Chapter Text
The Blackened Denarius. A coin. A prison.
When Samael rose up against God in rebellion, many followed him; too many for him alone to command. The Morningstar named generals to enforce his will and fight in his name. Some of those generals proved wanting in Samael’s eyes.
Perhaps it was their incompetence. Perhaps he feared they grew too strong. Lucifer imprisoned them all the same.
The angels' bodies and souls were fused into the coins, forever trapped, unable to feel or sense anything beyond their indestructible prison.
I’d always been fascinated by the concept of the coins. I read The Dresden Files and enjoyed many parts of the story, but the coins always drew my attention more than anything else. The concept of imprisoning the powerful fallen angels within such inconsequential objects, only able to perceive the world through a host who bore the coin was fascinating to me.
I was a sucker for stories where two entities joined together in one body to become something better. Naruto and Kurama, Eddy and Venom, Jean and the Phoenix – I couldn’t help but wonder what a Fallen Angel trapped in a Denairus would be able to do with a mortal host they were perfectly suited for. No schemes. No manipulation. Two beings who wanted the same things and joined together to accomplish that perfect.
Uriel, a free angel from the same series of books, spends his days searching for just such a partner. If he could do it, why couldn’t an angel trapped inside of a Blackened Denarius?
I never thought I would get the chance to test my little thought experiment first hand.
I don’t know how it happened. I was crossing the street. Something struck me from behind. The next moment, all I could feel was an omnipresent pressure, pressing down on me from all sides. Limiting. Crushing.
I suddenly held the power to ignite stars. I could walk across the surface of a Black Hole. With a wave of my hand, reality would reshape into whatever I desired. I knew what it felt like to be a god. Yet I didn’t.
What was it the genie said? ‘Phenomenal cosmic power! Itty bitty living space.’ I understood now.
All of that titanic strength begged to be used, but I couldn’t manifest it beyond the bounds of my prison. I was trapped in a coin so small as to fit in the palm of your hand. For all my vast power, nothing I tried could free me from the bonds I now bore.
Was I killed and suffered the worst isekai experience in history? Was this all a horrible nightmare brought on by a coma whatever accident I’d experienced had inflicted on me?
My most horrifying hypothesis was that the angel who should be imprisoned in my place had reached across planes at the moment of my death and snatched my soul, swapping places with it. Perhaps he now walked free in my body while I suffered eternal torment in his stead.
Or maybe God just thought it would be amusing to watch me suffer for a crime I didn’t commit. I had no way to know for sure.
The reality was, I was stuck here now. I wasn’t human as I was before. No, now my name was Ryzoel. Betrayer of Heaven. A general in the armies of Lucifer. Bound to a coin to suffer endlessly for daring to reach for freedom from His great Plan.
I had Ryzoel’s memories. I knew his rage, his torment, his struggle. But I maintained who I was as a human. My mind was my own. My thoughts unmarred. At least, they were at first.
Time was hard to measure when bound in eternal darkness. I could not experience the world around me without a medium. The coin would not allow it. I was stuck for a very long time. Alone with my thoughts and an aching emptiness all around me.
The solitude nearly drove me mad. I finally found a way to force myself into a hibernation of sorts, sleeping the years away to preserve my sanity.
My consciousness returned with an explosion of color. After so long trapped in a void of nothing, the vibrant hues of the world were an assault on my mind. Verdant green. Brilliant yellow. Soft purple. My coin was in a grove of tall grass and flowers.
A young woman in a wool dress held my coin. Auburn hair fell over her shoulders as she studied the coin.
I was overjoyed. Finally I could experience the world again.
I felt a connection open where her skin touched the coin. I followed that connection. Part of myself left the greater whole of my true presence and full power. A sliver, a shadow of myself joined the woman. It was all I could send beyond my prison without a host willingly accepting my power.
I spoke to the woman. I thanked her for granting me a glimpse of reality once more.
The woman screamed. She hurled the coin away. She feared the coin housed a demon. She ran and didn’t look back.
I was still present in her thoughts despite the fact she had discarded my coin. Once someone touched my coin with their bare skin, I could follow them with my shadow. In the story I read, this was used to tempt potential hosts and drive them to insanity before they inevitably took up the coin and were slowly taken over.
I had no interest in body jacking anyone. I wanted a partner, not a meatsuit.
My shadow stayed with the woman for several weeks, silently observing. I did not want to leave her. She was frightened, but that was understandable. She was the first person I had encountered in what very well might have been centuries. I wanted to speak to her, to experience what it was like to live again.
