Bloodlust: An Arrow Fanfiction: Chapter 6: Rebirth

Chapter 6-Rebirth

“Wake up kid,” a far off voice spoke in the murky recesses of Oliver’s mind.

A sharp pain in front of his eyes brought Oliver up from the black sea of nothingness blinking through the pain he slowly opened his eyes just in time to see an orange gauntleted hand come in on the left side of his face in an open palm slap that snapped his head to the side. Coughing as his mouth filled with the warm metallic taste of his own blood, Oliver shook off the fresh wave or stinging pain that engulfed his head. Spitting out a wad of blood, mucus, and saliva onto the dull gray floor a superhuman grip cupped his jaw and yanked his head back up in a sudden jerking motion that caused a new wave of pain to shoot from his neck and down his spine. A small groan escaped Oliver’s lips as he stared into the single brown eye Slade Wilson’s face. Where the other eye should have been a black eye patch elegantly rested on the right side of his face. The hair of his well-trimmed brown goatee clung to his chizzled jaw as a small sheen of sweat all over his face reflected back into Oliver’s eyes the visage of the man who had once thought of as a brother. Slade still wore his orange and black battle armour. A single hilt of a katana poked up behind his right shoulder. On his hip he carried his mask, its orange half reflecting light casually as his left hand kept a thunderous grip on Oliver’s jaw.

“Someone here wants to have a chat with you kid,” Slade said. “Answer him truthfully and spare yourself the suffering.”

Feeling Slade’s grip leave his face Oliver let his head fall forward as his body sagged forward in unison. The faint creaking of ropes catching his weight informed Oliver that he was tied up tightly. The slight thud of the back of his head against concrete as he looked up confirmed that he was tied to one of the pillars in the basement of his chub. The computers and the thrown around training equipment of his makeshift base of operations focused in his field of vision. The black clad figures in front of him drew his attention away from his uninvited guests. Five of the eight hooded assailants stood in front of him in a semicircle. The familiar blue eyes of one man stared daggers of hate into his soul through his tattered hood. Oliver couldn’t quite make out his entire face, but the churning in his gut told him that he and this man once knew each other, but from when Oliver couldn’t member. In the middle of the half circle stood three black robed figures of seemingly greater importance. The two hooded men on left and right stood in a respectful prayer pose with skinheads slightly bowed in deference to the man in the center. He was about a foot taller than the priestly black figures by his side. His hair was elegantly slicked back over his head. A touch of grey stained the black hair around his temples. The lines of his forehead added a gravitas to the rest of his face which was framed by his crisp goatee and a strong, straight nose. His dark robes were trimmed in gold and silver lacing down the collar and are inside lines of his arms and torso. The trimmings ended at the cuffs of his arms. The tips of his index fingers sported a pair of pointed gold talons. Around the man’s neck hung a heavy silver chain. At the end of the chain hung a pendent in the shape of a three-headed demon. Meeting the gaze of his brown eyes with a defiant stare, Oliver was hypnotized by the collective power that poured out from them. With a single look Oliver knew this man was powerful. Strength and a sense of unquestioning command radiated out to him. The wisdom of countless years of toil and hardship that could never match his face accompanied the look; the unforgiving gaze of death hid behind those eyes. He was dangerous and powerful and with one look he made sure Oliver knew it.

“Mr. Queen, “the man said in a regal British accent that is usually reserved a royalty. “You possess some information that is of great value to me.”

Saying nothing, Oliver stared back into this man’s waiting gaze with as much defiance as he could muster through the hare that still fogged up his ability to think straight. His ears still rang from the impact of Slade’s enhanced pinch the back of his skull.

“Answer him! “Slate Wilson barked shoving Oliver’s head to the side so hard that the force of his push caused the vertebrae of his spine to crack and pop all the way down along his back.

Gritting his teeth through the pain that ran along the entire Length of his body, Oliver continued to stare defiantly into the regal man’s commanding brown eyes.

“You’re a stubborn one I see,” the man said through the smirk that played across his lips. “There are methods to deal with that. But I am not unkind. I will make you on offer Mr. Queen. You tell me what I need to know and I will let you leave this place unharmed.”

“No!” the warrior with the familiar ice-blue eyes and the tattered mask said from the back, stepping forward towards his master with an urgent stride.

“Silence!” the regal man yelled, as two of the warrior’s brethren stepped forward to stop their comrade from advancing.

Turning to face the blue-eyed man, the master asked, “Do you dare to deny the will of Ra’s Al Ghul?”

Freezing in place the blue-eyed warrior hung his head in shame as he replied in a low voice, “No master.”

“I thought not,” Ra’s replied with a hint of acid in his voice. “Do not forget your place in the league. You are the lowliest of the low, a calf among bulls. Act out again and I will slaughter you like one. You’re only of use to me here because of your history with Mr. Queen. Do not forget who raised you from the pit. I gave you your life back boy. Do not take my charity for granted.”

“So I do know him somehow,” Oliver thought to himself as he watched the blue-eyed man step back into place among his brothers. “I still don’t know from where, but at least he got me his master’s name… Ra’s Al Ghul.”

