FIC: The Infinite Sky
Title: The Infinite Sky
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Darkseid
Rating: R for violence
Warnings: None needed
Continuity: Comics--references Final Crisis and has major spoilers for War of the Supermen.
Summary: Darkseid returns--this time using a cloned body of Bruce Wayne. Superman doesn't take it well.
Word Count: 1900
Deep inside a hidden bunker, far from prying eyes, the vessel He had chosen lay in darkness, His will within it like a worm, burrowing, conquering. Even duplicated and mindless--this, His first-chosen vessel, vainly resisted, unable to accept His dominion. But when the god-slaying bullet had pierced Him, when He saw the pathetic human's arrogant smile, He had sworn to make him pay for his hubris: even beyond death, the mortal would pay. And so He had planted a shred of His consciousness here, to wait. To fester. To breed within and come to vengeful fruition.
Great Darkseid opened his eyes.
He flexed a hand in front of His eyes, feeling His Godhood fill it with uncanny strength. With a wave, He summoned clothing, the garb of His enemy. He stood, and the earth trembled once more beneath His feet. Even weakened and bound inside a mortal body, He was still a God. This machine of rotting meat, he thought with repugnance, feeling it encasing His soul. This shell of gristle and bone and sluggish fluid. He would animate and drive it until His glory proved too much for it and it sank into putrescence. By then He would have vessels enough for his consciousness.
But first He would destroy all that His slayer had loved.
: : :
There was a shooting star.
Another.
Three more, a trio.
Clark Kent stared up at the dark Kansas sky and watched the tiny streaks of light. It was his first night back in the present after what had seemed like months searching the past, combing the endless sands of history for a sign of Bruce Wayne. Always one step behind, always one moment too late.
Another spark slid down the curve of the sky and was gone.
His fists clenched and he rocked forward, curling around the pain that seemed to hollow him out. He had set out to find something, anything. But there was only emptiness and silence, a void filled with ice crystals like diamonds. He had failed. Again.
Again.
Another cascade of light in the sky.
Footsteps behind him. Martha Kent put a coat around his shoulders. He pulled the useless fleece tighter and bowed his head, shaking. She sat down beside him.
Together, they sat in silence, watching the sparkling sky as the Earth passed through the debris field that had been New Krypton.
: : :
"Superman. Superman." The voice in his ear that woke him up was urgent, edged with panic. He swam up from confused dreams in which thousands of people cried his name, slow to realize this one was human.
"Oracle?"
"Superman. I need you in Gotham. It's--it's Darkseid."
He was already there by the time the last leaden syllable touched his eardrum, hovering in the sky and looking down. "Where?"
"Superman." The computerized voice trembled. "He's got--Oh, Clark."
There was a form on top of Wayne Tower, its dark cape flapping in the rising high wind. A bolt of lightning seared behind it, but it did not move.
In that blazing shock of light, Clark saw Batman. Batman--and yet not.
Ripples of wrongness seemed to radiate from the dark form in front of Superman, like heat waves. A roiling nausea gripped Clark and he struggled not to retch, sick fury wavering his vision. Bruce's body, animated by the being who had annihilated him. Stolen and violated by anti-life itself.
The figure in front of him smiled slightly. "Worthless worm of a Kryptonian," it said--and the final horror, the ultimate gruesome shock, was that the god didn't use Batman's grating tones but Bruce's natural voice, the voice of the man behind the symbol. "I told you and yet still you do not understand. All is Darkseid. Compassion is filth. Justice is dust." He put out a dark-gloved hand, clenched it into a fist. Shock waves of power rang through Gotham. Windows shattered. "In anti-life is the only power. In submission to my will the only truth." He smiled, and dogs howled in agony all over the city. "You shall lie broken and bleeding at my feet, you who dared to harm me. You shall--"
His voice--Bruce's urbane, sardonic, witty voice--broke off into a snarl as Superman flew at him, all his power focused on one goal: to wipe this impostor off the face of the earth.
