Bloodlust: An Arrow Fanfiction: Chapter 7: Right in the Bollocks

Chapter 7-Right in the Bollocks

Those dead eyes cast back no glimmer of recognition at Oliver’s question.

“Tommy?” Oliver asked again as the blue-eyed assassin walked up to Oliver and withdrew an arrow from his quiver.

Examining the green painted head of the arrow thoughtfully the assassin tapped the tip until it punctured his onyx colored glove.  A drop of crimson escaped the fresh gash and mixed with the forest green of the arrowhead.  Reaching down to pick Oliver’s discarded bow the assassin took a step back, turned, nocked the arrow and drew the bow string back to his cheek.

“Don’t do it,” Oliver said watching his captor take careful aim in his direction.

The assassin’s grip on the bow string loosened.  With an echoing twang the bow string jumped back into rest position as the arrow sped out from the bow toward Oliver.

“Aaaaarh!” Oliver screamed as the arrow pierced his left shoulder at the joint connecting his arm to his torso.  A blaze of searing hot pain erupted all throughout his body.  Spasming from the impact of the arrow he felt the tip of the arrowhead grate against the bony surface of his shoulder blade.  Oliver’s entire left arm went numb and cold in an instant.  A steady stream of blood meandered down his green leather suit and dripped to the unfeeling pavement making small plopping sounds that were inaudible over Oliver’s tortured scream.

“It hurts doesn’t it?” the assassin asked.

Grinding his teeth together against the pain Oliver stared into those cold unfeeling eyes of his tormenter and said, “When I get out of this I’m going to kill you.”

“You already have once before,” the assassin replied.  “You and my father.  As you can see it didn’t really stick.”

Lifting his gloved hand to his head the assassin pulled off his tattered mask to reveal the familiar face of Oliver’s oldest friend, Tommy Merlyn.

“How?” Oliver asked Tommy as his blood continued to drip onto the floor creating a small pool around his feat.  “How are you alive?”

“Well that’s an interesting story Ollie,” Tommy said with venom in his voice.

Walking over to Oliver, Tommy withdrew another arrow from his quiver.  One of the priests shifted uncomfortably in his robe at the sight of Tommy’s willingness to continue torturing their prisoner.

Returning to his previous spot Tommy tapped the arrow against his thigh and spoke, “After you left me dead in C.N.R.I. …”

“I tried to save you,” Oliver interrupted bitterly.

“But you didn’t, did you?” Tommy retorted.

Hanging his head in shame Oliver didn’t reply.

“Do you remember what I said to you in there?” Tommy asked pausing his tapping of the arrow.

Looking up Oliver stared at Tommy in silence for a long moment.  “I remember,” he said.  “You told me you were sorry.  You were sorry that you got jealous about Laurel and I.  She still loves you, you know?  She hasn’t forgiven herself for what happened to you that night.”

Scowling, Tommy asked, “What else do you remember from that moment?”

“You asked me if I spared your father that night. I told you I did.”

“I thank you for that,” Tommy said with a small smile. “He’s actually the reason I’m back in Starling.”

“I thought you and Ra’s were here for Bruce Wayne,” Oliver said in surprise. “What do you want from him?”

“Me? Nothing at all.  Ra’s is the one that wants Bruce.  I could care less about that spoiled rich man-child,” Tommy spat.  “I’m here for my father…and for you.”

“You still haven’t told me how you’re still alive,” Oliver said listlessly.  The pool of blood around his feet had grown considerably in the last few minutes.

“Ah yes, that is actually Ra’s doing.  He also came here looking for my father after the earthquake in the Glades.  You see, my father is a member of the League of Assassins.  They’re a powerful group that works in the shadows to bend the course of history to their will.  You see when civilization becomes fat and entitled with decadence they create stagnation and halt the progress of all men,” Tommy explained as he once again tapped the arrow against his thigh.  “Ra’s created the league centuries ago to combat this stagnation and ensure that humankind advances steadily into the future under just and progressive leadership.”

“What do you mean Ra’s founded this League of Assassins ‘centuries’ ago?” Oliver asked with a look of confusion plastered over his face. “How is that possible?”

