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He looked down at Barry Allen, lying on the bed, firmly in his clutches at last.
He could almost be mistaken for sleeping peacefully, if Eobard hadn’t known better.
He rose out the wheelchair, looming over Barry, smirking down at where his arch enemy was entirely at his mercy.
“You’re starting to change,” Eobard said. “Every day the Speed Force inside you gets a little stronger, inches you closer and closer to finally becoming the Flash, and every time it does, I get stronger too.”
He moved, just a single step, just because he finally could.
“It’s fourteen years today since you marooned me in this time,” Eobard said. “Fourteen years I’ve spent powerless and being called another man’s name. I suppose the one thing I should thank you for is without my powers, the Wraiths couldn’t track me.”
The constant ache in spine flared again, agonising pain wracking through his body, and Eobard was forced to collapse back into the chair, gasping as it overwhelmed him once again.
“This is because of you,” Eobard ground out through gritted teeth, trying to control himself, to not show just how weak he was in front of his nemesis.
A tiny flicker of red lightning finally sparked and traced down his finger.
“This would help you wake up,” Eobard said, cupping it in his hand. “I could wake you up sooner, but I intend to be able to run before we face each other as foes once again, and if I have to wait, then so do you.”
The lightning flickered and died once again.