asked, eyes still wide. "Can your powers really do that?"

Again, Raven shrugged.

"Trigon is nigh omnipotent, or at least he is when compared to us. And I am, in the end, a conduit between Trigon himself and his dimension, and this world. Theoretically, what I can do is only limited by my capacity to channel Trigon's demonic energy, something I actively avoid so I don't end up corrupted by it." She shrugged a third time. "But certainly, they could use my blood as a medium to channel Trigon's energy and, with that, power whatever spell they want. It has been done before, by other children of Trigon."

"There are others?!" Clark couldn't help but to exclaim.

"Right now? I am probably the only Black Sky in existence, or so Trigon's worshippers would call us. The Azarathians knew of no other, at least, and they were very well informed about this world from their many observations through the Astral Dimension. But throughout history? The Black Skies were rare, but we did exist."

"Okay, right," Clark said, still stunned; he shook his head slightly. "Out of curiosity, what exactly can you do, within the safety parameters?"

And by that, Clark meant without destroying the whole world.

"You have seen some," Raven answered. "I am trained in the Mystic Arts — which I can empower with energy from Trigon's dimension —, I can manipulate Trigon's shadows, the ones I used to attack you, and I can feel, and control to a degree, emotions."

"You're an empath?"

She nodded. "Emotions are what fuel my abilities. The more I feel, the more power I can channel. The more power I can channel, the more likely it is for me to lose control. Trigon's powers are corruptive, addictive, worse than any drug you can possibly imagine. If I'm not careful when using them, I become simply an extension of Trigon's will. Violent, cruel… Evil."

It explained why Raven looked so controlled all the time. Something she probably learned from those monks.

And it explained perfectly why the Hand wanted Raven so much. Trigon's blood was the means to achieve everything they wanted: immortality, power to take over K'un-Lun and the ability to bring their masters, the dragons, back to life.

Had they removed enough blood? Was Raven still in danger from them? Well, of course she was, Clark answered his own question immediately, and she would be while the Hand was still out there. But would they try to recover her right away or did they have enough of her blood to resurrect a dragon?

The last thing they needed right now was a dragon flying over New York.

"It all comes down to Trigon, in the end," Raven said, after a moment. "It's all they want and it's all I am."

"If it really were all you are," Clark retorted, gently, "you wouldn't be taking a stand against them. Your powers might come from Trigon, but your heart comes from your mother. Don't forget that."

Clark looked at the door when he heard Bruce entering, pretending not to see as Raven quickly dried her eyes.

"Breakfast is served," Bruce announced, loudly, so they could know he was approaching, more to Raven's benefit, really. "It's a new recipe Dr. Cho developed for her post-treatment patients. Highly nutritious, full of energy, vitamins and protein, everything you need to get better fast."

He put the bowl in front of Raven and they all stared at the colorless pudding-like food.

"Looks delicious," Raven deadpanned.

"And it probably tastes even better," Clark couldn't help but to add.

"Well, presentation isn't its forte," Bruce reasoned, "but it can't be that bad."

"Did you try it?" Raven asked, grabbing the spoon and lightly smacking the blob.

"Patients only, I'm afraid," Bruce lied shamelessly, giving them an apologetic smile.

He turned to Clark.

"Dr. Cho says she needs to rest," he relayed the message. "I can stall her for a few more minutes, but I don't think she's one to be trifled with."

Yeah, Clark got that impression from her.

"We're almost done, don't worry," Clark guaranteed, thanking Bruce for the warning before he left.

He looked at Raven, who was still smacking the pudding with a bored expression on her face.

"Hey, listen. I have an appointment with the Sorcerer Supreme," Clark started and Raven turned fast as a whip to look at him; it was the first time he saw a surprised reaction from her, he mused, before continuing. "Unrelated to you," he calmed her down. "There was a, well… There was a superpowered zombie guarding you at the docks last night, so I had to defeat and restrain him and now I don't have a place to keep him."

Raven stared at him for a long time.

"This wouldn't be Solomon Grundy, would it?"

