This idea raped my mind when I saw a picture of them each as their positions in this story. I couldn't resist.
Disclaimer: Nothing.
They stared each other down. Either flinched, or blinked when the lightning stuck above their heads, crashing through the sky. A rip of thunder roared, rolling through the clouds, stormy and gray. This would happen, now, the decisive battle for the plains they stood upon, arms ready, and swords ready to be unleashed. The sparks flickered another brilliance of light, illuminating the jade ground and chasing the shadows from the woods all around, at a distance. The sun slowly set its radiance-bidding farewell in a cast of hues of gold. Then, on the horizon, once no more, a wave of electricity blasted their commencement.
In black, the duelist pulled out the thin blade, in a slash and ran for his prey. In white, the attacked dashed, meeting the sword behind his back, over his shoulder to prevent the sharp metal from cutting him. The sly trick had been foiled. Ebony pulled back for another vehement strike. Ivory spun and blocked, both hands gripping the handle.
Navy winked at its opposing pastel orbs and swerved backwards, in rapid short steps. Azure followed suite, never leaving the night sky eyes until their original space stood amid them. Next, with a quick breath, Yang went on the assault. Full force, face to face, he lunged, forcing his opponent back in strategic defenses. Yin growled deep in his throat, blocking the last beat with his forearm as if it was nothing at all.
Blood dripped from the wound as room regained itself, each apart after the initial engage. He brought the scar to his mouth and lapped at the flow of scarlet with a devious smirk. In an instance, Hell sprung onto the offensive, ballistic and untamed, wanting revenge. Heaven stood his ground in best effort to stay unscathed, matching hit for hit. He failed when a thin line streamed down his wrist, bringing forth a new, dull pain that was easily shoved aside.
The sleeves rim of the white tailored suit stained red and with a disapproving tisk, Good walked to his advisory, though, not mockingly. Fixing his black collar of the matching tuxedo, Bad rose a brow as a faint grin appeared on his lips.
''I do not know your name.'' The Angel spoke delicately.
''Nor do I know yours.'' The Demon retorted gruffly.
''Mizuhara, Max. Pleased to meet you.'' He extended his injured arm, smiling placidly as he offered his delicate hand.
''Kinomya, Takao. Likewise.'' He accepted the shake in a firm grasp, his claws trailing over the fair skin.
A nod was exchanged and, swords raised, the battle pursued intensely. Blow after blow, more blood shed in spatters everywhere, drops sailing through the gusts of wind picking up around them. The wetness began to fall from the sky as they danced in a rhythm, locking when their strength pushed blades against each other. Gritting teeth appeared through leering lips as they shoved equally, roughly.
Max gazed at the face watching him, admiring the tan flesh and navy locks pulled into a bind at the nape of his neck, flowing loosely all over. This spawn of the abyss looked not like a hellion but indeed fought for them. Takao felt the strong urge to stare, drawn in by the smooth visage adorned with blonde strands, short and wild. This heavenly entity held their innocence and fought in the same way.
With a final thrust, they separated, rejoining again at the middle, fearsomely slashing and hacking, alas, spilling no crimson. Heavy breathes were sucked in greedily before another spar ensued, the blades piercing more skin; this time dangerously high, grazing a bronzed cheek. He stumbled backwards and with a pounce from his saintly rival, lay on the damp ground.
Rain brought reality crashing back, only to blink in gentle fingertips, rubbing lightly against the marring. Empathy touched his wet skin before he rose to stand, as he left a hand graciously lingering to be taken. They stood evenly and resumed combat immediately, with deadly intentions that sliced the tender flesh at the shoulder, evening the score.
He cried out in an agonized yelp, meeting the same cold and moist earth with a weight gathered on his abdomen. A deviant wink met his fluttering orbs as a pressure squeezed down hard on the hurting throb, blood squirting through his malice fingers. Then, he leaned down and kissed the agape mouth, dragging him up to his feet with an audacious and teasing tongue.
''Kiss of death.''
''Touch of forgiveness.''
God's follower took a last minute and looked up to his kin, crying for him from the clouds. Satan's enforcer looked to the dirt and the puddles spreading everywhere, sneering before meeting the gaze across the way. They stuck, finding only equivalence in their violence.
When one would tear more skin, bits lost to the rapier, the other would land a hit as merciless. Until they could no longer move, either refused to stop and lay slain on the battlefield.
Max clenched his sword in his right hand, lowering his stance. Takao mimicked, grasping his own in his left hand tightly. This was it; they both felt it and thrived on the energy and passion of their last attack, the definitive ending. With a charge and battle cries ringing through the air as they stood chest to chest, a new silence with the pitter-patter of the rain loomed.
They stared at one another, both smiling freely, ignoring the holes ripping through their stomachs, evenly placed, hauntingly identical. It would soon end, but whilst they breathed and slowly paled, a faint blue tingeing their lips, the Angel leaned in and meshed them as the Devil stroked his cheek.
-EndE-
Yes, I did in fact use a lot of religious terms and so forth but I do very much enjoy the way this turned out. Though, Yang, the light represents more a male and Yin, the dark is commonly known for being a female...it still works out.
For the confused:
Max Good
Takao Bad
Anyone like my ironic ending, or even understand it?
