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He was the chosen one.
The holy lamb.
The prophesied sacrifice.
Dick didn’t want to die. No, Dick craved living like others craved sugar. Every molecule in his body thrummed with energy, every ounce of flesh clinging to his skeleton vibrated with its need to run and jump and climb and fly. He was thirsting for life.
He wanted to drink from every lake in the US and he wanted to bath in every ocean that covered this world. He wanted to dance on top of the Eiffel tower and pray to every god his circus troupe could find. He wanted to taste every single spice that existed, and he wanted to see the earth from the window of a space station, far away and yet so close.
Dick Grayson was almost painfully alive – which is why it sucked so much, he had to die.
The Court of Owls had come for him when he was ten, happy in his life as an acrobat for Haly’s Circus. His mom had cried when Haly explained that Dick would have to go – his dad had fought. Dick still remembered the flash of a knife and the smell of blood. His mother had stopped crying after that, shock palpable in her face. Dick had started screaming.
Things became rather nebulous following the death of his father – but one moment Dick had been begging for him mom, and the next he had woken up on top of a bed in the heart of the Court. He had been here ever since: three hundred twenty-six days of solitude and fancy meals.
He had guards, men and women dressed in black and gold and silence. No matter the question he asked, no matter the demands he made, the answer was always the same:
Dick Grayson belonged to the Court of Owls, and as an object in their possession he would be offered up to the vengeful gods as a gift. A sacrifice. Dick would die to satisfy the bloodthirst of some entity that called itself the Bat.
The Court said the Bat protected Gotham. The Court said dying for the Bat would be an honor. The Court said Dick should be grateful for the opportunity he had been given.
But Dick was eleven. He wanted his parents, the circus, a home. He wanted to be alive. He wanted to live. He didn’t want to die.
Not that he got much of a choice in that.
He knew the day of his death had come the moment he woke up this morning. He wasn’t quite sure why, nobody had said anything to him, but there had been a feeling in the depths of his gut, that told him he wouldn’t see tomorrow.
So, he wasn’t surprised when the guards opened the doors to his room, and he wasn’t surprised when it was a man with an owl mask, who stepped through the door. The guards wore goggles – the masters wore masks.
“It is time, Gray Son of Gotham. Your sacrifice awaits you.”
For a moment Dick toyed with the idea of fighting – but it would be useless, wouldn’t it? All Dick had done for the past year was sit around and cry. He had eaten good food – but where once upon a time, exercise had ruled his daily schedule, boredom was now his constant companion. Dick was out of shape. And he was small for his age. Not that eleven-year-olds usually had much of a chance against people like his guards. They looked though. Strong. They had killed his father.
Dick didn’t fight when they pulled him out of his room, and he didn’t cry when he realized that this would be it. This was the end. His end.
They guided him into a giant room, the walls dark from all the smoke. When he looked around, Dick couldn’t even see the ceiling, it was so high up. Higher than the big top at Haly’s for sure. In the middle of the room was a slob of stone, with iron bindings on the side and the bottom. Instinctively Dick knew that he would be tied to them.
This was his future. All that was left of it.
The man in the owl mask didn’t hesitate before he ripped Dick’s clothes from his body. “Hey!”, Dick yelled, but his thin shirt was already gone. He was just happy that nobody made a move to take his pants away as well. Dying was already bad enough, Dick didn’t want to die naked as well.
Nobody was talking to him, not even as gloved hands pushed him towards the stone altar. Nobody was talking to him, even as the room filled, numerous people without faces standing against the walls. There was something in the air, maybe the smoke from the open flames, maybe the heat of so many people in one place, but Dick hated it.
Finally – finally! – his body reacted, and he started screaming and scratching and bighting and crying.
He wanted to live!
He wanted nothing more than to be alive!
The hands reaching for him were rough, their touches mean and painful. Dick yelled, wishing for them to stop, but they wouldn’t even stop when he kicked them between the legs. No, all he did was hurt himself.
He didn’t want to die.
But before he knew it, before the panic could truly become a part of his soul, his back touched stone. Masked people pushed him down onto the altar, his hands and feet being secured by iron clutches. He fought against them – but instead of the iron, only the skin on his wrist and ankles tore.
