Typing out a message to Hal, Rowan hit [Send], then dropped into the manhole where he was instantly smacked in the face by the stench of shit, piss, and all sorts of filths that lingered at the back of his throat.
He retched, bracing himself against the pipes and railings as pale shafts of light filtered through the sewer grates above and sketched out the path ahead. Compared to Gotham's barely-operational sewage system, Coast City's was practically luxurious, but even then, shit was still shit; piss was still piss, and no amount of modern engineering could change the way they stank.
"Christ…"
Rowan scowled, pointy ears twitching under the helmet while his eyes strained for any sign of the Nosferatu. Footsteps came at last, but they weren't the Vampire's. They belonged to the girl who'd stubbornly climbed down after him. "I told you already: Gohome."
His order, sadly, proved a complete waste of breath as the girl chased after him. Patience wearing thin, Rowan growled, "Are you deaf?"
"I heard you just fine." Nose tipped toward the ceiling, Zatanna brushed her hair behind her ear, planted her hands on her hips and smugly declared. "But as with all suggestions, I am not obligated to follow it."
"Forgive me if it came off that way, but—"
Eyes flicking to Ichor, Rowan gestured, and the Shade immediately moved to do his bidding, snatching the girl by her ankle and dragging her up the manhole.
"That wasn't a suggestion."
Outraged, Zatanna unleashed a barrage that drove the Shade into retreat. Unable to retaliate because of the girl's identity, and unwilling to serve as her target practice, the Shade reluctantly slunk into Rowan's shadow.
Zatanna, meanwhile, struck a pose and chirped righteously; oblivious to the phantom pain flaring across Rowan's skin where Ichor had been struck. "That's what you get for touching a lady!"
Face black as the bottom of a cast-iron pan, Rowan glowered. "I don't have time for your games. It's getting away!"
"Which is exactly why you need my help! [Laever eht tsap]!" Moments after the incantation left her lips, and seconds before the straw broke the camel's back, a flash of green swept through the right passage and marked the path of scurrying rats. Beaming, Zatanna pointed at the spectral tracks. "See? Instead of guessing or sending your... Shadow-Thing on a wild goose chase, you could just leave it to a professional."
"I AM the professional, Zatanna." Rowan proclaimed.
"Oh, really? What do you know about Vampires or the Vampire Kingdom?"
"I know they bleed, I know the proper way to kill one is by removing the head or destroying the heart."
"That's common knowledge!" She scoffed.
"It's all the knowledge that matters." Said Rowan while countless strands swirled beneath his feet, coalescing into a pony-sized hound that bolted down the left passage.
Wracking her brain for something; anything she could do to help that his busted Demonic Conjuration couldn't, Zatanna shouted at last, "Daddy told me about your 'situation!' You can't kill!" Not without 'potentially' letting loose Hell on Earth, at least.
"That only applies to humans."
"Is that a fact or an assumption, Rowan?"
The teen glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "Are you volunteering to do the staking? You?"
Zatanna stammered, "W-Well, no." Finding her footing, she hurriedly added, "But I can restrain them, or put them to sleep! Admit it, I've got more non-lethal options than you do."
While somewhat irked by her behavior, Rowan wasn't blind to reason.
There were certainly benefits having her around, but—"These aren't common criminals we're chasing, Zee… These are bloodthirsty monsters who'll probably tear you limb-from-limb if given the chance."
"Rowan, I'm a Zatara," She started, meeting his gaze with an earnest smile. "Which means there are always monsters who'll gladly do unspeakable things to me to get back at Dad, so trust me when I tell you I'm no stranger to danger."
"Be that as it may—"
"Please! Pleasepleaseplease! I won't bother you, I promise!"
With a weary sigh, the part-time vigilante dragged a palm down his face and groaned. "Stay out of my way. Stay out of harm's way. Use my Codename, and if your old man asks—"
"I stalked you!" The girl winked, flashing a cheeky thumbs-up. Rolling his eyes so hard they nearly popped out of their sockets, Rowan shot Zatanna an accusatory glare and grunted: "You DID stalk me," Before speeding down the tunnel after his Shade.
