Ascension
Posted By: The 14th Wonder<iplaybass14@hotmail.com>
Date: 11 September 2008, 4:23 am
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The Two stare at one another. The New is bristling. The Elder broods. Tension grows like a steaming monster, confident in its intangibility, teasing The Pack who want nothing more than to take it away. All is still. It is as if nothing exists but the hot, steady breaths of The Two and this ever-growing monster. Suddenly, the moment snaps.
The Two become scarcely tangible themselves. They are flying orbs of undoubted, bone-shattering momentum. Their earth-shaking collision makes them real again.
The New throws a fist, too quick to the attack. The Elder catches it, looks the New in the eye; he is trying to show The New his foolishness. The Elder swings The New to the ground as if he is merely a child. An elbow flies toward The New's skull, bearing titanic force.
Crack.
The New roars, his ferocity surprising even himself. He plants two full sets of claws into The Elder's shoulders, tears them through, down to The Elder's wrists. The pain is an impressive surprise. A fresh color covers The Elder's arms: mottled crimson. A brutally real metaphor for the hell contained therein.
The New heaves the Elder down. He lowers his head, tenses his neck. His crown meets the Elder's mouth. The Two begin to roll, a frantic grapple to achieve the others death. Neither succeeds.
The Elder holds down The New. He spreads his jaws for a deafening, colossal roar and as he does, three teeth are fired into the face of The New. These spikes from the jaws of death Himself sting as if they were fired from a rifle. The New is being reminded that the Elder does not plan to give up.
In fact, it appears he may succeed far greater than not giving up.
The Elder raises a fist, swinging it in a vicious pendulum. A mind-jarring blow strikes The New's left cheek. The pendulum reciprocates on the right. The New is engulfed in the fog of his mind. His vision is excruciatingly hazy. Even his thoughts have abandoned his mind. Passion and chance. This is all that remains; this is what The New has a hope of winning on.
His ever-distant grip on reality tells him that a killing blow is heading towards his neck. He doesn't think about catching The Elder's arm. Still, it happens. The New clutches The Elder's wrist, gazes into his eyes. He holds this position, recollects his breath, renews his will.
The New catapults The Two into a flying tumult of desperate punches. The New has gone outside of time. He is all rage, all passion; time crawls and flies as it pleases. But The Elder holds the counter to this flurry of emotion, this bombardment of random though lethal attacks. The Elder has maturity, has longevity. He does not want to give in. And so he fights, leaning not only on his strength but his wisdom.
The Elder is slowing the brawl. Block, block, block, block. The New cannot sustain his flurry if he cannot maintain his pace. And suddenly, The New snaps back into time. His hope is rapidly encroaching upon its breaking point: The New is not the dominant one in this battle, and this realization is deeply unsettling. Right now he alone knows it, but unless Fate intervenes The New will not triumph.
The Pack remain steady. That is, their hulking forms stand motionless, taking in the desperate clash before them. Inside, however, the beasts quiver. Their very souls tremble with fear; their bellies grow queasy in uncertainty. This fight breeds doubt and the unknown, and The Pack can scarcely contain themselves to know of its outcome.
The Elder has been punishing The New. The New is pressed against a wall, absorbing blow after blow. He is beginning to feel reaffirmed that he has made a dire mistake. But another voice is telling him otherwise. The voice tells him the blows are hurting less. The New's reason tells him his brain must be collapsing, but the voice is insistent. Soon, The New is convinced. The pain dissipates just as quickly as his strength builds. The voice teases The New with a thought. Could it be? The tease continues and soon The New is certain: the voice is the Hand of Fate.
The New flings an uppercut of utterly impossible strength. The Elder receives the blow squarely in the chin and crashes to the ground. The New is upon him instantaneously. Fangs sink into the side of The Elder's neck.
Scream.
Gurgle.
Death.
Two there are no more; One rises alone. The New has become The Supreme.
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