Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans. They are the property of DC Comics and Cartoon Network.

Paths

Chapter One: Point A

"I never thought I'd end up here. I never thought I'd be standing where I am. I guess I kind of thought it would be easier than this."

--Lifehouse, "Sick Cycle Carousel"

If you've heard my name on the lips of a news anchor or disk jockey, you know I'm not normal. If you've seen me at a press conference or on a television film clip, you know I have what some might call 'super powers.' If you've fought with me, in the practice room or on the street, you know that three strange words are the precursors to a violent show of said powers. If you're a member of my team, you know they are the result of my heritage; you know that I, Raven Roth, am a demon.

Well, technically, I'm only half-demon, but what does that matter? It doesn't. My path was chosen by virtue of birth. I ended the world, and luckily enough, the world started again. But that hardly changes the truth: I may look human, but I am still an enemy of God, a kinsman of Beelzebub, a daughter of lies, sister of sin; I am still damned. Yeah, that's right. You heard me. I, the gothic freak of the Teen Titans, whom most people would peg as an atheist or in the very least a wiccan, believe in God. And I know he hates me.

Screee! Screee! Screee! I wince as the tower alarm suddenly screams in my ears, and my still-steaming tea slooshes over the brim of my cup.

"Speaking of higher powers," I mutter angrily. I cast a longing look at my remaining brew, wipe my wet hand on my cloak, and phase through the floor to answer the alert. And on a Sunday morning, too.

I reappear in the living room where Robin is anxiously typing at the computer console. Quickly flying down the hallway is Starfire, followed by a panting Cyborg. "Who is it?" he asks.

I feel the tidal wave of hatred roll off of Robin before he even says the name. "Slade."

Shock and concern for our leader chase each other across Starfire's face before she nods once and lets determination settle across her features.

Cyborg draws his lips into a thin line, remembering our most recent experiences with the man.

Since the 'incident' with my father, Slade has been lying unexpectedly low. I had hoped his brush with the demonic scared him straight. Another hope smashed.

"Titans--" Robin starts.

"Where's Beast Boy?" I interrupt.

Three heads swivel around the room in near comic fashion. I would laugh if the tension in the room weren't quite so high--and if I 'did' laughter. Cyborg quickly elbows Robin out of the way and keys in a query. "Not in the Tower," he says.

Robin frowns, glancing at the screen where a digital clock counts out the precious moments that have passed since we first received the call to action. He shakes his head. "No time. Titans, go."

Like clockwork, we exit the Tower and head downtown. Except there is something wrong with the movement. Something troubling about the empty space on my right where Beast Boy, in the form of a pteradactyl, should be. And something troubling about the fact that I find that troubling.

We sight the disturbance, and I have no more time for idle thought. The streets crawl with Slade's robotic henchmen--ten? twenty of them? with more still spewing from the sewers. Starfire lets go of Robin, who descends in a roll, bo staff extended, and takes out two robots just landing. I lower Cyborg to the street with a wave of my hand. Through the fingers of black energy holding him, I feel my friend charging the sonic cannon in his arm; as my power dissipates, his smashes through the electronics of three battle droids. Star unleashes a hail of green starbolts on the machines, but for just a fraction of a second, I hesitate. There are so many. And we're already one man short.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos," I cry, and raw power slices through me. Adrenaline dumps into my veins. Everything sharpens into the familiar, knife-edge sounds of melee, and I join my devil-black energy to the battle.

I hear Robin's roundhouse. Back flip. Bo staff smashing through robotic legs.

Cyborg's sonic boom. "Boo-yah!" Metal fist devastating metal pawn.

The creak of robotic limbs restraining an alien girl. Starfire's startled cry: "Help!"

"Star!" Robin whips around, leaving his back unguarded.

Computer processor sees the opening. A robot lunges.

Dark power seizes it in mid-air, crushes it.

Thwack. Pant. Crack. Pant. Robin wades through a robot sea.

"Release me!" More automatons grasp at Starfire's calves, thighs. The rrrip of her violet uniform sounds through the young girl's struggle. As does the fwump of unaimed starbolts hitting dirt instead of droids.