They'd wasted enough time.
"Hey, wait for me!"
Already winded a hundred feet in, Zatanna stopped and stomped her feet. "Ugh, that stupid, insufferable, ungentlemanly show-off!" While danger was no stranger to her, what kind of jackass just… Ditched a girl in the dark? In a sewage tunnel crawling with Vampires, no less!
And then she remembered: Physical activity wasn't her specialty; bending the Universe to her whims was.
Zatanna swallowed the litany of… Colorful adjectives she had regarding the boy's character and chanted in succession. "[Ria, kcolb ym tnecs].[Thgil, dneb dnuora em]. [Dniw, yrrac em]." Shooting after Rowan on jets of Wind, she breathed a sigh of relief when his back came into view.
"Ro—" She began, then caught herself, recalling his earlier instruction. "Imp?!"
A shiver crept up her spine as she eyed the silhouette. Rowan's back was broad and muscular, yes, but Zatanna didn't remember it being… Lumpy like that… His movements were all wrong, too. She'd seen him fight, she'd seen him run, and there was a grace to Rowan the silhouette clearly lacked.
'That's not Rowan!'
The thought finally hit her like an eighteen-wheeler with busted brakes flying downhill, turning her muscles to lead and her blood to ice as the Feral appeared beside her, taking a deep whiff of the air, its malformed head tilting to one side, then to hers…
Zatanna held her breath, squeezed her eyes shut and readied a Spell on the tip of her tongue. For a heart-stopping moment, she was oh-so sure it had spotted her, but then the Feral seemed to lose interest, returning to its previous meandering.
Thanking God, Magic, and her own foresight, she counted the seconds until its groans faded into the distance. Only then did Zatanna dare breathe again, and only then did she feel the dull throb between her eyes. Magic wasn't free, after all… There was always a Toll, a Debt to be paid; either in blood or in agony, and hers was apparently past due.
"That jerk." Zatanna hissed, sinking to her knees as the throb in her forehead exploded into a sharp, stabbing migraine.
Gritting her teeth, she let the [Levitation] and [Scent-Obscurement] Spells fizzle out to lighten her burden. She lifted her chin, expecting a tunnel, blood running cold at the sight of two pairs of eyes blinking at her from the ceiling. 'I-I'm still invisible... They can't see me, can they?'
Zatanna was right.
They couldn't see her.
But they could hear the soft crunch of grit under her shoe… They could smell the rich, intoxicating blood pumping through her veins, and to Vampires; Ferals at that, that was more than enough. One of the creatures craned its head back, the fleshy flaps on its neck rippling as it shrieked and let loose an Ultrasonic Wave that rattled her eardrums, then skull.
The shriek multiplied her migraine ten-times over until it boiled into white-hot rage.
Anger eclipsing the pain at last, Zatanna clutched her head and roared just as the Night Horde descended on her.
"[RALOS ERALF, RELAZ]!"
.
.
.
Hot on Ichor's trail, Rowan pushed deeper, shaking his head as the sewer's rancid stink got tangled with a floral perfume so strong, so… Sweet, and oh-so obviously cheap that he nearly emptied his stomach on the filth-caked walls.
Head swimming, he groaned, steadied himself on a column while tugging at his collar and cursing how suffocatingly tight the Stealth Suit clung to him.
He'd dealt with overheating before, but he was pretty damn sure he hadn't pushed himself that hard! And yet, "What's happe—" Rowan hadn't a chance to finish when his knees gave out under him. Heart revving away in his chest, he knelt to rub his sore, throbbing shins, then whirled around, eyes boring into the darkness that stretched for miles.
There was no manhole,
No light,
And to further complicate matters: Zatanna was nowhere in sight.
There was only he, himself, and... Well, that was it. "Ichor?" Even Demons, it seemed, had better places to be on this fine evening.
Panic overriding fatigue, Rowan pulled out a Batarang, carved into the browing brick a harsh, jagged line, then broke into a sprint, leaving another mark every fiftieth step. It was a stupidly simple system, but sometimes what a person needed wasn't a modern solution, but a proven one.
