#bless whichever killer sent it

[ask-dbd-nea]

[The “Hex: Devour Hope” exposed notification plays]

[tcrrestrial]

diego barrueco + cisgender male + he/him + supernatural condition.┊ ❛ ━ hey, is it just me or do you hear seven devils by florence welch + the machine playing in the distance ? oh, that’s just kai winter, a 28 year old mercenary. according to my sources, i heard he can be chaotic neutral and is determined, but also merciless. that’s probably why they remind everyone of rusted metal, bruised knuckles and battle wounds so much ! anyway, whether or not they’re neutral about the supers, crystalline city is keeping a close eye on them ! ( lotte, 26, gmt, she/her )

THE TECHNARCHY; A GLOSSARY

TECHNARCHY: (n) A ruling body governing several planets within one overarching system, located in Zair, a galaxy located a million light years away from the Milky Way.

FREI: (n) (plural: frei) The most elite caste within the Technarchy, commanding all.

VALE: (n) (pronounced: VA-YEL) The noble/wealthy caste within the Technarchy.

SYNESTRA: (n) the queen mother of the Technarchy, manifesting in a living, floating city that is normally situated over the principal iron city, Plythe.

SYNESTRANS (n): The people of Synestra, considered to be a middle-class caste, far above those living within the iron city.

KAEVA (n): (pronounced KEE-VAH) gladiators and super weapons trained to serve the Technarchy.

PLYTHE (n) (Pronounced PLATE): An iron city located directly below the capital floating city within the Technarchy.

AEN (n): (pronounced AY-ON) Common folk living in iron city, doing blue-collar work.

THE BOY / #9: ARES

NAME: ARES

SERIAL NUMBER: 00000009

AGE: APPROX. 28 SOLAR CYCLES.

STATUS: ALIVE

LOCATION: EARTH / MILKY WAY

ORDERS: ABSORB AND ASSIMILATE UNTIL FURTHER INSTRUCTION.

FREE WILL — a novel concept, but one that does not exist within the TECHNARCHY. It might be more accurate to say that it was suppressed. As charming a concept it was, it did not serve the Technarchy to have radical elements within the system. After all, it was a perfect system, all creatures within it having been created and crafted for a singular purpose. A lifelong goal they spend their lives striving toward. This system had worked brilliantly for the TECHNARCHY, growing from what was once a single-planet Kingdom, into a multi-planet intergalactic empire. The sustainability and success of the system was evidenced by time itself. As such, there was no room for deviancy, and any traces of it did not go unpunished.

The system was divided into very clear, contrasted castes. All the way at the top of the hierarchal pyramid that shaped their society were the Frei, natural-born leaders whose destiny was to further their field and, by extension, the society. The Frei were leading academics, scientists, strategists, politicians, and researchers whose whims and innovations shaped the destiny of all those blessed to be born within the almighty TECHNARCHY. They were the closest in proximity and favour to the Queen Mother, SYNESTRA, and entertained a status akin to divinity. Legend had it that the Queen Mother had travelled through hundreds of thousands of systems, all throughout the far-reaching universe, before humbling their star system with the value of Her presence. The stories claimed the Queen Mother had chosen the first Frei herself, before creating a system through which subjects were categorised before they were even born.

Just below the Frei lay the Vales, nobility and self-made billionaires who only answered to the law on paper. They drove the economy, often at the expense of those at the bottom. The Vales were notorious for their unquenchable thirst for the most unconventional and unique of desires. Children were often warned of appetites that were beyond the pale, ranging from exhibitionist murder to slavery. The Colosseum was created as an answer to their unique palates. A fighting dome located within the heart of SYNESTRA, where the young were made to fight, kill and die for the pleasure of others.

The Vales normally took to watching the action from floating balconies just above the colosseum, while the rows of seats were filled with Synestran locals. With mediocre wealth, they were those who lay in between the very rich and very poor. Daily life in SYNESTRA could be boring from time to time, so, while they did not share the same thirst for blood Vales did, any entertainment was welcome to Synestrans.

However, the Queen Mother was not cruel. She would not send her children to die needlessly. To even the odds, she allowed for only the strongest of warriors to enter the Colosseum, natural killers trained from birth to lay their life and morals on the line for the Queen Mother’s desires. These were the Kaeva. Supernatural weapons who were privy to their own set of privileges and caveats.

