Fan Fiction: Crossovers

Flame Passed

  Long before Batman and Superman, before the Internet and television, the masses of this mighty country were entertained by radio. Legends like The Green Hornet, Doc Savage, and The Spider captured the minds of a much needy nation, though these heroes of this forgotten golden era could not match the one know as…

  "The Shadow…" A whisper barely audible swept across the crowded ballroom as Halloween goers turned their undivided gaze. The figure, shrouded in its namesake element and wearing a slouched hat and concealing cloak, did not deny who it was while it descended the stairs in silent strides. Bruce Wayne, who, as a joke, had attired himself as Batman — weapons and all — watched with great interest. The last time he had seen The Shadow was many years ago, and he had inquired about The Shadow coming out of retirement. The Shadow's answer was of course: Only The Shadow knows…

  However, this was a benefit costume party after all, which meant that the doorman would have The Shadow's real name. Perhaps, Bruce Wayne would finally get a leg up upon his idol. With that firmly set in mind, Bruce made for the door, while his quarry made for the balcony. The doorman, Alex Thorny, was more than happy to provide the host with a name. Dark Xeorian was the name listed, and with a quick thanks Bruce bounded towards the balcony. There The Shadow stood, with the slouched hat removed, watching the night sky. As he cautiously approached, Bruce noted the wild state of the shadowy hair and the loosened crimson scarf. As Bruce got within a foot of the figure, he heard it sigh.

  "You know by now, Mr. Wayne, it would be impossible to seek up on me," a silent whisper echoed, slightly amused, "or would you prefer to be called Batman?" It wasn't Him. Bruce could tell by voice alone, even before the person turned, revealing a pallid-tan facade offset by storm-ridden eyes. As a reflex, Bruce's gloved hand went for his belt before he asked.

  "Who are you?"

  "A messenger, nothing more or less, my good man..." That smile, which etched its — no her — thin lips made him more worried.

  "Alex, the doorman with the list, had you down as Dark Xeorian."

  "He is half right and half wrong." Off came the cloak and scarf revealing jeans, an abyssal robe shirt, blood-stained sash, and white knee-length coat trimmed in blood. "Dark, is only my title, and since a last name was required, I used my Vaksn's."

  "Your what?"

  "Vaksn, a wolf-wraith of Shadows, a creature of antiquity..." Bruce scanned about, only to realize it was too dark and shadowy to observe clearly. "Do not fret, Mr. Wayne, This is merely a social call and Xeorian knows that I am in no danger." This made Bruce even warier.

  "How can you be so certain?" Bruce inquired, noting that if this Dark wished to jump him, she had done her homework..

  "I have my ways," Again with that smile as Dark collected and folded the items, "Join me?" She was clearly unarmed, but like the costume she had donned, Bruce chose to be careful just in case. For a few minutes they stood in uneasy silence, before Bruce cleared his throat and held his ground.

  "You said that you bore a message, did you not, Dark?" Bruce began, which Dark confirmed with a head nod. "What was it?"

   "Never Forget," Dark replied calmly, "spoken from the Master's lips themselves, Never Forget." Bruce exploded into a myriad of questions, but they were silenced with a simple raise of a hand.

  "Do you recall the last thing you ever asked him?"

  "Yes, I inquired about him resuming his role."

  "And the answer?"

  "Only The Shadow knows..." Bruce looked at Dark. "What does it mean?"

  "Time can only tell that for certain, Mr. Wayne." Dark hung her head. "But, if things continue the way they are. He'll be forgotten in a couple of centuries."

  "How long has he held on?"

  "Sixty years and then some."

  "Why?"

  "Why not?" Bruce Wayne was perplexed by Dark's reply. She seemed more knowledgeable about The Shadow's ways than anything else.

  "Legends don't die. They just fade a little with every generation or so. But, people will always need his type because there is evil in the world that no hero nowadays are able..." A cough slipped in the words "or willing", "...to deal with."

  "Do I fall into that category?" A smile — more like a bearing of fangs — was all that Bruce needed for an answer.

  "The Master's kind is a dying breed, but still needed." A glance at something. "Well, I've wasted enough time with you, I must see that The Shadow receives his belongings before he departs."

  "So he won't come out of retirement." Bruce sounded downhearted and disappointed at the same time.

  "Won't or can't," Dark reminded him, "I really don't know, Mr. Wayne." She gathered up the clothes in one arm. "Though, I must say it was truly a pleasure to meet a man whom the Master truly admires." In a friendly gesture, she held out her hand, which Bruce took without question. Even through his glove, the caped crusader could feel the chill of her calloused hand.

  "And what of you, Dark?" Bruce inquired, letting go of her hand, "What does he consider you?"

  "His left hand, his shadow," Dark shrugged, uncertain, "Who knows?" Her thin lips etched in a joyful smile, "I'm just happy knowing I'm not crazy anymore..." Another story, Bruce noted to himself as she hopped up onto the balcony. "Just consider this nothing more or less than a passing of the torch, my dear Batman." With that she bowed, while falling off the railing. Bruce rushed over, expecting to find her plastered on the garden below, but there was nothing. Nothing but shadows and darkness. An uneasy sigh escaped Bruce as he leaned against the cool marble of the railing. A passing of the torch, he thought. Flames passed from Shadow to whom? A slight smile found his lips. Bruce wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.