A New X: Part 4

In the heart of the sprawling metropolis, the city's veins pulsate with the relentless hum of life and discord. It's a place where heroes and villains clash under the constant, unforgiving drizzle of rain. Arsenal and Beast Boy, two souls as different as night and day, find themselves plunged into this cauldron of chaos, hot on the trail of the enigmatic Geraldine Powers.

The rain-slicked streets, glistening under the dim glow of neon signs, stretch endlessly before them like forgotten memories. Every droplet that plummets from the heavens carries a sense of judgment, washing the sins and secrets of the city away into the labyrinth of storm water drains. As they navigate the labyrinthine maze of concrete and shadows, their footsteps resonate through the city's dark alleys, the echoes of their grim determination whispering against the backdrop of ceaseless whispers from the darkness.

Their pursuit takes them to a secluded private helipad near the city's airport, an enclave where the rich and powerful plot their wicked deeds in obscurity. Rain pours down upon them, as though the heavens themselves bear witness to their relentless chase. There, under the shadow of the helicopter's ominous rotors, they catch sight of Geraldine Powers, flanked by the enigmatic helicopter pilot, as she disappears into a nearby office building.

Beast Boy's ever-present optimism seems almost jarring in the midst of the gritty setting. He quips, "You know, Roy, I've always wanted to fly in a helicopter. It's like a car but in the sky, man!"

Arsenal, his focus unbroken, responds with a terse nod, "Save the chitchat, Gar. We're here for a reason." Roy's senses are honed by countless battles, and his vigilance is unrelenting. He leans in close, murmuring to his companion, "We need to know where that helicopter is headed. It could hold the key to what's going on."

Gar, with his emerald eyes scanning their surroundings, replies in a hushed tone, "Agreed. Let's place a tracker on it and find out."

They approach the ominous sentinel, the helicopter, each step taken with the gravity of their mission. The machine looms over them, an iron giant with rotors casting eerie, elongated shadows. Roy's nimble fingers dance as he affixes a discreet tracker to the helicopter's underbelly. This tiny device will be their gateway to unlocking the enigma they've pursued.

But fate has a knack for cruel interruptions. A rustle in the shadows, the merest hint of movement, sends an electric pulse of danger down Arsenal's spine. And then it comes, an ambush that crashes through the veil of silence.

The night erupts with the savage staccato of gunfire, a relentless hail of bullets that tears through the air. Arsenal and Beast Boy plummet for cover, finding refuge in the cold embrace of the rain-slicked ground. The shadows spring to life, an orchestra of violence and danger.

"Cut them down, Sasha!" Kaliber, the cybernetically enhanced ex-agent of the League of Assassins, commands with chilling authority.

Bordeaux, her cybernetic enhancements gleaming in the dim light like polished mercury, moves with an eerie, unnatural grace. Her augmented strength makes her a formidable opponent as she rushes the duo from the side. As the deadly crescendo of bullets abates, Arsenal and Beast Boy make a quick, unspoken decision. They split up to engage the formidable bodyguards sent to protect Geraldine Powers.

X

Arsenal swiftly notches a flaming arrow and releases it in one fluid, practiced motion. The arrow streaks through the air, igniting the darkness, and sheathed in fire, it slices open Sasha's outstretched arm.

She hisses in pain, the flaming arrow leaving a smoldering, blistering wound. Undeterred, she retaliates with a flurry of throwing knives, each one a glittering death sentence. Arsenal deploys a smoke bomb with swift precision, the obsidian cloud engulfing him in a veil of mystery, effectively obscuring him from Sasha's malevolent gaze.

He senses her movements through the smoke, her boots whispering softly on the damp pavement. Arsenal unleashes a volley of flaming kunai into the murk, creating a fiery spectacle that engulfs Sasha in a ring of fire. Her silhouette writhes within the flames, a nightmarish specter. Desperation courses through Sasha's veins as she reaches for a flashbang from her utility belt. With an audible click, she hurls it into the heart of the smoke, the world erupting in a deafening cacophony of sound and blinding light. Arsenal grits his teeth and clutches his ears as the shockwave washes over him, sending shivers of pain down his spine.

Emerging from the dissipating smoke, Sasha, her vision temporarily blurred by the stinging smoke of the flaming kunai, charges at Arsenal with renewed fury. Arsenal barely manages to evade her deathly embrace, but a wicked slice grazes his arm, a searing reminder that this is a battle without mercy.

Recovering from the flashbangs he releases an arrow, a blazing comet of death that streaks through the night, but Sasha pirouettes gracefully, a deadly waltz that evades the fiery projectile. Arsenal's fingers deftly pluck a kunai from his belt, setting it ablaze he hurls it with pinpoint accuracy. The flaming kunai streaks toward Sasha, forcing her to twist her body and dodge, narrowly avoiding the fiery strike. The flaming kunai pierces the pavement with a fiery explosion, creating a burst of searing heat that sends up a steaming plume of rain.

