The dark strum of the elvish band's eerie tune submerged Raven's senses the moment she stepped in to the building. It had happened a million times before, but she could never quite get over that feeling, like wading beneath water. She shut her eyes steadied herself in the vibrant auras around her. When they opened once more, resolute, Raven sought her target.

Through the slowly writhing figures occupying the centre of the club- towering orcs, lithe elemental spirits, wanton succubi and the like- she scanned. The one she searched wasn't found on a stool, being served by the barmaid; Raven caught her eye and smiled at the old flame- long extinguished and replaced by a kindled friendliness.

Anneh the bartender handed a tall glass of green, thick liquid to a wisp. She frowned at Raven, a silent 'you good?', fixing the bone through her septum. Raven raised an eyebrow to the witch doctor and she understood the 'yes', moving to serve another creature.

Raven moved her cloak away from the spikes of a tall, brown marsh troll, slipping around the dance floor to the more private sections at the back. A demon on her left tipped his hat to her as she passed the ethereal elvish firelights that hung over the entrance to the enclave of seatings. She accepted the recognition of her status with a nod. 

Alas, across the black marble-top tables and leather sofas, her target evaded her.

"You lookin' for someone sweetheart?" Called a familiar voice from a table.

Translucent, bold, and dead as fuck, Boston, known to some as Deadman, greeted Raven with a familiar grin. By his side sat an equally ghostly figure, scrawny in a tweed suit, who looked about awkwardly as Boston made small talk. Raven understood the itchiness of being around the friend of a friend and not being able to share in their familiarity.

She cut the conversation short.

"I'm looking for Klarion. The Witch Boy."

Boston frowned, "I uh...I think he's downstairs. You take my meaning..."

Raven nodded, unsurprised. She glanced at the ghost besides Boston then walked away, through two black double doors that flowed with a red light from behind. A tunnel of stairs led downwards, in to a blackness that her eyes couldn't make sense of. There was no pure humanity in her, but there had been, she sheer hell in the air, l'appel du vide, would've thrown her headfirst to death down those stairs.

As it were, she shook off the sweltering heat and descended. Her skin was red now. Painted with blood. Roaring with hellfire. And as Raven, Pride of the Seven Sins, slithered down those steps, her vision cleared with her blackened eyes. She saw the sign, felt the swelling crescendo of violently bad auras, and grimaced in satisfaction.

The VIP section.

At last Raven's heels clicked from the stairs and on to the flat ground. She'd fallen far through the realms. Another set of double doors faced her, labelled 'VIP' in neon red letters. She threw them open and was permitted entry, as ever.

Muffled was the sound of her path through the corridor thence; the carpet was rich, patterned brown and red with paisleys. Single, numbered, metal doors lined the corridor that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, winding through a hell. On some doors signs were hung, declaring 'Occupied'.  Others were void of extra embellishment, even handles.

Hm, Raven thought, they've re-designed...again.

But the magic ought to have remained the same...

She clicked her gloved fingers and spoke, "Klarion the Witch Boy, Lord of Chaos."

The number came to mind instantly.

Door 7.

Raven turned and knocked as required. The door opened of its own accord, its magic acute to intentions of those it kept, and those at its threshold. It unfurled to reveal a room small enough for its users' intentions, and furnished for their intentions with a chaise and bed. And directly in the demon's view, atop the sofa, was Klarion himself, intertwined with a blond...oh Azar... it was an angel.

With a casual passion, Klarion placed kisses at the creature's throat, as they in turn pulled away at his shirt, breaths short and wanting.

As interesting as that show might have been, Raven had business to tend to. She cleared her throat pointedly.

Klarion glanced at her from the corner of his eye, drawing a long tongue up the side of the angel's neck- to a long-drawn sigh.

"Leave your lust for five minutes Klarion." She said, arms folded.

The angel had started at the clearing of her throat, and now had been thrown off. Raven saw the shock, the shame, the fear, in their golden eyes. They looked back to Klarion defeatedly and drew their white robes about them.

"Sorry sweetie, I need to borrow him for some business." Raven said, almost warmly.