Clark raised his eyebrows. "You heard about him?"

"He is famous in certain circles," she answered, simply. "Why don't you throw him in the sun?"

He sighed, exasperated.

"You're the third person to suggest this," Clark said. "I don't even know if I can! And what if I miss and hit a populated planet? Space is not as empty as people like to think, you know?"

Raven rolled her eyes. "The chances of that are remote."

"And," Clark continued, as if she hadn't said anything, "if I do hit the target, Grundy will simply be reincarnated at an unknown place and time, ready to kill again. It's best to keep him contained."

She tilted her head slightly to the side, which Clark took as her conceding the point.

"Anyway, I'm going there now," he went on. "Do you want me to ask her something? To say anything to her? Or do you prefer if I tell nothing to the Ancient One?"

"Would you keep me a secret from her?"

Raven's voice was as monotonous as ever, but he got a hint of surprise from her.

"If that's what you want," Clark confirmed. "Of course, knowing her, she might already know something is up, but I won't say anything if you don't want me to."

She considered what he said for a moment.

"You may tell her what you wish, I have no secrets," she finally said, then she looked at him. "But if you can, ask the Sorcerer Supreme if I would be permitted to visit her after I'm healed."

"Why wouldn't you?" Clark asked, confused.

She gave him a frustrated look.

"Daughter of Trigon? Black Sky? Bringer of the Apocalypse? Did you hear nothing I said? The Sanctums Sanctorum are the most important line of defense this universe has against my father. Would you allow a spawn of Trigon near it?"

"You're not a threat, Raven," Clark said, stern.

"I am," Raven affirmed, looking him with all the seriousness she could muster. "An unwilling threat, perhaps, but a threat nonetheless. Azarath learned that the hard way."

Clark really didn't know what to say in response to that.

Was she dangerous? Yes, Clark knew she was. He already got a taste of her powers and if what she'd told him was true, he got off easy. But being afraid of her abilities, of herself, wouldn't do her any good; Clark knew that from experience as well.

There was a time, when he finally understood that he was different than anyone else, that he was also afraid of his gifts. Afraid of touching the people he loved, of moving too fast, of even looking at others after his first burst of heat vision. The world had never seemed so fragile and Clark was terrified of breaking it.

And if it weren't for Ma and Pa Kent, he never would've moved past that fear and learned how to control his powers.

Raven had reason to be frightened, but if she allowed herself to wallow in fear, she would never get better at controlling her gifts. And then she would definitely become a threat, to herself and others.

He sighed. "I'll talk to her, I promise. And when you're feeling better, I'll take you there myself." Clark raised a finger. "But not so you can give up. I'll take you there so you can learn how to control your gifts well enough to never be afraid of yourself again."

This time, it was Raven who wasn't sure how to respond.

Clark gave her a winning smile and pointed at the untouched breakfast.

"Try to eat as much as you can. When I'm back, I'll smuggle you some proper food," he said, winking. "What do you like to eat?"

Raven just stared at him.

"I already told you, I'm not a child," she deadpanned.

"You don't have to be a child to have a favorite food," Clark argued, warmly. "Pizza? Burger? Pie?"

There was a long silence, and when he was beginning to believe she wouldn't answer, Raven whispered:

"Waffles."

Clark gave her another shining smile.

"Waffles it is, then. If you need anything, just give me a shout, I'll come flying. But you're safe here, just focus on getting better. See you later, Raven."

Changing his mind at the last second, Clark took the elevator to quickly see Natasha before he left, to know if she had any success interrogating Leland Owlsley; she barely had any time to do anything, true, since she had captured Fisk's accountant the night before, but he wanted to know if he could do anything to help.

The elevator closed and started its descent, moving fast to the floor she was on, when Jarvis broke the silence.

"Mr. Kent, I didn't want to interrupt your conversation with Miss Roth, but while you were talking Mr. Melvin Potter arrived alongside Miss Betsy Beatty."

"Already?" Clark exclaimed, surprised.

