CAV: Funeral for Ben and Shadow (Open to All)

It was a warm but cloudy day in the Jump City graveyard. The Teen Titans were gathered to pay their last respects to two of their own. The two headstones were already in place, and the caskets were prepared to be lowered into the earth.

Evan, dressed for once in a tux rather than his usual green sweater, looked at the two gravestones. Benjamin Tennyson. Suraya Lee. He almost couldn't believe that the smooth stones really marked the resting place of his friends. It had been his charge to protect the Titans, and looking at the two stones with coffins in front of them informed him that he had failed. Evan had been unable to deal with the emotions of their deaths, so he had simply turned his emotions off.

His memories of battling alongside them, training with them, and eating treats at the Welcome New Titans Party were all he could think about. He promised himself that he would never forget those memories.

Evan knew that eventually someone would begin speaking, but he felt it wasn't his place to begin.

"We are brothers, whom no sword can slay, nor bullet pierce can supperate our brotherhood. We forge our promise in steel, and in steel we forge our eternity." Joshua spoke, somewhat appearing from no where. He wore a remake of his old armor, except instead of it being painted in aqua, it was painted in black. He only one weapon, his sword Steel, sheathed on his back. "This is the saying I gave my legion....and I believe would be appropriate for the circumstances. I knew Ben, looked down upon him like a brother. The first human I found a brother. Not just a friend, but a brother." Joshua said, breathing deeply out, he was behind Evan, knowing that any Titan, be a lifeless machine or a living breathing human, a lose of a comrade is hard. "Ben was a brother to me. He saved my life and I owe him. Suraya had too saved my life from overwhelming odds by some enemies I would not like to mention at this time."

Joshua walked to Ben's cascit, his mind not believing that Ben was still in there, that for some chance he was still alive, but the reasoning part of his mind got the best of him. He took out a block of steel that was the size of his palm, placing it on the cascat. That was his legion's way of saying "Goodbye" to a good friend. Joshua walked back to his old place, not showing any emotion. He had plenty of brothers killed, but this one was the most painful lose he had ever endured.

A soft wind rustled through the leaves, the sun brightly shone through the partially clouded sky, it looked almost as if it focused it's ray's of light on the group of people gathered a little further up. When Krious heard the news of Shadow's demise the first thought that went through him was 'Impossible'. Yet is wasn't so impossible as he would have liked it to be, Shadow was gone, and their team was partially to blame, he was partially to blame. Every time they finally got something good up and running, fate would punch them in the face in a way no one could predict.

He and Apache slowly walked up the trail in silence towards the group that had already gathered. Two heroes would be remembered today, heroes who gave their lives for this city. Krious glanced at his companion a moment. Apache still kept his straight face up, probably part of his training, Krious on the other hand felt more anger the more he thought about it. This coordinated group of villains was something new, something dangerous and he'd personally see it brought down. He clenched his fist and then shook the thought away. He wasn't here to stain the memory of those passed on.

Krious reached in his pocket, took out a communicator and presented it to Apache. It was a replica of the one Shadow carried with her, to be gifted for all eternity. He had a second one still in his pocket, the Sliver's equivalent to the Honorary Titan's title.

“I think it's best if you place this.”

Unbelievable. Of all the visions he had experienced, none had once led Apache to believe he would walk up to the grave of one of his companions. Not now. He did not feel good regarding all of this. The Slivers were a loose-knit unit of individuals, aiding each other in times of need. Yet when news was brought to him that his winged comrade had perished, he could not believe it. He had first replied that he was not one to enjoy such crude humor, but when the news was repeated by Krious' voice on the other side of the Communicator, it was like Apache was struck by lightning.

Lightning. Not because of death itself. Apache had accepted death as a part of life, dealing with it during his endless shamanistic endeavors for his tribe. Not a day passed when he did not talk to a ghost, felt a tingling energy pass by or meditated on that which was to come. However, his powers deemed to fail him this time. He did not know. That was what humbled him, what hurt him. Possibly, had they been more tight, they could have helped. Why did he never get word? Then again, why did he never check in on everyone? It had been some time since he had heard any voice, and now that he had contact with Krious, it was in such a grim situation.

