Thread: Why you should fear the dark (darkest_fate/Flassche)

RE Why you should fear the dark Resurrection Life was fading from him, veins and flesh tearing itself apart, dripping the precious scarlet liquid of life within his lungs. His mind remembering things of the past, remembering the last time he wore the fabric that made him who he truly was, his brilliant mind recalling every detail. He watched with blue eyes how Gotham was burning, watched how he had failed it. He gazed down at his own figure crumpled lifeless at his fathers feet, displaying wounds that would never heal, body soaked in blood. The ma-, no! The father wore the black, turning away to seek revenge for his dying son, yet knowing he could not survive the attempt. I am sorry, old man, I I- The boy woke with a start, fighting his way back into life, body slick with sweat and frame tensed. He could feel the tremors in his hands, feel the weakness in his limbs that had once held immeasurable strength and endurance. He forced himself upwards, swallowing the taste of dried up blood, ignoring the taste of iron now lingering in his mouth. Why could he not let death embrace him, let this attack on his heart be a kind gift from death. His eyes were wet with fresh tears, leaking unashamed down his face in steady streams. The once stone of a youth was now running with cracks, deep and unending. He was losing both his life and his father. He spoke his last words to his father, to Bruce, before he lost conscious. Father, I He awoke with a start, hearing the death cry of a familiar voice Alfred. He glanced around and noticed the Batcave was collapsing all around him, hearing explosions happen every few seconds. The servant of his father had apparently gone and fetched the dying boy, rushing him back home and trying to place him in the Lazarus pit, hoping it would save him. Alfred now lay buried under rubble, and from the sounds around him, so would he within a few seconds, if his heart did not give out before then. He forced himself forwards, inside the tomb that held the life giving and corrupting essence. He had to linger for a few more seconds. He had to! He owed it to them, to those he had failed to protect, or live up to. He heard the voices again, telling him their last words. They weighed him down, threatening to engulf him in darkness, yet the last fragments that remained of the dark knight held on for just a second longer, closing the lid and letting go, feeling his body sinking deep within the unholy liquid that had belonged to his fathers arch enemy, his grandfather. He felt his heart give out, lungs filling with blood as he began to lose consciousness. The last thing he could hear was the corrupt jewel that was Gotham burn and collapse underneath its own twisted soul. Three years later -And that is only in the recent weeks. It seems that another crime gang has decided to claim a piece of Gotham. In other news A remarkable two point five percentage increase for Wayne industries, showing again the brilliant economical mind that is Damian Wayne. Numerous economist predict further growth on the stock market thanks to this latest revelation by Wayne industries. Some mi- The tall nineteen year old closed the television as he stopped in front of the large window, eyes scanning the diseased and corrupt city that was Gotham. His frame stood tall and powerful, shoulders broad and limbs trained and sculptured to brutal efficiency. His dark black hair was cut short and face shaven. He looked like a younger version of his father, were it not for the unnatural coloured eyes he now possessed. Those eyes were staring down on Gotham, taking it all in. From the archaic gothic style structures and statues to the technological marvels and steel masses that reach for the very skies itself. Gotham is a shy jewel of progress, economical might, yet deeply corrupted in its heart. Gangs, villains and the criminally insane roam and rule the underworld, controlling nearly a third of Gotham hostage. At one time, many years ago, a man had risen from the edges of this darkness, risen against the darkness that had formed him. The dark knight, Batman, the crusader of the shadows, the individual went by many names, yet none could question the impact he had on the city. One man could somehow muster the strength to do what an entire city could not do themselves, stem the tide of pain and suffering and keeping the darkness at bay. Now, three years later, something new would arise. Like a phoenix, a true heir would rise to defend Gotham. Instead of rising from the edges, this new rebirth was born in the very darkness itself, moulded by it so that it had no flaws. He would finish what he had started, former body now restored, better than before, carrying the accumulated knowledge of his fathers teaching and that of the league of shadows within the proud and unsheltered body of his reborn self. Bruce Wayne had died three years ago, leaving Damian to be his next heir, the Lazarus pit restoring and altering what had been damaged. The pit took something from a person each time they used it. For many months Damian Wayne had battled the bit, letting it restore and better him at the price of something. Long and excruciating months had been spend fighting it, only letting the pit take what Damian wanted it to take. In the end Damian Wanye had risen from the pits a perfect warrior of justice that would take on the mantle once more, this time without restrictions. But first, he had to settle on old grudge he had. He peered at the screen in front of him and grinned, watching the crooks he had tagged with a GPS tracker. They had started to move erratic all of a sudden, going into alleyways as if their lives depended on it. So the little pretender bat had taken the bait did she? He grinned as he began to prepare himself.