He knew Melvin, Fisk's talented craftsman, would be arriving in the next few days, to work for Tony — an offer Tony made at his request, not only because Melvin and his girlfriend needed protection from Fisk, but because he seemed to be exceptionally skilled at what he did —, but he wasn't expecting him to arrive so soon.

He wondered if he had any trouble.

"Is he okay?" Clark asked, worried.

"Mr. Potter and Miss Beatty seem to be fine," Jarvis answered. "Mr. Stark gave me instructions and I already directed them to their temporary accommodations. Mr. Potter will be introduced to the research labs once they are settled and Miss Beatty will begin her training as security officer tomorrow morning."

"They're staying here?"

"Mr. Stark thought it prudent, for now, given the threat against their lives."

It was awfully nice of Tony, he thought, to offer them that. Giving them jobs would have already been enough, but Tony went beyond that and Clark was grateful; once Fisk was behind bars, Melvin and Betsy could go back to their lives, but right now every little thing helped.

"Thanks, Jarvis. I'll talk to them later. And I'll thank Tony in person when he arrives from his business trip."

"You are welcome, Mr. Kent," Jarvis said, ending the conversation.

As he said that, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. And what greeted Clark gave him pause.

The elevator opened right in the middle of a big room, full of desks and computers, a wide space that looked no different from a large company's office, even if empty of people. What froze him for a moment, however, wasn't the room itself, but what filled it.

Piles and piles of papers, occupying all desks and balanced on top of each other all the way to the ceiling. Loads of files, heaps of letters, tons of notebooks, a bunch of old-fashioned computers — really old-fashioned, the kind people used before the internet was even a thing —, and a mountain of what seemed to be typewriters, tossed in the corner.

"What the—"

"Pretty awesome, isn't it?" he heard Natasha's smooth voice say from behind one of the piles. "Your Kryptonian technology forced them to adapt or die, so they adapted. Accounting records, blackmail material, coded letters instead of e-mails or even phone calls, documents… Everything on paper, where it cannot be hacked." She walked to him, a little smile on her lips. "A lot of work, but it does the trick, wouldn't you say?"

It definitely did the trick, Clark thought, stunned by the amount of work criminals did to avoid his gaze. Kelex couldn't access a sheet of paper, after all, nor hack a typewriter or an old-fashioned computer — at least not remotely, in the computer's case.

Maybe he should pay a little more attention to people buying typewriters by the ton, Clark mused.

"You've been busy," Clark finally said, looking at Natasha.

"I woke up early," she said. "It's best not to allow criminals much time to think if we want answers." Then she raised her eyebrows. "Mr. Owlsley surprised me, though. I didn't even have to threaten him, and he just spilled everything. My people have been going to his safehouses and secret stashes to collect all this since morning."

"He just gave all that up?"

"Well, he didn't have much of an option," Natasha explained. "Fisk and the Hand will kill him, even if he doesn't say anything. His best shot at survival is for us to take them down before they take him down." She grinned. "He's also a big coward. I promised him protection, a new identity and to serve his sentence in a minimum-security prison outside the country, far from anyone that would really want to kill him. In return, he tells me everything I want to know. He agreed."

They looked back at the countless piles of paper.

"All this is just what he has on Union Allied, and it's not over yet," Natasha sighed. "I can't imagine how long it will take for us to go through all this, since I can't use all my resources right now. I hate paperwork."

"I can read pretty fast," Clark told her, giving her a smile. "And we might be able to get some help from Matt, Foggy and Karen. Maybe even Jessica, if she's in a generous mood. We can hire them for this case… I wouldn't even know about it if it weren't for Karen, so it's fair."

"If you trust them, give them a call," Natasha agreed. Then she turned to him. "What about the girl? Is she alright?"

"She's doing well, the treatment worked wonders." Clark hesitated. "And she had some bad news."

"Of course she did," Natasha said, almost as if she was already expecting this.

