131 Twice Betrayed (1/2)
It would've happened sooner or later, even if they'd once been partners at one point in time. Reconciliation was impossible for either of them, especially after what he had done.
Twice she had her trust betrayed. Once by the Father; Once by the Son.
There was a limit to her compassion. She could not handle being betrayed a third time. Neither could the world; it was at the brink of collapse thanks to their failures of the Father and the Son.
The Father had succumbed to his Fear.
The Son had succumbed to his Wrath.
\”He almost succumbed to his Guilt but he, unlike the both of you, triumphed over his greatest enemy — the self-destructive nature within him,\” she said.
\”…Perhaps, but his source of will is far too weak to do what must be done. It has not been tempered and is nothing more than an immature sprout.\”
\”We don't have any more time left, even if you might be right about him. He won't stand a chance. It stands to reason that my source of will be used instead if we are to even have a chance of pulling this off. You're going to ruin everything we've worked for!\”
\”All I hear is your ego talking, Coward. Even now, you still want to be the one to finish it, no? To do what he couldn't. You haven't grown up a single bit since we've last met...\”
The sky above them crackled furiously as rain and lightning poured down from the heavens. Two incorporeal spirits faced off against one another as the storm above them continued to intensify.
They'd once been something very similar to soulmates. He had been her Master; She, his Holy Servant. A pair-bond united by a common goal — to finish what the Father had been unable to do.
She had offered everything she had to better assist him, be it her power, her knowledge, and her heavenly wisdom. In many respects, she was his original mentor.
Who knew Heaven's secrets better than the Emissary of Heaven herself? He could not have asked for a better mentor even if he tried.
Who knew Heaven's secrets better than the Emissary of Heaven herself? He could not have asked for a better mentor even if he tried.
They were not like the inexperienced whelps that called themselves Conquerors. In their hands, Anima was a means of bringing miracles into reality.
The bumbling fools who were referred to as Chosen were nothing more than charlatans compared to them.
Their battle had already begun before they'd even started. It was a fight that could not be perceived with the perspective of a mortal.
A single raindrop fell from the sky, a thousand meters above them.
Hundreds of thousands of different future states shifted in and out of existence as the two silently squared off in front of each other.
Several decades worth of possible futures were reflected upon the surface of that raindrop. An entire mortal lifespan.
In a battle such as this, only true chaos could be trusted. It neither favored them, nor their enemy. Most importantly though, no one knew what sort of fate was held within an unstable future path.
What they could perceive, their enemy could as well.
Simply put: It was a dance. They were the dancers; the myriad of potential futures — the ballad of unwritten destinies— their song.
The raindrop hit the ground.
Space and time unwound in different directions as they moved towards each other in different ways.
He bent space toward him, dragging her over to him. Space-time turned into malleable clay in his hands. Shaping the fabric of reality into whatever form he desired was like child's play to him.
She, on the other hand, outright severed the space in front of her, imposing a short-term change in reality. To put it bluntly, she had cut the distance, the space between them.
The two specters crashed into one another and immediately went in for the kill. Neither one of them was interested in analyzing the other… because there was nothing to learn.