The Lost Gods - middle name AU

Chapter 25

Words burned on wrists, sealing fates. The Wings of Hades:his freedom, his flight: the freedom of change.

Change faced off against Time.

As the first battle was won.

Tremors began to shake the very ground beneath their feet. All for One's growl shook the walls, echoing against pipes and the snake's nest of wires. Abyssal eyes met that destroyed face.

Time rose from his throne. Change slowly glided back to the ground.

The tremors turned into quakes that rattled the dark room, stone began to fall, and pipes began to crack. So was the power held by these two beings.

They began to dance.

A clash of sheer power that held the world in it's midst.

There was little beauty in what was to come, as heavy feet shook the cement floor and light, lithe ones danced in concert, circling. Yet some could find the rhythm of power thrumming against the very ground they crossed; some could feel it. None could dance its tune.

Only Time, forever, long, and old. And Change, strong, overwhelming. Devastating. Beautiful.

Only they.

And as the walls shook and crumbled, and stone and metal fell, and was crushed. Their dance floor now opening to be viewed by all. The music began.

The melody ringing in the heads of Time and Change was beautiful, simple, clear as bird song. The fight was not.

Ebony wings lifted Change to the air, the arms of the beast of Time before him changing. And he swung.

A large, grotesque arm swung for Change's head, but bony wings propelled him out of the way. For all his agility, he was not fast enough to evade the second. Being pushed through the air, pressure popping his ears, he doubled over, clutching his bruising stomach, as Time's arm hang out as his last act. Waiting for Change's response.

This was a pas de deux.

The haunting tune continued ringing within the heads of the great, melody slipping into minor key.

The dance continued.

Pushing past the ache of his stomach, he pushed his wings to shoot him forward, faster than the naked eye could see, ramming into the head of Time. The ruined head snapped sideways, as the bruise of a fist against his neck faded as it appeared, and he turned to where Change had halted his movement, far passed him.

Chords began to join the sickly sweet, melancholy melody.

Throwing knives, hovering around the monster of a man, shot at the angel of darkness with rapid speed, tearing feather from wings, skin from bone.

Cuts littered Change, yet their sting would not deter him, even as blood dripped in rivulets, from the knives he could not avoid. He flew forward once more.

And slashed Time's suit open.

Yet the blood from the cut running up his chest evaporated, as it sealed and scarred, the blood upon the drawn blade of shadows bubbling and turning to nothing but gas. Yet Time's breath was quicker, something Change did not miss, as Time's shoulders sagged by the most miniscule fraction, only caught by the tunnel vision of anger and purpose Change possessed.

Time was not ready for this fight. Not this one.

And even if he was far from vincible, he was tiring quick.