Spanning more than 90 years of art from across the globe, this collection of short stories celebrates the fictional character in all its horrors, from the oil monster of FernGully to the demon kings of Blue Exorcist's Gehenna. Beginning with the bla...
A.N. - It only took four months, but it's finally here. I poured my soul into framing this exactly how I envision a showdown between Drake and Jim would have gone in the show (if it was MA).
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Horror infiltrated Drake’s figure when Jim made a beeline for you and Launchpad.
The vigilante leapt in front of the mad duck and outstretched his arms on either side of himself in a frantic attempt to abate the former actor’s bloodlust. "Please, Jim! It doesn't have to be this way!" Darkwing Duck shot his predecessor a look of compassion, pleading for a peaceful resolution.
Jim halted and shifted his frenzied gaze to the caped crusader before erupting in screams of malevolence and swinging the chainsaw at him wildly. “Don’t you dare patronize me!”
A cry of terror escaped Drake as he scrambled backwards like a terrified child. Beads of sweat began to cascade down his forehead, a quiver rattling his body.
A fresh gash in the centre of his costume exposed his teal undershirt and chest plumage, a sliver of crimson beginning to leak from the laceration. The vigilante peered down at the wound with eyes as wide as saucers and winced, a strenuous grunt slipping past his lips despite his best efforts to repress it.
Eyes snapping shut, he pressed a hand against the slash before meeting Jim’s malicious grin with determination. “I’m not going to fight you.” A tandem of misery sank into the depths of his stomach as the duck he had once revered as a hero mirrored the villains he swore to vanquish.
"Good." The actor tilted his head with a smile, eyes narrowing in amusement. The young mallard's insistence on preaching to his humanity drew gales of laughter from a part of himself that deemed such compassion a deformity of the naïve mind. "I'll be done with you in no time."
A silent moment of acknowledgement registered on Darkwing Duck's face, a grim serenity permeating the air. The burning in his chest brought a ripple of acceptance as his hopes for a truce dwindled to dust. Perhaps his wishes would see fruition tonight, but not without first defiling the code he clutched to his being like a lifeline.
As he gazed at your crippled form, face contorted in distress and blood trickling from your leg, and Launchpad's conflicted visage, faith torn down the middle like a flimsy piece of paper, he decided it was a sacrifice worth making.
“Take them and go-” Drake had begun to turn towards Jim only for metal teeth to clip the edge of his bill and kick his head back in a movement too rapid to be harmless. The vigilante was knocked onto the concrete and clutched his beak with trembling hands, slowly uncovering it to reveal a jagged, vertical scar shaping the corner of his lip.