Except that at the very last second, Darkseid reached up and seized his hands, throwing him aside as casually as a discarded coat. Glass fractured around Superman--Your city, your city, I'm sorry, Bruce--and cold, slimy fire seemed to eat at his wrists where the god had touched him.
He hadn't been able to deliver the killing blow, Clark realized. He had wavered. Bruce's body. Bruce. Lost forever. He flew at Darkseid again and this time the god snatched him from the sky and smashed him across his knee. He was still smiling, the remote and pleased smile Bruce sometimes had when he had finally solved some difficult mystery. "Yes," Darkseid murmured. "I shall make you drain my cup of despair to the dregs. It will be a pleasure to break you with this body, this sack of flesh and blood and pus that you called friend." He crooked his hands into talons and raked them down his face, still smiling. Blood oozed down Bruce's face and into the corner of his mouth. Darkseid licked the blood away, his tongue a pink abomination smearing Bruce's face. "Justify yourself to Darkseid," Bruce's voice said.
There was a taste of blood and bile in Clark's mouth. Choking on curses, he flung himself forward once more. This time his blows connected and Darkseid reeled back, laughing. His laugh was nothing like Bruce's, it was foul and corrupt, and Superman held on to that sound as he tried to lock his hands around the god's neck. Darkseid shrugged him aside but Superman seized his arm and wrenched. There was a cracking, popping noise and white bone jabbed through the black cloth, ugly and stark.
Darkseid laughed again and kept swinging at Clark, making Bruce's body do the impossible, the unthinkable, pushing it past all human limits. His blows were fueled by immortal hate and unstoppable malignity, raining down on Clark. Bruce's blood sprayed across his face, a warm red mist. Clark was sobbing now, hoarse gasps of horror and fury as he lashed out at the god that was perverting his friend's body. The only thought left in his mind was to destroy, to annihilate, to crush from existence this cruel mockery, this sick abomination violating everything Batman had ever stood for.
Darkseid kicked him in the ribs and splinters of pain lanced through him. Darkseid casually wrenched a concrete pillar free--blood started to trickle from the corner of his mouth, but he ignored it--and began to smash Superman with it, over and over.
Dazed, bleeding, disoriented and mad with fury, Superman launched himself upward with a howl. Clouds of concrete dust and smoke billowed around him as he touched down again. Darkseid was nowhere to be seen. Superman braced himself for the inevitable assault, and when the dark shape loomed out of the haze, he lunged forward, all his strength behind his fist to obliterate, to eradicate entirely, to--
--His fist stopped mere millimeters away from the cowl-covered nose. Stopped. He could feel the faintest brush of leather against his knuckles.
After a long moment, his hand began to tremble.
"Oh God," he whispered. "Oh God."
"Just me," Bruce said.
And it was him, of course, everything about him was different from the body Darkseid had stolen: strong and proud and straight, his mouth ready for smiling, not quite there. Everything was right.
Bruce.
The dusty air split with a shriek and the god came forth, eyes blazing, reaching out to throttle Bruce. Superman grabbed his hands, ignoring the cold crawling wrongness of his touch. "You will never harm him again!" he heard himself bellowing as he threw the god down. "Never again!"
Darkseid's hands raked at his face, bloody and vile.
"Kal," said Batman behind him, as calm as if he were discussing the Monitor Duty roster, "He is burning himself out against you. He's wasted his energy trying to destroy you. He needs to possess a new body very soon."
The frantic cunning that squirmed across Darkseid's face confirmed his statement. Blood was flowing from his mouth in a steady stream now.
"You don't need to destroy him," said Batman. "You only need to hold him here and keep him from possessing a new host."
"I can do that," grunted Superman.
Darkseid shrugged him off, but Superman seized him again, grabbing him tight. He heard bones crack, and Darkseid snarled. The body in his arms went rigid, and Clark could feel a...presence reaching out at him, like ropes of slime groping at his brain. His gorge rose, but he held tight, and the snarl turned into a mewling whine.
