Disclaimer: Yep, we all know the drill…Making no profit from this yada yada yada…Smallville, and Supergirl, and any other shows made mention of here, are the profit of those people who own them (grrrr, and How I hate them.) If I did own Smallville, why in all of the wacky palnets in our universe would I be doing this... :)
This is the revised version of what is turning out to be the largest venture into the world of fan fiction I have done so far…and by far the most drawn out. And a lot has changed since I started that lonely, boring day 4 years ago.
Man I'm a lazy cow…
Anyway, enjoy...
PRELUDE
The rain pelted down, viciously fast drops that transformed an ordinary summer storm into a harsh thundering caphony. Night was closing in around the chaos that spread across the deserted mud fields, and what little sky could be seen through the thickening haze of cloud and sleet, shone dully by the light of a starry cluster overhead.
Some of the trees still standing were tipped at odd angles against the onslaught, the sheer force of the storm either breaking or bending low the huge trunks of these mahogany giants. Unbelievably, these too soon fell, unheard, silent against the storm's velocity.
Wind howled loudly above the screams of the anguished: dozens of figures littered the ground, lifeless eyes reflecting none of the flickering glitter from above.
Hunched bodies moaning in a pain some had never before felt, others hoped never to feel again, cradling their loved ones awkwardly, as though expecting to awaken soon from a nightmare borne of their deepest fears.
Not all were dead; families by the dozen were beginning to search the area, screaming the names of those they were yet to find- some would get lucky, would find the missing persons alive, or intact.
Others, not so much- and even the echoing force of the storm could not silence those screams, as the frantic air of desperate searching ceased abruptly, the ensuing silence almost as horrifying as the cries that broke them.
Those cries of the families that would be burying half of their children, the halves that could be found…such bloody sights that break the human mind, crumble the soul into a miserable never ending wail.
Horrible hear trenching sounds that tore at the hearts of the lucky, grief creeping steadily into the minds and souls of all that had survived…all that were still alive.
In the days to come, many would wish they hadn't. Many would wish that living with the memory of that night wasn't a certain kind of death within itself, and realised that all of the hundreds of persons on the field that night, had all died in one form or another.
One figure stood, unmoving. A silent vanguard over a small cluster of hunched figures an arm length away, too absorbed in their own grief to notice the up-swelling of the storm around them.
Jonathon and Martha Kent wept; unable to contain the overwhelming grief that filled their everything with nothing- rocking the still, young form that lay between them, knowing without a doubt, that their son would not be coming back to them.
Beside them, the shocked, pale face of Chloe Sullivan blinked owlishly at the bloody broken body of her long-time friend, arms crossed in front of herself in a vain attempt to keep the pain in her heart from exploding into a torrent of hysterical screams.
Pete had long before given up trying to stay calm- sobbing silently into the one armed hug the older man had folded him into once the first of the tears fell from his face. Shoulders heaving, Pete buried his head into Mr Kent's signature jacket, ignoring the feel of the wet fabric against his cheek, the mud and blood stains…Clark's blood.
Off to the side, Lana Lang folded over on herself, hands clutching at the gnawing pain in her stomach, fingers like talons through the thin blue cotton of her dress, and sank to the ground with a rush. Her wide, disbelieving eyes took in the lurid scene that played out before them, and her face crumpled, as she began sobbing silently into her enclosed fist.
The figure stood, wordlessly observing all of this, stoic. Then, piercing blue eyes turned to the sky, too wet with tears to notice the bitter sting of the tiny drops as they found their mark, void with an emptiness that even now was extinguishing all hope.
"I'm sorry" she whispered, head bowed low. "This is all my fault."
"My fault." Hair plastered to her skull, clothing soaked, the blue chill of the cold seeping into the dying warmth of her skin, she let her arms hang loosely at her sides, uncaring. With rivers of blood dripping off her fingertips in a steady, even rhythm; she looked every bit the last daughter of a lost race.
Kara Zor-El gave one long, last glance, filled with all the neglected love she held, at the empty shell of her cousin, her only family, and those that shared it with him; a grim line of determination set along her jaw.
Addressing the Kents softly, she added, "I can fix this." Louder, she turned to the direction of the Indian caves, repeating it with greater strength.
"I WILL fix this!" Gathering speed, she took off at a blurring run, leaving behind the protesting sounds of Chloe, Pete and the others, letting them melt into the background of screams and cries that reverberated throughout the fields.
What are you doing little girl?
That horrible voice, of that terrible entity, echoed through her head, as she stopped, poised on the darkened edge of the caves, hesitant. Then fear turned to steel and pushing through the shadows, green fractures of light sending shards of agony into her already agonised limbs.
The voice repeated the question; amusement quickly fading at her determination and it began shrieking threats in a violent array of English and Kryptonian.
But she didn't fucking care.
Reaching into the tattered pocket of her jacket, she found the items, and her fingers curled around one, bringing it out to shine like a beacon of hope against the bitter spikes of fear, running through her mind like snakes. Holding it up, she ran the rest of the way, and was suddenly there.
The room stood as it had when the whole nightmare had started: she moved past the raised platform in the centre of the room, and with a single minded focus stood facing the octagonal shape imbedded within the Kryptonian display on the far wall.
As she bent her head to frown down at the disk in her hand, the voice raised again.
No, no, NOOO! You can't do that! What are you doing to meeeee? Smirking, she lifted her hand in one swift movement, and shoved her key into the octagonal space.
"I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago." Fierce pride clouded her eyes for a second.
"What Clark would have done."
The pulsing of light grew to a bright, white hot heartbeat that consumed the shadows in a blinding wave after wave of pure energy.
Kara felt herself being lifted up by an invisible force, and slowly but surely brought the other item out of her pocket to hold out in front of her. The translucent crystal glowed with a pure purpose, strong and true.
With her last once of strength she plugged it into the faint groove next to the key, and a red, blue and yellow circle of alien words sprang to life in the wall, spinning faster and faster until a white vortex materialized in the middle of the room.
"I HAVE TO GO BACK." Kara screamed into the whirring sphere, watching as the darkness was pulled into the pure energy of the vortex, before she sucked in a sharp intake of air, heartbeat quickening erratically.
Breathing deeply her mind flashed- to all of the faces of those now dead, and lost- and she found her courage.
With a running leap, she followed suit, clearing the edge of the sphere and jumping into the disappearing light, before it winked out of existence, taking both her and the shadow with it.
Yes I know, I'm a horrible pain in the arse that deserves to burn in the fiery depths of damnation after a cliffhanger like that, but, (shrugs shoulders) watcha gonna do?
Did I mention READ AND REVIEW? Do it (bad Arnold Schwarzenegger impression), You must DO it NOW! He he (I'm evil.)