“It’s exactly how I explained it Ollie. Ra’s founded the league hundreds of years ago.  The fall of Rome, that was his doing.  The Renaissance, the rise of the medical age, the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand to start the First World War, the Second World War, all of it was him and the leagues doing, the good and the bad,” Tommy said.  “As to how it’s possible, it’s all thanks to what is in this little vial.”

Reaching for the vial that one of the priests had extracted from his robe, Tommy held it up to the dim lights of the basement. Inside of the glass tube was a murky grey liquid.

“This is water from one of the Lazarus Pits,” Tommy said.

The other waiting priest cocked his hooded head in Tommy’s direction as if hanging onto his every word.

“The Lazarus pit is what helped Ra’s stay alive throughout our history.  It has the power to extend life and rejuvenate the youth of anyone who bathes in its waters,” Tommy explained as he gazed at the vial of water in wonder. “It also has the power to bring people back from the dead.  That’s how I’m still alive.  Ra’s found me buried under the rubble of C.N.R.I.  He came here hunting for my father.  Malcolm’s destruction of the Glades was not sanctioned by the league.  When Ra’s found me he took pity for my fate and brought me back to Nanda Parbat and bathed me in the pit for five days.  I was reborn in those waters.  I was alive again, but I’m not the same person as when I died.”

“What does that mean?” Oliver asked seeing his former friend in a new light as a crazed look entered his ice-blue eyes.

“The waters, they… they change you Ollie.  They can give your life back, but it comes with a cost,” Tommy explained frantically as he paced up and down, a lion in a small cage.  “They leave you with a hunger, a sort of thirst for revenge against the ones who did you harm in your past life.”

“That’s why you’re looking for Malcolm,” Oliver said as compensation dawned in his mind like a rising sun. “You want to kill him.”

“Yes!” Tommy shouted with the wild look in his eyes raging like an uncontrolled tempest. “He caused the building in the Glades to collapse! He killed me! His only son! For that will die!”

“So what do you want with me?” Oliver asked. “If you’re looking for Malcolm you don’t need me. I’m no threat to you.”

“No you’re not,” Tommy said calmly, the storm in his eyes abating for the moment. “But you’re the last person that I can remember to see him that night in the Glades. You’re going to tell me where I can find him and Bruce Wayne.”

“What do you need Wayne for?” Oliver asked. “You’re only here for Malcolm.”

“True,” Tommy replied as he spun the glass vial between the fingers of his left hand.” My master needs Bruce Wayne. Only he knows the locations of the few clean Lazarus pits. Bruce use to be a student of my master’s. Ra’s taught him everything he knows about combat and the art of deception “In turn, Bruce replayed his kindness by poising the Lazarus pit’s waters and stealing the records of the remaining pits from the League’s library. My master needs those waters if he is to remain alive to continue his good work.”

“That is insane! “Oliver shouted. “Don’t you hear yourself Tommy? He leads a ‘league of assassins’! If everything you’ve told me is true then he deserves to die. Humanity is better off without the interference of a madman that starts wars and sets a course for unnatural progress and evolution!”

“Shut up!” Tommy screamed. Knocking the arrow and drawing the bowstring back to his cheek with a swift movement, he let the arrow fly.

“Aaaaargh!” Oliver screamed in renewed agony as the second arrow pierced the right side of his chest and punctured his lung. Bright cherry blood flew out of his mouth as his agonizing scream came to an end with a gurgle.

“He is a good man! He gave me new life and a purpose,” Tommy shouted as he stalked up to Oliver and grabbed his chin with a gloved hand. “You’re just too weak to see what must be done to ensure our survival as a species that is worthy to live on this planet. Now I’m going to ask you this once, where is Bruce Wayne and my father?”

“Go to hell,” Oliver said as he spat a jet of red blood into Tommy’s face.

Wiping the blood from his eyes ad blinking away the tears that welled up in his eyes, Tommy punched Oliver in the side of the head and screamed, “Tell me!”