I would try to be more tactful with my next approach to speaking with her. For now, I was just savoring the experience of living through her senses. I missed feeling the world around me. I’d forgotten how lush and beautiful everything was.
A month later, another picked up my coin.
I pulled my shadow back from the woman, rejoining my greater self as I beheld the new bearer.
I’d been picked up by a clean shaven man in bronze armor. Two short scars cut into his angular chin on either side of his mouth. He had a stern expression on his face as he spun my coin in his hands, inspecting it.
He dropped my coin into a pouch at his side, then rejoined a column of similarly armored men, continuing a stiff march down a freshly trodden path.
I did not speak to this man. I watched through his eyes as his army marched. I listened through his ears as his fellows boasted of their intentions. I did not approve.
When they reached their target destination, the army fell upon the village, overcoming its meager defenses with ease.
The men lay dead. The women were left alive.
The soldier’s coin purse jostled as he hauled a screaming woman behind him. My coin slipped free, brushing against her forearm as it careened towards the ground. My shadow leapt from the man to the woman desperately fighting against him.
“I can help you. Draw my power now!” I called into her mind.
The woman was frantic, afraid. She reached desperately towards the haven I offered. A path was opened to me.
For the first time, I entered the world with my true self.
The woman’s eyes glowed silver. A darkened halo formed behind her head. With inhuman might, she tore free of the man’s grasp and caved in his armored chest with a single strike. I bolstered her strength as she rallied what remained of her village, fighting off the army with my power.
Once the fray was over, I explained things to her. I told her what I was and what I could offer her.
I told her I sought a partner. That by working together, she would grant me a window into the world, and that in turn I could give her the power to protect those close to her.
As I explained, I saw an ember of greed spark to life in her eyes. I didn’t think much of it at first.
Together, we raised an army. Under her leadership, the invaders were driven from her homeland. My power served to heal her followers and decimate her enemies. The battle was over. We’d won.
She was not satisfied.
The woman told her generals to prepare a force to invade the neighboring nation. With their army broken, she planned to take everything they had. She would lead her legions into the land of those who’d invaded her home. There, they would raid, pillage and rape as the invaders had done unto them. Justice she called it. Vengeance.
I had given her my power to protect her people, not to allow her to become the same as those who threatened her. I would have no part in this.
I spoke with her, pleaded with her to change her course. She refused. Her mind was set. I had no choice. I took my power back, leaving her mortal and weak.
She grew angry.
Late one night, she brought me to a high cliff overlooking the sea. We had been partnered for many years by this point; I trusted her. I had explained the intricacies of my coin. She knew she could summon it back to her hand at any moment so long as my shadow remained. She knew how terrified I was of being locked away in the nothingness I’d escaped when she’d taken up my coin.
She used my own strength to throw my coin into the ocean. She turned to me, rage in her eyes as she said, “You will do as I say, or you will know only the darkness of the deep. Give me your power or I won’t recall the coin.”
My greater self was trapped in the coin, slowly sinking into the darkness of the ocean, pulled ever deeper by a riptide. Only my shadow remained.
I felt the powerlessness, the crushing weight of the void of my prison. I did not want to go back to that horrible place. I weighed that void against the lives of hundreds, thousands, more that would suffer in her war if I submitted to her will. I would not be used to slaughter innocents. I would not be made accomplice to her vengeance. I had slept before. I would sleep again.
My shadow self looked her in the eyes, a sad frown on my face. “I cannot help you with this. I will not. If this is what you must do for your people, then you will do it without me. Goodbye, Boudica.” I withdrew my shadow, severing our connection. The last I saw of her was an expression of pure shock and utter dread etched into her face.
Darkness returned. Darkness remained. I slept for many years.
The world returned once more. My coin had been picked up on a white shore next to the ocean. I did not speak. I had learned my lesson of speaking too soon. I watched.
My coin passed between many hands, used to purchase a variety of goods and services. All the while, I observed in silence, waiting for someone who I could trust with my secret, with my power.
I thought I found such an individual in Dolan. I came into his possession as part of his monthly pay. He was a good man. He served his town as a guard against bandits and wildlife. He had a loving wife and two sons. All he wanted was to care for his family and ensure his people were safe.
I do not blame Dolan for what he did to me. I blame the time and atmosphere he lived in.