Sasha grins, her teeth white and predatory in the dim light. "Impressive, but not good enough." With preternatural speed, Sasha withdraws two throwing knives, launching them with the precision of a marksman. Arsenal's reflexes save him as he flips backward, feeling the wind of the blades' passage graze his armored chest. The rain splashes in the shadows as the knives slam into the wall behind him.

Arsenal, a relentless beacon of tenacity, regains his footing, his gaze locked onto Sasha. "You're not the first blade-wielding maniac I've tangled with," he taunts, the rainwater dripping from his crimson mask, merging with the fiery glint in his eyes.

Sasha, her eyes glinting with a cold resolve, swings her combat knives in a lethal dance. Arsenal, no stranger to combat, pivots with a deadly grace, his bow poised for retribution. The hiss of flaming arrows pierces the tension-soaked air as he seeks to reclaim the upper hand.

A stray arrow finds its mark, lodging itself in Sasha's shoulder. She hisses in pain but refuses to falter. The wound only seems to stoke the flames of her aggression. "Not bad, archer," she snarls through gritted teeth, "But I've survived worse."

Sasha is relentless, her dual knives weaving a deadly tapestry of defense and offense. Her fluid movements defy the chaotic backdrop of the private helipad. She retaliates with a calculated precision, striking at Arsenal's exposed flank.

A searing pain shoots through Arsenal as Sasha's blade slashes across his side, a grim testament to her deadly expertise. Blood mingles with the rainwater as he stumbles back, the battle's weight pressing upon him. With a feral growl, Arsenal, fueled by gritty determination, draws a pair of smoke bombs from his utility belt, the promise of obscurity clenched in his gloved fists. Rain-slicked and drenched in a malevolent aura, he hurls them with pinpoint precision, like a magician conjuring darkness from thin air. In an instant, the surrounding area is transformed into a chaotic vortex of swirling shadows, an ephemeral shroud that devours all light.

Within the smoky cocoon, Sasha loses sight of her prey. The obscurity becomes her cage, and she knows not what lurks in the enveloping dark. A hint of unease creeps into her predatory eyes, for she senses Arsenal's cunning. The flicker of anxiety is her Achilles' heel, and he capitalizes on it.

The air grows heavy with anticipation as he launches a barrage of flaming kunai in all directions, igniting the smoke into an inferno of chaos. The flickering flames cast eerie, ethereal shadows that dance and flicker, like spectral flames summoned from the abyss.

Sasha, caught off guard by the fiery onslaught, launches a frenzied assault with her combat knives, a desperate gambit to end this deadly cat-and-mouse game. Each swipe is a deadly whisper in the darkness, like the scythes of fate, seeking to harvest the life of her quarry.

He dances through the tempest of blades, his movements a mesmerizing blend of grace and ferocity. His crimson and black form twists and turns like shadow and flame come to life, elusive as a specter in the night. The very air seems to hum with tension as he sidesteps Sasha's frenetic assault, his every muscle coiled with lethal intent.

Their eyes lock for a heartbeat, a shared understanding that this dance of death has only one outcome. Arsenal's eyes remain unyielding, a cold resolve forged in the crucible of battles past. In one fluid motion, he draws another flaming arrow, nocks it, and looses it with a sniper's precision.

The flaming arrow streaks through the night like a vengeful meteor, its fiery tail leaving a haunting trail of vengeance. It finds its mark, embedding itself into Sasha's chest with a savage intensity. The searing heat pierces through her armor and flesh, and a guttural cry of pain and rage erupts from her lips.

Sasha staggers back, her body consumed by the searing fire that now engulfs her. Sasha's cry of agony rends the night, a heart-wrenching wail that pierces the very heavens. Flames consume her, an inferno of vengeance and pain, as her body buckles under the devastating impact. Her cybernetic enhancements sizzle and smoke, sparking in a violent protest against the searing heat.

With a strangled gasp, she collapses to her knees, her combat knives slipping from her trembling fingers, extinguished and defeated. The rain beats down upon her like a mournful requiem for a life still clinging to the abyss.

Arsenal watches her, his eyes heavy with the weight of this brutal confrontation. "It's over," he growls, his voice a grim testament to the unforgiving darkness they've both inhabited.

X

As Arsenal's fiery duel rages on, the night's macabre ballet continues with Beast Boy, driven by his own unyielding determination, embarking on his perilous dance with Kaliber. The rain-slicked helipad, a canvas now marred by the scent of gunpowder and scorched asphalt, becomes the somber stage for their looming clash.

Beast Boy, his emerald eyes aflame with feral resolve, readies himself for the impending confrontation. He shifts seamlessly into the form of a Harpy Eagle, wings outstretched, and talons gleaming like deadly claws of fate. A primal instinct courses through him, urging him to dive headlong into the chaos and confront the relentless adversary who stands before him.