"Cliff-notes then, because I'm running late. Apparently, a 'Black Sky' is what they call a child of an interdimensional demonic entity called Trigon. As his daughter, Raven — which is the name Rachel Roth answers to — has a myriad of powers and one of them is that her blood is powerful enough to be used to resurrect a dragon," Clark said, quickly, not meeting her eyes. "Like the one the Hand dug up from Pyramiden, for example."

"Of course it can," she agreed, in the same bored tone.

"There's good news, though. Your investigating skills are still top-notch. The reason why you didn't find anything about her, or her mother, was because they were living in a pocket dimension named Azarath, to escape Trigon's worshippers." He paused. "Which was later on destroyed by her demonic father when she lost control of her powers and accidentally brought down the defenses. But she's not a threat to us, don't worry."

"Of course…" Natasha closed her eyes for a moment. "I know you have to get rid of that quartered zombie right now, but I want the full story later."

"Of course," Clark parroted.

"Until then," she went on, ignoring him, "are you sure she's not a threat?"

Clark thought for a moment.

"Her powers react to emotion. She's not a willing threat, but her powers can get out of control if she loses her cool."

"So like Bruce?"

"More or less," Clark agreed.

"Well, good thing he'll stay here to look after her while you leave, then. He has experience with unstoppable fits of rage." Natasha turned and went back to the piles of documents. "We'll talk later. Go take that zombie away, it's driving Clint nuts."

"On it," Clark said, going back to the elevator to grab the box holding Grundy.

"And give Mr. Murdock a call," Natasha added, as he entered. "I don't care if he's officially blind, we all have to do our part."

"I'll tell him to come here as fast as he can," Clark yelled as the doors closed. "See you soon!"

"Fascinating," Master Kaecilius muttered, his unnerving gaze studying the severed pieces of Solomon Grundy.

Severed pieces that were no longer trapped inside the steel cocoon Clark melted around him, but suspended in the air by tendrils of Eldritch Magic, the fiery spell creating an arcane cage around each body part separately.

Clark had to hold himself back not to drag Master Kaecilius back when he leaned forward, his face almost touching the magic cage; Grundy's head was trying desperately to bite the sorcerer, ignoring the small detail that it was no longer attached to the body.

Master Kaecilius stared for so long, unblinking, that Clark began to feel uncomfortable.

"So, can you take him, Master Kaecilius?" he asked, more to fill the silence than for any other reason. "Do you have the means to keep him contained?"

"Most definitely," Kaecilius answered, finally turning to Clark. He still wasn't blinking. "I was always curious to study the effects of The Grey in its chosen avatar. It is said that it rots everything it touches, a force that consumes life itself. Most impressive."

That explained the unbearable pain Clark felt when Grundy bit his hand.

"The Grey?" Clark couldn't help himself but to ask.

"The very Aspect of Decay," Kaecilius answered, simply. "Life grows, and then it withers. The Grey is the force that embodies that natural law." He turned to Grundy. "Either by fate or chance, this man was chosen as the avatar of that force."

Clark nodded, interested. "But what about the man he was before? Is there anything left of him?"

"A good question, and one that I will certainly try to answer. You did well bringing him here. If there is a place that can answer those questions, it's Kamar-Taj."

"Just, be careful with him," Clark pleaded. "For your sakes and for his too. I know he's dead and can't feel anything, but… He isn't dead dead, not completely, anyway. There's no reason to subject him to anything unpleasant."

Kaecilius raised a single eyebrow, amused. "I am not in the business of torturing undead, Kal-El, but I will certainly take what you said into consideration."

"Thank you."

"Now," the sorcerer continued, as if Clark hadn't said anything, "how goes your training? Still applying yourself? 'Mind over matter' is not just a saying, it is the statement of a fact. A powerful man with a weak mind is simply a weapon to others, as you well know."

Clark had learned that, literally, after what happened with Lorelei.

"I'm doing the meditation exercises you taught me, every night before sleep," Clark answered, truthfully. "Building up my 'mind walls', so to speak."