The middle ages were rife with fear of the unknown. When a blackened silver coin begins speaking to you, it is prudent you bring the coin to the priests and beseech them for an exorcism.
The church feared the coin, calling it a creation of the devil. For once, they were correct with their wild accusations.
The church attempted to destroy my coin. They used fire. They used steel. They used stone. They used blessed water. They used holy rituals. They did everything they could think of. Nothing so much as marred the surface of the coin. It was an item created by Lucifer from the coins given to Judas for his betrayal of Christ. Nothing they did could so much as mar its surface.
Part of me was surprised when they couldn’t decide what to do with me. Were they not already aware of the Blackened Denarius? I remembered from the story that the church sought out the coins to keep them from the wrong hands, yet the church was terrified of me. Was I the first Blackened Denarius they encountered?
A bishop arrived in the village on the summons of the priest. The bishop tried once more to destroy me. His efforts were as futile as the others. In the end, he decided that I must be removed from society so that the devil’s influence would not harm God’s children. He locked me in a lead box empowered with holy blessings and brought me deep into untrodden woods. A deep hole was dug. The box was dropped into the hole. The box was buried.
My shadow was still with Dolan. The church was watching him for signs of ‘possession’. They would hurt him and his family if there was any trace of ‘devilry’ to safeguard the populace lest his corruption spread. Dolan was a good man. His family was innocent. I didn’t want them to be harmed because I chose to intrude on their lives. I withdrew my shadow to my coin, leaving them in peace.
Darkness returned. I slumbered once more.
Many years later, light returned. Modern hands held me, turning my coin side to side as they carefully studied it under a magnifying glass.
An elderly man had unearthed the box containing my coin as part of an archaeological expedition. He’d been searching for important artifacts related to a prominent saint. He found me instead.
My coin passed through many hands as the man and his colleagues tried to determine what the coin was and why it was disposed of in such a final way.
My shadow watched. A silent observer, merely enjoying the feeling of walking in reality once more.
They couldn’t learn much from my coin. They still considered it, ‘the find of the decade’. Not as impressive as the find of the century, but I took a little pride in feeling so valued. That pleasant feeling was crushed when I watched them put my coin in a museum for others to observe, protected behind sturdy glass. Others would be able to see the coin, but I would only be able to observe the world around me when they cleaned the coin every so often. It was better than being locked underground at least.
I’d been trapped in the museum for years. Watching the various curators come and go whenever they would inspect and clean the coin. I searched for someone worthy of my power. Someone I could trust to not immediately turn me over to the church or some other more nefarious organization.
The coin was cleaned one final time by a young man with a hooked nose and his compatriot, an older man with a creased face. They spoke of bittersweet partings. My coin was to be sold.
It was returned to the case. I pulled my shadow back, preparing myself to rot in someone’s private collection for the next hundred years.
What I awoke to was worse than I’d expected. Far worse.
I wasn’t in an attic. I wasn’t locked inside some blue blood’s trophy case. A man in a dark, pointed hood lifted my coin almost reverently out of a velvet-cushioned box. I watched as he raised me above his head and called out a blasphemous prayer. More figures similarly robed in a circle around him knelt, bowing and repeating his prayer.
My coin was placed on the ground. A pentagram flared to life with sinister red energy. My coin was in its center. I felt as the walls of my prison were assaulted from all sides by the dark magic. It was not the first time my coin had come under assault. Many tried to sever me from Boudicca when we fought together. The church did everything from magic rituals to attempting to smelt me down after Dolan turned me in. This attempt to breach the coin was novel for its feel if nothing else. It was as if the weight of a city of millions of people infused with nothing but misery was pressing down on me from all sides.
“We free you, demon! We free you to serve at the feet of our lord!” the cultist cried. His prayer was echoed by the others around him.
Their magic was ineffective, nothing these men could do would breach a prison created by the Morningstar himself, but the attempt in and of itself was concerning. Who were these people? What were they trying to do? What was I supposed to do here? What could I do?
Nothing. I was stuck. Powerless.
All I could do was wait.
X
The sun was down. Old street lights struggled to illuminate the sidewalks between tall buildings, casting deep shadows in alleys and under overpasses.
Two figures slowly stepped through the darkness, walking deeper into the alley.
“Is this it?” The voice came from a woman with a thin frame, cloaked in deep purple. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
“If Oracle’s right, this’ll take us to where they’re hiding. The others will come from different directions to block their escape.” her companion said. He was tall. Dark hair stood wild atop his head, mirroring the dark black-blue armor he wore,
The pair looked down at the rusted metal cover of a storm drain.
