Darkstar Fic: Let There Be Light
Just a little ficlet I drabbled after watching Absolute Power. When Gwen first finds Darkstar, he's not doing very well. He has labored breathing, blurred vision, and his ebon beams get pushed back very easily by mana. The poor guy wasn't in very good condition.
Let There Be Light
He has the sneaking suspicion that something is even more terribly wrong with him than he initially suspected.
He hasn’t been Michael for over a year. He’s beginning to forget what it is like to walk down the street in daylight. The concept seems so alien now that he can’t imagine himself doing it.
Not that he’d have the energy to.
Lately, he can barely manage to walk very far. Each breath is heavy and his vision is blurred. It takes all of his concentration to trudge forward and seek out...of all things...stray dogs and the homeless. He’s been reduced to preying on the impossibly weak, but it is all he can manage.
Plumber activity has been on the rise on Earth as of late, as have regular police patrols.
He doesn’t have the strength to run from them.
Day and night, he’s chilled to the bone. He’s always cold, always shaking. He added a heavy Plumber issue cloak to his ensemble as a form of insulation. It doesn’t do much at all, but it is better than nothing.
He doesn’t want to die.
It isn’t much of a life that he has, but it is his.
He doesn’t want to die here in some dank, damp alley...alone...well, not completely alone. Gwen Tennyson is there, but he might as well be alone. She’s foolishly compassionate, but he’s fairly certain even she won’t hold his hand as he passes on. He doesn’t blame her for that, either.
He does his best to counter her with sarcasm and he hopes she doesn’t notice his labored breathing.
An illuminated ball of pure, precious, pink mana illuminates around her hand as she pulls out a spellbook and the mouths in his hands fall open inside his gauntlets and it reminds him how impossibly hungry he is.
He releases the black bolts from his hands, but his energy is pushed back by pink streams of mana. Not only do the pink beams push his energy back, but they push him back as well. They knock him flat on his face. It knocks the air out of him and it tears the helmet from his face. It takes all his effort to make a pitiful attempt at a comeback.
There’s no way she doesn’t notice.
The light burns.
It forces its way into every crevice of every cell in his body and it burns with a terrible power that makes him certain that Gwen intends to incinerate him off the face of the Earth. She’s not even going to let him die with dignity with his mask on.
The fiery life energy sears over raw nerve endings and he doesn’t bother holding back the screams. No one is going to find out.
He wonders when his mother will notice he’s gone.
When did the world turn upside down?
When did he become weak?
When did the heroes begin to act like the very monsters they purported to stop?
It doesn’t matter. He won’t have to deal with it anymore.
He shuts his eyes and waits for the end to come...but it never does.
Instead of heavy and dark...things become...light.
Let There Be Light
He has the sneaking suspicion that something is even more terribly wrong with him than he initially suspected.
He hasn’t been Michael for over a year. He’s beginning to forget what it is like to walk down the street in daylight. The concept seems so alien now that he can’t imagine himself doing it.
Not that he’d have the energy to.
Lately, he can barely manage to walk very far. Each breath is heavy and his vision is blurred. It takes all of his concentration to trudge forward and seek out...of all things...stray dogs and the homeless. He’s been reduced to preying on the impossibly weak, but it is all he can manage.
Plumber activity has been on the rise on Earth as of late, as have regular police patrols.
He doesn’t have the strength to run from them.
Day and night, he’s chilled to the bone. He’s always cold, always shaking. He added a heavy Plumber issue cloak to his ensemble as a form of insulation. It doesn’t do much at all, but it is better than nothing.
He doesn’t want to die.
It isn’t much of a life that he has, but it is his.
He doesn’t want to die here in some dank, damp alley...alone...well, not completely alone. Gwen Tennyson is there, but he might as well be alone. She’s foolishly compassionate, but he’s fairly certain even she won’t hold his hand as he passes on. He doesn’t blame her for that, either.
He does his best to counter her with sarcasm and he hopes she doesn’t notice his labored breathing.
An illuminated ball of pure, precious, pink mana illuminates around her hand as she pulls out a spellbook and the mouths in his hands fall open inside his gauntlets and it reminds him how impossibly hungry he is.
He releases the black bolts from his hands, but his energy is pushed back by pink streams of mana. Not only do the pink beams push his energy back, but they push him back as well. They knock him flat on his face. It knocks the air out of him and it tears the helmet from his face. It takes all his effort to make a pitiful attempt at a comeback.
There’s no way she doesn’t notice.
The light burns.
It forces its way into every crevice of every cell in his body and it burns with a terrible power that makes him certain that Gwen intends to incinerate him off the face of the Earth. She’s not even going to let him die with dignity with his mask on.
The fiery life energy sears over raw nerve endings and he doesn’t bother holding back the screams. No one is going to find out.
He wonders when his mother will notice he’s gone.
When did the world turn upside down?
When did he become weak?
When did the heroes begin to act like the very monsters they purported to stop?
It doesn’t matter. He won’t have to deal with it anymore.
He shuts his eyes and waits for the end to come...but it never does.
Instead of heavy and dark...things become...light.