Death's claws, the spindly twigs poked the sky, almost seamless melding in to the blanket of midnight blue, save for their blackness. They grasped at the sky, shaking to and fro as Zeus' breath whistled through the branches around, yet they reached out to the heavens all the same- as if the door wasn't closed.

Spring would reawaken them, bursting forth in a carnival of green, soon to be celebrating amongst all colours to grace the rainbow. Til then, the dying things were alone, stuck in a silent envy of the evergreens rejoicing besides them. Didn't those bare branches look like they wished to strangle a proud, full-leaved tree?

They only had the moist ground to thank, standing naked in their soil, begging the Earth mothers and fathers for their green dress. Without that blessed dampness, the clawed ones would be dead- husks of what once held pure, unadulterated life. How cruel the winter was.

It pulled and drained and sucked away the vigour of life, casting the world under a cloth of heavy grey in the day and consuming black-blue before the time was due. There were months before the release of springtime and the returning of life. Grey for now. Things would be grey for now. The wild things would condemn themselves for a long while still, reducing their great selves to no more than mounds of heaving meat. What a curse was hibernation for the powerful.

The breeze that trembled through the tree-claws danced about the curtains, drawing them in to the swaying motion that carried it along. A sea of crimson the curtains continued their waltz until Adyn closed his window and they fell lifeless once more. Walking back, the demon sat on his bed, sinking in to the cloudlike duvet.

Night came too early in these months, capturing the sky and taking its blue hostage til sunrise. The night was a thing of beauty, but a bringer of sin. Adyn's keen ears could hear the gurgling, scratching mess of monsters crawling about Gotham's streets from the Manor (the humans were, of course, none the wiser). Never had the demon come across a city so overcrowded with sin, overflowing with humanity's vices and in a famine of virtues. As a creature of Wrath, a true Sin, Adyn thrived off of it. No city was better suited to a creature of his kind.

Unable to sleep at such an early hour, Adyn employed his minor skills in the field of magic for entertainment. Minor, not due to a lack of knowledge in the subject, nor a lack of power, rather, the inability to control strong magic. It was a situation most in the preternatural world were in- save the creatures of magic, mages, witches and the like- often referred to as being 'batteries': holding a great store of magic; being incapable of utilising it.

Fire was something Adyn could do.

Fire was something all demons could do.

It ran through a demon's very veins and made up the substance of their souls. A single glance at the inferno within a demon's heart could blind the holy creatures.

The flamenco dancer twirled across the pink flesh of Adyn's palm, sparking from the a violent sunset to a chilling twilight and back again. The small fire was extinguished with a closing of his hand as the demon fell in to boredom once more.

With all the grace that had been beaten in to him, Adyn rose from the bed, walking around to face his vanity. He smiled at the person in the mirror and he smiled back. The room's white lighting served to enhance the danger in his bite, canines flashing menacingly. His eyes were no less threatening in colour, red as the blood his kind were born to spill, but kind in shape (softened, telling of his open heart- but an open heart that could yet be corrupted by the Sin whose name he bore). Fitting the look of his people, Adyn's angular face was both harsh and welcoming, relieved of a harsh look by his easy eyes and smile-lines. The pale pink complexion did little to aid the endeavour for a natural, humanlike appearance: it wasn't that of a pinkish-white human, but a more vivid hue, enhanced by the colour of his eyes.

Turning his face both sides, Adyn reviews his visage, almost chucking at the dimples (such odd, blinking things!), before his attention turned to the loops bouncing in the way of his eyes. Pushing the hair back, Adyn sighed as the ringlets fell back in to his eyes. Tugging on a curl, the demon raised a pale eyebrow, considering his hair colour. It was quite a nice shade. That champagne-rose colour, almost metallic, like rose gold coils.

Letting the loop spring back up, Adyn wondered at his preening. Demons were notoriously vain creatures, but this seemed a little out of place. Still, Adyn was feeling good, which was a positive. That reminded him of a song Dick had shown him the other day- what was that music-maker's name...AHA! Beyoncé! and someone else....

Abruptly, Adyn staggered, hands tangling in his curls as he held them to his head, pulling until the pounding had left. The remnants of the magical surge lingered in his mind even as he stood straighter, feeling the energy draining towards its source at rapid speed- covering miles in milliseconds.