Kaeva, regardless of birthplace, were automatically allowed to live on SYNESTRA, and to bring their families with them. Depending on their skill and accolades, Kaeva could even grow to be revered almost equally to the Vales. They were also deemed the Frei’s right hand, divine messengers of destruction, justice and wrath — whichever it may be. However, these privileges came at a heavy price. The role of Kaeva was one without an expiration date — no opportunity for retirement, no reprieve in old age or sickness. Instead they were taken apart and put back together until they became more machine than creature. Until they became even more monstrous than they already were.

From womb to tomb, they belonged to their masters, the Frei. The only exit clause to their destiny was death.

They were not given luxuries such as personhood — the freedom to love, dream, choose based on their own principles. They were not given the privilege of excelling or failing of their own volition. Every move they made was predetermined.

And so, was it a life worth living at all?

Then at the very bottom of the system were the Aen. Proud, hard-working people who toiled for the betterment and continuity of the TECHNARCHY. They were the moving cogs powering the great machine in which they all lived. They lived in the iron cities down below, wrapped in the thick fumes that poured out of the factories littering the ground. Their hard work put credits into the pockets of Vales and Frei who refused to dirty their own hands.

LEARN MORE ABOUT YOUR FAVOURITE COLOSSEUM FIGHTERS: #NINE

The family that would later produce number 9 was governed by a predetermined mediocrity that spanned over 12 generations. Each passing generation was born, and died, an Aen, working as hunters, famers, mechanics, builders, and the like. #00000009’s parents were no less mediocre. The father, Hunter #19099971, known to his family as ‘Vatre’ (Father) or Olarg worked as a hunter who tracked down deviants and criminals for a modest sum of credits to keep their family afloat.

Hunter #19099971 and his spouse, Medic #18772001 had five children in total. The record states the order being as follows.

1. SEALED #00000000: the eldest, known to the family as PYETR. STATUS: DECEASED.

2. FARMER #34991002: known to the family as MIRELISA STATUS: ALIVE.

3. FARMER #00918892: known to the family as ‘NAUCETE’  STATUS: ALIVE.

4. MECH #9001820: known to the family as ‘LVNA’ STATUS: ALIVE

Number 9 was the fifth child in the family and symbolised a miraculous turn in fate and a blessing bestowed upon them by the Queen Mother. For number nine, known to his family as ARES, was bestowed the rank of KAEVA.

Number 9 was left in the care of his parents until he was aged 8 years old. As policy dictates, tutoring was provided to the operative in the subjects of science, politics, mathematics and history.

Following this, he began his formal Kaeva training at the institute.The Institute oversees all Kaeva training and education. Core tenets such as survival, competition and determination for the mission are reinforced at this stage. Interpersonal relationships are undesirable as they may taint the training process.

After completing his initial training in melee combat, achieving the best results in his training group, he was put into the colosseum system.

Number 9’s lack of mercy and empathy are believed to be the keystones to his success as a fighter within the colosseum.

Speaking on Number 9’s record, Lord Vyneth had this to say, “The blood on his hands could submerge an empire.”

Currently, his ranking is the ninth amongst all KAEVA, and he was given the previous number 9’s serial number as a reward for his victory.

ADDITIONAL FACTS:

+ After conquering the colosseum, he was cleared for active duty. First, his missions were based locally, and often required him to take on the role of an enforcer, a spy, an assassin.

+ Then, he was upgraded to intergalactic missions, being sent as an envoy to other systems to carry out the Frei’s desires.

+ Sometimes, it meant taking down an existing government. Other times, it meant stealing supernatural artefacts or stealing enemy secrets.

+ The rules of being an envoy are simple. Assimilate, absorb, and, finally, complete the mission.

+ His eldest brother died due to ‘unknown reasons.’ His parents never spoke of it, but he later came to believe that it was because he was a defector.

+ His current mission is based on Earth. He’s in the early stages, and does not know the details of said mission.

POWERS

His power is ‘supernatural condition’. Based on the wiki this simply means: “The ability to possess an obviously supernatural physical and mental condition. Advanced version of Enhanced Condition. Combination of Supernatural Body and Supernatural Mind.”

Basically he’s not ‘superpowered’, per se, and he’s just about as strong as anyone else of his rank in his home planet. He’s just relatively ‘super’ because he’s a supernatural being to begin with.

