Dark Reflection

Non-Arkhamverse Batman Fanfic

Dark Reflection

Postby deadjunk » Apr 1st, 2013, 4:41 pm

The image he saw was no longer his own.

The heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes were that of a different person, one whose appearance was clouded by the constant rippling of the restless lake that lay beneath him. The tears pounded at its surface like the rocks crashing against the sea, causing a stream of waves that passed over the boy's hands in a desperate attempt to cleanse him of his sins. But there was no relief for the throbbing in his head or the pain in his legs. He still ached from the events of the day, in fact the pain hadn't stopped since the very first day they met him. He was different see, it always came down to that, he didn't have the right facial structure, his skin colour wasn't as theirs was so they branded him with horrible, cruel names that they spat out in disgust as their parents encouraged them. Even the adults hated him and did not try to disguise it. When the first rock hit it sent a surge of pain through his body, the stone had caught him on his back, just left of his spine, and forced him to the floor with a loud crack. He remembered the laughter that came before the downpour of stone, children and adults alike bonding over another child's pain, just because he was not of honourable birth.

On that first night, he made his way down to this very same lake that lay outside of the village. He had stumbled across it in a terrified state and was cautious to approach through the fear of more discrimination. He must have spent that whole day hiding in the sanctity of that lake, weeping at its side and looking down upon his reflection with anger and frustration, muffling his screams to the gods for a different face through fear of the villagers, as the water washed away the blood from his wounds. It was only under the cover of nightfall that he could build up the courage to hobble back to his father.

But it wasn't his real father.

His real father was the man who cursed him with his ethnicity, his real father was the cause of all of this hostility and pain and humiliation, and he would never forgive that. His adoptive father was a good man, a man who had taken the young child in when he had nowhere else to go, though he couldn't protect him from the villagers' abuse. Even in the household the boy was not safe from these words; the servants would refer to him as 'Daken', which translates to mongrel or WHAM dog, but the most painful insult of all was that his adoptive mother could not stand the sight of him. So, the lake became his new home, his real home. The place that he could escape to when tormented physically, verbally and mentally.

And now he was back again, this time for the last.

The glow of the inferno in the village spread across the land and, try as he might, the young boy could not escape its presence. The distant screams became ever clearer and ever closer, ringing in the child's ears. He raised his hands to cover his ears but the cries of the villagers kept pounding in his eardrums, over and over and over again until he could bear no more; the intensity of the guilt was building up inside him until...


There was a sharp, swift noise as his claws retracted, still bearing his "mother's" blood on the sharp ridges of the bone. The pain made the boy cry out, though his cries were muffled by those in the distance, as the bone claws that unsheathed from his forearms dug into the flesh on the inside of his chin just edging the bone of his jaw. He could feel the top of the claw underneath his tongue as he wept in agony, now fighting tears of physical pain as well as ones of mental anguish. Slowly, he began to pull the bone from the underside of his face, wailing as he did so. The claw seemed nearly endless, it continued to retract from the wound as the boy pulled away, first the left then the right until finally they became dislodged from his chin, though what happened next startle him more. His skin began to close over the gaping holes, he could feel it stretch back over the opening and reform until it became one again. He felt over the scar in disbelief, the shock of his new found mutation caused him to stumble back into a seated position. He quickly crawled back to the edge of the lake, checking his reflection for any sign of the wound, but there was none.

But the image he saw was no longer his own.

The person staring back at him was familiar but not himself, he had changed. By rising to the baiting of the villagers, by allowing his hatred to manifest in such a gruesome way, he became the monster that they cast him out as. Akihiro would never kill a person, let alone his step-brother - but a mongrel would, a WHAM dog would.

Daken would.

Spoiler: show
This is from a Marvel site that I Roleplay on, in case you couldn't tell I play Daken. Any feedback would be great!
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