Fun side-note: I drew this while I was with my boyfriend and his friend, both who were studying. When my boyfriend left to go to the bathroom, his friend asked if he could know what I was drawing.
His friend: Do you mind if I ask, what are you drawing? Me: Oh, sure. Um…. Do you know Superman’s son….? His friend: Yeah, I think so. Me: Okay, yeah, so I’m drawing his adoptive son, Chris Kent and- His friend: Alright, I don’t know that one… Me: Oh…um…then yeah, I’m drawing his adoptive son and his daughter from a parallel universe. His friend: *blank look*
I told my boyfriend that after we were going back to his place and my boyfriend just playfully scolded me.
Boyfriend: Why couldn’t you just tell him Nightwing and Supergirl? Me: Because that still might’ve confused him and I didn’t think of it at the time!
What had been a chaotic and loud battle turned silent around him as he saw the blast that tore right through her. She was half Kryptonian! That shouldn’t have been possible!
And then he saw where the blast had come from, and he understood. Doctor Fate turned to him, golden helmet horrifyingly impassive after the deadly magic that had his Supergirl, his Supergirl, falling, falling, falling.
The battle, his plans, forgotten, he teleports. He catches her in his arms, still in shock that this was even a possibility, and he brings them both to the ground.
“I… Rel, I’m so sorry,” his voice catches in his throat and he swallows hard, trying to clear it. She’s still alive, barely. Still fighting to breath. But healing was never his strong point. He couldn’t help her, and Beulah was no where near enough to get there in time. Rel, his oldest and closest friend, the girl that he might very well love, was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing.
“I never…I never meant for you to get hurt!” She was trying to say something, but either she couldn’t speak, or her voice was lost to him. He caught both her hands, ignoring the wet heat of her blood soaking through his doublet and Breeches, staining his stockings brilliant red, and bent over her.
“I never meant for this.” His voice was soft as the last of the light left her eyes. How long had it taken? How long did he cling to her as she fought a hopeless fight to live? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter.
He laid her out neatly, smoothing her hair out of her face, and raised a dome of stone and magic to keep her safe while he handled what had stolen her from him.
“Yours is not a death that shall go unavenged,” he vowed, magic sparking and building around him with the force of his rage, with the force of his sorrow. He rose back in to the air, attacks glancing off of him or missing him entirely.
Eyes aglow, he struck them down. One by one by one they fell, heroes and villains alike, enemy or ally. Heroes were supposed to protect life not end it. His allies were supposed to protect her. They were all guilty in his eyes, sinners to his gaze.
Finally, all others laid smoking on the ground, dead, dying or merely injured, he didn’t care. Finally, it was just him and the one most responsible. Finally, it was as it was always going to be. Finally it was just Klarion and Nabu, Chaos and Order.
“You killed her,” the Witchboy’s voice sounded dead even to his own ears.
“She was your ally, an unfortunate casualty.” Nabu, emotionless as ever, replied.
“YOU KILLED HER!” Klarion’s voice rose in pitch as his power flashed around him, the skies growing dark and stormy.
“THIS ENDS NABU! IF I HAVE TO KILL US BOTH TO DO IT!”