“Thank you for your help with this.” the woman said, voice flat, empty.
“You’re welcome, Raven. Let’s go.” Dick Grayson, Nightwing, bent down and hauled the heavy metal cover open. He dropped into the darkness.
Raven levitated off the ground and drifted downward to follow him.
The first thing to hit her was the smell. It was rank – feces, rot and rust. Somewhere ahead, fluid dripped through the cracks in the cement into a still channel of muck. There was a walkway on either side of the channel but no light.
It wouldn’t matter. Raven’s eyes were better than most. After applying a minor charm, she saw as clearly as if it were day. She knew Nightwing would have no issues either. The high-tech mask he wore came with every form of vision enhancement Batman could get his hands on. Raven hadn’t interacted with Batman much personally, but she knew from second and thirdhand reports that he seemed to have a gadget for every possible scenario.
“Did Blood tell you what they’re doing here?” Nightwing asked quietly, sounding more serious now that they were approaching their target.
“No,” Raven replied flatly. “Only that they were here and I should stop them. I am sorry for not giving you any warning. I did not receive any either.”
Nightwing looked over his shoulder, lips pulling up into a smirk as he met Raven’s eyes. “Stuff blows up here all the time. Any warning is more than we usually get. I’m just glad we heard about this before they pull off whatever they’re trying to do.”
Nightwing frowned, holding up a hand to halt their approach. He touched a finger to the communicator in his ear. “The others are in position. We need to make up for some time.” Nightwing ran down the tunnel, his footfalls barely making a sound.
Raven flew along silently at his side, expressionless. This was a new experience for her, working in a team. When possible, she generally preferred to avoid caped heroics altogether. Heightened emotional states were not good for her or anyone around her and nothing heightened one’s emotions like combat. Her control was strong and well trained. There were very few instances where she’d slipped and had to clean up after herself, but she would rather avoid the possibility of anything happening again. Still, there were times when Raven needed to intervene in events.
Try as she might to fade into the shadows and live a normal life, Raven knew fate had other plans for her. Her father the demon Trigon had conceived her for the purpose of using her as a gateway to enter the world. For years, Raven had resisted his goal. She fought off his follower’s kidnapping attempts. She hid herself away from greater society so they wouldn’t know her whereabouts. She trained her power and control to lock out Trigon’s influence.
It wasn’t perfect. Raven couldn’t maintain her focus on her mental barriers when she was asleep. Trigon plagued her nightmares, taunting her with terrible futures, offering her lavish gifts for her subservience, assuring her that one day he would win.
Raven did everything she could to ensure that day would never come.
She didn’t like Gotham City. Misery was thick in the air, assaulting her empathic senses from the moment she arrived, an ever-present storm of despair and pain that beat against her mind like an unyielding wind. Few places made her so uncomfortable as this city. She wouldn’t have come if she didn’t think it was necessary.
The magical community of Earth was convoluted. People generally knew of one another by reputation if nothing else. Raven had dealings with various individuals in the past, asking favors of them and doing favors for them in turn. Of these, one of the more tolerable interactions had been with Jason Blood, a resident of Gotham City possessed by the demon Etrigan. Jason Blood understood part of her struggle with her father even if his relationship with his own demon was different. She got along with Jason, but they did not keep in touch, only reaching out when one of them needed something.
Jason knew that Raven wanted to keep tabs on the Church of Blood – a dark cult working in service of Trigon whose final purpose was heralding his return. Naturally, Raven was fundamentally opposed to the cult and its every operation. When Jason told her of the Church of Blood gathering in his city, Raven grew curious. When Jason told her several high-ranking, powerful members of the cult had arrived, Raven grew concerned.
Raven raced to Gotham, hoping to head off whatever tragedy was sure to follow. Jason organized help for her in the meantime. Gotham was defended by Batman and his ‘Bat Family’ as the public had taken to calling them. They were waiting for Raven when she arrived. She was surprised to find another contact from the magical community among them. Apparently Zatanna Zatara and Nightwing knew each other. She was in town visiting when the Cult arrived.
Raven did not get along with Zatanna as easily as with Jason. Jason kept to himself and respected that Raven wasn’t much for conversation. Zatanna was more social. She tried to get Raven to open up and talk for hours each time they met. Raven didn’t appreciate the extra socializing, but she did not push away Zatanna’s assistance. She normally handled small groups on her own, no more than six or seven low-level, low-strength members of the cult. A large gathering like this with an Archbishop from the Church of Blood itself? She needed all the help she could get.
