Title: Into the Fray, Unflinching
Author: gldngr7
Rating: Explicit
Began: April 21, 2017
Chapters: ?
Feedback: Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.
Author's Notes: After what was possibly the worst series finale in history, I know there's a lot of Karamels that needs some cheering up. I hope posting a new chapter can bring some smiles to a few faces.
Chapter 26/?
Even in the capable hands of two people, carrying the dead weight of Gata Fal-Ur down a sand dune is less an orderly descent and more like aiming for a controlled crash landing. Both Trel and Kara grip the blanket tightly, ensuring that they damage Gata as little as possible, despite the fact that her injuries will heal quickly upon entering Earth atmosphere. Maybe even before, if residual yellow-sun radiation remains in The Partition.
Halfway down the dune, Kara's feet slip from beneath her and her rear-end hits the sparkling black sand. Before she can go careening though, she digs her heels into the fine sand to slow her descent, steering Gata's feet like the rudder of a sailboat. Together, the three of them land in heap at the bottom of the hill, Kara on her back and Trel having tumbled forward onto his face.
There's no time for lingering though, so Kara scrambles to her feet and reaches down to help Trel to his. "Are you hurt?" she inquires.
"No more than usual," he clips, shaking the fine sand out of his hair and then dusting off his ragged cloak. "But Gata…." He frets.
"Will be fine," Kara finishes, already checking on her well-being. Wrapping their precious burden back in the blanket, together they carry Gata to The Partition's threshold, but not inside, and gently set her down. There will be no time to waste once they enter, and they have no desire to start the clock even one moment too soon. First, they must recall Mon-El.
Dropping her knapsack to the ground, she reaches in and pulls out three hand-crank flashlights, duck taped together and charged to the maximum output. Flipping three switches, the flashlights burst to life in quick succession, each one adding more lumens of light and widening the whole beam.
"Hold this," she instructs, handing the bundled lights to Trel. "Wave it around so he can see it. It's the signal to return. Aim it at that sheer cliff over there," she points. "It won't be bright, but he knows what he's looking for and will know what it means."
"Understood."
"I have to go inside and find a way to turn off the cloaking engine."
"I wish I had some knowledge to offer you."
"It's okay. Just keep waving that around. He should be able to follow the direction back to the source. Hopefully he hasn't gone too far…." Satisfied that he could handle this simple task, Kara steps over Gata's prone body and enters The Partition.
As expected, Alex is nowhere to be found, and her walkie-talkie is left standing alone on the edge of the control console. Though the power switch is on, its batteries depleted between the moment Alex sent her last message and the intervening time in which the message was received by Kara. Picking it up without thinking, the device cracks in her hand, the plastic casing splintering in several places. Her powers return as if they had never deserted her. "That's good to know."
At the sound of her voice, the console fires up as if recognizing her and sensing that there's little time to spare. The Partition's dim ghost-lighting bursts to full illumination. "Cloaking engine," Kara mutters under her breath, while bringing up the touch screen menu with a swipe of her fingers.
Luckily, she spent more than few hours listening to her uncle Jor-El theorize and hypothesize while he worked or tinkered with ideas, and quickly came to learn how his mind worked. He was logical, methodical, and obsessed with ensuring that those who might follow him would understand his work should he meet an untimely end. He was a man of contingencies and like many of the Science Guild, Jor-El believed that hoarding knowledge was an anathema.
Discovering a system of operating programs in the main menu, Kara finds them categorized by need. "Security," she finds near the bottom of the list, pressing the glowing word, which opens to reveal more words. "Passive," she guesses and presses the word, which leads to a whole new list. "Cloaking," she crows excitedly, pressing the designation.
But if she is hoping for simple off switch, Kara is quickly and sorely disappointed. There's a series of subroutine runtimes and she must provide a password before she can interrupt them. Jor-El had never been one for extreme paranoia, Kara rationalizes, so he likely would have chosen a password easily discerned by an El; one so easy it would probably be overlooked by any other.
"El Mayarah," she answers the query, which lights the board green, offering her the choice to select the subroutines she wishes to interrupt. Quickly, Kara swipes through a long list keeping one ear trained for ominous sounds from outside.
Finally, she is prompted to offer proof of bloodline before the engine will power down. Kara unwraps the bloody bandana, only to find that the gaping wound in her hand has already healed. "Darn it," she curses, squeezing the bandana tight in her fist.