With the deadly grace of a raptor, Beast Boy swoops down from the heavens above, his eagle eyes keenly trained on Kaliber. The rain-soaked night air resonates with the haunting sound of feathers slicing through the wind as he launches his attack, slashing at his opponent with razor-sharp talons, the ferocity of the harpy eagle surging through his very being.

Kaliber, the remorseless warrior, lifts his Kel-Tec KSG with practiced efficiency, seeking to obliterate the avian assailant from the skies with a merciless barrage of pellets. But Beast Boy is a marvel of agility and instinct. With preternatural grace, he evades the lethal rain of projectiles, a display of dexterity that defies the limitations of mere mortals.

Beast Boy, a harbinger of nature's fury, descends upon Kaliber with the swiftness of a merciless tempest. His talons, honed by the predatory instincts of an apex predator, become a lethal vortex of feathers and savagery. His attack is unrelenting, a bird of prey seeking to cripple his foe with a ruthless strike.

Kaliber, his instincts and experience as deadly as any weapon, narrowly avoided the harpy eagle's vicious attack. He rolled to the side, a mere breath away from a gruesome fate, and retaliated with a deafening blast from his KSG. The shotgun's fiery maw belched forth a thunderous storm of buckshot that shattered the serenity of the night, sending echoes of destruction reverberating through the desolation.

Wounded but far from defeated, Beast Boy's tenacity knows no bounds. In a breathtaking transformation, he becomes a raging bull, the embodiment of brute strength. His green form surges with primal energy as he emits a furious bellow, hooves thundering against the rain-soaked ground. Kaliber, caught off guard by this abrupt metamorphosis, is left helpless as the charging bull slams into him. He is sent sprawling across the slick surface, his weapons scattering and his cybernetic enhancements sparking with the overload of their limits.

Kaliber, his breath ragged and his body bruised, slowly rises to his feet. His grizzled features bear a grim smile, a testament to the relentless spirit that has sustained him through the darkest of nights. With calculated resolve, he reaches for a pair of pistols, his cybernetic eye gleaming with malevolent intent. He murmurs with chilling assurance, "You've got spirit, kid. But this night's far from over."

Beast Boys figure morphs into that of a sleek and ruthless leopard, emerald fur glistening with rain. He stalks Kaliber with a predator's grace, his keen eyes and razor-sharp claws ready to pounce at a moment's notice. With every step, he draws nearer to the assassin, a creature of the night unbound by human frailty.

Kaliber, though battle-worn and staggered, is far from defeated. His cybernetic enhancements shimmer in the dim light as he readies himself for the impending assault. The rain has become an accomplice to the battle, concealing their movements and masking their intent in its ceaseless downpour.

The leopard lunges with uncanny agility, its jaws snapping like a steel trap, but Kaliber is swift, his cybernetic enhancements whirring with anticipation, attempts to fire a point-blank shot, but Beast Boy's feline agility prevails. The bullets miss their mark as he slinks and strikes with lethal precision. His claws leave deep gashes on Kaliber's armor, the sound of claws scraping against metal ringing through the night. His sinuous form flowed through the night like a shadow on the prowl. With a low, guttural growl, he leaped at Kaliber, all fangs and predatory grace. The assassin barely evaded the savage pounce, his heart pounding as he fired shots that echoed like thunder.

But Beast Boy was relentless. In the blink of an eye, he transformed into a Hummingbird becoming an ethereal blur of iridescence and speed. He hovers in the air for a split second, just long enough to confuse Kaliber, before darting forward with the swiftness of a bullet. He delivers a series of lightning-fast pecks; pecks became stings, and Kaliber's skin was soon dotted with shallow, painful wounds. The assassin swatted at the nimble creature, his movements hampered by the rain and his own frustration.

Kaliber's mechanical eye follows the rapid movements of the hummingbird, his trigger finger twitching with frustration. "Hold still, you fucki—"

But before he can finish, Beast Boy transforms into a massive hippo, a hulking behemoth of pure, unstoppable force. He crashes into Kaliber, jaws snapping shut with bone-crushing strength. The assassin's cybernetic enhancements whir and groan as they strain to withstand the inexorable grip of the hippo. The rain pours down, a relentless symphony that bears witness to this primal struggle.

With a tremendous effort, Kaliber manages to free himself from the hippo's jaws, his body battered and battered, but his resolve unbroken. Gasping for air, Kaliber scrambles to regain his footing. He knows he's in a battle for his life against a foe whose forms are as unpredictable as the tempest itself. His words are a snarl of defiance, a last stand against the relentless tide. "You can change all you want, kid. But you can't escape your fate."

In the drenched chaos of their brutal battle, Kaliber seizes a moment of deadly opportunity. As Beast Boy, still nursing the wounds from their previous clashes, moves to mount another assault, pair of gunshots crack through the rain-soaked air; the bullets find their mark in Beast Boy's right thigh, sending agonizing shockwaves through his body. The shape shifter recoils, a guttural cry of pain echoing in the desolate night.