The only thing his Shaman role provided Apache was his thought process. He had experienced death, interacted with it, and had lost any fear of it. His face did not show any emotion. Not when he worked for his tribe, not when he buried his kin. Never should his warrior-facepaint run with the salty tears of loss and grief. The years of interaction would do that to you. That was what Krious saw when he looked to his side. Apache, holding his own like the shaman he was. However, deep down inside, Apache's thought raged out. There were many powers in this world larger then him, stronger then him. And now, a whole band of them. He was sure of it Krious felt the same about one thing. They will get their own headstones. One by one.

Apache had dressed himself up with his brown feathered haori. It was a sacred robe he received from his tribe when receiving the title of shaman. He wore it at every sacred occasion. It emanated peace and rest together with Apache, that which the dead would long for, and eventually get. Krious presented a replica of Shadow's communicator to Apache, which sparked some interest. It seemed Krious was possibly familiar with the dealing of his tribe. He took it, and looked at it for a second, before gripping it tightly, and placing it in one of his pockets.

''Thank you. It seems I am not the only one to bring gifts.''

The duo had reached the headstones, and Apache stepped forward, kneeling in front of both gravestones. While he had never really known Ben, there was nothing to be given those who had passed away but respect. A small warrior's prayer was the least he could do. The atmosphere was thick and tense, only broken by a weep, a sniff, or Apache's solemn calm voice. He recanted a prayer he had recanted so many times, yet one that would never lose his impact.

''Lay your head, warrior kin. Sister, brother, lay your head and rest. You have fought well. Feel no regret, feel no pain, for your spirits are free. Your energy is pure, your minds are calm, and your thoughts will forever echo inside our minds. Your brothers watch over you, your sisters watch over you, and you...Watch over us.''

Apache feathers seemed to slowly turn upward, the brown fur seemed to stand up while he spoke. When he was finished, a surge of green ethereal energy washed over him, giving him a green glow for a split-second, before shooting up in the sky, disappearing in the clouds. Those present could feel something in the air. An unknown sensation to most, but Apache knew what it meant. When done by a good Shaman, this was a sign. If their spirits were present, they would hear his words and understand their meaning in all ways possible.

''May I, may we all,.. see your spirits again soon.''

Apache stood up from his kneeling position, plucked two feathers off his robe, and walked up to the grave of Ben. He layed one of them on boy's casket, sticking it under the block of steel so that it would not move.

''A feather goes every way the wind blows, yet always knows his path. May the feather guide you would you ever feel lost. May you find your peace, may you find your way.''

Apache turned to Shadow's grave. Shaman's pride of not, Apache paused for a second. He felt a sting, one that he had felt so many times before. He kept his composure, but was sure that this was different. This was truly difficult for him. With the same incantation, he placed one feather on his companion's grave. He grabbed into his robe, and grabbed a small leather pouch. The pouch held the feather in it's place, but also seemed to have contents of his own.

''A gift is the Yu Yang way of praising those who have passed. We believe they are still around us, and our presents will be with them, would they chose to accept them, aiding them. The power of the gift is one we acknowledge. A gift is a symbol of our spiritual link, one that shall never be severed, not by death, not by anything. This pouch is from two spiritual beings who could not be here. They're on guard. On guard, for this tragedy shall not happen again. At least, that is what they say. I'm they don't want me seeing them in dismay. Wolf, and Hawk, my companions, present you with their feathers, and a patch of his fur. Willingly given, they symbolize many a great aspect of who you are, Shadow. Stalwartness, vigor, pride and respect. Please accept their token.''

Apache grabbed into his long robe again, and took out an arrow. Upon closer inspection, it was no ordinary arrow. It was an ornate arrow, with a tip of polished copper, the shaft made of a most dark type of wood engraved with many skillfully carved symbols, and fletchings made from the same rare feathers presented on Apache robe.

''Willingly given by another marksman, an arrow does not only fly true, but straight, and will never wander. And the ornaments...well...let's say I personally couldn't give you 'just' an arrow.''

Apache lay the arrow on the box, murmuring words only known to his tribe. The tip was so sharp it easily seemed to carve into the casket's surface, ensuring the arrow would stay in place. At last, Apache grabbed the replica communicator he received from Krious.

''In final, Krious and Apache, the Slivers, present you with our token. While it is not customary for a Shaman, I deeply apologize as Apache. We were not there for you when you needed us. Therefor, we give you this. I can only hope you will accept it, and summon us when you need us. Your energy will never be lost Shadow, your presence will never be forgotten, and as Slivers, we salute you and promise you. We shall stand united. As I believe they say...Rest in peace. As Yu Yang say, may any gifted Shaman be blessed with your undying knowledge.''