The cloth squishes slightly, reminding her that even though her hand as healed, the blood left behind on the cloth, has not yet dried. Carefully she places the clothes over the glowing handprint on the console, centering the bloodiest portion upon it. Placing her hand over the cloth, she presses down and hopes for the best.
The words 'Biometrics Accepted' flashes in the screen the blocky Kryptonian script, following by the white noise whine of the engine powering down. They hum had been undetectable until it was no longer there. She can hear her heart thumping in her ears. Kara considers turning off the anti-personnel security measures reserved for those not of her house, but notices when she pulls away the bandana that the console has absorbed the traces of blood left behind, ensuring that the same sample cannot be used again. After a second thought, she decides that it's probably for the best anyway. Given enough time, a moderately intelligent person might figure out how to operate the projector and be desperate enough to take the escape portal, despite being unaware of its destination.
"Kara!" Trel's voice shouts. It's interesting that she knows, senses, that it's Trel and not Mon-El calling for her. Their voices are so similar, generated from vocal cords that are exactly the same, hard and soft palates exactly the same, tongue and teeth nearly the same in every regard.
But Trel's voice is hampered by the damage to his mouth, as well as years of disuse and living in deplorable conditions. And yet, there's more to it than that. Mon-El may have been created from Trel's DNA, but he was raised in a far different circumstance; without the nurturing of a mother or the guidance of a loving father. Instead he was raised alongside Ral who hadn't been born in the nobility and despite his status, had no love for it. The played, they grew and developed together and as a result there is something less regal about Mon-El's voice, something less structured and more relaxed. It gives away much, to one patient enough to listen, she realizes. Once, too wrapped up in her own self-importance, she hadn't had the patience to listen to what he didn't say with words, but all that had changed since the dreamscape.
The panic clear in Trel's voice, Kara speeds to the exit and to his rescue, but hitting the threshold is like running headlong into a wall of molasses. Her speed deserts her and her strength drains away faster than she can use it, until she's back to breathing heavily, her legs ready to collapse beneath her.
Outside, some distance off, Mon-El runs toward the sanctuary of The Partition, Kol-Mer and two of his compatriots hot on his heels and just beyond arm's reach. Trel frets, caught between the desire to help Mon-El and his unwillingness to leave his helpless wife undefended.
"Stay with her," Kara commands, relieving him of the obligation to rescue Mon-El. Kara runs forward, reaching for the collapsible baton on her belt. Immediately, she recalls leaving it in The Partition sitting atop her knap sack, a perfectly clear image of the abandoned weapon popping into her mind.
She debates going back for it, knowing that even with the baton she's no match for Kol-Mer or any one of his hardened minions, not without her powers.
Before she can decide, Mon-El's luck runs out and he face plants in the shimmering sand. At first, she wonders if he's faking it, as earlier he had made a production of stumbling, allowing them to get closer only to slip from their grasp and thus ensuring their cooperation in the planned game of chase. But they're on him and her gut clenches in fear as one of three men grabs Mon-El by the scruff of his hoodie and hauls him to his feel before wrapping a forearm around Mon-El's neck.
Kor-Mel tears the concealing hood of Mon-El's jacket down, revealing his face, giving the larger man pause. Stunned by the familiar face, it only takes him a moment to put the pieces together, at least the ones that matter.
"You're no El," he growls, his teeth gritting in fury. "And of no use to me." Frustrated and needing a target upon which to vent his rage, he draws back his fist and lets it fly.
Paralyzed by the terror of watching the man she loves take a merciless punch to the ribs by the barbaric Kol-Mer. Kara opens her mouth to scream, to shout, to shift their attention away from Mon-El, but only the smallest squeak issues from her throat. Faced with her own powerlessness in this place, her mind races, threatening to overload. It's too late to go back for the baton and Trel is in no shape to help either of them.
Alex would run right at them. Full stop. But then, Alex wouldn't have been dumb enough to ever set down her one and only weapon, not even in a moment of perceived safety. Back in the cave, her baton had been on her belt the entire time, within easy reach. Soldiers don't rest, and they never let down their guard. It's easy to be fearless when your skin doesn't break and the people around you can't hurt you. Such circumstances, though lucky, give birth to arrogance and overconfidence.
In this moment, watching her mate being beaten to within an inch of his life, nothing has ever been clearer to her. In bed, she plays at pain when the circumstances are under her control, and her well-being is in the hands of a man she trusts with her life. But here…she's afraid, and there's not an ounce of exhilaration in it.
