The Choice
Jan. 10th, 2007 01:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shankieInspired by this and written in like, ten minutes, like this brain-purge of an ficlet that had to give itself life. AU like woah. I actually feel unburdened now. No sex or violence or anything, so it really doesn't need a rating.
The Choice
Darkseid contemplates his son.
When he first saw the child, he was revolted by the seed of his enemy. Smiling, laughing in a way that was difficult to reconcile as anything but glee in his failure. It was only a babe, however, and had no understanding of it's own self, let alone the direction Fate had cast it.
The intentions of Fate were not beyond Darkseid's grasp, and he was presented with a choice. A choice, an actual parting of course with two possibilities of their own virtue. And he considered for some time, the first that had been presented him; that the boy would grow rebellious in his shadow, and the very idea of a worthy adversary was enough that he would have allowed it. Such a possibility held the taste of victory hard-won, a sweet one indeed. But defeat had already tainted his palate, and there was another future cast.
He raised the boy as his own.
There was no sound as the boy, now a man, now his greatest subject, strode proudly towards the wide dais, only the faintest sounding voice of the Grandmother Box on his arm as he knelt, sweeping his black raiment about him in a pool over the gray stone. "Your armies are again victorious, father." He looked up, hard eyes glittering with satisfaction, no doubt recalling the intoxication of seeing his enemy driven before him in defeat.
"I don't believe it has ever before happened. That you would return in person without my summoning, merely to relay such a fact."
A smile that renewed his satisfaction in it's vicious content. "There is more." He rose, without being asked, forever with a will that granted him successful conquest; and if not for that, it would be quickly tiresome. "My brother is dead, by my hand." He held out his gloved hand at that, examined it ponderously, then gripped it into a fist, pleased.
He could feel the smile reflecting in his own face. "You've done well, Scott." He stood unhurriedly from his throne, set his hands behind his back and regarded him. "Son."
The gravity of the title didn't escape Scott's mind, and the acknowledgement flickered across his face like a renewal of filial loyalty, though Darkseid knew he could never trust him. "Thank you, father."
When he was alone again, he looked out over Apokolips, the heart of his power, the expression still on his face. He wondered when the day would come, that his son would seek to replace him as worthy monarch of the cosmos. Those that would stand against him were growing fewer, one by one, being plucked out of being.
One day, there would be only Scott. He awaited the occasion with pleasure.
The Choice
Darkseid contemplates his son.
When he first saw the child, he was revolted by the seed of his enemy. Smiling, laughing in a way that was difficult to reconcile as anything but glee in his failure. It was only a babe, however, and had no understanding of it's own self, let alone the direction Fate had cast it.
The intentions of Fate were not beyond Darkseid's grasp, and he was presented with a choice. A choice, an actual parting of course with two possibilities of their own virtue. And he considered for some time, the first that had been presented him; that the boy would grow rebellious in his shadow, and the very idea of a worthy adversary was enough that he would have allowed it. Such a possibility held the taste of victory hard-won, a sweet one indeed. But defeat had already tainted his palate, and there was another future cast.
He raised the boy as his own.
There was no sound as the boy, now a man, now his greatest subject, strode proudly towards the wide dais, only the faintest sounding voice of the Grandmother Box on his arm as he knelt, sweeping his black raiment about him in a pool over the gray stone. "Your armies are again victorious, father." He looked up, hard eyes glittering with satisfaction, no doubt recalling the intoxication of seeing his enemy driven before him in defeat.
"I don't believe it has ever before happened. That you would return in person without my summoning, merely to relay such a fact."
A smile that renewed his satisfaction in it's vicious content. "There is more." He rose, without being asked, forever with a will that granted him successful conquest; and if not for that, it would be quickly tiresome. "My brother is dead, by my hand." He held out his gloved hand at that, examined it ponderously, then gripped it into a fist, pleased.
He could feel the smile reflecting in his own face. "You've done well, Scott." He stood unhurriedly from his throne, set his hands behind his back and regarded him. "Son."
The gravity of the title didn't escape Scott's mind, and the acknowledgement flickered across his face like a renewal of filial loyalty, though Darkseid knew he could never trust him. "Thank you, father."
When he was alone again, he looked out over Apokolips, the heart of his power, the expression still on his face. He wondered when the day would come, that his son would seek to replace him as worthy monarch of the cosmos. Those that would stand against him were growing fewer, one by one, being plucked out of being.
One day, there would be only Scott. He awaited the occasion with pleasure.
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on 2007-01-10 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-01-11 12:35 am (UTC)