Pairings/Characters (this chapter): The Angel Of Death (Bruce)/Jim (See Author’s Notes)
Genres: AU, Drama
Rating (this chapter): R
Warnings: Not sure if warnings are necessary, but it’s quasi-religious imagery. Violence in this chapter.
General Summary: The Angel Of Death is charged with a Quest to save Gotham.
Chapter Summary: The Angel of Death’s Primary Mission is re-activated.
Date Of Completion: October 5, 2008
Date Of Posting: March 1, 2009
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 611
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Notes: Yes, this is a Bruce/Jim series, though it will be pretty unusual ;) Bruce-as-The Angel Of Death is a character I created in The Better Angels, a Clark/Bruce story I wrote last year. You need not have read that story to understand this one. And if ever a ‘verse fit...! ;)
As you can see by the chapter (first draft) completion date, I’ve had this one on the back burner for awhile. I finally worked out what I needed to (it was an Eureka! moment) so it’s time to post. :)
The entire series can be found here.
The Angel of Death spread his wings as he flew across the face of the moon. It was soul-freeing, this flight, the moon fueling his strength.
His wings flapped gently as he scanned the city below. His Mission of Observation continued, but his Primary Mission had been activated again.
He swooped down, silent as the grave.
The glint of moonlight on the knife mesmerized the young woman backed up against the wall of the alley. The man holding the knife grinned, his hand reaching out and tearing her blouse, exposing a worn cotton bra and creamy breasts. He pressed against her, erection hard, and his bulk easily pinned her as she struggled, his hand across her mouth as he rubbed between her legs, licking her cleavage, grunting as he pulled back and began to slit her cheap skirt…
He let out a cry of surprised pain as he was knocked away, the girl falling, her head hitting the concrete hard.
“What the hell!” The rapist scrambled off the ground, knife in hand. His eyes widened. “What are you?”
The ebony wings were great and terrible, cape fluttering out behind them.
The rapist laughed harshly. “Pretty good schtick there, buddy. We’ve had a crazy clown and a guy with two faces runnin’ around town. Guess a guy with fake wings and a hood can play it up.”
The Angel drew his Sword.
The hilt was lustrous ebony, encrusted with amethysts that sparkled in the moonlight.
“Your Time has come,” he rasped.
“Time to claim your soul.” The jewels glittered. “I can see its rot.”
The rapist snorted. “Fancy words.”
“Death comes to every man.”
A look of nervousness entered the rapist’s eyes but he quickly covered it by yelling and charging forward.
The Sword ran true, the rapist’s shriek echoing in the alley as his soul was torn from him, his body falling to the ground as Death pulled out his Sword, bright with blood. He wiped it clean with his cape.
When a man’s Time came, Death was always there.
He turned to the woman but footsteps running close sent him flying upward.
Jim read the report while he sipped his morning coffee. Thank God that Sergeant Robbins brewed a pot every day. He knew how to make good java instead of the sludge they had gotten for years.
The rapist had been found dead a few feet away from his half-clad prospective victim. When she had regained consciousness she had described a man dressed entirely in black, wearing a hooded cape.
“I couldn’t see his face because of the hood. And, oh, yeah, he had huge black wings.”
Oh, yeah, by the way.
Jim shook his head as he put down the report. The detectives on the scene had dismissed her ramblings as due to her head injury. They ruled it justifiable homicide and figured a Good Samaritan had done the deed.
Except, of course, the description had been similar to other sightings. The detectives had officially listed their conclusions, though the squad was aware of the previous sightings.
The case was essentially closed either way. No one in this benighted city cared about one less rapist.
Jim was glad of one less, too, but not through murder. This vigilante was crossing the line.
Jim felt disappointment, but he would do his job.
The winged vigilante would be brought in.
The Angel of Death watched as Jim Gordon closed the file folder and rubbed his eyes.
His heart ached.
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