Shaking herself from her paralyzed stupor, Kara resolves to prevent Mon-El's tormentors from capturing either one of them. Her eyes cast about for a convenient weapon; a rock, a stick, or a sharp piece of metal, but she sees nothing she can lay her hands on.
"Run!" she hears, sending a chill up her spine. "Get of out here!" Mon-El screams, just before Kor-Mel plants another ruthless punch across his cheek.
Loving Mon-El may make Kara more afraid, but it cannot turn her into a coward. In truth, she's more afraid of losing Mon-El than suffering through whatever they could do to her. Steeling herself, she zips up her windbreaker as if donning armor, and wipes her sweaty palms against the rough denim of her jeans.
Which is when she feels the hard lump in her front pocket, forgotten until now.
New hope sparking within her, Kara digs frantically into her pocket for the lead-lined pouch. Tearing it open, she takes a deep breath and tips the bag, dropping its sparkling contents into the palm of her other hand. She doesn't know what to expect when the gem hits her skin; pain or disorientation.
Instead, what she feels is the exact opposite. It tickles a bit, the energy spreading up her arm as the gem begins to glow upon contact. Her spine straightens, her gut stills, and her vision takes on a purple hue around the edges. It's a sense of rightness and righteousness unlike anything she's ever experienced before, and considering who she is, that is saying a lot.
Stalking in Kor-Mel's direction, her hands ball into fists as a voice issues from her mouth that sounds entirely unlike her own. "You will stop that right now," the darker, deeper voice insists. The stone in her hand speaks through her; making her will its own, directing it with laser beam-like focus and giving it purpose.
Kor-Mel's fist, on a direct course for Mon-El's cheek, stops in mid-swing. She can see his arm quiver, fighting against her will; his jaw clenching tight, determined to break through her command. His companion's eyes widen as he tries to work out what's happening, tightening his hold on Mon-El's neck as if sensing that a shift of advantage is in the air.
"Kor?" the man asks, his voice uncertain.
"Release him," the stone commands, Kara's purple eyes boring into his. Like the phantoms, Mon-El doesn't understand what's happening, or why his partner's eyes have changed color. Bending to her will, the other man's grip loosens just enough for Mon-El to slip free, who falls to his hands and knees.
"Kara?" he questions, uncertain as to whom exactly he is speaking. Her purple eyes level on him and inside their depths, he sees no softness, no relief – only her will. "What's going on?"
"Help Trel," she commands.
It's like discovering he's a marionette on strings. Where once he walked where he pleased, did what he pleased, now his strings are being pulled in other directions. Reluctantly leaving her behind with the two phantoms, his body stands up, turns, and heads back to The Partition, unable to even look back.
"Now…." The stone purrs, buying time to interpret her will. Inside Kara knows, senses, that the stone will take her will and twist it…weaponize it, and that's the price her soul will pay for using it.
'Don't want to hurt them,' Kara thinks, desperately, hoping the stone will understand. Praying the stone will extract only the smallest price for its use. 'Just need to get them away.'
"How-?" Kor-Mel grinds out.
"Silence!" the stone shouts, as the warlord interrupts her thoughts. His mouth slams shut like a reflex. Then words spill from her mouth, commands over which Kara has no control, nor forewarning. "Hear me," the gemstone demands. Raising one of Kara's hands, the stone points in the far-off distance, to a magenta ocean climbing the wall of the Phantom Zone. "Go there," she says. "Walk without stopping. Do not sleep, do not look back and do not ever return to this place. You will find no rest until you reach your destination."
Each word from her mouth pummels the two men like rocks loosed from a slingshot, striking their will like cannonballs against wood and splintering their defenses. "Walk without stopping," Kor-Mel echoes. His shoulders drop and his tone drains of all authority as she shatters his will with the power of the rainbow Kryptonite.
"Never return to this place," repeats Kor-Mel's second, his will equally broken.
"Go now," the gemstone orders.
Kara and the stone observe through a purple haze as the two men turn and walk away in the direction of the magenta sea, without a backward glance. Crisis passed, for long moments afterwards she fights an internal battle to separate the stone's will from her own. The manufactured righteousness coursing through her – the certainty that her desires are virtuous – war against her conviction that breaking another's will against her own is fundamentally immoral. The Kryptonite tries to convince her that it can be of service in her chosen path, by assisting her to create a better world on Earth. Reading her memories, it promises that humans are weak of mind and will be so easily broken, and ultimately easier to manage than the Kryptonian warlord who just crumbled beneath its power. Together, they can create a Utopia unlike any the universe has ever seen.