"To master yourself is the first step," Kaecilius said. "An unruly mind is vulnerable, not only to external attacks, but to inside weaknesses. Have you managed to channel your energy at will? The cleansing ritual I showed you?"

"Short, quick bursts of energy to purify the body and mind from harmful influences," Clark quoted from memory. "Yes, I managed to do that."

"Then we will see how well you fare against a true telepathic intrusion once we have the time for it," Kaecilius said, gesturing towards the door; Clark could hear steps approaching. "The Ancient One has arrived and I will take my leave, with Mr. Grundy."

"Thank you for everything, Master Kaecilius," Clark said, honestly. "You have no idea how much you're helping me by taking Grundy off my hands. And helping me protect my mind."

"Think nothing of it, Kal-El. It has been a pleasure."

Saying this, Kaecilius traced a fiery portal in the air and walked through it, the several body pieces of Grundy floating behind him inside their Eldritch cages. A moment later, the Ancient One appeared through the door and gestured for Clark to follow her inside another room.

Like most of the rooms Clark visited in Kamar-Taj, that one also had the looks of an Eastern temple, complete with bookcases filled with scrolls and books, and a small table at which the Ancient One sat by, sitting on top of a rug on the floor. Clark sat in front of her, glancing at the balcony on the other side of the room for moment, where he could see the courtyard where her students practiced, and then at the door at his back, when it closed by itself giving them privacy to talk.

Still in silence, the Ancient One poured tea for both of them.

"Honey?" she asked.

"Yes, please," Clark accepted, knowing by now that the Ancient One would start the conversation when she wanted to and not a moment before.

So he tasted his tea while he waited, practicing his patience.

"I've heard you been busy, Kal-El," the Ancient One finally said, putting her cup down and staring at him with that attentive — and a bit weird — gaze she possessed. He wondered for a moment if one of the prerequisites of being a mage involved developing a peculiar way to look at people. "The Hand, Solomon Grundy… And even a Black Sky. All in a single night."

Clark wasn't surprised at all that the Ancient One seemed to know exactly what happened, nor he resented the fact that she hadn't showed up to help. Like she told him when they met, the Sorcerer Supreme was a single person, and that single person was tasked to protect their entire universe by guarding the Sanctums.

She wouldn't and couldn't solve all the problems in the world, and her few sorcerers were probably just as busy. Everybody had to pull their own weight and he had, for good or ill, dealt with the situation.

The Ancient One took a sip of tea.

"How is young Raven?" she asked. And this time, Clark was surprised. "Healed already? Does she require any aid?"

Nothing Raven said gave him any indication that they knew each other, but the Ancient One knew Raven by name. How?

"She is healing alright, thanks for the offer, but… Do you know her?" Clark asked, eyes still wide.

"I know of her," the Ancient One explained. "The Azarathians were a very secluded people, but we did run in the same circles, so to speak. I knew they had brought young Raven and Arella to Azarath, to protect them." She stopped talking for a moment, looking down. "And I felt when Azarath was wiped out in the blink of an eye by Trigon."

Clark stared at her for a long time. She knew? Then why, how, could all that have happened?

"Ask, Kal-El," the Ancient One said. "I won't be offended."

"Did you know what was going to happen?" Clark questioned, almost immediately. "Did you see the future? Could you… Could you have stopped it?"

"I can gaze at possible futures using the Eye of Agamotto, Kal-El," the Ancient One answered, "I am not omniscient." She leaned forward, eyes still glued to his. "Did I know there was a possibility Azarath would be destroyed? Yes, there were infinite. And infinite possibilities where it wouldn't. The Azarathians that took in a Black Sky knew about that as well, better than most, perhaps. And they still chose to do it, because the alternative would be killing an innocent infant."

The Ancient One poured a bit more tea and held the cup in front of her face, without drinking.

"I am saddened by what happened. Azarath did not deserve such a fate and Raven did not deserve to be the one that handed it to them." She looked at him. "We do what we can, Kal-El."