"47... 48... 49..." Batarang poised to carve the fifth tally when his hand suddenly locked in place, gloved fingertips already running down the faint, jagged scar in the brick. His. "I see." The hunter had become the hunted. "How the turned tables."
Amused, Rowan allowed himself one fleeting smirk, then switched to Imp Mode and continued his descent.
Dire as things looked, it wasn't completely hopeless.
After all, it was not a matter of if but when Zatara would notice his daughter's absence and tear Coast City apart searching for her. 'On second thought…' Rowan thought, musing out loud. "I think I'm gonna take my chances with the Bloodsuckers."
They, at least, couldn't trap Souls and deliver torments beyond the Veil. Not that Rowan thought Zatara would ever stoop that low, but the fact that he could was all the motivation he needed to get moving. After thirty minutes of the 'walking simulator,' Rowan caught a flash of white at the corner of his eye.
"Fucking finally!"
The average person would've been scared shitless by now, but despite what most religions would have you believe, being a Hellspawn also had its upsides, chief among them being the luxury of looking down on pretenders.
"Your theatrics do not frighten me!" Rowan flexed his biceps as if humoring a child, lips curled in a ugly sneer that simply belonged. "On the contrary…"
Leaping with enough force to crack the concrete, he reached forth, disappointed to find naught but empty air as the reality itself buckled and broke. Rowan caught his balance and stopped just shy of the putrid river below, looking up to behold the source of the shadow blanketing him whole.
'God, the smell!' That was the only coherent thought in Rowan's mind as he stared down the pulsating, rancid gullet of the Feral Stray. Yet it wasn't the fear of being digested, nor the jagged teeth closing in, that bothered him; it was the fact that the Vampire had the WORST breath in all the Realms.
"BRUSH YOUR FUCKING TEETH!" Roared Rowan, driving a knee up the Nosferatu's chin.
As it recoiled, he pivoted, delivering a roundhouse kick that caved in its ribcages like a bag of Lay's.
Steam seethed from his clenched teeth as he removed his breached helmet, peeling away a layer of his own skin in the process. Even while ringed by a dozen Undead, Rowan only panted, a slow grin spreading as he tasted the points of his fangs.
He raked a hand through his hair next, flicked a Batarang into the loudest Stray, and scattered a handful of Fear-Pellets near his feet.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Watching the Neurotoxin curl up, Rowan slipped on a backup oxygen mask and backed into the cloud. "I'm absolutely thrilled to announce there's now a bigger fish in town—ME!"
Although the Vampires might have been faster and stronger and tougher, Rowan had something they didn't: Skillz. That, and Scarecrow's precious multimillion-dollar hallucinogenic neurotoxin Gotham crackheads were unironically stupid enough to sniff.
Whipping his collapsible staff into a Stray's skull, Rowan reeled in the Undead with the Batclaw, meeting it midair and retrieving the weapon in the same motion.
A moment later, Rowan vanished into the roiling gas, reappearing to drag the Ferals in one by one. Dismantling the group until only a single, less aggressive specimen remained, he wrapped the cable around its neck and asked, "Can you talk?"
It whimpered pitifully in response.
"Tsk. Figured."
Slamming it head against the wall and tying it with carbon wires, Rowan glanced back, spotting the Woman-in-White rapidly vanishing around the corner.
He immediately gave chase until he found himself before a tiny, narrow entrance that'd require most adults to squeeze themselves in sideways. Knowing how poorly it would reflect on him if he entered willy-nilly, Rowan did the rational thing and lifted his damaged helmet up.
Lo and behold, over fifty skeletons flashed into view.
"That's a whole Nest…" Rowan commented with a hum, still debating whether to enter or to wait for reinforcement when the rusted door at the back swung open on its own.
He cocked his fist, eyes meeting those of a tiny Vampire beckoning to him with its fingers.
'No… Not it,' He corrected in his mind, 'Her.'
She was, without a doubt, one of the ugliest creatures he'd ever laid eyes on, which said a lot given the Metas around.