There are various types listed in the wiki, but they all seemed a little overpowered for me. He is faster than a regular human, so faster than Usain Bolt, I guess. And stronger than an average human but he doesn’t have exceptional (super) strength.

Of his variants, he has the following:

- Supernatural Combat - Supernatural Senses - Supernatural Survivability

WEAKNESSES

- Not exceptionally clever - Lack of emotional intelligence - REALLY BAD AT ANYTHING OTHER THAN FIGHTING. Want him to boil an egg? Couldn’t tell you how. - He’s still new to the planet anddd probably can be easily outsmarted on a street smart level as well as home-based knowledge - He comes from a cold planet so extreme heat as well.

INSPIRED BY: THE WATCHMEN, MEGAMAN, FFVII

[lil-nest]

The Talon and the Demon’s Heir, prologue: Envole-Moi

Fandom: Batman comics Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape Summary: ‘The verse sang "fly me away". As he cried after the Court sent him to his first murder, he sang that line again and again, hoping someone might come fly him away. One day, someone did.’ or Dick used to be a Talon, until this kid got him out of the Court and threw him into another prison. Only this time, they both plan to escape - with Batman's help (AU Talon!Dick, Dick and Damian are the same age)

Read on AO3

He could only watch as blood seeped from the wound, slowly flowed along the blade, and dripped to the ground.

It was either that or looking in those cold, wide, glassy eyes, and how could a dead person have such an accusatory look?

What had he done?

Talia offered him a glass of herbal wine to appease his tremors. He gratefully accepted it.

All it took was a glass of wine.

When the new dawn came, he did his best to put that day behind him and avoid thinking of it at all cost. But whenever he did, he was blinded by the blood and the pain and the shame.

Had he looked back on it, he might've wondered why he couldn't remember what happened next.

Even then, he probably would have put it on shock.

It wouldn't have changed anything.

(Shock really was a powerful thing.)

He left the League after that. Went to Gotham, swore to never kill again, and became Batman.

It was a lonely life, that of a vigilante. Of course, there was Alfred, but despite his best qualities, he wasn't the liveliest of companions.

Then came the circus. The acrobats, the fall. The orphan that was so much like him.

Bruce knew Gotham's system could do nothing for Richard. He knew the kid needed the stability and empathy a group home couldn't provide, the closure GCPD would be unable – unwilling – to give him.

He knew only him could save that boy.

He left the circus that night decided to shelter him, if only for a while, until he could find his parents' murderer.

Had he been honest with himself, he would've admitted that he wanted more than temporary, that he wanted the light he had seen on that trapeze to shine in his home.

Even then, he couldn't have known that the boy would disappear right after the incident.

It wouldn't have changed anything.

(The Batman was powerful, but so was the Court.)

Once, when the circus was in France, he heard a song that really moved him. He didn't remember the lyrics – didn't understand most of it, really – but he knew the verse sang “fly me away”. It was about children born in misery who fight for a chance to get out of it.

As he performed back then, he hoped he was good enough to fly the poor kids in the audience away, if only for a night.

As he cried after the Court sent him to his first murder, he sang that line again and again, hoping someone might come fly him away.

But days went by, then months, a year, and no one ever came.

Until one day, someone did.

He was sitting in his room – cell – when a child no older than him barged in, sword in hand.

Apparently, the intruder had been forbidden from taking prisoners, but nothing had been said on gaining allies.

He blinked, prompting an explanation.

As he was a held in a cell, he was considered the enemy of the intruder's enemies, and as such, he was given a choice: if he didn't want the intruder to drive a blade through his chest, the Talon had to drive his own through his old masters'.

It wasn't a hard choice, really. Although...

"I do not have a blade," he answered, gathering his claws. "I have ten."

And so he followed his new ally, their psycho mother and her army of killer ninjas, and proceeded to murder the Court.

When all was said and done, Talia refused to bring the Talon with them. She did not trust a soldier who had so easily turned against his previous masters.

She could not really explain that to Damian, however, as he argued that he would not betray the League because he would be treated as he deserved, and find a new reason to fight for their greater purpose.

She couldn't risk her kid realizing that he was in the exact situation he had saved his new friend from.