Beside him, Batman stooped close to the struggling, dying body. "Listen to me, Darkseid," he said, and his voice was as calm and still as the eye of a hurricane, "You have failed again. Know it and feel it in the bones that you have stolen. You will always fail. The heroes of Earth will always stand against you, and we will always prevail. Anti-life will never break us. Take that with you into the void, dark one." He traced a symbol on Darkseid's forehead, looping shapes somehow imbued with hope and wisdom, and the god made a deep, broken sound at the touch.
Darkseid's body was shuddering with the effort to break free; Clark could feel the sinews and tendons snapping within it. Blood trickled from beneath the white-lensed cowl. "Pathetic," coughed the god. The voice was fully Darkseid's at the end, cold and massive as slabs of rock grinding together. "Weak, puny gnats...you merely delay your inevitable defeat. Next time I shall not be so merciful." The final threat seemed to snap something deep within his form: brilliant red froth bubbled in its mouth, then stilled.
The impostor's body went limp in Superman's clasp, head lolling, lifeless. Carefully, tentatively, Clark released his grip on it, lowering it to the ground.
As he stood, the world suddenly spun around him and his knees gave out. Strong arms caught him up, holding him tight in what he realized after a long, confused moment was a hug. In all my imaginings, he thought hazily as he leaned on Batman's rock-solid strength, In the thousands of ways I pictured finding him, I never thought he would hug me.
"Bruce," he whispered.
Bruce raised a hand to Clark's face and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "Hello, Clark." He reached into his belt and pulled out a carefully-compressed piece of cloth, shook it out. "I found something of yours. Thought you might want it back."
Clark gripped his cape in shaking hands, his eyes still on Bruce's face. "I do," he whispered.
Over Bruce's shoulder, he saw two more shooting stars fall down through the Gotham sky, sparks of pain against his heart.
He closed his eyes and held his friend close, one falling star caught from the infinite sky, warm and real in his arms.
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Darkseid
Rating: R for violence
Warnings: None needed
Continuity: Comics--references Final Crisis and has major spoilers for War of the Supermen.
Summary: Darkseid returns--this time using a cloned body of Bruce Wayne. Superman doesn't take it well.
Word Count: 1900
Deep inside a hidden bunker, far from prying eyes, the vessel He had chosen lay in darkness, His will within it like a worm, burrowing, conquering. Even duplicated and mindless--this, His first-chosen vessel, vainly resisted, unable to accept His dominion. But when the god-slaying bullet had pierced Him, when He saw the pathetic human's arrogant smile, He had sworn to make him pay for his hubris: even beyond death, the mortal would pay. And so He had planted a shred of His consciousness here, to wait. To fester. To breed within and come to vengeful fruition.
Great Darkseid opened his eyes.
He flexed a hand in front of His eyes, feeling His Godhood fill it with uncanny strength. With a wave, He summoned clothing, the garb of His enemy. He stood, and the earth trembled once more beneath His feet. Even weakened and bound inside a mortal body, He was still a God. This machine of rotting meat, he thought with repugnance, feeling it encasing His soul. This shell of gristle and bone and sluggish fluid. He would animate and drive it until His glory proved too much for it and it sank into putrescence. By then He would have vessels enough for his consciousness.
But first He would destroy all that His slayer had loved.
: : :
There was a shooting star.
Another.
Three more, a trio.
Clark Kent stared up at the dark Kansas sky and watched the tiny streaks of light. It was his first night back in the present after what had seemed like months searching the past, combing the endless sands of history for a sign of Bruce Wayne. Always one step behind, always one moment too late.
Another spark slid down the curve of the sky and was gone.
His fists clenched and he rocked forward, curling around the pain that seemed to hollow him out. He had set out to find something, anything. But there was only emptiness and silence, a void filled with ice crystals like diamonds. He had failed. Again.
Again.
Another cascade of light in the sky.
