The cemetery lay silent beneath a heavy blanket of snow, each flake falling as softly as the whispered words of mourners. The bitter cold seeped into the bones of everyone gathered, but none felt it as acutely as Elizabeth. She stood near the grave, her hands clenched tightly around the edge of her coat, her knuckles pale and trembling. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts, each exhale a fragile cloud in the freezing air. Beside her, Magnus Thawne stood rigid, his face carved from stone, his usual mask of cold efficiency firmly in place.
Elizabeth couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Magnus show anything close to emotion. Over the years, she had grown used to the detached, businesslike way he approached everything in life—whether it was a corporate deal, a family dinner, or the loss of someone they had once cared for. Magnus always had a way of turning off his feelings, of compartmentalizing everything, as if emotions were just another inefficiency to be dealt with. But now, standing in the cemetery as they buried a loved one, that coldness felt like a knife to her heart.
The snow fell quietly around them, muffling the world in white. Elizabeth’s mind drifted as she glanced at Magnus again, her eyes searching his face for some crack in his stoic armor. But there was nothing. Just the same rigid posture, the same hardened expression, as if this moment—this loss—was something he was already past, a business matter that had already been filed away and forgotten.
How can you be so cold? The question echoed in her mind, but she didn’t dare ask it aloud. She had tried to shield Eobard from Magnus’s harshness when he was young. Tried to soften the edges, to give him some sense of warmth, of connection. But it had never been enough. Magnus’s influence had been too strong, too pervasive, shaping Eobard into a mirror image of himself—cold, calculating, and untouchable.
Elizabeth’s thoughts were pulled back into the present as Mr. Johns, a colleague of Magnus’s, approached them with quiet steps. He offered his condolences to Magnus, though Elizabeth barely registered the words. She zoned in on Magnus once more, watching the brief exchange with muted curiosity.
Johns’s voice dropped lower, his words drawing Elizabeth’s attention. “Magnus, a sad day indeed. I won’t take up much of your time, but there’s something you should know.”
Magnus turned his head slightly, enough to acknowledge Johns without fully engaging, his expression as unmoved as ever. “What is it?”
Elizabeth caught the shift in tone, her focus narrowing in as Mr. Johns leaned in a little closer, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Dr. Kavanagh… I don’t suppose you’ve seen him recently?”
Elizabeth’s heart gave a sudden jolt at the name. Kavanagh, the family doctor. He had been their physician for years, a trusted figure, a close friend to Magnus. How could Magnus not know where he was?
Magnus’s face remained still, unreadable. “No,” he said simply. “Why?”
Johns hesitated, glancing briefly at Elizabeth before returning his gaze to Magnus. “He hasn’t been seen in weeks. People are starting to ask questions. Considering he’s an old friend of the family… well, I thought perhaps you’d heard something.”
Magnus’s lips tightened slightly, but when he spoke, his words were careful, deliberate. “I haven’t seen him,” he replied, his tone giving nothing away.
Elizabeth blinked, her attention sharpening as the conversation unfolded. How can you be so indifferent? He was your closest friend. Our family doctor. For the first time, Elizabeth felt the cold weight of Magnus’s emotional distance in a way she couldn’t ignore. If he could be this detached about Kavanagh, what did that mean about how he felt about their family?
Mr. Johns shifted slightly, looking uncomfortable in the growing tension. But he pressed on. “And Eobard? He should be here… it’s family after all. Especially on a day like this.”
The mention of Eobard pulled Elizabeth’s thoughts into sharper focus, her mind immediately conjuring images of her son. Eobard. The boy she had tried so desperately to protect from becoming like his father. The boy who had learned too well from Magnus’s example.
Magnus’s expression hardened, his voice growing even colder, if such a thing were possible. “Eobard and I are no longer speaking,” he said flatly.
The finality of those words hit Elizabeth harder than she expected. It was as if a door had been slammed shut, not just between Magnus and Eobard, but between Eobard and her as well. The family she had once hoped to hold together now felt as fractured as ever, with Magnus on one side, Eobard somewhere far away on another, and her stranded between them.