And she's tempted. So very tempted that she feels her own will beginning to fray around the edges.
"Kara?" a voice filters through the haze of whispers in her head.
With purple-tinged vision, Kara turns to see Mon-El standing beside her. She opens her mouth to speak, but the stone clamps down on her throat, allowing no words to issue forth. The best she can manage is to unfurl her fingers just enough to reveal the glowing rainbow gemstone nestled in her palm.
Adept at sizing up a situation, Mon-El absorbs the information in front of him and begins putting the pieces together. Of course, from both Alex and Winn, he's heard stories of Kryptonite, pieces of her dead planet that can have painful and even unpredictable effects on a Kryptonian when they come in contact with it. Should Mon-El ever need to know, Winn had once warned him what Kara could become if she runs afoul of red Kryptonite again.
He leans closer for a better look at the stone in her hand and is relieved to see it isn't red – green, he knows, would cause her crippling and weakening pain. This stone is like a prism of colors; purple, orange, blue, green and red. Trace amounts of colors he knows can do her harm, and other colors that are unknown commodities.
Upon her word, his attackers trudge off in the distance, into another frozen sandstorm. Upon her command, his own body had taken him away from her, in the opposite direction of where he wanted to be. The stone, he rationalizes, must affect her ability to project her will and with his own life in danger, her priority would have been to save him and defuse the immediate danger; that of the Kor-Mel and his remaining henchmen.
But that danger is now passed. Which begs the question: what is her desire now? He can see the internal struggle underway within her; can read it in her eyes, in the determined set of her mouth and in the twitches of muscle movement that speak of a body unsure of its next step. She doesn't let go of the stone. He can imagine that giving up such a profound power would strain the moral fortitude of anyone, perhaps Kara much more than others because her compass is so infallible and resolute.
Instinctively, he understands that he cannot, must not, take the stone from her to relieve her of the struggle inside of her. She must make the choice herself, to give up that power.
Or maybe there's a chance he can use the stone's power to her advantage. There is a small chance, he considers, that he can crack open a window that will allow her to escape, if he can use her own desires to free her of its influence.
He understands the risk, even fears it, surmising that if his gambit fails, she is likely to punish him for the attempt. Perhaps punish him all the worse because he failed, and in ways she can't completely control. But the time, despite the seeming lack of it in this place, is of the essence. He can see her struggle deepen with each breath she takes.
Unable to speak, afraid of what might spill forth if she could, Kara begs for help with her eyes, unshed tears pooling in the corners. Her hand shakes, slight spasms reminiscent of an elderly person who's lost muscle control. The stone clamors within her, the whispers from before now turned to a raucous din of demand, searching for a desire to manipulate, to exploit, to turn to power. Mon-El's spine straightens and his eyes turn from stormy gray, the color of his worry, to titanium and a spark of hope lights within her.
Reaching for her neck, he pulls her toward him, without a word attacking her mouth with his. He ravages her lips, his tongue delving into her mouth with determination, and without invitation. He engulfs her, pulling her shaking body against his, pelvis flush with pelvis, leaving no question as to his growing desire. Her knees weaken and warmth blooms between her legs as her physical desires awaken.
The din of Kryptonite whispers quiets by degrees, latching onto the desire Mon-El's actions stir. Her free hand tears at his shirt, blindly searching for the zipper that will relive him of this layer, getting her one step closer to skin on skin.
"Stop!" he orders, tearing her mouth away from him and setting her at arm's length. He uses the special voice that sends tendrils of heat throughout every nook and cranny of her body. The voice she can feel in her toes, in her neck and sometimes, she fancies, all the way to the ends of her hair. She yanks her hand back.
For a moment, the Kryptonite voice titters and stutters, suddenly confused by this unexpected development. A purveyor of fantasy that promises to turn deepest desires into personal power, the stone doesn't know quite what to do when its holder's desire is to be personally, intimately, powerless. The stone cannot fathom that its holder finds her most personal empowerment in surrender. For the stone, it is as Mon-El suspected…unfathomable.
"Get on your knees, Kryptonian," Mon-El growls. Grasping her ponytail, he wraps it around his fist, tightening the hair at her scalp.