Pain seared through Beast Boy's leg, his transformation stuttering as he crashed to the rain-slicked ground, agony etched on his face. Kaliber, seizing the opportunity with predatory instinct, leapt forward with a wicked knife in hand. His blade cut through the night like a vengeful spirit, a reminder that the shadows held their own kind of justice.

With a cruel grin, Kaliber wasted no time in pressing his assault. He closed the distance between them with predatory speed, his knife gleaming malevolently in the neon-lit darkness. Each slash he delivered was a symphony of violence; the blade becomes an extension of Kaliber's malevolence. With swift, calculated strikes, he slashes at Beast Boy, the jagged edge of the knife biting into flesh and bone, Beast Boy's emerald form, torn and bleeding, writhes in agony. The night bears witness to the relentless dance of savagery and despair.

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"You thought you could take me down, huh?" Kaliber hissed, his voice a sinister undertone in the night. He attacked with the precision of a seasoned killer, his every strike aimed at vital points. The rain washed away their blood, but not their resolve.

But Beast Boy, with his back to the wall, finds a reserve of primal strength. His eyes blaze with defiance as he morphs into a Crocodile, his transformation swift as the lightning that cleaves the heavens. The Crocodile's massive jaws, a vice of death, snap shut with a bone-crushing force that is both primal and final.

Kaliber, caught off guard by the abrupt shift, tried to retreat, but the jaws of the crocodile closed around his left leg, crushing bone and sinew with relentless force. A guttural scream of agony pierced the rain-soaked night, and Kaliber's cybernetic eye flickered with malfunctions as he desperately sought to free himself.

Beast Boy, a creature of primal fury, shook his head from side to side, like a predator with its prey. The assassin's agonized screams reverberated through the alley, a grim reminder of the unyielding brutality that had become their nightly reality. "You shouldn't have come here," Beast Boy growled, his emerald eyes gleaming with a predatory resolve.

Kaliber, his vision clouded by anguish, desperately reached for his KSG, now lying within arm's reach. His body screamed with pain, but his grim determination refused to waver. In a last, desperate act, he aimed the weapon at Beast Boy's crocodile form and fired; the thunderous roar of the shotgun cutting through the rain-soaked night.

The pain was excruciating, and Beast Boy's mustered the last of his strength. With a Herculean effort, Beast Boy flung Kaliber away, a twisted ragdoll in the night. Kaliber's agonized cry echoed through the darkness as he crashed against the rain-slicked ground, his body battered and broken.

As the adrenaline that had sustained him during the fight ebbed away, Beast Boy crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. His body bore the scars of the night, the gunshot wounds in his thigh oozing crimson, a testament to the price paid for vengeance. He fought against the darkness that threatened to pull him under, struggling to remain conscious. The pain of his injuries had taken its toll. His body trembled with a mixture of pain and exhaustion.

In the midst of his struggle to regain his footing, Roy rushed to his side. With a determined grimace, Roy crouched beside Beast Boy and helped him stand up. "Come on, Gar. We need to get out of here," he said, his voice low and filled with urgency.

Beast Boy's face contorted with pain as he struggled to rise, his body protesting every movement. "Roy, the tracker," he managed to say, his words a testament to his unwavering dedication to the mission.

Roy nodded in understanding. "Don't worry, Gar. The tracker is in place. We've got what we came for." With a strength born from the relentless chaos of their world, Roy had Beast Boy climb onto his back. The wounded hero became a burden, but Roy didn't falter.

With Beast Boy securely mounted, Roy began to carry him away from the rain-soaked battlefield. The alley faded into the distance, a distant memory of violence and shadows. The relentless rain continued to pour, washing the blood from the asphalt, but it couldn't cleanse the darkness that clung to the city's heart.

As they retreated into the maze of alleys and shadows, Arsenal whispered words of reassurance to his wounded comrade. "We'll get the information we need, Gar. You did your part. Now it's up to the rest of us to finish the job."

X

On the outskirts of the sprawling metropolis, a place where the city's grip loosens and the wilderness begins, Raven and Kaldur stand before the foreboding silhouette of the old sawmill. It's a place that time forgot, nestled between the encroaching forest and the jagged peaks of the mountains. The rain continues to pour, washing away the remnants of a forgotten industry.

Raven's dark cloak billowed in the rain-soaked wind as they approached the sawmill's entrance. Her amethyst eyes, a portal to realms unseen, scanned the surroundings, seeking the elusive presence of their target. Her voice, a haunting whisper in the night, brushed against Kaldur's consciousness. "He's here, Kaldur. I can sense him. We'll have to be cautious."

Kaldur, the former leader of the Young Justice, stands beside her with the stoic calm that has always defined him. He's clad in a waterproof suit, the rain glistening on the obsidian surface. "He's a formidable adversary, Raven. We must proceed with caution."

