A somewhat dark continuation of Cerce's destruction of the Justice League.
After a week of his captivity, Circe lifted the lid of the terrarium containing Hal Jordan. It was a shame she'd had to paint the inside of the glass box. She wanted to observe his slow deterioration, but he’d shattered the first glass tank she placed him with a burst of his Green Lantern power. Even small, he wasn’t yet powerless.
A layer of vivid, lemon-yellow paint coated this second terrarium. Yellow gravel filled the base. His powers couldn’t affect the colour yellow, and so the millimetre of paint coating the glass was as effective against his blasts as if it were a metre of steel. She’d left him in his sealed yellow prison until she was confident his internal lantern battery had been completely depleted.
That might take an hour if he was burning through his energy, or it might take weeks, even months if he restrained himself. Cerce was patient.
She couldn’t see him anywhere, but then again he was a very small spider. She examined the lid of the terrarium just in case he was clinging to the underside. Not there. She dug gently through the yellow gravel, making sure not to crush him.
Lastly she flicked off the light.
One small corner of the terrarium glowed a weak neon green. Strands of shimmering emerald light had been strung between two spots of flaked-off paint. It was quite beautiful, glinting within her eyes as she peered closer.
And there in the centre of the web was Hal Jordan, the Green Lantern. Now a spider no larger than a grain of rice.
His eight eyes twisted up at her titanic figure overhead. His rearmost four legs were spinning webs in the repetitive, compulsive way of a spider. It drew a strand of transparent green energy from its glowing thorax, affixing it to the centre of the spiderweb of light before scurrying over the net, drawing it behind itself as it added to the web.
“You always were good at creating things,” she said, just the breath of her words causing the fragile web to sway. “And a spider’s instincts are very powerful. You can’t help yourself, can you? Your animal body demands you make a web. Even if it costs you everything…”
The arachnid lay its thread and started another. It hesitated, its legs twitching as some internal battle took lace. So little of his power reserve remained. It was imperative he conserve it until he could reach his Lantern to recharge.
But we’re starving! screamed his instincts. We must spin a web if we are to catch flies and eat again. We must.
N-no… I have to ration it...
Spin…
No…
SPIN
After days of fighting it, trapped in the confines of his tiny brain, he was exhausted. His eight eyes examined the web. He was almost done. One more thread given to satiate the instincts, and then he could rest, conserve the rest.
His rear legs massaged his spinnerets, extruding a little more of his power into a thread of light. At last it was done. He crouched down in the center of his web, staring up in hatred at the leering face of Cerce above him. He would get out of here. He would save the others. And he would have his revenge on her.
She pursed her lips…
NO!
Her breath was like a gale, breaking strands, tearing ragged holes in the complete cobweb. The instinct surged back, the instinct to repair the damage compelling him scurry back to work. He screamed as he felt more and more and more of his power being extruded out his back end, yet unable to stop himself.
Circe smiled as, at long last, the emerald glow faded completely from the thorax of the spider. Now it was powerless. Now it was just vermin to be squashed.
“Another one down,” she crooned to her imprisoned foe. “Who next?”