At first, the Kryptonite uses its holder's body to resist, locking her knees just as Kara allows them to bend. The internal struggle paralyzes her, the gem heating in her hands as it searches her heart and mind for some tiny seed of rebellion upon which to build its resistance. But it uncovers no such hidden desires, only a breathless, heart-pounding wish to surrender to his commands, and to the firm – now punishing – hand, guiding her to the ground. Unfortunately for the stone, it cannot manifest a desire that does not exist and so, its weakness revealed, the gem finally quiets with a whimper and Kara's knees buckle at last. She drops to the sand before him as ordered, relishing the way her thighs tremble and her stomach flutters in response to Mon-El's merciless grip and commanding tone.
Releasing her ponytail, Mon-El cups her chin with his hand and tilts her head back to look up at him. His gray eyes, glinting with steel, meet the soft, begging blue of hers, overwhelming her with a single hard stare that sends a frisson of electricity racing down her spine.
"Show me," he orders, not yet certain enough about his victory to soften his tone. Lifting her hand, Kara's fingers peel back to reveal the gem, now only a tiny glow emanating from within to dimly illuminate its rainbow of colors.
Kara allows her desire for him to fill her, heat spreading beneath her skin and through her limbs, burning away the stone's chill, until the arousal strengthens her. Desperate to free herself from the Kryptonite's influence, Kara urges her hand to drop the stone, but her body ignores her own will, choosing instead to default to another's.
Opening her mouth to speak, her throat releases only enough for a single word to rasp out. "Master?" she begs.
Mon-El nods, his thumb brushing lightly against the line of her jaw, a gentle touch that seemingly defies the ferocity of his voice. "Do you wish to feel my touch again, Kryptonian?" he taunts.
"Yes, Master," Kara nods, her throat opening further.
"Do you wish to…ever again…give control of your body over to me?" he asks, choosing his words carefully.
Her breath catches deep in her chest, tears at last spilling down her cheeks. With her free hand, she grasps for his thigh, fisting her fingers tightly in the rough denim of his jeans. "Yes…please…."
"Drop the stone, Kryptonian."
Without even a whine of protest, the Kryptonite slides from her tilted palm to plop into the sand beside her knees, the light within pulsing twice before extinguishing like a final heartbeat. Kara rocks back and forth, relief swelling within her, like that first gasp for air that fills the lungs after being underwater for far too long. "Thank you," she cries, finally leaning against his legs and wrapping her arms around them. "Thank you, thank you."
Breathing his own sigh of relief, his head tilts back as though sending gratitude to a God that, for once, he actually hopes is there to listen. A moment later, having gathered himself, he reaches down to help her to her feet. "Are you all right?"
Taking stock and finding only her own voice within, she nods. "I'm okay now."
"What were you thinking?" he demands, his hands gripping tightly to her upper arms. Bone-chilling terror he'd refused to give rein to moments before, now courses through his veins.
"I was thinking they were going kill you!" she shouts, defensively. "I needed an advantage and the Kryptonite gave me that."
"It was too much of a risk!" he insists.
Hearing the words he doesn't say, Kara takes a step backward and straightens her spine. "I wasn't going to leave you to them. Not if we had to be here a million years! I saved you," she says. "And you saved me. That's how it works from now on."
Taken aback, Mon-El studies the blinding glory of her strength, her bones having turned to steel and her eyes to fire. Even without powers, it emanates from the core of her being, undeniable and unbreakable. Regularly, she takes that strength and willfully sets it aside, lays it down, as though burdened by it, to give herself rest. Still, he can hardly believe that during those times she hands it to him to carry, trusting him to use it well and to both of their benefits. "Is that how it is?"
"That's how it is! You got that?" A single finger pointing at him, Kara punctuates her words with insistent pokes at his chest.
But despite the confidence of her tone and the fire in her eyes, Mon-El can still read the tiniest spark of insecurity beneath the bravado. Insecurity is feeling he knows well and thus can recognize it even in its infancy. He smiles, reassuringly. "I got it."
"We're a team," she asserts.
"A team," he agrees, his smile spreading wider. Mon-El grabs her by the waist and pulls her flush against his body, taking her mouth with his as she wraps her arms around his neck. The kiss lights a fire but demands nothing more than the full and equal participation from both parties. When he pulls away a moment later, he rests his forehead against hers, breath coming fast, as her hands stroke his broad back. "Have I ever told you…I'm the luckiest guy in the universe?"