Hanging limply against his restraints with his head in a haze, Oliver was unable to speak. The edges of his eyesight had started to go dim and every breath felt like he was being dipped in a pool of molten lava. Fresh blood pumped out in steady streams from both his wounds pooling in a lake at his feet.

“You’re not allowed to die on me yet Queen,” Tommy said as he threw Oliver’s bow to the ground.

Uncorking the vial that Held between two fingers of his left hand, Tommy threw back Oliver’s hood and grabbed his hair pulling up in a sharp motion that caused his head tilt up and back. A faint thumping sound accompanied the motion off in the distance. Oliver couldn’t tell whether his head had hit the pillar or something had dropped off one of the shelves nearby.

Still pulling on Oliver’s hair Tommy said, “The waters from the Lazarus pit also have another interesting effect. They’re a powerful truth serum in small doses. These waters may be poisoned but they’ll still get the job done. You’ll tell me what want to know. Only then will you die.”

The water splashed over the lip of the tipped vial and began to fall downward into Oliver’s open mouth. In the back of his mind, now consumed with panic, Oliver heard a strange incoherent chanting. Watching the waterfall, it slowed down, and stopped mid-air an inch from his lips. Glancing up at Tommy, Oliver saw that the motions of his mad eyes had also stopped along with his breathing. Hearing the click of boots approach his position he turned his gaze to his right and saw are of the hooded priests approach him. The other priests lay unconscious on the floor in a pool of blood and a knife sticking out of his back.

The approaching priest stopped beside Oliver and threw back his hood to reveal the face of an average looking man with short blonde hair and sad blue eyes that looked as if they had seen too many dark days in one lifetime. The corners of the man’s eyes showed faint wrinkles where a series of laugh lines use to be. This man had been able to laugh once upon a time, but the sadness in his eyes said that he hasn’t been able to find any true mirth in a long time. The stubble around his chin and cheeks and the creases in his forehead told Oliver that the man was somewhere in his mid to late 30’s.

Pulling out a carton of cigarettes from inside his robe the man dug out the last of his cancer sticks and tossed the empty box over his shoulder. Mumbling a series of incoherent words he created a green flame from the tip of his right index finger. Lighting his cigarette he put the flameout with a wave of his hand and took a long drag as he stared back and forth between Tommy and Oliver. Casually, he blew a thick cloud of smoke into Tommy’s frozen eyes. The smoke hung these just as still as the rest of Tommy’s body.

Smiling to himself mischievously the man returned his gaze to Oliver and in a clear British accent said, “You and he have one seriously dysfunctional relationship male. It reminds one of me and me old man. A tough old blighter he was, but he made me a mean mash after beating me half to death most of the time.”

Oliver looked at the man in utter confusion.

“Oh, where are my manners?” the blonde man said as he pulled out a plain white business card and slipped it into the pocket of Oliver’s blood stained suit. “The name is John Constantine. I’m going to help you get out of here mate. Not that I really needed to do all this. Some friends of yours are coming through a hole in the wall back there; it’s a bloke in a ski mask and a cheap in a ridiculous red suit with alighting bolt on his chest. I think they’ve been caught in my freezing spell, but they’ll be along in just a minute.”

Blowing another round of smoke into Tommy’s eyes Constantine flicked him in the nose and then put his cigarette out Tommy’s hand and leaving a clear back and red burn mark for Oliver to see.

“Once you get out of here give me a call mate,” Constantine said as he walked away from Oliver towards the back of the room ad up the stairs that led into the night club.

“The number is on the card,” he yelled from the top of the stairs. “We can grab a pint and have a chat about these pits your friend keeps going on about, among other things Mr. Queen.”

The sound of the security door opening and closing up top reached Ollie’s ears. At the same time Tommy let out a strangled cry and clutched his burnt hand, dropping the vial of water and splashing the water all over Oliver’s face. A second later a red streak zoomed in from the back of the room and hit Tommy at full speed knocking him into Oliver’s stomach.

With a strangled cry of reserved pain as the arrows in Oliver’s shoulder and chest shifted from the weight of the impact, Oliver Slumped against his restraints as darkness and pain engulfed his senses.