Gods in human flesh. His features were balanced and symmetrical, hooded eyes concealing the mess of silvery blue. Akiva looked at his ashy brown hair as it was slightly disheveled, but the intention of it being cut in a neat line was easy to infer...
I just wanted to mention a little content warning. I rated this fanfic as mature because (yes it will contain sexual themes in the future) but it can also be a bit gore-y and graphic at times in terms of violence. This so happens to be one of those chapters, so please read with caution.
- Atlas.
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----- Chapter XII | Massacre -----
Sharp wind whistled along the shoreline, curling around the prominent cliffsides and colliding with the face of the water as it rolled into the beach and crashed against obsidian. Lava hissed in the background as steam billowed from the water, rolling down into the ocean and letting it caress the heat.
Across the clearing of deeply tinted sand, a single figure stood prominently against the grey water and sullen sky. Ikaris rolled in pain on the ground, holding his side as he forced his quick regeneration to repair the effects of Makkari's sonic boom. Phastos stood still, eyes darting over to the figure. The human's attention was pointed to Ikaris, watching the floor beneath his feet as he tried to pull himself up.
The dead air loomed over them.
Akiva's body shook with how heavy she was breathing, chest swelling with each fast and deep inhale thundering down into her lungs.
Her shoulders pulsed to the tempo, Phastos stumbling back to give room. Makkari was still on the defensive, ducked low like a boxer swinging their torso under flying fists. Her eyes were narrow as she relayed her effect onto Ikaris.
The speedster felt the vibration in the sand before he ever could, rotating on her feet to look at the source. Her skin paled at the sight, not knowing that their plan would unfold into something like this. It was only ever supposed to keep the human alive—it was the bare minimum.
She was out of the clearing within a single second, pushed away as she nervously awaited what could either be a one-sided slaughter or an anticlimactic disappointment.
But she had faith.
This was her Akiva, yet she never imagined she would ever be put into the situation of rooting for the former. She couldn't help but imagine Druig putting an end to it immediately—how he would have put an end to it—she corrected herself.
Akiva's fingertips were outstretched, but they slowly curled into fists, knuckles turning white as bone pressed into red skin. Each finger clicked into place in perfect sequence.
Grey waves turned over the shoreline to fill the lack of noise on their right, while the rumbling earth of eruptions threatening to break out shook them from their left.
Ikaris pushed himself up off the ground, rotating his shoulder around in the joint as he looked around. Everyone had stopped attacking him, and it wasn't until he looked across the clearing that he had seen why.
