System malfunction || DC

Chapter Twelve

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That Fateful Day

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The only light that day came from the lightning and the sun shining through the cloud tops. The wind raced as if it had been confined for time out of mind, determined to outrun any pursuer. The stars observed as the trees joined in the emerging drama, as though the shift, though fast and shocking, was as welcome as a surprise knock on the door.

The storm arrived as the opera of the heavens, the instruments resolute in their desire to sing, the trees and grasses as their percussion. Even the rain arrived in a choreographed pattern, appearing to be the master of the picture yet arriving on previously unseen signals. Taking away the day and hiding the impending return of the night.

As if starlight were pulsating through the graphite sky, lightning struck vast networking forks. The silver streaks cackled like living energy, forming gaps in the skies like roots from trees or raindrops on glass.

Zeus yelled as he hurled another bolt down the valley of mountains and trees, rippling through the green vegetation and bursting through the massive walls of the Wayne home.

Damian was lying on his back, his limbs angled over the thin sheet. The chest heaved and the skin was terrible, sickly pale with sticky perspiration tracks. He awoke from his terrible dream as the pulsing shake rocked his ribs like a xylophone.

His fist clenched the clinging fabric of his tank, shivering at the ghosts of his imagination. With his heart and mind reassured by the fading nightmare, he ran his palm across his sheets and cringed at the body-shaped imprint his sweat had left.

He stood up, his body trembling like the storm, and proceeded to peel the covers off, flinging them into a corner and making his way to the joint bathroom. Cold toffee skin prickled like goose-skin, fiercely aware of his surroundings as he stripped naked, twisted the shower on, and stood under the freezing water.

The shower was supposed to wash his body of the night's horrors, but it simply cleaned the plate for more arrivals. He sagged against the open shower wall, his skin rubbing crimson as he fell down the black tile and to the floor.

Pupils dilated, lids drew back comically in what could only be described as pure terror. They claim that when we are terrified and open our eyes wide, our sensitivity improves and our range of vision widens, making it easier to spot danger. Damian would have said that was true if his thinking hadn't already distorted his vision like water down the drain.

Down he sank, not just to the floor, but lost in his chaotic mind. Reliving each moment over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over-

Now he knows how Sasuke Uchiha felt after reliving his clans' death for the millionth time.

One year has passed since then. Time dragged through hours, tripping over days and stumbling over months. It's too sluggish to stress about, yet too rapid to not be reminded of the passing of time. He imagined death as a light at the end of a tunnel that is dim at first but gradually grows stronger and larger. Some days it doesn't move at all, while on others it jumps meters. That brightness will surround him one day. blinding him till it all turns black.