Demons (Damirae)

Chapter Eighteen

It intrigued Damian how humans always centred their lives around certain goals, and strived for certain moments. And when those certain moments would pass, they would find new ones. Always working towards something rather than just...being.

They constantly moved forwards, straining to better themselves and all around them. Yet all they managed to do was draw their world and the very souls residing within them in to disrepair. Gluttony, Sloth, Lust, Greed, Wrath, Envy...Pride. The vices of humanity. 

A human alone was an intellectually advanced being capable of reason and artful creation. Humanity lacked rationality and morality, driven by the carnal desires of accumulation, power and sex.

It was disgusting.

Damian sneered down at the bright lights below him, teeth almost bared in a snarl. Gotham's streets positvly reeked of humanity. An assulting concoction of cheap wine and cheap sex in cheap clubs with cheap harlots. He snorted in contempt. Of course, the rich were no better. It was the same story at either ends of the spectrum.

Thousands of years ago, humanity was worth more than that. It still had retained some of the decorum of the ancient powers of gods and monsters. No more were those times. Humanity had forgotten the monsters lurking in the dark. Humanity brushed of the monster under the bed. Humanity had grown oblivious.

How would they react if they remembered once more? How would they react if they realised that it might be worth a second check when the child says they see something? When the little one saw a shadow in the corner that shouldn't be there. Or felt a thing brush past. 

Funnily enough, those big red eyes staring at them from the bushes, enticing them to step nearer, were very much real. Very much alive.

Children had the curse -not the gift, but the curse- of sight. The other couldn't hide from them. Then again, they just used it in their advantage. Whispering in to the ears of the poor young things. Making them shake in their little boots. Granting them gloriously horiffic nightmares that stayed after morning came. 

It was hilariously pitiful how humanity thought it knew everything now that 'aliens' had been revealed. They knew nothing! A wraith could be on the verge of devouring their souls and they'd be none the wiser. It made the lives of the other exceedingly simple: laughably so.

Damian chuckled with a sardonic air, absently trailing a finger over the blade of his sword. It came back with a perfect line tinged with red marring the once unharmed skin. A rivulet of crimson liquid began seeping from the laceration, a drop falling on to Robin's bent knee. Crouched down low, he lifted his hand up, observing the drops with a morbid fascination before quenching the flow of blood by putting the finger to his mouth.

Looking back at the digit, Damian's lips curled upwards as his skin began mending itself seamlessly. Basking in the filthy, sin-ridden glow of Gotham's midnight, his eyes flashed for a moment. Ignoring that sharp pain that shot through his abdomen, Robin stood up to face the footprints that had sounded.

Masked jade eyes flashed- with recognition, unlike the last time. 

"Batman.", he acknowledged, a hand curled about the handle of his sword, resting.

The Dark Night greeted him curtly, "Robin."

He stood for a few moments, stoic and unreadable. Far too dramatic for Damian's current state. 

Coolly raising an eyebrow, Robin asked, "Was there something you needed?" 

Patience waning, he allowed the sheath of his katana to slip open, lifting the sword so that's its blade was partially revealed. The fingers of his right hand stroked along the edge of the sword, soothingly. A strange habit he had acquired some point along the road, though nonetheless effective in calming his inner turmoil.