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Rated: E · Short Story · Mythology · #2151014
Dark Souls OST can be great. Also, if I had to write a mythology. Also, thanks Tolkien.
Time wandered aimlessly over the great hollow sea, desiring a prey yet to be seen, a flower yet to sprout. Lame and starving, it waited.
Meanwhile ages have passed in bleak darkness, where to entities stood formless, abstracts yet to be made flesh. Two they were, facing one another from the verges of existence, and the silence between them unnerving.
It did not linger forever. Soon the endless fog dispersed, and things became clear. If it were under a guiding hand, or perhaps just a coincidental banality, without meaning or goal? That, no one could say.
She began to move slightly, testing her newly found strength. At first she moved stiffly, her leg groping forward in hesitation. Her step conjured the voice of a piano, frail and scarce, as if rising from an abyss. Enchanted, she took a few more steps, her elegance matching her growing confidence. Tongues of light sprouted from under her feet, like molten copper, and the piano played a new tune, gracious, fresh...
She lifted her gaze to him that was facing her for immeasurable time. It stood frozen still, bound by invisible shackles, cloaked in mysterious mist. She drew closer very slowly, until all voices died out. He shook, as if waking up after a deep sleep, and answered her challenge.
Like her before him, he started with one simple step. The difference between them was loud however. He was hasty, quick to fail and quick to recover, full of restrained power. Fire roared under his foot steps, and a threatening score of ambitious violins took dominion over the nothingness.
Distraught, she sought to regain her control. Her movements flowed in harmony, her hands drew strange and unfamiliar shapes across the cosmos, filling it with clouds of matter joining into a brilliant display of colors. A choir of angels began to sing an innocent and prophetic tune, announcing their support in the struggle.
As opposed to her, his movements became more chaotic, sharp and complex. Where she had a composed peacefulness, he had a beastly passion. Lightings circled around him in awe inspiring flashes of light, and his melody gushed like an overflowing river, trumpets joining the song. His arms produced inferno wherever he went, synchronized with his great and terrible music.
When she scattered an abundance of stars, he scarred those with meteors and volcanoes. When galaxies sprouted from her dance, like flowers, he crafted a trap to swallow all light.
So they danced, each rejecting the other work, and the cosmos held its breath whenever one briefly conquered the other.
Then, terribly sudden, he stopped, just a few steps away, as if only now acknowledging her existence.
His arm stretch towards her mechanically, and he waited.
The music slowly died out into a shadow of pianos and violins.
She drew closer, terribly curious, and terribly dreaded.
She looked at him in chastity, up until the very last moment when her hand almost touched his. Then, she started to back off...
His hand leaped forth, biting her like a snake and pulling her to him. Terrible thunders boomed like an unspeakable wave of destruction, and the whole creation trembled. A choir of angels joined to his side, and their voices spread admonishment and fury.
They danced and swirled across the skies. She was captured in his melody, and he led the dance in a dazzling pace. By the power of his music, she watched her creation crumble and fade. Stars crushed and exploded, galaxies folded into themselves and burst in a majestic and shocking display of force. Her score was weak, frightened. Her beautiful oeuvre standing in ruins, her past greatness sinking ever deeper into oblivion.
She regained her temper and pushed him away, knowing she could either admit defeat, or come up with a new melody.
He tried to grab her once more. She let her, but instead of succumbing to his brute force she manipulated his sharp and imprecise movements to her advantage, and carried him with her. Her music was slowly rising, gaining power.
Her angels broke free of the dispair that grabbed them, and started to sing. Putrified from her determination and skill, and failed to regain his control. Instead of holding him down, she let him play his tune, the tones of his music bending to fit her own creation. At the compulsion of their harmony things became more complex.
Over the course of history, they seperated and reunited countless times. Each favored his own creation, naturally. Their dance, like their melody, became more sophisticated, and more compromises had to be made. Their bitter strife was never truely forgotten, it couldn't be, not when men showed such a distinct talent to please both ways.
So the struggle continued, hidden, as each of them waited to gain the upper hand.
Both paid no mind to Time. It's music was modest, undeveloped. Time was patient, and satisfied itself with small victories. He knew, eventually that stage will be his exclusively.

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