A charging cannon whirs.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos" keeps the contraptions off Cyborg's back.

Zing of bird-a-rang. Smack of staff.

Blue light roars out, clearing a path for the masked crusader.

"Azarth Metrion Zinthos" halts a machine climbing Starfire's legs, tosses it into a nearby wall. Satisfying crunch.

Robots refill the empty places. Fewer now, but still: So many.

Pant. Punch. Pant. Pant.

Green eyes glow. "Release. Me. Now!"

Blue light blasts through a bot on Cyborg's right. Heavy breathing and a tired but smug: "Piece o' junk!"

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos" throws a nearby drudge into a lamppost. I wipe the sweat from my eyes--Pain! It radiates out from my stomach like nothing I have felt before. Stray starbolt, Knowledge informs me cooly. I drop to the ground.

From behind me, quick, quiet footsteps. A voice that chills me to my core whispers, "My favorite demoness."

Some yards away, Starfire chirps, "Many thanks, friend Robin!" as a hand wraps round my neck.

Before I was hyperaware of the sounds of battle; now the only sound is a slowly building roar. My heart hammers in my chest, yet little blood reaches my brain. The villain himself has caught me. Slade tightens his grip and clears his throat, waiting for an audience with my teammates. I struggle. I can't breathe--I can't breathe. I panic. Power unfocused, chaos erupts around me. "Yo--" Cyborg whips around as a black-encased robot slams into him. But at least I have my friends' attention now. I can't breathe! Above the white noise in my head, I see Robin's lips move around clenched teeth: "Let her go, Slade." I feel more than hear my captor chuckle behind me, and as my awareness begins to fade like a television screen with interference, I make out, "Such a pleasure, Titans. Funny... end of the world... still can't defeat me."

God...

I come to, gasping for breath, and shakily push myself off the crate I seem to have been flung into. I see Robin battling Slade one-on-one. Cyborg and Starfire are busy battling the still substantial horde of fighter robots, but often cast deleterious glances at the Boy Wonder; they have to fight twice as hard to recover the ground they lose during these quick checks. For a moment, I feel a burning pang of jealousy. Why don't they check on me? Pride shoos the thought away--I can take care of myself (Liar, whispers another voice)--and replaces it with rage. Simple, wonderful, mindless rage. My eyes flash red for a moment. Why? the quiet voice in my head asks but is ignored. I growl aloud and throw myself back into battle.

Starfire, Cyborg, and I had finally manage to take down the last of the Slade-bots when I see the man give us a jaunty salute, kick Robin squarely into the same crate I distinctly remember waking up on, and vanish into the shadows. We are in no condition to give chase. Cyborg's machinery has taken a fair amount of damage, and his battery is partally depleted. Although Star's eyes still burn with righteous fury, she is nursing a sprained ankle and trying to hold her torn miniskirt together; I see lacy purple panties as she shifts to get a better grip on the offending material. Robin looks by far the worst; his blush at Starfire's state of undress contrasts horribly with the pallor that underscores internal bruising. That last kick clearly cracked a rib or two.

"Well," he pants, "guess... that's a draw, then." Our masked leader always calls these run-ins with Slade 'draws.' They are certainly never victories, but this time it's just a euphemism for 'thoroughly trounced.'

I shove my still boiling rage down far enough to heal my leader. He offers me a grateful nod and what could be considered a smile; in truth, it's more of a grimace. I realize just how drained I am only when I swoon a few feet in front of Starfire. I manage to pass the stumble off as purposeful when I raise a hand to the alien's swelling ankle and envelop it in white light. I rise with difficulty, and Cy flashes me a concerned look. I imagine I look almost as bad as my teammates, with dirt smudged across my face, skin more ashen than usual, and a hand-shaped bruise blooming across my neck.

"Raven..." he starts.

"Let's head back," I interrupt in a tone that abides no questions.

The bionic man frowns, but allows himself to be lifted into the air with a sweep of black energy. Beside me, Starfire wraps her arms around Robin and lifts him into the sky. The flight back to the Tower is oppressively silent.