As Mr. Johns mumbled a hasty apology and stepped back, Elizabeth stood there in silence, her breath shallow and her heart heavy. The snow continued to fall, soft and quiet, but all she could feel was the growing distance between her and the two men she had spent her life trying to hold on to.
As Magnus turned his attention back to the graves, Elizabeth felt herself growing more distant, as though the cold was pulling her away from everything around her. Her breath came out in small puffs of vapor, the air biting at her cheeks, but the cold wasn’t just outside—it had settled deep inside her, an insidious thing that seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment.
The feeling had been there all day, lurking just beneath the surface, but now it was undeniable. The same sense of dread that had gnawed at her all morning had become sharper, more oppressive. It wasn’t the grief—it was something far darker.
Her eyes darted around the cemetery, but the mourners blurred into one indistinct mass, their faces lost in the falling snow. The cold seeped into her veins, turning them to ice, and with it came a slow-burning panic that crawled up her spine.
A flicker of yellow caught her eye—a blur at the edge of her vision. She turned quickly, but there was nothing there. Just gravestones and snow.
Then, a flash of red.
Her heart skipped a beat. She spun again, her eyes scanning the grey landscape, but again there was nothing.
The cold grew worse, like she was standing barefoot on ice, her legs trembling as she struggled to stay upright. Her breath came quicker now, short and shallow, each one fogging the air in front of her. She tried to focus, but her gaze kept catching glimpses of something—yellow, red—just at the periphery of her vision. Something was circling her. Watching her.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, her throat tightening as her eyes darted desperately around. The flashes of color grew more frequent, but each time she looked, there was nothing. The cold wasn’t just outside her now—it was inside her, wrapping around her heart, squeezing it with an icy grip.
And then she felt it—the weight of unseen eyes burning into her. Not from a mourner, not from someone nearby, but from something much worse.
She turned again, slowly this time, as though some part of her already knew what she was going to see.
And there it was.
Standing in the distance, stark against the snowy landscape, was a demon. Yellow-skinned, red-eyed. Unmoving. It seemed to burn with light and darkness at the same time, impossibly bright and yet darker than the blackest night. It watched her, and she felt its gaze like fire, searing through her, reaching deep into her chest, setting her nerves alight with fear.
She couldn’t move. Her body was frozen, her legs weak beneath her. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding so fast she thought it might stop. The demon didn’t move, but it didn’t need to. Its presence alone was enough to crush her.
Her knees buckled. She collapsed to the snow-covered ground, her eyes wide with terror, her breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. She didn’t understand what she had seen, but the meaning was clear.
She was prey.
From the shadows, Eobard Thawne watched. He didn’t need to strike, didn’t need to touch her. Fear was enough. The collapse of her mind, the shattering of her spirit, was all he wanted. He smiled, cold and satisfied, as Elizabeth crumbled before him. Blood in the water, he thought, savoring the moment. And then, with a flicker of red lightning, he was gone.
The evening at Thawne Manor was one of forced elegance, the kind that only the wealthiest and most powerful could maintain, even in the face of tragedy. The estate’s imposing stone façade stood like a monument to the Thawne family’s legacy, cold and unyielding, much like the family itself. Inside, the guests moved like shadows, their whispered condolences and polite conversation barely breaking the heavy silence that blanketed the grand hall.
A portrait of Robern Thawne loomed above them, his eyes seeming to follow each guest as they murmured their rehearsed sympathies. It wasn’t just mourning on display—it was opulence, wealth speaking louder than grief. Every detail of the evening, from the floral arrangements to the polished marble floors, exuded a sense of control and power, as if even death could be contained within the bounds of their prestige.
But beneath the surface, something darker lingered—an absence that spoke louder than words. The lack of mention of Rose, Ruben’s wife, was glaring. Not a whisper of her name, not a gesture to honor her memory. In any other family, it would have been unthinkable to let her fade into obscurity on such an evening, but here at Thawne Manor, it was almost as though she hadn’t existed. It was a quiet but powerful reminder that family meant little to them, and that those not seen as valuable enough were quickly forgotten. Blood, after all, was only thicker than water when it held status.