"Never," she replies, shaking her head.
"Well…I am."
Kara grins and shrugs. "I know. I'm a catch."
Mon-El snorts and laughs, having not expected Kara's nonchalant sense of humor to make an appearance. "That you are. I just want to be worthy of you."
"Stop it," she shakes her head, cupping his cheeks in her hands. "You're my stardust," she reminds him. "We were planned. Whether you believe that or not, I believe it. Everything that happened to you, had to happen to bring us together. I only hope you can learn to believe it one day, too."
"I believe in you," Mon-El answers. "And my love for you."
"Then believe in mine for you, and never doubt it. Or question that you're worthy of it. I don't think love works that way. It doesn't keep score."
"You were something else though," he says, referring to her timely rescue. "I hope I never get on your bad side."
"Don't make any more stupid, self-sacrificing moves, and you won't," she retorts.
"Hey, the plan was working perfectly."
"Was it?" she asks, incredulously.
"It's possible I may have overestimated my endurance level. Especially when going step for step with a hardened Sapphire Guard who's been here for no telling how long."
"Probably since General Zod's rebellion. We should count ourselves lucky that we didn't run into that psychopath while we were here."
"We haven't escaped yet," he points out. "Speaking of which…shall we? I don't know about you, but the novelty of this place has begun to wear thin."
"Agreed. We should get out of here before we run into any more obstacles." Reaching down, she uses the lead-lined bag to scoop up the Kryptonite from the sand, careful not to allow it to touch her flesh. Kal will likely expect her to return it but, more importantly, it shouldn't be left behind to fall into the wrong hands. "Let's go," she says, tucking the item back into her jean's pocket.
Mon-El clasps her hand in his and together the run back to the relative safety of The Partition. "I'll help Trel with Gata," Mon-El decides, threading his arms through the straps of his backpack. "Call for us when you have the portal open. I don't want to spend one moment more than I have to in there."
Trel, more than ready to quit this place, hands her the flashlights used to signal Mon-El, which Kara places back into her open knapsack. Unzipping one of the outer pockets, she withdraws a utility knife and removes its leather sheath.
"Stay close to the threshold," she warns both of the men. "I'll need to reactivate the cloak before opening the portal. We can't leave this place vulnerable." With a quick jerk, giving herself no time to think about the coming pain, she draws the blade of the knife across her palm. The blade is so sharp, she barely feels the cut at first, watching as the blood pools in her cupped hand for a second.
With a grimace, Mon-El takes the knife from her, cleaning the blade on his bandana before re-sheathing it and dropping it back in her bag. He lifts the knapsack up and helps her don it, admonishing, "Your fingertip would have provided an adequate amount of blood, Kara."
She nods, realizing in retrospect that he is probably right, and ducks through the door, disappearing beyond the threshold.
After that, everything happens in quick succession. Moving at superspeed, Kara gathers her baton and her sister's watch without even a glance at the current date or time, and makes a few swipes across the console to reactivate the security cloak. Draped on the console is the bandanna she left behind earlier. Kara picks it up and uses it to soak up the blood from her cupped hand. Beneath the pool of liquid her palm has already healed, leaving not even the most delicate of scars by which to remember the brief wound.
Using the bloody kerchief, she opens the portal, watching as the space before her wobbles, stretches and then tears, the shreds of it spinning and spinning until it opens a hole before her. "Guys!" she shouts. "We have to hurry!"
When they spill into the room, Mon-El carries Gata as Trel follows close on his heels.
Feeling its pull, Kara tears off her knapsack and tosses it into the maelstrom, feeding the hungry tear in space time, in hopes that it will briefly satisfy the ravenous portal, and also to warn who might be on the other side of their impending arrival. "Go!" she shouts, but her voice is silenced by the wormhole. Instead, she ushers Mon-El and Gata through the tear in space. She grabs Trel and holds him place for a few seconds to prevent him, in his haste to escape this perpetual hell, from landing on top of Mon-El and Gata upon his arrival. Out of time, the security system's repellent takes hold of him, his knees buckling as he covers his ears with both hands. Holding him aloft, Kara shoves him into the portal's vortex, watching as it bends around him before swallowing him whole.
When all are gone, she too surrenders to its pull, allowing it to take her in, like giving in to a powerful undertow.
The silence is deafening.