She was defeated when Damian pointed out that the Talon had saved his life, too, and thus, by the sacred rules of Nanda Parbat, he had a debt to repay and needed him by his side to do so.

The League of Shadows was supposed to be the first stone of the new, perfect world they wanted to create. If they did not follow its principles, how could they claim that moral high ground?

(Of course there wasn't any moral high ground, nor was there any greater purpose apart from dominating the world, but Damian could not know that. He was still too young.)

So he followed them to Nanda Parbat, where the Talon became the new guardian of the Heir to the Demon, and Richard became Damian's first, only and best friend.

If asked, he could not have told why he had been so adamant about not killing the Talon. There had been something in his posture, this mix of cold despair and dignified acceptance.

Fortunately, no one would ever have dared ask, otherwise that something might have been identified as pity – sympathy, even. Such weak feelings did not suit Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson.

Neither did the warmth that spread in Damian’s chest whenever his new bodyguard was near, or the icy grip that clenched his heart when his grandfather had considered disposing of him.

Richard was dangerous.

Yet, Damian could not help but feel that the kid was his salvation.

The Talon was loyal, and seemed to take his mission to heart. But that was not what made him appreciate his presence so much.

Richard was kind, as kind as a member of the League could afford to be – sometimes even kinder, which had led to painful punishments Damian had had to give him himself. Yet Richard had never blamed him for those, had merely smiled and settled back into their routine, as if nothing had happened.

He knew as soon as Richard started doubting. The boy didn't mumble in his sleep, nor had he changed his behavior. But he knew.

He also knew he had to report these treasonous thoughts, knew he had to eliminate a potential threat before it could turn into a security breach.

But he didn't.

How could he? Somewhere, somehow, he had started to trust Richard more than his own mother or grandfather.

Instead he told him. Not in so many words, of course, that would have been too dangerous. But they were past needing words to communicate.

So Richard explained. Distant memories of his mother's teachings, a deep rooted conviction that he couldn't explain, except it had to come from before, from a time when he was not Talon.

That was it. This was more than enough to warrant execution. This was heresy. But Damian was curious. He wanted to know about these evasive concepts that challenged everything he had learned.

Nanda Parbat valued truth, but perhaps truth did not reside in Nanda Parbat.

Thus they started plotting. It quickly went far past “dangerous”, but it was too late. Every bit of the new moral code they built together from Richard's hazy memories and the few outside people they managed to interrogate – mostly locals they were sent to kill – made more sense, until they saw this little fault in the carefully constructed logic of the Sacred City's laws.

Slowly, it all came apart. They started seeing the hypocrisy behind every word.

They immediately stopped their research. This was too much, this was too dangerous. They needed out, quickly, before someone caught them.

At night, Damian dreamt of being far away, somewhere he could try out these new morals. Above all, he dreamt of names for this warmth: more than trust, it was brotherhood, fondness.

At night, he blessed Richard for freeing him.

During the day, the two kept honoring their wrong duties.

During the day, Damian cursed himself for trapping the Talon.

They needed to get out. But getting out in itself was the easy part. The problem was how to stay out. Once the League would realize their betrayal, it wouldn't be long before they were found and disposed of.

There were exactly two ways of escaping the League's grasp: being impossible to find – which they didn't think was actually possible – or being somewhere the League preferred not to send its men – they didn't think there were places the League's men couldn't go with enough means, but there were places that weren't worth the trouble.

Namely, the USA. Or at least the places most protected by the Justice League.

It was really unclear who would win the fight, in an all-out war between the League of Shadows and the Justice League, but neither side truly wanted to find out, as whichever won would find themselves so weakened in the outcome that any other enemy would be able to finish them off.

This was the reason the League of Shadows had tried to gain a foothold in Gotham through destroying the Court of Owls, but like every previous attempt, it had failed.

Gotham was their destination, it seemed.

That actually could work, as Damian remembered his mother saying his father was American. She also told him he was a great warrior, and what a shame it was that he was so stubborn and unable to realize the League of Shadows held the hope of humanity.

Damian was starting to think maybe his father had been right in leaving while he could. Perhaps his father was using the Justice League's presence as an advantage. Perhaps his father's presence was also part of the reason the League of Shadows had troubles gaining some influence there.

Perhaps his father would be willing to extend his protection?

There was only one way to find out.