Clark breathed deeply. He wished he didn't, but he knew exactly what the Ancient One meant by that. No matter how powerful, no matter how much effort he put into it, he couldn't save everybody; and neither could she. Sorcerer Supreme she might be, but like she said, she was not omniscient, nor omnipotent.

It was a simple, logical fact. But it didn't make things any less frustrating.

Still, one of the things she said caught Clark's attention: the dangers posed by a Black Sky. The Ancient One implied that Azarath knew Raven could destroy them all. Stick compared her to a bomb that could destroy the planet, but worse. And Raven herself warned him she was a threat. But how dangerous was she, really?

"Could you tell me about Black Skies?" Clark asked, after giving the Ancient One a few moments out of respect; and a bit of guilt. "I think I should learn a bit more about them."

The Ancient One tilted her head.

"What do you know of Trigon?"

"Just what you and Raven told me," Clark answered, honestly. "Interdimensional demon that wants to destroy our world or something like that."

"That is not untrue," the Ancient One confirmed, "but it hardly conveys the sheer magnitude of the threat he poses to all of us." She stopped, sipping her tea. "Ancient texts tell that when Trigon came into being, before the birth of Time, the entities of the higher planes were terrified of his power. It was such an unbelievable energy that it threatened to rip apart everything, and they feared for the continuity of existence itself. So they banded together and they waged war against Trigon, hoping to destroy him. But they couldn't."

The Ancient One put the cup back on the table.

"So they did the next best thing: they banished him to a place we know as Heart of Darkness. A realm within realms that is regarded as the Cradle of Evil, the beginning and the end of all the Evil in all the universes. A place that collected the very embodiment of malice." She raised a single eyebrow. "They hoped that the Heart of Darkness could do what they could not, that the Evil confined inside it could consume Trigon and destroy him forever."

She tilted her head and regarded him for a moment.

"Instead, Trigon was the one who consumed the Evil," the Ancient One stated and Clark widened his eyes in surprise. "He took that mass of infinite viciousness, cruelty, brutality and malevolence into himself and forced it to submit to his will. Thus, Trigon became Evil incarnate. And he began his Crusade to conquer all dimensions, consuming countless of them, one by one, until he can corrupt the entire existence or shatter the balance of all worlds, until all that is left is Evil."

She looked at him.

"That is Trigon. An entity so powerful and so vile that aims to corrupt or destroy everything that exists." The Ancient One raised a single hand. "As you well know, however, there are worlds that have defenses against beings like Trigon. Dimensions, like ours, that are shielded and guarded to keep them away. Agamotto's barrier are the walls that keep Trigon at bay. But like any warlord, Trigon developed ways to deal against such defenses."

Saying this, the Ancient One waved her hand. A small sphere made of Eldritch magic appeared in the air, surrounded by another; a representation of their world — their entire dimension, really — protected by Agamotto's barrier.

"Think of a Black Sky as Trigon's version of a Trojan Horse," the Ancient One explained. "He cannot break the barrier or pass through it, but he can send a very small piece of his essence inside — probably aided by worshippers in our world — and use that essence to sire a child. A child that will be a part of two worlds: ours and Trigon's. A bridge between two realities that can be exploited."

The Eldritch magic demonstrated what she explained, opening a small hole in the barrier and sending slip of energy through it; and that slip of energy became a person, a person that could channel even more energy.

Until the whole fiery world was blown up.

"But how?" Clark asked, still looking at the fading red globe.

"A Black Sky draws power from Trigon. Any emotion they have is a trigger to open the gates a little more, to channel more power. A power that comes, don't forget, from Evil itself. Highly corruptive, highly addictive, until the Black Sky is completely tainted by Trigon's evil or until their power grows so much that they end up destroying everything, bringing the barrier down."

"But there were other Black Skies, Raven told me," Clark argued. "If they're so dangerous, then how are we still here?"

"Because they are rare," the Ancient One said. "There are few who have the knowledge to summon Trigon and, out of those, fewer still even want to do that. Few women can survive Trigon's attentions and not all pregnancies end well, not when the fetus have so much power that it can kill the mother at any point. And those rare children who survive are often killed, either by their own powers as they grow up, or by others."