Apache stood up, and had a last look at both caskets. He took off his robe, believing that in honor, his role was not done. He hung the robe, making sure it did not touch the ground, and fetched his bow. Grabbing two arrows from his quiver, Apache bowed deeply for Ben Tennyson. He then aimed up high, two arrows on his bow, and shot out a real arrow, which burned to nothingness in green energy. Followed by this, Apache formed and shot a spiritual arrow, which seemed to twist in multiple arrows, all shooting in another directing, yet all at the horizon. At last, he fired another real arrow, which again burned to nothingness. Bystanders could only wander what this last honor with the arrows could mean, but all heroes present knew that it could only be a good thing. Apache repeated this in honor of Shadow, and with a last deep bow to her grave, he walked away, his robe adorning his body again. when he did so, the green glow that once shot up got back down to him, signalling that he had ended his spiritual trance.

He walked slowly, as if invisible shackles had tied him to the ground. When he reached Krious, he nodded slowly. He had done all he wanted to do. The entire Yu Yang tribe had, repesented through him, payed their respects.

''Your turn..if you wish. I shall remain here.''

Krious watched in silence as Apache performed his rituals. They were magnificent, to put it mildly, it was a true honor to be given the last tribute through the ways of one of the many tribal groups. Their spirits would most certainly be able to find rest wherever they were now. He nodded at Apache words and stepped forward, moving towards Ben's stone first. He wasn't a man of many words, nor did he have such a spectacular show like Apache, no, he preferred to honor through thoughts.

Benjamin Tennyson were the words carved into the stone. He couldn't say that he knew the boy personally, but nonetheless he would be remembered for his valour against the villainy in this world. While Shadow was a personal acquaintance of theirs, it didn't feel right to ignore the other, as such he prepared a small token to show their support. Krious softly spoke up, as if they were talking face to face, not paying attention to if the others could hear him or not.

“You showed great determination in the fight against those who mean this world harm, for that we will admire and remember you. May your words always reach us and let the Slivers answer in kind.”

His hand took the other communicator from his pocket and laid it down the base of the stone. He then stood up, bowed his head in respect and moved onto the next grave. Suraya Lee were the words engraved in this one. It seemed surreal that she was gone, it felt like minutes ago that they were last in contact. Krious cursed at himself for not being there when needed. He recalled the girl he worked with the last few weeks, who she was, what she stood for and inevitably why she was gone. So many memories and yet so little time they sent together. He did not need to express any words, Apache had made her proud with his service, everything else was clear. He wouldn't rest until those responsible were found and then, only then might he accept the loss completely.

He knelt down next to the decorated stone and placed a hand on the bottom corner. The outline of his hand faintly glowed with darkness and he started to move his thumb around. When he removed his hand an S shaped inscription remained, faintly glowing, to signify what she was part of for all eternity. Then he came to his feet, made another bow in respect and walked back towards Apache in silence.

Zack was on edge. He hated that Shadow and Ben were dead. He had been one of the first to meet Sadow, before he had come to lead TC, before he had ever even joined TC, before he had even met any of the people he would letter band together with to revive TC. He had met her when he was still wandering the streets, killing gang members. Zack's grin was strained. It looked far more like a grimace than a grin, and he wished with all of his being that he could tear it from his face. He wished Shadow and Ben were alive far more. He hated that he hadn't been there to save either of them. He had intentionally angered Ben on numerous occasions, hoping to distance himself from the kid to keep him from getting dragged into his battles, to keep Ben safe. Ironically, he had failed more miserably than he could have imagined. Zack hated that he cared. A year ago, he likely would have killed either of them just as soon as he would have killed a murderous thief. There was a time when he was free, truly free, from any restriction. He went where be pleased, he killed whom he pleased, and nobody could stop him. A part of him longed for such days. Zack hated that he hated that he cared. These two were people he cared about, though he hadn't shone it in Ben's case. He hated himself for trying not to care, he hated the part of him that longed for the old days, and he hated himself for the weakness in him. If it weren't for the fact that he was slowly losing the battle with his madness then perhaps he could have saved them. He clenched his fist, staring at the funeral from a distance when he heard Jak's voice. Walking up as his collegue finished, his grin was unstrained, but despite it he still managed to look solemn. "He's right. I've said it for years, prison is a waste of time and resources. Why does it take the deaths of those closest to us to realize this? I believe that if I can do something, there will always be someone else who can. I know firsthand that I can fight my way out, I wasn't always the goody two shoes I am now. Even an ordinary human can get out, it really isn't that hard. If any ordinary civvie can break out, how much easier is it for someone who can lift a car like you might lift a pebble? How much easier is it for someone who can fly or teleport? I agree with Jak. I say we hunt down those responsible and we kill them the same way any coward deserves to die. With a bullet in the back, no honour, no dignity." Reguardless as to what the others thought, Zack was dead set. Who knows? Maybe Jak would join him? Who knows? Maybe he would enjoy fighting alongside someone rather than by himself.