Using the little magic he could wield, Adyn opened his mind using the tactics hard learnt as a boy. A breath in, a breath out, expand your senses, feel the power of the elements working harmoniously in the world, hear the pattering of water, the whistling of wind, the humming of the earth and the roaring of the fires below. And like that, Adyn pinpointed the source of the pulse. Not that he hadn't recognised his sister's magic the moment it hit him, but the location was something that had needed confirming.

No doubt all the preternaturals within Gotham had felt that, even a tiny prick in the mind was enough. And knowing the type to be in Gotham, Adyn figured that Raven would appreciate some assistance...and Adyn was quite alarmed. Raven was usually much more careful with flexing her power- she liked underestimation, it made proving herself all the more satisfying.

One thing the demon could not fault was his own runelore. The most ancient and complex form of magic to formally exist and be noted as an art, yet one that he was somewhat proficient at. Runelore had a set method to it, joined with the art of rune calligraphy and channelling basic energy in to the rune, strengthening it by pouring more of one's magic in to it. Batteries tended to be better at this than others, yet it was as complex as any other art form.

In the air, Adyn's pale fingers trailed along, dipping and turning until he'd created the desired rune, stressing his energy as he did so. A single syllable in a tongue of ancients, and the demon felt the soft brushing of his ringlets against his face as a portal churned the air in front of him.

Entering the portal, Adyn's blood eyes widened at the scene.

***

Eyelids groggily beginning to open and close like butterfly wings in the lazy summer, the white robed one awakened. Bound in a heap on the floor by both standard brown rope and the magical bonds from some of the most powerful magical practitioners on Earth, the Council-team found themselves faced with a group capable of crumbling the foundations of their organisation. Planted on the musty rug in the centre of the shop, tied uncomfortable so as to constrict even a sliver of movement, the supposed leader of this Light division was the first to lift his head.

To each individual, his eyes flickered like sunlight on a coin, loathing building up with each heavy glance. They fell upon the original cause for his concussion.

"Hello sleeping beauty.", she bared her teeth, lips curving in a formidable balance of threat and temptation.

The Light magician stared back, not saying a word, prompting one of those in her company to chuckle, "Tt. Cat's stolen your tongue?", the green-eyes one smirked, crouching besides the collection of Councilmen and women. "We'll retrieve it for you."

The cape resting on his shoulders his much of the clothes he wore, not so much as to stop the division-leader from drawing the concluding that (with the evidence of his voice, aura, clothing and unmistakable eyes) this was the Al Ghul. Heir to one of the most powerful families of old, skilled in the way of the martial dances and deadly with the sword as he was the tongue. A battery beyond compare- yet one with hidden talents. It made the Light Councilman shiver.

The Al Ghul's mockery was cut short by the equally crass man reclining on an armchair, shrouded in a cloud of grey. A dap of red appeared by his mouth as he inhaled, breathing in the fumes of nicotine, tobacco and the works: the man's lungs were surely blackened to a crisp. His brown coat and blonde hair told top of whom he was -let alone the uniquely savage aura. Constantine. Demon hunter. How odd that he kept such company. At times, the Light had relied upon the hunter's conflict with the unsavoury lot of demons, preferring to leave the Dark to weaken themselves.

Tossing a leg over the armrest, Constantine took another heavy drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke in the white robes' direction, "Leave the tosser for a minute mate. The rest of those bloody buggers'll be up by the time this fag's out.", he regarded his cigarette. "Take five."

Standing up, the Al Ghul took to one of the stools by the voodoo store's counter, sparing a look at the madwoman muttering in the corner. Toying with the hilt of his katana -whose blade he'd unsheathed- the boy ran a finger over its grip, waiting for some queue. Some plan of action.

That left two standing.

They held the same blood, the half-demoness and the other. She, the creature of sin (the Councilman wasn't certain, perhaps Lust...that seemed quite likely considering his reaction to her previous taunting advances) was the sister of the curly-haired one. None threatening in appearance, he was remarkably tall, a sort of baby pink in complexion and a more metallic shade in hair. Even those deep, shocking red eyes were...somehow warm.

Strange indeed. A creature's of the blackest soul, but so apparently pure. The man hadn't expected such from a demon, but the pink one was...attractive? Was that the correct term to use for this creature (who, like the other three non-females, had appeared whilst the man was out cold)?

Damning the Dark beings for their confusing selves, the Councilman chose to stare at the one sitting by the counter. A bad mistake. The moment the man moved his head, the Al Ghul spoke.

"Now until the end of time is avail for use to use.", he set the sword on the counter with a clang. "Take your time and the consequences will be lengthened. You can figure out the alternatives."