The first issue would be to figure out who his father was. True, he had this little birthday battle bets going on with his mother, but he could not afford to wait until he could beat her.

He didn't think he would be able to do much in a meeting controlled by the League, anyway.

Fortunately, Richard had more experience in betraying his alliances, and was better at using their resources against them – as shown by how he had managed to sneak his claws in his cell.

Damian's father was obviously a man of interest for the League, which meant information about it had to be stored somewhere accessible to the leaders, a file most probably complete with a DNA sample. Considering that they had a walking and breathing example of Damian's DNA, it was only a matter of time before they matched it with his father's.

Not that Damian had any illusion: obviously he wouldn't have access to that file. But maybe, just maybe, Richard could get clearance to the uncensored database.

Breaking his own leg was both painful and humiliating. It was necessary, however, and if there was one teaching Damian would keep from his time in the League, it was the ability to put his goal before his personal safety.

Thus impaired, Damian had to stay home for this outside meeting he was supposed to follow his grandfather to, which meant his mother had taken his place, leaving him relatively unsupervised. He didn't doubt he would pay for this ill-timed incompetence. It didn't matter anymore, though.

As Damian's bodyguard, Richard stayed too. He took a blood sample from his friend, and went on his way to the labs.

This was the tricky part of the plan. If someone tried to attack Damian while he was unguarded, or if someone saw that Richard wasn't where he should be, or if he didn't manage to erase all traces of this research once it was done... suffice to say the results would be unpleasant for both of them.

Luck, however, seemed to be on their side, and Richard did not come across anyone during his trip. All for the better, as he was not exactly thinking clearly on the way back.

Damian's father did not just benefit of the Justice League presence in the US. Damian's father was a member of the Justice League.

“Damian Wayne-Al Ghul, Demon's Heir, Son of the Bat” certainly had a nice ring to it, Richard thought.

This had just gotten interesting.

Once Damian had gotten over the fact that his father was his grandfather's nemesis, they began to draft a plan.

Actually, as far as plans went, what they had wasn't anything his strategy teachers would have been proud of. (They were all dead, anyway. What did they know about safe plans?)

They used all the few contacts they had managed to make during their search for truth, and managed to obtain a burner phone, which they used to sent a text to Bruce Wayne's personal cell, hoping the man would believe them.

Maybe there was a deity somewhere, or an all-powerful law of balance that decided they both had had enough bad luck for a lifetime, or maybe Batman was just that thorough.

One way or another, he came.

To say he was surprised when he received a text from an unknown number in the middle of a meeting with his shareholders saying he had a son with Talia al Ghul – of all people – would have been a gross understatement. He was confused and disbelieving and angry and ashamed and he honestly wasn't sure what else, because he kind of blacked out.

Alfred – bless his soul – managed to appease the spirits angered by Bruce’s abrupt departure, as well as calm the man down and help him decide what to do.

Not that there was an actual question about that. If this was true, then his son had been living in the League of Assassins for more than ten years, and that was unacceptable.

If it wasn't, there was someone out there who knew not only his secret identity, but also about his brief time with the League.

Either way, he needed to investigate.

He landed the jet as close as he dared to the complex, and camouflaged it as best as he could. He had no doubt that it would be spotted, but hopefully he'd have enough time before it happened.

He was sneaking in a corridor, trying to guess where Talia would accommodate his son, when he received an alert that someone was trying to open the jet. He swore under his breath.

He had to find this child. But he knew if he took the child and didn't manage to leave with him, Talia would make sure he would never have this opportunity again.

For now, however, she didn't know why he was here, and if he left, she would assume it was only to steal information, and he would have time to plan another infiltration.

Praying a god that he didn't believe in that his son would forgive him, he made his way back to the jet.

When the vehicle came into view, he half expected guards trying to identify it. Maybe even Talia or Ra's, if he was unlucky. He had not expected two small figures fiddling with the lock.

As he approached, one of them turned around: the face was unmistakably that of his son. It seemed he had found a friend, then.

He crossed the distance separating him from the boys, concealing his apprehension.

“Need a ride, boys?” He asked in his best sarcastic gothamite tone.

The second head rose to face him, and he was surprised to recognize it.

He had had more than a few nightmares about that poor circus boy he had failed to save.

Just what was Dick Grayson doing with the League of Assassins?

This had just gotten interesting.