Facing Oliver again Ra’s said, “As I said before Mr. Queen, tell me what desire and you shall go free. Deny me what I see and will let my eager associate back there take out his life’s frustrations on your body in the most agonizing and slow ways that he can imagine, and then will ask you again. This will continue until you either submit to my will or you die. The choice is yours.”

“The kid’s too stupid to see a good deal when it’s given to him,” Slade said to Ra’s. “He is also too damn stubborn. He won’t tell you anything. You may as well torture him right now and save us all the agony of this ridiculous questioning.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be Mr. Wilson?” Ra’s asked him with a touch of malice. “I don’t pay you to stand around. I believe you have a robin’s wings to clip back in Gotham, no? Get on it!”

“Gotham?” Oliver thought. “Wait, that means …”

“You’re looking for the Batman,” Oliver rasped to Ra’s through the dry blood that caked his teeth and throat.

“I guess you’re not so dumb after all,” Slade said to Oliver as he picked up his orange and black helmet and strode to the exit of Oliver’s hideout.

“Indeed,” Ra’s replies to Slade’s comment as he stared at Oliver with a new and eager intensity. “So tell me Mr. Queen, where is Bruce Wayne these days?”

“You know?” Oliver asked, shocked that Ra’s had connected Bruce Wayne and the Batman as the same person without a clue that the two were one in the same.

“Of course I know.  The cowl, the theatrics, the tactics to instill fear in one’s opponents, those are traits valued by the League of Assassins.  My former pupil has learned them well.  But he has become a nuisance to me and my operations over the last few months and must now be dealt with accordingly.  So tell me, where is he Mr. Queen?”

“Go to hell,” Oliver replied as he wiggled in his restraints in an attempt to loosen them.

The smirk on Ra’s face melted away.  It was replaced with a much darker and more sinister look, as if a mask had been lifted.  The face of death stared back at Oliver now with all semblance of the regal man gone from Ra’s features.

“So be it,” he whispered snapping his fingers to summon his minion.

The overeager warrior with the ice in his eyes stepped up immediately to his master’s side.

Leaning over to speak to his underling while retaining a cool gaze on Oliver’s bound up form Ra’s said, “Find out everything he knows about Bruce Wayne’s whereabouts and current courses of action.  Torture him, slowly if you must.  I want to know everything that he knows.  I will leave both of my priests with you.  One of them has a vial with water from the pit.  Use it only as a last resort.  It could kill him in a matter of moments.  Find me when you are finished.”

“Yes master,” the ice-eyed assassin replied bowing reverently with his fist over his heart.

Casting one last murderous look at Oliver, Ra’s began to walk away flanked by his remaining six assassins, one who limped gingerly with the support of his fellow brother, unable to put any weight onto the leg that Oliver had shattered at the knee with a back kick.  From his prone position Oliver could make out the off-white creamy color of bone jutting through the torn muscle and bits of skin that hung off the assassin’s leg.  The ruby stain of massive blood loss coated the onyx colored pants that the assassin wore.

“Leave him,” Ra’s said to his minion that supported his companion without turning to face the pair.  “He lost too much blood.  His leg is beyond saving and the League of Assassins is no fit place for a cripple.  Let him succumb to his wounds and die with honor in his heart knowing that he has earned his eternal slumber in battle.”

“But master, surely you can…” the wounded assassin began to say.

Agile as a cobra Ra’s withdrew a sword hidden beneath the folds of his heavy robes, spinning as he did so, and in one clean stroke lopped the head of the wounded assassin with such force that it sailed a few feet into the air and bounced off one of the waiting priest’s robes.  A torrent of crimson cherry blood splattered over the stunned face of the assassin that now supported a headless corpse spasming and pouring blood in its death throes.

“Bollocks,” one of the hooded priests whispered just loud enough for Oliver to hear.

Pointing the tip of his now dyed sword at the assassin with the ice-blue eyes Ra’s said, “This is the price of failure.  You’d best remember that Merlyn.  I will not be as lenient to you as I was to your father.”

Sheathing his blood stained sword, Ra’s and his retinue stalked out the once secret basement door of Oliver’s lair and into the night before the headless corpse gave its final feeble spasm of life and lay still. 

Oliver stared in disbelief as the icy gaze of the assassin returned to him now that his master was gone.  Those same eyes he had seen a hundred times over at his birthday parties throughout the years.  A city-sized jumble of emotions ranging from rejection, hope, sadness, anger, and guilt came crashing down upon his shoulders and settled into the pit of his stomach with the calmness of a tropical storm.  He now remembered those previously unfamiliar eyes. Oliver had watched the light go out of them not six months earlier as the Glades heaved and died around the two of them by the way of a man made miniature apocalypse.  Oliver could still remember losing his own breath like ash caught in a breeze as he watched his best friend take his final one.  It had rattled with the same intensity of a small child shaking a toy as blood bubbled out of the hold in his chest where the steel wire had punctured.

Unable to catch his breath once more, Oliver stared back into those icy-blue eyes that looked more like the sub-zero temperature of death than the blazing heat of life they once held and croaked out, “Tommy?”