As they step into the decaying structure, the air is thick with the scent of rotting wood and rust. Their footsteps echo, a haunting chorus in the cavernous chamber. And then, Red X emerged from the shadows. His ebon, armored suit and carmine X on his mask contrasted starkly against the grim backdrop of the sawmill. His presence was almost predatory, like a cat waiting for its prey.

A predatory smirk graces his lips, the glint of amusement in his masked eyes. "Raven…I knew you'd find me eventually," he taunts, his voice a sultry whisper. "So, I found a fun place to wait."

Kaldur's trident was poised, its gleaming prongs like a sentinel's warning. "Your games end here, Red X. We've tracked you down, and there's no escape this time."

Red X chuckled, the sound muffled by his mask. "Escape? Oh, you misunderstand me, my aquatic friend. Ever since I gained my freedom, you know what I realized? I've never really had fun with my work. Everything's always been so serious." He took a step forward, his azure eye gleaming with something that bordered on madness. "But now, I've decided it's time for something different, something out of the ordinary."

Kaldur, his expression unreadable behind his Atlantean helmet, steps forward. "Fun? You've caused immeasurable chaos and harm."

The enigmatic figure gestured towards them with a flourish. "I'm talking about having fun, for the sake of fun. No grand schemes, no heists, just... amusement." His mask's X-shaped visage seemed to stretch into a grin that sent shivers down their spines.

Raven's brows furrowed, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What are you talking about, Red X?"

Red X's laughter is a chilling echo in the cavernous space. "You see, I've got a big job coming up, and I've decided to finally have fun, just for the sake of it."

Raven's amethyst eyes, those windows to the arcane, narrow with curiosity and caution as she confronts the enigmatic Red X. "What’s your game, Red X?" she questions, her voice an ethereal whisper.

Red X's laughter, like shards of shattered glass, cuts through the silence. "Game? My dear Raven, the game is life, isn't it? Let's add a dash of excitement to it."

As if from the very ether of the night, Red X's attack on Aqualad emerges. With a suddenness that defies reason, he is upon the ocean's guardian, the two of them locked in a violent waltz of destiny.

Kaldur's trident cleaves the air like a crashing wave, each strike an echo of his determination. But Red X moves with the elusive grace of a cat, his agility in stark contrast to his Herculean frame.

Raven, her cloak of shadows billowing like the tides of fate, moves to question the enigmatic rogue. Her eyes, pools of amethyst light, seek the truth that eludes them. Her voice, a haunting melody in the heart of the tempest, resonates with both curiosity and warning. "What is it that you're planning, Red X? Why the sudden change?"

Red X's response is lightning-quick, a testament to his swiftness. He lunges at Aqualad with a feral intensity, his crimson X like a streak of burning fury. Aqualad's reaction is instinctive, his trident meeting Red X's gloved fist in a flash of clashing steel, the sparks of their confrontation illuminating the darkness.

Red X's Divine Lightning, an ethereal golden current, coursed across his limbs like liquid fire. Its radiant energy amplified his speed threefold, rendering his movements almost impossible to predict. With a fluid grace, he manifested dual swords made of pure lightning, their edges crackling with ominous intent.

Kaldur met the lightning-imbued swords with his trident, their clashing sparks lighting up the night. The relentless rain beat down on them as they fought, a symphony of fluid movements and deadly strikes. Aqualad, vigilant protector of the deep, is taken by surprise. He attempts to shift the battle to his favor, but Red X's surreal swiftness defied the laws of the mortal world. A thunderclap of brilliant, golden lightning tears through the darkness, striking Aqualad with electric fury.

The young hero recoils in agony as the divine lightning courses through him. The shock surges through his veins, leaving him trembling and disoriented. Aqualad's eyes, usually clear and determined, reflect the chaos of this unexpected assault.

Raven's eyes blaze with amethyst fire, her voice a fervent invocation. "Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos!" With a burst of mystical energy, she sends a torrent of inky shadows to envelop Red X, intent on immobilizing him. But the elusive behemoth is always a step ahead.

Red X's movements become a blur, his acceleration a stunning manifestation of divine power. He closes the distance to Aqualad and strikes with inhuman speed, the blades of golden lightning slashing through the air like twin comet tails. Aqualad's water constructs form a protective barrier, a wall of shimmering liquid that absorbs Red X's relentless strikes. But the divine lightning's wrath is a force to be reckoned with. It sears through the water shield, a testament to the divine power that fuels this electric foe.

Raven, her incantations echoing through the rain-soaked chamber, channels her eldritch might. Dark energy surrounds her, swirling with both malice and hope, as she releases a volley of ethereal projectiles; the force of Raven's assault hurls Red X through the rain-slicked air. He crashes against the jagged remnants of old machinery, his body contorted in the merciless grip of dark energy. The night echoes with the cacophony of his impact, and he lies amid the detritus, battered but not beaten.