Nightwing slowed as they approached a sharp turn in the sewer. The distant darkness was illuminated with a blood-red light growing brighter the closer they came.
Nightwing motioned for Raven to wait. He leaned against the wall, peeking around the corner as he tapped his earpiece twice.
“Robin counts twenty-four.” he whispered, his voice only audible due to Raven’s enhanced hearing. “Zatanna says they’re performing some sort of ritual. It looks bad.”
A deep, rumbling chuckle echoed in Raven’s mind.
Raven slammed her mental barriers down tight, flushing her father’s cursed presence from her head. Present events had distracted her focus, allowing him a foothold to manifest his presence, weak though it was.
“We need to stop them.” Raven said, not allowing Trigon’s interruption to stray her focus. She despised his presence. What better way to pay back his unwelcome visit than dismantling a ritual that called one of his high priests to Gotham?
Raven paused. The air was thrumming with power, thick with magic.
“We need to intervene.” Raven declared, drifting past Nightwing around the corner.
“Wait!” Nightwing hissed. Raven paid him no mind, proceeding towards the source of the magic. Whatever this was, it was powerful and needed to be stopped immediately.
The sewer opened into a domed chamber. Many figures robed in red and black knelt on the ground at the edge of a glowing red circle of magical runes carved into the stone floor. A man in a red gold robe stood in the middle of the circle, holding an object high above his head as he chanted words to the ritual. Emblazoned on a silver tabard around his neck was the Mark of Skath, Trigon’s symbol. Raven repressed a flare of anger at seeing the symbol. That had to be the archbishop.
The cultists scrambled as they noticed Raven, awkwardly stumbling to their feet and shouting warnings to one another. The man in the middle of the circle narrowed his eyes, but continued his ritual, screaming even louder.
Dark power gathered in Raven’s hands. The shadows at the limits of the chamber came alive, writhing down from the ceiling like tentacles that lashed towards the cultists.
The archbishop threw his hands high. Red energy swelled along the borders of the ritual circle, flaring wide to bat Raven’s grasping shadows away.
“The ritual is almost complete. Hold her back!” the archbishop cried, immediately resuming his chanting.
Several cultists began working demonic magic to hold Raven back. The vast majority of them reached into their robes and withdrew weapons. Guns, knives, a baseball bat – not all cultists were granted magic by the demon they worshipped, only those Trigon deemed worthy.
Raven ducked back behind the wall as gunfire erupted in the domed space, echoing off the sheer walls and assaulting her ears with their roar.
“Move in!” Nightwing called into his communicator, running right past Raven into the hail of gunfire. He unhooked a small orb from his belt and threw it ahead of him. Thick grey smoke erupted into the space, making it impossible to see anything.
Raven followed Nightwing into the cover of the smokescreen, peeling right and drifting upward along the wall to get a better vantage.
In between bursts of gunfire, Raven heard a meaty thwacking sound followed by pained grunts. The smoke began to clear, allowing her to see three shapes zipping between the cultists.
Nightwing was nearest to her, twin batons raining precise blows down on a cultist wielding an smg. Across the chamber were a boy robed in red and yellow and a dark-armored woman with red hair taking on blade-wielding cultists with their fists.
Raven moved to assist them before pausing. In the center of the chamber, the archbishop continued his ritual. His voice swelled in time with the ritual circle. Whatever he was attempting had almost succeeded. Raven needed to stop him.
Trusting the bats to deal with the other cultists, Raven gathered her power and lashed out towards the archbishop.
Violet-hued darkness leapt from her hands towards the archbishop. A crimson barrier of energy sprang forth from the innermost circle of the pentagram scribed into the ground, holding back her attack to buy the cultist more time.
The archbishop grinned up at her triumphantly as he continued his screamed chant. The air itself began to thrum with power. They were running out of time.
A flash of white. Raven turned. A dark-haired woman in a stage magician’s jacket with a matching top hat flew up to join her. She winked at Raven, a mischievous grin on her face.
“Dleihs sih etartenep!” Zatanna yelled out.
Raven felt Zatanna’s magic bolster her own. Her eyes shone violet in the darkness of the chamber. “Azareth! Metrion! Zinthos!”
Spears of darkness pierced the protective shield around the archbishop. He wasn’t grinning now.
