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BETTER TO BE A BREATHING DEVIL THAN A ROTTING ANGEL, DON'T YOU THINK? At the very least, Dick Grayson seems to as he refuses to let Reyna anywhere near their captive Kryptonian. Sharp white teeth form fangs and he muzzles her, keeping her from her vengeance.
"You're not going in there", he says. "Not a chance."
"He would speak to me!" She argues. "He'd give me everything!"
"He wouldn't. None of them would."
She glares at him. "Of course, they would. Every last one of them knows who I am."
There's that familiar look of frustration, something her family has always ignited within him. "Reyna . . . I promised I'd keep you safe. I can't let you in there."
She pulls back, her whole body shifting away from him. "I am not a child."
Oh, what a lovely way to burn. She looks at him and sees her innocence reflected in his eyes; he looks at her and sees only the remaining rage, the last embers of a god sparking within her soul. She is not a child, no, and perhaps she never was one. That, too, is another thing they have stolen from her.
Childhood. Innocence. Mercy. Her lineage is known to have it all stripped away in fits of fiery fury.
"There are others", he says. "We both it's not just him. And I can't let them go just because you lost control."
"I didn't kill him", she says. "I had the chance."
"You can do a lot worse than homicide", he replies.
She can make you live with it, can't she, Dick Grayson? Let that guilt fester. Let that loss linger. Make you wish it had been you, make you pray to every deity you know that you could swap places. They will never listen to a hopeless prayer and the truth will remain: you are here and he is not. You always will and he never could be.
Oh yes. There are many things worse than death.
Reyna holds them all in the palm of her hand. The Great Destroyer ━━ she does more than end lives. Killers are a dime a dozen; true divinity is a rarity. Real worship is a prize to be treasured, a gift to be nourished.
So let her out. Let her burn.
"Just . . . let me handle this part, okay?"
Her gaze meets his and she tries not to flinch from the guilt. "This part alone. When we catch Zod . . ."
"We'll discuss it then", he says firmly. So against what she may do. So opposed to what he knows will happen, to the inevitability scorched into the sky.
She lets out a low hum. "There's nothing to discuss."
No words can be said to pull her fury back. It will rise like a tidal wave and drown them all out. Her God is her and her God is vengeance. Her God is relentless and her God screams for his blood.