Emerging from the dissipating shroud of smoke and thunder, Red X reveals himself, a disheveled and battered specter. His once black and crimson attire is now torn up, darkened by both the night's deluge and the brutality of the duel. His injuries are nothing short of grotesque; the cruel bite of Raven's attack has left him torn and battered. His right arm dangles at an unnatural angle, an appendage rendered useless by the ethereal onslaught. A jagged laceration snakes across his chest, the wound deep and pulsating. It's as if the very shadows have exacted their revenge upon his flesh; blood, an obsidian tide, oozes from gaping wounds, its color darker than the very shadows in which they fight.

The life essence drips in rivulets, painting the forgotten building’s floor with a grotesque tapestry. Red X's breathing is labored, each inhale a rattling whisper of pain. His electric gold eye, typically dancing with mischief and defiance, now gleam with a sinister and feverish light. The pain seems to excite him, an intoxicating elixir that fuels his insanity. This unexpected affliction seems to ignite a feverish zeal in Red X, as if the sight of his own dark ichor has stoked the flames of his determination.

X

In the shadowed heart of the tempestuous night, a relentless ballet of violence and mysticism unfolds. Red X, fueled by the radiant power of the Divine Lightning, engages Raven, a sorceress of profound darkness, in a duel that defies the boundaries of the mortal world. With each move, each strike; they embody a bewitchingly resplendent dance of forces that transcend the bounds of the known.

The Divine Lightning crackles with celestial fury, its golden aura a radiant shroud that cloaks Red X in power beyond the comprehension of mortals. Lightning bolts arc through the night, a celestial barrage that mirrors the cosmic battles of gods and demons, and the rain-slicked ground trembles beneath his feet. Each strike is a testament to the martial prowess and mystic energy that now course through his veins.

Raven, her cloak of shadows now a swirling vortex of amethyst and midnight, counters with her own dark arts. She weaves magic into the tapestry of reality, her eyes twin orbs of mystic intensity that seem to contain the depths of the universe. Words of power resonate in the air, summoning shields and weapons forged from the very fabric of her inky soul. Her powers, both beautiful and terrible, are unleashed with a cold determination that mirrors the relentless night.

As the relentless battle unfolds, Raven notices something sinister. The wounds she inflicts upon Red X, they heal with an uncanny speed. Flesh knits itself back together before her very eyes, an eerie regeneration fueled by powers beyond her understanding. Her eyes narrow with ominous realization. "He's not just fast. He's regenerating."

Yet in the relentless dance of violence, Red X manages to land a crushing body blow, a right hook that propels itself like a harbinger of pain. It connects with Raven's ethereal form, the impact resounding through her like the tolling of a bell of suffering. Despite the Promethium-woven protection of her leotard and cloak, his brutal force shatters the fragile bones beneath, leaving a cacophony of despair and anguish in its wake.

Pain becomes a symphony of torment that rends the night asunder. Raven gasps, her voice a mournful lament, as she's propelled through the decrepit sawmill; her form an eerie silhouette against the rain-soaked night. The aging timbers creak and splinter, surrendering to the violence of their struggle. The darkness recedes as she hurtles back into the storm, the walls of the old structure unable to contain the raw power of their noir confrontation.

Red X, having sent Raven hurtling through the decaying walls, prepares to follow her into the relentless storm. Yet, within the suffocating shadows of the sawmill, an unseen force stirs. The faintest of movements reaches Red X's keen senses, a whisper of intrusion in the shroud of darkness. With a swift, feral twist, he turns, the fibers of his obsidian suit stretching like a coiled spring.

The heart of the dilapidated sawmill; now a shattered maze of timber and darkness, quivers with anticipation. In this grim theater of fate, Aqualad emerges like a vengeful typhoon, his trident a glinting instrument of wrath. With primal precision, he hurls his weapon, a divine missile cleaving the night.

Red X's eye, a vibrant blue orb of feral intensity, widen with an emotion almost completely alien to him: surprise. In the heartbeat that follows, the trident slams into his chest, a merciless force that propels him from the forsaken confines of the sawmill. The resounding impact is a cataclysmic echo of violence, and Red X hurtles through the shattered walls, a specter of despair descending into the maelstrom beyond.

As he crashes to the unforgiving ground beyond, the trident dislodges itself from his chest with a sickening squelch. The weapon's path reverses, guided by Aqualad's will, and it returns to its master's hand. But Red X is not vanquished; he lies upon the drenched earth, the ground around him now tainted with dark, almost malevolent blood, which oozes from the gaping wounds in his chest like a river from the abyss. His labored breath is a testament to his tenacity, and the pain etched upon his visage only fuels his unquenchable determination.

As Red X staggers to his feet amidst the relentless rain and the smoldering ruins of the sawmill, Aqualad's keen eyes catch a sight that sends a shiver down his spine. Red X's blood, darker than the depths of the abyss, is no longer flowing in a sinister cascade from his grievous wounds. Instead, it behaves as if subject to an otherworldly command, defying the laws of nature.