Footsteps behind him. Martha Kent put a coat around his shoulders. He pulled the useless fleece tighter and bowed his head, shaking. She sat down beside him.
Together, they sat in silence, watching the sparkling sky as the Earth passed through the debris field that had been New Krypton.
: : :
"Superman. Superman." The voice in his ear that woke him up was urgent, edged with panic. He swam up from confused dreams in which thousands of people cried his name, slow to realize this one was human.
"Oracle?"
"Superman. I need you in Gotham. It's--it's Darkseid."
He was already there by the time the last leaden syllable touched his eardrum, hovering in the sky and looking down. "Where?"
"Superman." The computerized voice trembled. "He's got--Oh, Clark."
There was a form on top of Wayne Tower, its dark cape flapping in the rising high wind. A bolt of lightning seared behind it, but it did not move.
In that blazing shock of light, Clark saw Batman. Batman--and yet not.
Ripples of wrongness seemed to radiate from the dark form in front of Superman, like heat waves. A roiling nausea gripped Clark and he struggled not to retch, sick fury wavering his vision. Bruce's body, animated by the being who had annihilated him. Stolen and violated by anti-life itself.
The figure in front of him smiled slightly. "Worthless worm of a Kryptonian," it said--and the final horror, the ultimate gruesome shock, was that the god didn't use Batman's grating tones but Bruce's natural voice, the voice of the man behind the symbol. "I told you and yet still you do not understand. All is Darkseid. Compassion is filth. Justice is dust." He put out a dark-gloved hand, clenched it into a fist. Shock waves of power rang through Gotham. Windows shattered. "In anti-life is the only power. In submission to my will the only truth." He smiled, and dogs howled in agony all over the city. "You shall lie broken and bleeding at my feet, you who dared to harm me. You shall--"
His voice--Bruce's urbane, sardonic, witty voice--broke off into a snarl as Superman flew at him, all his power focused on one goal: to wipe this impostor off the face of the earth.
Except that at the very last second, Darkseid reached up and seized his hands, throwing him aside as casually as a discarded coat. Glass fractured around Superman--Your city, your city, I'm sorry, Bruce--and cold, slimy fire seemed to eat at his wrists where the god had touched him.
He hadn't been able to deliver the killing blow, Clark realized. He had wavered. Bruce's body. Bruce. Lost forever. He flew at Darkseid again and this time the god snatched him from the sky and smashed him across his knee. He was still smiling, the remote and pleased smile Bruce sometimes had when he had finally solved some difficult mystery. "Yes," Darkseid murmured. "I shall make you drain my cup of despair to the dregs. It will be a pleasure to break you with this body, this sack of flesh and blood and pus that you called friend." He crooked his hands into talons and raked them down his face, still smiling. Blood oozed down Bruce's face and into the corner of his mouth. Darkseid licked the blood away, his tongue a pink abomination smearing Bruce's face. "Justify yourself to Darkseid," Bruce's voice said.
There was a taste of blood and bile in Clark's mouth. Choking on curses, he flung himself forward once more. This time his blows connected and Darkseid reeled back, laughing. His laugh was nothing like Bruce's, it was foul and corrupt, and Superman held on to that sound as he tried to lock his hands around the god's neck. Darkseid shrugged him aside but Superman seized his arm and wrenched. There was a cracking, popping noise and white bone jabbed through the black cloth, ugly and stark.
Darkseid laughed again and kept swinging at Clark, making Bruce's body do the impossible, the unthinkable, pushing it past all human limits. His blows were fueled by immortal hate and unstoppable malignity, raining down on Clark. Bruce's blood sprayed across his face, a warm red mist. Clark was sobbing now, hoarse gasps of horror and fury as he lashed out at the god that was perverting his friend's body. The only thought left in his mind was to destroy, to annihilate, to crush from existence this cruel mockery, this sick abomination violating everything Batman had ever stood for.