The air In the room was heavy, not with sorrow, but with the weight of appearances. The guests, careful in their movements and measured in their words, played their roles well—offering condolences with the same precision as they might make a business deal. Each word, each glance, was calculated, as though they were speaking not to the grieving family, but to the world. This was not just a funeral; it was a display of the Thawne family’s status, their power on full display, even in the face of loss.
Elizabeth Thawne stood in the center of it all, her gaze fixed on the portrait of her son, but her thoughts distant. She barely registered the murmured sympathies as they passed her by, her focus blurred by a feeling she couldn’t quite name. The absence of Rose gnawed at her, another wound hidden beneath the surface. How can they all stand here and pretend? She wondered, the bitterness rising like bile in her throat. But here, even grief was measured in the currency of power. Her heart ached, but her face remained impassive. To show anything else would be to betray the family’s image.
Across the room, Magnus stood as he always did—silent and unflinching, a pillar of the family’s strength. But even he seemed more distant tonight, his expression colder than usual, as though the weight of the evening was pressing down on him in ways he refused to acknowledge.
Eobard Thawne, the Reverse Flash, circled the estate like a predator. His yellow suit blazed against the night, but he moved too quickly to be seen. Red lightning crackled around him, leaving streaks of energy that flickered in the dark sky. He was the storm, and Thawne Manor was about to be swallowed by it.
But this was no ordinary storm. As Eobard slowed, just slightly, the air seemed to shift. His afterimages—the speed mirages—flickered into view, one by one, at every window, every door. To the guests inside, it was as though the very walls of the manor were haunted by a blurred, monstrous figure. Each afterimage moved with a chilling precision, tapping on the glass, smiling, watching.
Inside, the guests froze. The atmosphere of forced elegance evaporated in an instant, replaced by a suffocating dread. “Did you see that?” one of the guests whispered, their voice tight with fear.
At the far window, the blurred figure of the Reverse Flash appeared, his form distorted by speed. A toothy grin flickered in the glass before he vanished again in a flash of red lightning.
Moments later, another afterimage appeared at a different window, accompanied by a slow, deliberate tap on the glass.
Magnus set his glass down on the marble table with a sharp clink, his eyes narrowing as he stared out at the flashing red light. Control of the evening was slipping through his fingers. “Enough,” he growled, his voice slicing through the growing whispers. “It’s nothing.”
But it was anything but nothing.
Three guests spun around simultaneously, their eyes widening as the same blurred, yellow figure appeared at three different windows—one at the far end of the hall, another near the door, and the third just behind a trembling servant. Panic rippled through the room. Glasses clattered to the floor, hands trembled, and voices rose in alarm.
Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest. The cold she had felt earlier returned, creeping up her spine like ice. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew. He was here. Her lips parted, and before she could stop herself, the word slipped out—half breath, half whisper.
“The demon.”
It escaped her before she could catch it, as though his very presence had ripped the word from her lungs. Her chest tightened as fear gripped her. This wasn’t just a man. This was something far worse.
The tapping grew louder. More insistent. Now there were figures at every window, every door. The Reverse Flash’s afterimages were everywhere at once, blurred and monstrous, as though the manor itself was surrounded by a living storm of red lightning.
The guests began to panic in earnest. One woman screamed, her voice muffled by the sound of the tapping, her eyes darting around the room, searching for an exit. Another man bolted for the door, his hands shaking as he gripped the handle.
It wouldn’t budge.
“What the hell?” he gasped, pulling harder, his voice rising in panic. “The door—it’s locked!” More guests tried to follow, rushing toward the exits, but every door, every window, was blocked. No one could escape. The tapping turned into a cacophony now, echoing through the grand hall, coming from every direction.
Magnus took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes darted from window to window, but all he saw were flashes of yellow and red—distorted, monstrous figures that moved too quickly to be real. The manor that had once been a symbol of power and control was now a cage.
Eobard grinned from the shadows, savoring the chaos. He could hear their hearts racing, smell the fear that radiated from them. Fools, he thought, his red eyes blazing with energy. They had no idea what was coming. He was everywhere, and they had nowhere to run. Outside, the Reverse Flash stopped at the end of the driveway, his eyes blazing with red lightning. He grinned, savoring the chaos he had created.