The angel looked between the demonic creatures, desperate in their fear of being caught. And in a cloud of golden dust, the creature wrapped in Klarion's body disappeared to be guilty in the heavens. The Lord of Chaos, millennia old through youthful in appearance, sighed and stood, every expression of irritable on his angular, pale face.

"This had better be good or I'm damning your soul to Tartarus." He seethed. "I should be having some bloody good sex right now."

Raven's eyes strayed to his ruffled, unbuttoned shirt and back up to his frowning eyebrows, "My soul's already damned Klarion, it's part of the demon package-deal. And I think Tartarus is a little out of your jurisdiction, but point taken."

"What do you want then?" He asked, sauntering to the bedside table, where a bottle of something reddish sat besides an empty glass.

She watched him pour it out and declined the offer of a drink.

"I need intel," Raven said, "on my father's realm. New developments."

Klarion sat on the bed's end and chuckled, "Oh what? The old bastard's after you again?"

She closed the door and leant against it, pulling her hood back.

"It's serious Klarion."

"What's in it for me?"

"I haven't finished yet." Raven said.

Klarion clutched his glass, intrigued, "Oh? What else do you want me to do for you? Stir a little chaos somewhere? You know I'm quite good at that...my speciality." He hissed pridefully.

Raven sat back on the sofa, "There's someone I need to know about."

"A boy?" Klarion gushed.

"A man." She rolled her eyes. "And I call dibs so take your claws in."

Klarion tutted and took a swig from his glass.

"I need confirmation...the Al Ghul line," Raven stared at the blank ceiling, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Are they...are they all gone? I need you to check." She looked at the Witch Boy and he looked back, confused. "He...I need to know if the Demon Head's grandson is still alive..."

The switch in Klarion's eyes was one from bemusement that absolute ravenous hunger, "Oh surely not...surely you haven't found the last Al Ghul...Raven you can't be so selfish to keep him to yourself!"

She insisted that it was only a hunch, and hushed Klarion's insistence enough to move the conversation on. He wasn't at all fussed in leading the next topic.

"What's in it for me Raven? Really I'm quite curious what you have to offer-" he said, sat besides her on the chaise- "you've already said that you're uninterested." he seemed downcast at that. "You're not much my usual type but I'd gladly make an acception." Klarion winked.

Raven snorted, crossing her legs, "Oh behave Klarion...I've got something a bit better than meaningless sex to tempt you-"

"Oh?"

She procured a small vial from within a hand-sized portal and placed it in his pale hands, triumphant. Within it, a small quantity of some clear liquid. When it hit the light, the liquid shone, iridescent.

"What-"

"The only known tear of the angel Gabriel."

"Ooooh you bitch-"

"I know you're a bit of a collector..."she said.

Klarion clutched the vial to his chest and declared, "It's a deal darling."
***
Damian Al Ghul had found them in Japan, the one with the answers. Mother was dead, Grandfather too; Damian could only seek the highest in command to still live. Three days had produced these results.

Flourishing mountain valleys surrounded by rice fields had held a darker secret: they housed a budding guild. Within a slope-roofed abode of light wood and beaded curtains, and land cleared for a levelled stone courtyard, the seeds of an assassin's court were being sown. The master of which was a woman that Damian recognised without a second glance.

He stood now within the interior dojang. It was a peaceful place to train, he thought. The unrelenting stone of Nandra Parabat's fortress had felt repressive, but here, he could feel the delicate breathing of the valley.

"You have been looking for me." Came the voice he'd awaited.

She'd passed through the bed curtain so silently, he hadn't noticed her presence. Nothing more was expected from such a master.

Damian stayed facing the westward window, gazing upon the mountain beyond.

"Yes. I have much to ask you Shiva."

A.N:

Hiya my darlings! How are we feeling after that chapter? Some interesting characters to add in to the story eh? I do hope that I'm spiking your curiosity here!

Also I must say, I owe my inclusion of Klarion the Witch Boy to devilinyoureye  for sparking my interest in him. (I hope I've done him justice in your eyes hun xx)

Thank you for reading and (as always) I love you all!

-Bats