The wounds, deep and fatal as they seemed, are closing before Aqualad's eyes. As Aqualad stares in horrified fascination, a sickening ballet of flesh and bone unfolds. The surrounding tissue starts to squirm and writhe, as if an invisible hand were manipulating the very essence of life. The edges of the grotesque wounds slowly knit themselves together, a macabre tapestry of revival. It's a sight both grotesque and surreal, the mending of flesh and bone at a speed that defies nature's laws.

The dark blood, once a stark testament to Red X's vulnerability, now takes on an almost ethereal quality. It pulses and throbs like a river of nightmarish vitality. The inky substance seems to slither back into Red X's body, returning to its source, an unnatural regeneration that defies all sense of mortality.

Aqualad, his face etched with a grim determination, plants the butt of his trident into the soaked earth. The ground shudders beneath the mighty force, the torrential rain from the heavens bending to his will. Water streams from the sky to merge into a gargantuan wave, a towering leviathan formed of raindrops and liquid fury. Aqualad's eyes blaze with a steely resolve, his tattooed skin humming with power; with his trident firm in his grasp, he commands the towering wave of water and rain, a force of divine retribution, to surge forth and engulf Red X.

As the towering wave of water surged toward him, Red X raised his arms. With a cataclysmic blast of Divine Lightning, an unnatural force that rips through the rain-soaked night. The very sky seems to tremble in response, as the heavens unleash their fury in a battle of titanic proportions. The onslaught of divine power is met by Aqualad's indomitable will, his trident a conduit for his mastery over the ocean's tempestuous might. The two titanic forces collide, and for a moment, the fate of the world itself seems to hang in the balance. Aqualad's resolve, carved from the depths of the sea, is unyielding, but Red X's power, veiled in mystery, proves to be an equal match.

The very fabric of the world shudders as their attacks clash, and for a moment, it's uncertain which force will prevail. Red X's eye, a golden orb of preternatural intensity, narrows in concentration. His lips curl into a sardonic smirk. "Not bad, fish-boy," he growls through gritted teeth. But just as their duel threatens to reach its cataclysmic climax, another force enters the fray.

Amidst this celestial turmoil, Raven had managed to float to her feet, her powers awoken and surging with an eldritch force. Her indigo cloak flows like an omen of doom, and with a mere flick of her hand, she taps into the very essence of her dark magic. The remnants of the sawmill, a grotesque skeleton of shattered timber, rise and contort at her command. Trees, once mighty and steadfast, are wrenched from the earth, their roots upturned like the despair of the damned.

Aqualad, a blur of oceanic grace, dashes nimbly aside as the colossal wave he conjured collides with Red X's divine lightning. The resulting explosion of power reverberates like the wrath of an irate deity. Yet, as the waters recede, what emerges from the chaotic maelstrom is a spectacle of devastating awe.

Raven, her eyes filled with a supernatural fire, has become an arbiter of cataclysm. She hurls the shattered remnants of the sawmill, the remains of once-proud trees, at Red X from every conceivable angle. Timber and metal become relentless projectiles, their path guided by her malevolent will. They strike with a fury and precision that is at once merciless and beautiful.

Red X, his form a blur of preternatural speed and reflexes, dances with the grace of the condemned. He evades the deadly rain of debris, but not without cost. His left arm, severed from the elbow down, lies discarded in the muck of the battlefield. His right side bears a gaping wound, a rent in his very flesh that reveals the depths of his unnatural physiology. Shards of metal, glass, and wood pierce his body like the malevolent instruments of fate, the evidence of his harrowing survival.

Raven's dark power, unleashed with an almost sadistic glee, pursues Red X relentlessly. With a haunting elegance, she draws forth her arcane abilities, a tempest of shadows and malice, and hurls it at him. Her voice, a chilling monotone, reverberates through the night. "You cannot escape, Red X."

Red X, despite his grievous wounds, stands defiant, his eye ablaze with an indomitable spirit. "You think this will stop me?" he snarls, his words a defiant proclamation. Raven's eyes, pools of amethyst light, blaze with determination. Her empathic abilities, a connection to the souls of those she touches, are a potent weapon, one that peers beyond the physical wounds and delves into the depths of the human spirit. As her shadowy aura envelops Red X, she delves into his innermost being, peering into the abyss of his soul.

What she finds within him is a maelstrom of emotions, a tempest of darkness and anguish. The smell of a beast exudes from his soul; the scent of blood, fire, and pain entwined with his very essence. Raven feels the echoes of countless battles, the violence that has etched its mark upon his spirit. But beneath it all, a pervasive hatred clings to his soul like a shroud. It's a color that defies description, a hue of malevolence and despair, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

In the depths of that whirlpool of twisted emotions, something even more ominous lurks. It's an insatiable Hunger, a void that can never be filled, a yearning for something that can never be attained. It gnaws at his very core, an all consuming fire that drives him to the brink of madness.