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Now, he thought.
With a burst of speed, he sprinted toward the front door, moving so fast that the concrete cracked beneath his heels. He turned sharply, dashing back toward the house and crashing through the front door in an explosion of red lightning.
The grand ballroom was thrown into chaos as Eobard burst through the doors, his entrance a violent shockwave of energy. His Lightning Rod slammed into the marble floor with a deafening crack, sending shockwaves rippling through the room. The chandeliers above swayed wildly, their crystals clattering together as the entire room was engulfed in a blinding flash of red light.
Guests were thrown from their feet, their composed exteriors shattered in an instant. They screamed, their bodies crashing into tables, furniture splintering beneath them. Some tried to scramble away, but they were too disoriented, too terrified. The air was filled with the sound of breaking glass, shouts of panic, and the grinding of shattered marble underfoot.
Magnus and Elizabeth were hurled across the room by the force of the impact. Elizabeth, her gown billowing like a rag caught in the wind, slammed into the grand piano, the polished wood splintering beneath her. Her breath was knocked from her lungs, leaving her gasping as she tried to regain her senses. Magnus, thrown into a marble column, groaned as he slumped to the floor, his body struggling to respond, the full weight of Eobard’s entrance crashing down on him.
Amidst the wreckage, Eobard stood. His yellow suit glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light, his red eyes glowing like embers in the dark. His Lightning Rod, still embedded in the floor, crackled with energy, the red lightning spreading out like veins, casting an ominous glow over the ruins of the once-lavish ballroom.
He looked around, taking in the wreckage with satisfaction—the overturned tables, the shattered chandeliers, the broken bodies of guests too stunned to move. The world of control and power his family had built had crumbled at his feet.
And then, with a twisted smile, he spoke.
“Mother. Father. I’ve come home.”
His voice cut through the chaos like a blade, calm and mocking, as if nothing had pleased him more than watching their world burn.
The words hit the room like a slap, the finality of it hanging in the air. Magnus, momentarily stunned, fell silent. His bluster, his authority, crumbled beneath the weight of Eobard’s words.
Eobard began to pace slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his movements controlled, precise—like a predator toying with his prey. His voice took on a distant, almost reflective tone. “You remember when I won the science fair in tenth grade, don’t you, Father?” he said, as though recounting an old, long-forgotten memory. “It was brilliant work. I was brilliant. But you never saw it that way.”
His eyes flicked back to Magnus, but there was no warmth there, only cold observation. The old grievances were no longer painful; they were simply facts, details from a life long gone.
“Or in high school, when I had a crush on Rose,” Eobard continued, his voice growing even colder. “Reuben stole her from me, right in front of you, and you did nothing. Nothing at all.”
He paused before the portrait of his brother, his finger brushing the frame with a touch so light it was almost mocking. “Reuben could do no wrong in your eyes.”
As he spoke, the detachment became more apparent. The memories that should have been formative, that should have bonded them as a family, now served only as nails in the coffin. His words were matter-of-fact, not filled with any of the emotions they once carried. He wasn’t recounting them to elicit guilt—he was simply laying the facts bare.
“And then, of course, my internship at STAR Labs,” Eobard said, his voice tightening slightly. “I earned it. But you,” he continued, his gaze snapping back to Magnus, “you made sure I was nothing more than a janitor.”
He straightened, his hands dropping to his sides as he turned fully to face his father. The shift happened then. The façade of the son—the connection to his family—was gone, and Eobard’s voice turned sharp, cutting.
“Do you know what, Magnus?” he said, his father’s name falling from his lips like a hammer blow. “You’ve been dead to me for centuries.”
The words struck harder than any lightning. Magnus’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came. The reality of Eobard’s detachment, the sheer time between them, was incomprehensible. Elizabeth, standing frozen beside him, trembled at the weight of the revelation. Eobard stepped closer, his smile widening as he saw the confusion, the helplessness in his father’s eyes.
