The Dark Knight Rises

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oldgrayrogue
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The Dark Knight Rises

Post by oldgrayrogue »

He had convinced her to come. Into this frozen hell. Why? She had wanted him to stay behind, wanted them, to stay behind. Safe. Secure. She pleaded with him. She did not want him to die, in her arms, again, like he had before. “You are stronger than you know,” he had whispered. She seemed unconvinced. “I need you, with me” he said. As they stalked through the cavern, he was trying to convince himself, now. She would be safe. She stayed to the rear as he had asked her to. “Stay by Aglorus,” he had said, “I have arranged for him to whisk you away if need be.” He looked back often. Nipsy was there, beside her. Vale watched from behind. She would be safe. Gods, why? Why had he convinced her to come? “I need you, with me.” He heard something.

Footsteps, approaching fast on the snow. Adam peeked around the icy corner Kal had just disappeared around and they were upon him. Two cultists, no three, their sharp elven features seemed as frozen as the statues of ice that lined the cavern. In that moment he could not help but think of Vale. Stoic. Emotionless. Cold. Was that what he must become? No. He grabbed hold of his pain. With a steely hiss his blade came free of its scabbard, flame licking along the edge. An arrow whistled by. He ducked, struck, parried a blow to his right, then his left, slashed behind him then arched to avoid the next thrust. He embraced his loss and became lost in the dance: a mocking parody of the joy of his life before, now a leaping, twisting, striking transfer of pain. Surrounded, he spun the pirouette, the ice beneath his feet hastening the turn, his fiery blade following in a graceful arc, shield arm raised, ready to strike – and he was frozen. Paralyzed. An effigy of all resistance to the ice demon’s will: defiant, battling, yet frozen. Helpless.

He saw her then, from the corner of his petrified eye. Running towards him, agape in a silent scream, tears streaming, arm outstretched, through frozen lips he struggled to speak a final word . . .

“Clary.”

Darkness. He knew this place, alien yet familiar. And he knew what would come next. He had been here before.

Chaos. A cyclone raging. Surrounding him? Within him? Pain, fear, hate, love, loss: a spinning maelstrom. A churning tunnel stretching from everything he ever was to everything he could ever be. Thunder crashed, lightning seared the dark. The gale ripped, swirling. Ice rained down, covering, burying. Fangs biting. Voices screaming. Dark liquid, wine and blood, splattered, a tornado spinning, spinning around him from eternity to eternity. He was paralyzed, helpless.

Then, at one end, far in the distance, he saw it? Felt it? Just a pinpoint, like the first climb of dawn over a distant horizon. The turning chaos pushed him towards it. Whispered promises of peace. Was that a woman's soft voice? An end to pain. Solace. Sanctuary.

Weeping, he turned from it, into the face of the storm. It blasted into him with renewed force, impelling, exhorting him to turn round. He grabbed hold of his pain, and took one step. Then another, and another. The gale blew stronger. He embraced his loss and he was marching now, jaw set, arms swinging, determined. The winds buffeted him, blowing, pounding, prodding him to turn round. He opened himself to compassion, to love, and head held high stared defiant into raging storm.

And there it was. An orb of calm. Pulsating light. Glowing heat. A harbor in the tempest. He was running now towards it. Faster, faster, faster, he could just see it now, upright, steadfast, steel and stone, order in the chaos. He was flying now, heedless against the cyclone. Flashing towards it, a winged Archon rocketing through eternity, tears streaming, mouth agape in a primal scream, arm outstretched to finally grasp the white hot Hammer of Justice . . .

Light. He knew this place, alien yet familiar. He had been here before. His eyes snapped open . . .

“Clary.”
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