Raven, her cloak of shadows billowing like an omen of doom, turns to Aqualad. Her voice, a haunting melody in the heart of the tempest, resonates with both urgency and solemnity. "We have to let him go, Kaldur. If we continue down this path, there will be no turning back. Someone will die tonight, and it won't be him."

Aqualad, his trident held at the ready but his gaze locked on Red X, hesitates. The rain continues to pour, a symphony of relentlessness that echoes their own uncertainty. "Are you sure about this? He's caused enough trouble and he injured you pretty badly."

Raven nods, her eyes filled with both sorrow and conviction. "I am. He's more than a foe. He's a victim of his own darkness, a prisoner of something he can't control. For both his sake and ours, we must show mercy; and hope the flicker of humanity within him prevails."

Reluctantly, Aqualad nods, his voice a bitter whisper. "Fine; let him go. But mark my words; he won't escape justice forever."

Raven's gaze turns toward the injured rogue who stands amidst the debris, one arm mangled and battered, the relentless rain washing away the dark blood that had flowed like a river of despair. Her voice, a haunting melody, cuts through the tempest. "Red X, it's time to go. Take care of that arm of yours. It doesn't seem to be growing back."

With a reluctant sigh, Red X's form begins to blur and shimmer. But before he departs, he casts a parting message to the heroes he left behind. "Well, you've certainly made this dance memorable. Can't wait for the encore." his voice echoes through the night, a haunting promise that lingers in the rain-soaked air.

X

In the dimly lit safehouse, the rhythmic patter of rain against the windows provided a backdrop to Xander's solitude. The room, shrouded in shadows, was a sanctuary for his machinations and secretive endeavors. He sat, reclined on a larger leather chair, in front of a complex set of monitors, each displaying different segments of recordings from Arsenal and Beast Boy's recent battles. The evidence of their relentless confrontations, displayed in high definition, danced across the screens.

In his right hand is a freshly opened, nearly empty bottle of tequila. His left arm, now concealed beneath his coat, feels the weight of his choices as he scrutinizes the encounters. Just as he loses himself in the spectral world of holograms, the muted hum of his communication console breaks the silence. Xander swivels his chair and accepts the call, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Gramps," he says with a casual nod, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

On the other end of the line, Gramps' voice remains cool and detached a stark contrast to Xander's easygoing demeanor. "Xander, I've gathered the supplies you requested. It's time to assess the progress of your mission."

Xander's grin doesn't waver as he responds. "Ah, the ever-watchful eye of the old man."

Xander leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled in thought. "Progress is coming along swimmingly, Gramps," he quips, though it's clear he's not just indulging in idle banter. "I've been observing the Titans closely. The top three? Well, they're quite the formidable trio."

He pauses, as if relishing the moment, and then continues. "Raven, she's is stronger than you anticipated, as far as I can tell she has immeasurable potential. For fucks sake, I had to sacrifice an arm to survive her last attack. Her only real weak point is her lack of physical capability.”

"Aqualad," he continued, "besides his penchant for fashion-forward blond braids; he wields a trident that's likely fashioned from a piece of the broken Trident of Poseidon. And he doesn't shy away from decisive blows. He's the least hesitant to kill; if I really were a run-of-the-mill thief in a cool suit, he would've ended me."

"Starfire," Xander mused, "she's a blazing comet. Noticeably weaker than Wonder Woman but with the added advantage of energy projection. She's a force to be reckoned with, and as far as I can tell, she has no real exploitable weakness."

Gramps listens attentively, the shadows masking his reaction. "And what of Red Robin?" he inquires, his voice a thread of curiosity.

Xander's response was measured, a thoughtful reflection of the vigilante's capabilities. "Lacking. He's not living up to the legacy. Sure, he's skilled and an excellent detective, but when it comes to combat, he's the weakest link, even weaker than the rookie. However, there's potential in Arsenal. He's a firebrand, a propensity for violence that makes him more adaptable than the others. He's still finding his footing outside the law, but I see promise."

“Hmm. And your arm?”

“With a chuckle that was both audacious and cryptic, Xander answered, "Who needs two arms? Sometimes, Gramps, a man has to lose an arm to find himself."

"So, Xander, what are your plans moving forward now that your last mission's wrapped up?" Gramps inquires, his tone gruff but laced with a hint of genuine interest.

Xander, the mastermind concealed behind his jovial facade, stares into the depths of his monitors. His thoughts are a labyrinth of strategy and ambition. "There's a few things I need to get my hands on, Gramps. You know, to enjoy this newfound freedom to the fullest."

As the storm outside rages on, Xander smirks beneath his mask, though the gesture remains unseen.

“Hey Gramps, how do I take Superman out of a fight?”

End of Arc

Next Arc:

Sanguinis Promissa Gloria

With Laughs,

SonoftheJester