Clark had a flashback of Stick's arrow hitting Raven. Could that be true? Children being hunted down and murdered just for being born? At the same time, Clark was disgusted with himself to think: what if they hadn't any other choice?

Raven was innocent, he knew that much, but maybe others weren't. Either because they were corrupted or because they simply reveled in their abilities too much.

And either he liked it or not, he had to agree that they were all dangerous.

Still, there had to be other choices. Clark refused to believe that the only way to save the world would be by killing any and all Black Skies.

"Is there a way to help them?" Clark asked, and even though he said 'them', his thoughts were on Raven. "To teach them how to control their powers?"

"The Azarathians thought so," the Ancient One replied. "They believed that by controlling the emotions, they could control their power, even purify it to a certain degree. It would allow them to use it without being corrupted. Now, how well would that work, I don't know."

"Raven controlled her powers at the docks," Clark remembered. "After she was released from the seal, she lost control for a while, but managed to rein it in."

"Then perhaps the Azarathians were right and there is a way," she said, giving him hope, only to shatter it by continuing. "Or perhaps it only delays the inevitable."

Clark sighed, scratching his eyes.

"Can't you, you know, take a peek using the Eye of Agamotto?"

That seemed to amuse the Ancient One for some reason.

"Suppose that I do 'take a peek' into the future and see Raven losing control of her powers and destroying the world. What would you do, Kal-El? Would you go back to the Avengers Tower and give her a quick death?"

"What?! No! I would try to help her to control it, find another way!"

"Then you already made your decision and nothing I say matters. We can only live with the consequences."

He sighed again, tired. These talks of possible futures always gave him a headache. No wonder the Ancient One tried not to rely so much on them.

"She told me to ask you if it would be alright for her to visit," Clark finally said. "I suppose she wants help in the magic department… Something I can't exactly lend a hand."

"Of course Raven is welcome," the Ancient One answered, without hesitation. "Kamar-Taj is a place people go to find themselves and to heal. I suppose young Raven needs it more than most."

"But will she truly be welcome?" Clark asked, forceful. "Will she be safe here? I mean no disrespect, Ancient One, but if she won't be safe here, then I'll find another place for her. Can you promise me?"

The Ancient One stared into his eyes.

"I promise I will do my utmost to help her control her powers and that I will protect her even if it costs me my life, as I would any other student I have." She raised a single finger. "But remember my title, Kal-El. I am the Sorcerer Supreme and the safety of the Sanctums are my priority, now and forever. If she becomes a threat to it, a threat that cannot be defused, then I will have no choice but to deal with her."

Clark swallowed, feeling sick; then he nodded.

"I understand." Even though he didn't like it one bit.

He supposed Raven would agree to those terms in a split-second, she basically told him the same thing.

"Good," the Ancient One said, her previous seriousness fading. "Now, I understand that you are having some issues with the Hand."

"More than a few," Clark confirmed.

"They are a rather persistent pest," the Ancient One agreed. "Old, wise in the ways of the chi, and absolutely without scruples. Not a good combination. I was surprised to learn that they were the ones keeping Solomon Grundy. And even more surprised to learn they had a Black Sky."

"You didn't know?" Clark exclaimed.

"Like I said, not omniscient. And they know how to hide their tracks better than most. Chi is subtle, but useful."

"What is chi, anyway?" Clark finally asked, more than a little curious after hearing so much about it. "Some kind of magic?"

"If you stretch the meaning of the word, I suppose you could call it that, one of magic's many branches. After all, in the simplest terms, magic is the act of using our will to channel energy so we can manipulate our reality as we see fit. This energy can come from anywhere, truly. Our universe, other dimensions, from within ourselves… Chi is the life energy that exists in every living being and those who know how to use it can achieve much. Dragons are masters in that art and the Hand learned it from them."

That reminded Clark of an important part of his talk with Raven.

"Funny you should mention dragons…" Clark started, slowly.