“You were never my father,” Eobard continued, his tone growing colder still, the last vestiges of humanity slipping away. “You were an obstacle. A lesson in control. And now I control everything.”
The grin that spread across his face was cruel, twisted by the finality of his detachment. He let the silence linger for a moment, savoring it. The power, the control—he held it all now. “I’ve surpassed everything you could have ever imagined. I am the fastest man alive.”
The lightning in the room crackled again, sending flickers of red across the shattered remains of the ballroom. Eobard’s smile was wide now, his satisfaction palpable. “I’ve taken everything you thought you were shaping me to be, Magnus,” he said, each use of his father’s name twisting the knife deeper. “And now, I’m beyond you. Beyond all of this.”
The words struck harder than any lightning. Magnus’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came. The reality of Eobard’s detachment, the sheer time between them, was incomprehensible. Elizabeth, standing frozen beside him, trembled at the weight of the revelation.
The grin that spread across his face was cruel, twisted by the finality of his detachment. The wreckage of the ballroom, the shattered remains of his family’s legacy, lay scattered around him like ashes in the wake of a fire. But Eobard stood untouched, triumphant. He let the silence stretch, savoring the power he held over the room, over his parents. There was no rush. They could feel it—the shift in the air, the crackling tension as the weight of his words settled like a shroud.
The words came with a force he had never truly spoken before. They echoed in the air, reverberating off the walls, carried by the crackle of red lightning that flared around him, illuminating the ruins of the ballroom. The moment felt different—he felt different, as if, for the first time, the title wasn’t just a boast, but a truth so powerful it shook the foundations of everything.
Magnus’s eyes widened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face—fear, disbelief, maybe both. Elizabeth trembled beside him, frozen in place, her eyes wide, unblinking, as if she was witnessing something far beyond human.
Eobard’s grin returned, wider now, filled with satisfaction, as if the words themselves had given him new life, new purpose. He stepped forward, red lightning flaring at his heels, every movement radiating power and control.
“I am everything you wanted, and more,” he hissed, his voice carrying the venom of years of resentment, the twisted satisfaction of surpassing everything his father had ever tried to make him. “And now, I am beyond you. Beyond all of this.”
The red lightning danced across the room, flickering in and out of existence like fire licking the edges of the shattered world around them. Eobard stood at the center of it all, a force of nature, finally fully realized. And then, his voice dropped to a low, almost reverent tone, the finality of his words clear, absolute. “And now,” he said, his red eyes locking with his father’s, “you will know the cost of it.” He let the silence hang for just a moment before delivering the final blow, a twisted smile curling on his lips.
“Icarus.”
The single word was a death sentence, a warning, and a condemnation all at once. Magnus’s eyes, wide with realization, flickered with a mixture of fear and disbelief. He had thought he could shape his son, control him, make him into something he could wield. But now, he was faced with the reality of what he had created—a force that had far surpassed him, a power that was beyond anything he could have imagined.
Elizabeth let out a trembling breath, her hand covering her mouth as she took a step back, her eyes never leaving her son. The air in the room grew heavier, crackling with energy as Eobard stood poised, ready to deliver the cost of everything.
The red lightning surged again, filling the room with an eerie glow as Eobard smiled, his satisfaction complete. The game was over. The consequences were here.
The lightning in the room crackled again, sending flickers of red across the shattered remains of the ballroom. Eobard’s smile was wide now, his satisfaction palpable. “I’ve taken everything you thought you were shaping me to be, Magnus,” he said, each use of his father’s name twisting the knife deeper. “And now, I’m beyond you. Beyond all of this.”
There was no more emotional connection, no more history. To Eobard, his family had been dead for centuries. The man standing before them now was a force beyond them, a figure with power they could never comprehend.
The air ripples with his sheer velocity, conjuring a tempest of unimaginable ferocity. The walls of the mansion shudder as if gripped by an invisible hand, splintering and collapsing in a cacophony of destruction. The floors heave and buck as though the very earth has turned against them, causing the grand structure to writhe in agony. The winds, fueled by Eobard’s relentless speed, howl with an otherworldly rage, ripping through the estate with the force of a vengeful deity.