The man tried to avoid the grasping hands of shadow, but he had nowhere to run. A single tendril lashed around his neck, squeezing down to cut off his voice.
The chanting ceased. Power began to drain from the ritual circle.
Nightwing appeared from nowhere, running up behind the archbishop and striking with his baton. The cultist went limp in Raven’s shadows. She released him, letting him fall to the ground in a heap.
A quick glance around the chamber showed Raven the cultists were subdued. A few likely managed to flee in the chaos, but those who stayed had all been dealt with by the bat family while she and Zatanna had dealt with the archbishop. They hadn’t been expecting an attack. If they’d been better defended, this raid might not have been so easily accomplished. No one said people who willingly sold themselves to extradimensional demons were intelligent.
“Thank you.” Raven said quietly. “I wouldn’t have broken his barrier in time without your help.”
Zatanna smiled brightly. “What are friends for?”
Raven didn’t comment as they both drifted to the ground to join the others.
“We’ve already called for pickup.” Nightwing said as they joined the group. “GCPD is on the way, and Oracle is looking into tracking down the ones that ran.”
“How many got away?” Zatanna asked.
“Four.” Batwoman supplied, seeming displeased.
Raven wasn’t exactly pleased to hear they escaped either, but she was far more satisfied that whatever purpose brought them here had been thwarted.
“What were they doing here? This doesn’t look like a summoning circle.” Zatanna asked, crouching down to examine the ritual circle. THe magical energy had faded, but the inscription remained. The paint looked like blood.
“I don’t know.” Raven said, joining her to inspect the magic.
The Church of Blood had members all over the world, but they lacked the membership to have a large presence anywhere outside of a few key points. There were a few larger chapters in the United States, but most of their efforts were concentrated in Europe. Finding members of the cult able to use magic in the US, much less a high ranking member like the man Nightwing was currently tying up, was rare. What brought them to Gotham? They had to have a reason for coming here.
Raven looked more closely at the symbols painted into the ground, running her hand over them.
“They weren’t trying to open a doorway.” Raven concluded, brushing her thumb over a specific symbol. “They were trying to corrupt something.”
“What do you mean corrupt?” Robin asked, a thoughtful frown on his face.
“They were channeling Gotham’s negative emotions through the circle, focusing them to a purpose.”
“She’s right.” Zatanna said, stepping up next to her.
“What do you mean ‘Gotham’s negative emotions’?” Nightwing sounded confused.
Zatanna awkwardly scratched her head as she faced him. “Well… Mystically speaking, Gotham isn’t exactly healthy, but I haven’t heard of someone trying to weaponize it before.”
“What were they trying to corrupt?” Batwoman asked. She loomed behind the mages, but was staying out of their way. Raven assumed she knew she was out of her depth, but she still wanted answers.
Raven and Zatanna followed the pathway the ritual was feeding Gotham’s power, stopping at a small circle surrounding an unassuming item. Raven bent down and picked it up, turning it over in her hands.
“A coin?” Robin said as he peeked over her shoulder, confused.
Raven ignored him, staring at the mishappen coin in her hand. It was old. The pressing had imperfections and the silver face was not nearly as refined as what you’d find nowadays. She flipped the coin over. The back side of the coin was charred black. She couldn’t make anything out on it.
“I’m not sensing anything coming from it.” Zatanna observed. “I don’t think their ritual had any effect. I don’t think there is anything there to affect.”
“So this whole party was to burn the backside of a quarter?” Nightwing quipped. “Seems like a waste of resources to me.”
“I’ll wake up the leader and question him before GCPD gets here.” Batwoman said. “We need answers.” She grabbed the cultist by his collar and dragged him down a tunnel into the darkness.
Raven let their discussions fade to the background as she studied the coin. Like Zatanna, she didn’t feel anything strange about the coin. What she didn’t say was that that in itself was strange. She hadn’t been able to stop the ritual immediately. For almost a minute, this coin was assaulted by Gotham’s focused misery. By all rights, it should now be a deeply cursed item. Instead, it appeared to be a regular coin, completely unaffected by what it had just endured. If Raven had found this on the street, she’d have assumed it was worth a small amount of money due to its age, but seen nothing else out of the ordinary, but now she saw something else.
The Church was trying to do something to this coin for a reason. Somehow, it had completely negated the Church’s sophisticated attempts to assault it. Raven needed to study this coin. She wanted to know what she held in her hands.