"Pssst! Over here!" She hissed.
"You're talking to me?"
"'Course I am, silly! Come on, come on! She's waiting!"
"She?"
Despite his initial confusion, Rowan just tilted his head, shrugged, and squeezed inside, figuring what harm would it do? It wasn't like a Demon could contract a case of Vampirism, anyway. And judging by their reactions so far, the Feral Strays weren't interested in his blood either; seeing him less as a prey, and more as a rival.
He stepped into the forgotten maintenance room, hands itching for a fight as disfigured Vampires scattered from his path like roaches from a light, giving him a wide berth while they went about their… Nights, as per usual… Was that a wagon of blood-packs? "What is this place?"
"It's our Nest!" The girl chirped, her smile so broad it caused dry flakes of skin to peel from her cheeks.
The body was that of a child, but the mind should have had decades, if not centuries, to mature beyond such simple excitement. The only logical explanation was that her mind was as young as her body looked. 'A Fledgling,' he concluded.
"Is it the only one in the city?"
"Mm-hm!" She nodded, hauling him up a staircase and into the cavernous ruin of a dead mall.
Skidding to a halt before a set of motionless escalators, she jabbed her finger at the second floor. "She's waiting for you up there!"
He followed the direction of her finger, then glanced back, but she was was gone.
'Did that little shit really just pull a Batman on me?' With a sigh, he hauled himself up and spotted his Shade lying peacefully in the lap of a woman who, apart from the dead, grey skin, looked to be the only Vampire in the Nest who could pass for human.
She was, Rowan concluded, the 'She' he'd been brought here to meet.
"Vampire." He greeted, and received a condescending laugh in return. She met his gaze, straight black hair cascading over shoulders left bare by a black leather top. When she noticed where his eyes had drifted, the Vampire leaned forward, making a show of adjusting the laces on her bodice.
"Eyes up here, Demon." She purred, waving a dismissive hand at the Shade, which grudgingly retreated to his side. If Rowan weren't such a firm believer in keeping dirty laundry private, he'd probably be brandishing his belt at the Familiar right about now.
Instead, he regarded it with a glare and turned to the Undead.
Eyes on the prize, and all. "Necrophilia's a crime."
"Not if the 'corpse' wants it," She slurred playfully, "Now then… Since you're already in my neck of the woods, would you entertain this old lady?"
"Don't sell yourself short. You don't look a day over twenty-five." Rowan responded with a wolfish grin and managed to coax a laugh out of the smokin' Vampire. "Oh, a charmer! That silver tongue can get you far with me."
"And how far is that, exactly?"
"That depends…"
"On?"
"On the scope of your request, and on how… 'Clever' that tongue really is." She whispered, thumb brushing against his lip.
He felt the blood rush to his face, a traitorous heat that left his throat parched.
With a groan, he put two and two together about Ichor's docile demeanor earlier and shook to clear his thoughts. Embarrassed of his own body's inconvenient reaction, Rowan shifted his weight and forced the conversation onward.
"You seem… Reasonable, so let's be. There's a companion of mine I'd like to see unharmed, and a Stray whom I need located." Unwilling to be outplayed, he leaned in, closing the space she had created between them and copied her actions. "What would that cost me?"
"Oh, you're just precious! You speak of the Mage child, yes? The daughter of the 'great' Zatara?"
"Indeed," Rowan confirmed. "You have a long reach for a recluse, Misses?"
"Miss Margaret will do. And believe me, nothing would please me more than to pluck the girl out of danger, and if it's up to me, she would be, alas…"
"The Ferals aren't yours." Rowan concluded after connecting the dots. "This is a turf war."
"Very perceptive."
The Vampire praised, then sighed, gesturing vaguely around them and giving Rowan a deeply insincere, wide-eyed look. "As you can see, the Burrow is infested, which presents us with a classic scenario: There is a lost Magician in need of rescue, then there is a defenseless lady—myself—beset by monsters. That makes two damsels in distress. So, what do you say, Imp?
Got your cape on?"