Eobard let the silence stretch for a moment, savoring the stunned expressions on his parents’ faces. The weight of his words, the final severing of any connection between them, hung in the air like a blade. He had stripped away the last of the pretense, leaving nothing but cold truth between them. But now, it was time to finish what he had started.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Eobard reached up and pulled the mask back over his face. The air seemed to shift as he did, as though the room itself recoiled from the act. His eyes flared red once more, burning with an unnatural light that cast eerie shadows across the wreckage. The warmth, the human veneer, was gone. In its place stood the Reverse Flash—his true self, fully revealed.
He turned his head slightly, his voice dropping to a low, demonic whisper, the words slithering through the air with a sinister finality. “Time to pay the piper.”
The shift was Instantaneous. In the blink of an eye, Eobard was gone, a blur of red and yellow lightning streaking through the house with devastating speed. The walls, once pristine, buckled and cracked beneath the force of his movement. Debris flew in every direction, but there was a deadly precision to it—Eobard wasn’t just smashing through the house in a blind rage. He was aiming the destruction inward.
Windows shattered, walls crumbled, and the very foundation of the house groaned under the pressure. Eobard zipped from room to room, each impact sending a tremor through the manor, tearing down everything his family had spent their lives building. He wasn’t just destroying the house; he was bringing down their legacy, their control, their power.
Magnus and Elizabeth, still reeling from the verbal assault, were helpless as the destruction unfolded around them. The cracks in the walls spread like veins, creeping inward, the debris falling with terrifying precision. Each chunk of stone, each splinter of wood, seemed to collapse inwards, directed right at them. Eobard’s speed wasn’t just power—it was control. He was bringing the entire house down on top of them, piece by piece.
Through the chaos, Eobard moved like a phantom, his red eyes glowing in the shadows. Each pass, each strike, was calculated, a deadly dance of speed and destruction. He was no longer the son they had raised, nor the man who had stood before them moments ago. He was something else—something beyond their comprehension.
“Professor, you’re pushing yourself too far!” Gideon’s voice cut through the cacophony of the storm; her tone laced with concern. “You’re burning out your energy at an alarming rate. If you keep this up, you’ll collapse before you achieve anything!”
But Eobard wasn’t listening. His rage intensified with each step, each blinding circuit around the ruins of his family’s legacy. He could feel the strain on his body, the energy draining from him as he pushed himself beyond what even the Speed Force could sustain, but he didn’t care. His power, his control—this was all that mattered now. Everything else, even his own body’s limits, was secondary.
Gideon’s voice rang out again, more insistent this time, like a lifeline thrown into a storm. “This level of output is unsustainable! If you don’t throttle back, you’ll exhaust yourself completely!”
The walls began to crumble, the entire structure collapsing in on itself, and yet Eobard pressed on, the red lightning wrapping around him like a cocoon, each pulse of energy pushing him closer to the brink. He could feel his legs shaking, the Speed Force flickering within him, teetering on the edge of collapse.
Suddenly, with a deafening crack, the final beams of the mansion gave way, and the entire structure collapsed inward, sending a cloud of dust and debris billowing into the air. And then, as quickly as it had begun, the storm ceased. The air was still, the only sound the settling of rubble and the distant rumble of fading thunder.
Eobard stopped, standing amidst the wreckage, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His figure was outlined by the remnants of red lightning still sparking around him, the aftershocks of the power he had unleashed. His body trembled, exhausted, but his expression was cold, detached.
“The shift was instantaneous. In the blink of an eye, Eobard was gone, a blur of red and yellow lightning streaking through the house with devastating speed. The walls, once pristine, buckled and cracked beneath the force of his movement. Debris flew in every direction, but there was a deadly precision to it—Eobard wasn’t just smashing through the house in a blind rage. He was aiming the destruction inward.
Windows shattered, walls crumbled, and the very foundation of the house groaned under the pressure. Eobard zipped from room to room, each impact sending a tremor through the manor, tearing down everything his family had spent their lives building. Every strike was like a wound, making the house groan in protest as it struggled to withstand the force. He wasn’t just destroying the house; he was bringing down their legacy, their control, their power.