The demoness stood proud, pinning the man's eyes to hers, "First and foremost, will anyone seek you out within the next few hours."

The man didn't respond.

Then the hunter laughed, "You'd do well to listen to her majesty mate. She'll  rip out your throat for less than that.", he puffed on the cigarette.

Knowing that he couldn't turn his head to glare at the magical Constantine, the light-triangled Councilman lowered his eyes, considered all opportunities open to him. Try escape. Impossible. Don't speak. Not a chance. Lie. They'd know. Tell the truth. Be saved.

There he had it, the only way out. It was a way he'd been taught to deny since birth- to speak with and cooperate with Dark monsters- but one that would save his life. Lifting his head, the man entered his first stage of Light betrayal.

"You have fifteen minutes at best."

With this quiet confession, the four Dark were brought out of their cavalier attitudes, rising to make the preparations necessary. Holding out both hands flat, Constantine muttered in the ancient tongue, withdrawing the magical bindings on only the man. Meanwhile, the demoness held the Councilman in place with her powers, rendering him incapable of escape. The Al Ghul and demon removed the rope only around the man, pulling him out of place and fastening the rope around the rest of them- as if it had never been opened.

As the demons and Al Ghul held the man in place with both manpower and magic, Constantine retrieved something from within his coat pocket. Two thick circular rings joined together by three thick lines. Able to snap open and closed, the specialised restrainer was engraved with a multitude of runes, the sight of which made the man queasy.

As the Al Ghul closed the handcuffs-of-a-sort on his hands, the man felt a stabbing pain within his chest. The ever renewing pool of magic within him had been cut off. It wasn't permanent, nor did it drain away the magic, but it was a gaping hole in his soul. He could scarcely imaging what it would be like to live with his magic stripped of him. Only thank the gods (Hestia be blessed) that no such a tool existed.

Taking the task of flicking his wrist and channeling a small burst of magic, Constantine summoned a portal of yellow, spiralling characters, indicating for the demon and the Al Ghul to lead the way in, taking the new hostage with them. Before they had stepped in to the portal, the demoness quickly made for the tied up Council members. In a dangerously challenging taunt, she lifted the head of one of the knocked out individuals and quickly pressed her lips to his cheek, leaving a purple stain.
Whomever came to check what had happened would see that mark, and by the gods, they would be livid.

Pink-hair and green-eyes took the Councilman through the yellow portal, followed by the demoness and Constantine the last.

***

RED WARNING! DONT READ FOR YOUR INNOCENT'S SAKE IF YOU CANT DEAL WITH DESCRIPTIVE STUFF.

He pushed past the writhing bodies slick with sweat, grasping the thin, blueish hand as if his life depended on it. There was only one direction this night was headed, and he (in a state clouded by drink and its effects) was looking forward to it. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, the man could only express sheer relief as the two of them broke free of the dancing crowd, bursting in to the bathroom.

In an instant, they were against the wall, lips connecting like cars in a road accident. Longing and lusting, hands travelled as far as they could reach, under the sheath of a top she wore, causing a breakout of gasps and moaning as his fingers undid her bra clasps, now rummaging over her the smooth curves of her back, waist, hips and breasts as she fumbled over the zip of his trousers.

Finding purchase, she gasped as his lips broke off her mouth to fight the tender skin of her neck, tugging down his zip. As one of his hands continued teasing, the other pulled at the meshy, silvery fabric of her skirt. Groaning in to her neck as one of the woman's hands reached his boxers, the man grasped the ends of skirt, hiking it up to her waist and exposing the blue lace of her underwear.

Filled with uncontainable urge, the woman dragged him closer. He wasted no time in providing what they both needed, removing the inconvenience of her panties and pulling his hips to hers, sliding in at just the right angle, hitting them both in a euphoric mess. Lifting her by the thighs (her back against the wall) they slammed in to one another, his moans growing in volume and hers increasing in pitch as they moved faster and faster. The man's face in to the awaiting cleavage of the woman as her back arched and she cried out. His lips and teeth left sizzling marks across her tender skin as her fingers dragged down his back.

Finally falling apart after a final, loose thrust, the two of them slid apart, his head leaning on the wall besides hers, both of their chests heaving, drowning in the pleasure of raw, impulsive sex.

The man drew his lips to her pointed, bluish ear, exhaling, "Hi...I'm...Jason..."

A.N

So...I'll leave it at that...

Thank you

-Bats ;)