The smell of blood filled the air, and it was as if a giant gong and been hit, because silence fell over the room as the first drop of Dick’s blood touched the stone.
The masked people stepped back, the guards vanishing from the room, and for a moment Dick allowed himself to breathe. He couldn’t speak, something was clogging his airways, but he could feel the energy pulsing all around him.
Maybe… maybe they had stopped? Maybe he would live?
But no… just as Dick dared to have hope, he could hear it.
Breathing.
Only it wasn’t the sound of a man breathing in the smell of freshly baked bread, neither was it the loud snore that came from moms with colds, no… it sounded as if Gotham itself was taking a deep, deep breath.
Dick was afraid of what would happen should Gotham exhale.
He couldn’t scream – but he could still watch. He saw the torches flicker, the fire suddenly so much duller. He could see the shadows take form and he could see the giant man step out of the ceiling, falling down towards the ground.
Only before the giant figure could collide with Dick’s bound form, a giant pair of wings broke out of its – his? – back. Or maybe the wings had always been there? It was hard to say. Dick had never seen anything like this before.
So, this was the Bat.
This was his killer.
Dick had thought he would be more afraid. But instead, he wanted to see. He wanted to understand and watch and figure out just what this creature was that would tear out his heart. He could feel himself shake in his restrains, and yet the panic had dropped away.
Yes, it was scary… but it was also fascinating.
Hello, human.
There was a voice inside his head. It was stretching his mind, breaking it, and if Dick had been capable of it, he would have screamed. It was too much… but soon enough the pain eased away… or, no, maybe Dick eased and changed and loosened, because suddenly the voice seemed to fit. Suddenly, his head was no longer too small – but barely big enough.
I did not intent to cause you harm.
“You’re here to kill me.”
You are a sacrifice, yes. But I do not wish to harm you.
“Then what do you do?”
Dick didn’t even notice that he could speak again, that he was the only one in the entire room, who made any noise at all. The Court of Owls was silent, watching, caught in the ritual – only Dick was free to move and speak, even as he laid chained to a stone altar.
I am here to take my payment for protecting the city. One of the innocent to prove that there is something worth saving.
“But if you kill me… doesn’t that defeat the purpose of having someone innocent at all?”
There are things in this world a human mind can never understand. There are things you will never understand. Your role in this… might be one of those things.
“I don’t want to die.”
There is no end to the universe.
“I think this is less comforting than you might think it is…”
Dick could feel himself smiling – it was weird. This giant shadow was leaning over his small body, blocking all light from his view… and yet Dick could see the room clearly, and yet not even the smallest part of him was afraid.
He would die.
Suddenly… it was as if the Bat had taken his fear of death away; it was as if the Bat had turned it into something else.
Dick didn’t want to die – but he already felt as if he was no longer alive. As if he was slowly becoming something else.
The clawed hand stroking over his chest came out of nowhere, the shadowy form of the Bat becoming more corporal where it touched Dick’s skin. It felt almost real, as if the Bat was here, but a step to the left.
He wanted to ask questions, wanted to see what would happen if he touched the Bat’s wings, but before he could open his mouth once more, one of the claws pushed inside his chest. Right above his heart.
Dick could hear the blood pounding in his ears, could feel the pain race through his veins, could even feel himself scream – his vocal cords tore, as the fiery agony registered, as the whimsical glamor the Bat had cast on him broke.
He was in pain.
He was dying.
The Bat was ripping his heart out of his chest. Dick could feel it. He could see it. He would suffer through it all.
For five agonizingly long moments, Dick was dying.
And then he was dead.
Blood painted the stone altar red; blood made the shadows of the Bat appear deeper, more nuanced and real. Silence bathed the room in horror, and for a moment there was only that.
A dead child.
A stolen sacrifice.
An immortal god.
And then the Bat vanished.
Inside its endless depths, a new soul opened its eyes. It had been innocent. It had been pure. Its life would never end. The universe wouldn’t let it. The Bat took its new companion with it – and Dick learned how to fly.