Grace Koori arrived at the funeral just as JaK had started his demand for revenge. Typical, she thought. Sage didn't seem to have a sacred bone in his body. This was not the place for such behavior.

Walking up to the two caskets, Grace realized she had barely met either of the fallen heroes. Ben she had only spoken with twice, and Shadow she had only seen every once in a while.

So this is the fate of the Titans, then? She wondered. There are beings powerful enough to kill us, and it seems that they no longer wish to let us live. Grace thought of herself as the weakest Titan, and that meant that the villains would probably come after her next. The Koori were very spiritual people, so they were not supposed fear death. But Grace had so many things she had left to do in her life. She didn't want to die now. She wanted to live another many years, to 80 at least if she could. She didn't want to die like these two.

Zack started talking about killing villains, too. Although Grace felt this wasn't the time or place for such talk, she felt inclined to agree with Zack and Sage. The only way to keep this from happening again was to eliminate those who had done this. It was the Koori way of doing things.

Walking back to the small crowd that had formed, Grace noticed a man standing at a distance. He wore a suit, and sunglasses--although it was not bright out. Who is that?

The man she saw was Captain Cab, who watched the funeral proceed. He heard some of the Titans talking about striking back, and he wasn't sure what to think. Whatever the case, Cab had decided not to intervene in this case. The young had to move on from this, on their own.

Apache looked at Krious, and suppressed any kind of emotion to be shown. He was feeling an odd mixture of some of them. Anger seared like poison through his veins in search of vengeance, Pride pranced on his flesh in honor of the Yu Yang, Sadness dressed his bones in defeat, and Respect brought him to pat Krious on the back once. He had no idea whether or not his comrade would like it, but it was a response in kind. They were on level with their next actions, but showed dignity in these events.

''...Ready to go?''

Apache did not imagine Krious wanted to stick around for tea or coffee, not did he know if any ceremony of sorts was planned. He recalled most humans would already have one, and lowering the caskets would be the last. On the other hand, the man had surprised him many times before. After all, he was the first one to discover Apache, even in his own terrain. A keen spirit. A dignity-showing keen spirit. However, not all shared their mindset. Zack and JaK seemed to express their anger openly. After the first had spoken his words, Apache shook his head. He took a step forward, his shaman robe following him. There was no anger in his words, no demeaning tone. He spoke respectfully, but he could not resist. He had to speak.

''We share your pain. We all share this searing pain. However, do not speak out your anger at your last goodbye. Two of our kin left us, a well-meant goodbye is better then any prayer for vengeance. Pay your respects, but do not speak that which we already feel inside. I can assure you, this will not be it. They will pay their price for our sadness.''

Apache looked around. He took one last breath, then finished. Vengeance was a double-edged weapon. Yet it was also, poison. It was the means by which heroes went rogue, and what takes murdering to genocide. Lies, Vengeance and Hatred spun so many a web of endless wars, blinded hero after hero, and caused many a great man to fall.

''Do not toil in regrets, in blame. Policemen have special holding cells. They cannot hold enemies for they outnumber the police force, or corrupt it. Have you not seen these cells you talk about? They are by no means comparable to those of normal civilians. Do not blame the police, do not blame your kin. Toil not in blame, toil in pride. The pride that this will not be the end. Do not become what you fight...become that which cannot be fought. Become that which cannot be severed, that which cannot be blinded by lies. True heroes.''

Apache could only hope the attendants would sever their bonds of hatred, their shackles of vengeance, if only for a short moment. In honor of fallen heroes, no ill should be spoken. A legend once told him the same. How the dead were free of petty things like pain and sadness, and how they were not bound by hatred or anger. They would not be interested in the vengeful spit and tongue of the living. Deep down inside, he had to admit that he always wanted to summon the ghost of one who had passed, but every time, he resisted. It would not only be immoral not to let the dead rest, it would be a disgrace to this title as a Yu Yang Shaman.