Darkseid kicked him in the ribs and splinters of pain lanced through him. Darkseid casually wrenched a concrete pillar free--blood started to trickle from the corner of his mouth, but he ignored it--and began to smash Superman with it, over and over.
Dazed, bleeding, disoriented and mad with fury, Superman launched himself upward with a howl. Clouds of concrete dust and smoke billowed around him as he touched down again. Darkseid was nowhere to be seen. Superman braced himself for the inevitable assault, and when the dark shape loomed out of the haze, he lunged forward, all his strength behind his fist to obliterate, to eradicate entirely, to--
--His fist stopped mere millimeters away from the cowl-covered nose. Stopped. He could feel the faintest brush of leather against his knuckles.
After a long moment, his hand began to tremble.
"Oh God," he whispered. "Oh God."
"Just me," Bruce said.
And it was him, of course, everything about him was different from the body Darkseid had stolen: strong and proud and straight, his mouth ready for smiling, not quite there. Everything was right.
Bruce.
The dusty air split with a shriek and the god came forth, eyes blazing, reaching out to throttle Bruce. Superman grabbed his hands, ignoring the cold crawling wrongness of his touch. "You will never harm him again!" he heard himself bellowing as he threw the god down. "Never again!"
Darkseid's hands raked at his face, bloody and vile.
"Kal," said Batman behind him, as calm as if he were discussing the Monitor Duty roster, "He is burning himself out against you. He's wasted his energy trying to destroy you. He needs to possess a new body very soon."
The frantic cunning that squirmed across Darkseid's face confirmed his statement. Blood was flowing from his mouth in a steady stream now.
"You don't need to destroy him," said Batman. "You only need to hold him here and keep him from possessing a new host."
"I can do that," grunted Superman.
Darkseid shrugged him off, but Superman seized him again, grabbing him tight. He heard bones crack, and Darkseid snarled. The body in his arms went rigid, and Clark could feel a...presence reaching out at him, like ropes of slime groping at his brain. His gorge rose, but he held tight, and the snarl turned into a mewling whine.
Beside him, Batman stooped close to the struggling, dying body. "Listen to me, Darkseid," he said, and his voice was as calm and still as the eye of a hurricane, "You have failed again. Know it and feel it in the bones that you have stolen. You will always fail. The heroes of Earth will always stand against you, and we will always prevail. Anti-life will never break us. Take that with you into the void, dark one." He traced a symbol on Darkseid's forehead, looping shapes somehow imbued with hope and wisdom, and the god made a deep, broken sound at the touch.
Darkseid's body was shuddering with the effort to break free; Clark could feel the sinews and tendons snapping within it. Blood trickled from beneath the white-lensed cowl. "Pathetic," coughed the god. The voice was fully Darkseid's at the end, cold and massive as slabs of rock grinding together. "Weak, puny gnats...you merely delay your inevitable defeat. Next time I shall not be so merciful." The final threat seemed to snap something deep within his form: brilliant red froth bubbled in its mouth, then stilled.
The impostor's body went limp in Superman's clasp, head lolling, lifeless. Carefully, tentatively, Clark released his grip on it, lowering it to the ground.
As he stood, the world suddenly spun around him and his knees gave out. Strong arms caught him up, holding him tight in what he realized after a long, confused moment was a hug. In all my imaginings, he thought hazily as he leaned on Batman's rock-solid strength, In the thousands of ways I pictured finding him, I never thought he would hug me.
"Bruce," he whispered.
Bruce raised a hand to Clark's face and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "Hello, Clark." He reached into his belt and pulled out a carefully-compressed piece of cloth, shook it out. "I found something of yours. Thought you might want it back."
Clark gripped his cape in shaking hands, his eyes still on Bruce's face. "I do," he whispered.
Over Bruce's shoulder, he saw two more shooting stars fall down through the Gotham sky, sparks of pain against his heart.
He closed his eyes and held his friend close, one falling star caught from the infinite sky, warm and real in his arms.