Magnus and Elizabeth, still reeling from the verbal assault, were helpless as the destruction unfolded around them. The cracks in the walls spread like veins, creeping inward, the debris falling with terrifying precision. Each chunk of stone, each splinter of wood, seemed to collapse inwards, directed right at them. Eobard’s speed wasn’t just power—it was control. He was bringing the entire house down on top of them, piece by piece.
Through the chaos, Eobard moved like a phantom, his red eyes glowing in the shadows. Each pass, each strike, was calculated, a deadly dance of speed and destruction. He was no longer the son they had raised, nor the man who had stood before them moments ago. He was something else—something beyond their comprehension.
“Professor, you’re pushing yourself too far!” Gideon’s voice cut through the cacophony of the storm; her tone laced with concern. “Metabolic indicators show significant depletion. You’re burning out your energy reserves at an alarming rate. If you continue this exertion, you’ll collapse before achieving your objectives!”
But Eobard wasn’t listening. His rage intensified with each step, each blinding circuit around the ruins of his family’s legacy. He could feel the strain on his body, the energy draining from him as he pushed himself beyond what even the Speed Force could sustain, but he didn’t care. His power, his control—this was all that mattered now. Everything else, even his own body’s limits, was secondary.
The cracks in the walls deepened, every wound making the house groan louder, its foundation shaking as more debris fell. Eobard’s breath came in short bursts, his chest tight as he fought to keep going. The Speed Force flickered within him, and a flash of pain shot through his legs, but he forced it down, ignoring the warnings.
“Professor,” Gideon’s voice rang out again, more insistent this time, like a lifeline thrown into a storm.
Still, Eobard pressed on, the red lightning wrapping around him like a cocoon. Each pulse of energy pushed him closer to the brink, his legs shaking, the Speed Force teetering on the edge of collapse. The strain was unbearable, but the destruction was too important—he needed to see it through.
The walls began to crumble, the entire structure collapsing in on itself, and yet Eobard continued, the red lightning flaring wildly around him. His body trembled with exhaustion, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His family, his legacy, his name—it all had to die.
Suddenly, with a deafening crack, the final beams of the mansion gave way, and the entire structure collapsed inward, sending a cloud of dust and debris billowing into the air. And then, as quickly as it had begun, the storm ceased. The air was still, the only sound the settling of rubble and the distant rumble of fading thunder.
Eobard stopped, standing amidst the wreckage, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His figure was outlined by the remnants of red lightning still sparking around him, the aftershocks of the power he had unleashed. His body trembled, exhausted, but his expression was cold, detached.
“Professor?” Gideon’s voice came again, sharper now, cutting through the eerie stillness. “Your vitals are dangerously low.”
Eobard blinked, his vision blurring as he stared at the ruins of the mansion, the legacy of the Thawne family reduced to rubble. For a moment, he stood frozen, his mind struggling to reconcile the exhaustion with the satisfaction of what he had done.
“Professor Thawne, please, Eobard!” Gideon’s voice broke through the silence, her concern palpable. For a moment, there was nothing—just the eerie quiet of the destroyed mansion and the smoldering skeleton that remained.
Finally, Eobard exhaled, his breath misting in the cool night air as he regained his composure. “Apologies, Gideon I,”—his voice steady again, though strained, as Gideon cut him off.
“You need to prioritize your safety. Your metabolic readings are critical! You can’t just…,” she sighed, her tone softening as if unsure of how far she could push him. “Come back to me… please?” Gideon quietly chirped over the comms, not too sure if she had just overstepped.
Thawne only half-listened as he surveyed the ruins with a detached gaze, his eyes scanning the destruction he had caused without any hint of remorse. This was the end of his past, the end of everything that had once held him back. The price had been paid.
“The fastest man alive,” he smiled, his voice heavy with cold finality. “And now the only one.” His words lingered in the air, a chilling declaration of his isolation. His quest for power was now complete, leaving him utterly alone.
Without another word, he zipped off into the darkness, a streak of red lightning vanishing into the night, leaving behind only silence and the smoldering remains of the life he had destroyed.