The Pattern

The Being raised it's head, black rivulets of a foul, unknown substance flowing off of it's multiple pincers and waving hairs of its hideous face. It opened it's mouth to roar. The sound it made was, fortunately, drowned out by the constant lightning strikes raining down around it and it's brethren around the base of Mount Olympus.

It's black, shadowed eyes reflected the bursts of light as it cast it's gaze around, a wicked, calculating intelligence showing as it sprang forward, timing it's bounds to avoid the attack by the searing bolts.

It raced forward, clambered onto a rocky outcrop, then hissed in fury at one of the mountain's defenders as he came screaming down the hill, spear poised to strike.

The Being deftly darted to the side, quick as flowing water, it's movements also oddly graceful. It pierced the soldier through his bronze plate mail in the back with several dozen of it's razor-sharp appendages, and, in the same movement, flung him bodily into his partner, who had sprung up from the side of a hidden crevice, hoping to take the Being from the side.

The soldier was knocked completely off of his feet, and the Being sprang, ripping him into bloody ribbons in an eyeblink.

The blood rolled off of it as it bounded back forward up the path, seeking more life to extinguish. It made a low, guttural sound in it's throat, almost like laughter, rhythmic, pulsing and throaty. It glanced to it's sides and saw that most of it's companions had also met with similar success.

The war was ending. The defenders of Mount Olympus were wearing, their numbers dwindling, while the army of the Old Ones was growing stronger with each passing hour. It was only a matter of time.

It came around a corner near the summit, the rocky surface giving way to blood-stained marble paths and shattered columns – artifacts of months of fighting here. It slowed as one of the so-called 'Gods' of Olympus stepped into it's path. He wore a simple tunic under a breastplate, laced leather-strap sandal boots and held a bronze, gore stained sword in his hand. His helm was a silver steel mask covering his entire face, a gruesome smile featured on it.

The Being crouched low and sprang. The little God moved swiftly out of the way and scored a blow on the Being's back. The steel stung and burned as it ripped away some of it's scales. Faster than the God could turn, however, the Being, ignoring the wound, sprang at his back, clamping down with it's multiple arms all around him, digging it's talons into his flesh. It reared it's head back, intending to rip at the back of the God's neck.

It felt a momentary confusion as he saw the God staring back at him from behind...then realized that it was only the back-side of the mask, but instead of a smile, the back of the mask was carved into a face in agony and sadness, a single tear standing out in the design. It recovered and began ripping at the God, trying to find a soft spot. It heard him grunt in pain and felt him shift his weight.

"Janus!" came a cry from above, and the Being twisted, avoiding a black-shafted arrow that was aimed at it's head. It clattered to the ground, sending up sparks into the gray air.

"I'm fine," the God shouted from beneath the Being. He braced his legs and ripped the Being forward, sending it tumbling end-over-end into a marble column. It cracked under the impact and sent chunks of stone flying. The Being scrambled to it's feet, turning to face this 'Janus' once more. It noted with a dark satisfaction the deep cuts and wounds in the God's legs and sides as it roared it's defiance.

"You're a nasty one, aren't you?" Janus said, almost quietly. He titled his head as he approached. "Do you have a Name?"

The Being hesitated. It narrowed it's black eyes at the little God, trying to peer through the silver mask. It's limbs lashed and snapped in the air all around it, coiling and ripping in warning.

Janus stopped, and reached up to slowly remove the mask.

The Being froze.

There was so much...Light...coming from that face...it felt it like a weight pressing down on it, keeping it from moving.

"You don't have a Name, do you?" Janus whispered, moving closer. "Impressive that even the foot soldiers are becoming as powerful as you are." He stopped and shook his head. "The Darkness grows." He looked up sharply and plunged his sword in one flowing motion into the Being's chest.

The Being felt the blow, and a hideous, burning warmth in it – a warmth that had nothing to do with the steel of that blade. It was the warmth of Life, of Order.

Of the Lightbringer.

It spat at the fake God as it died, it's hatred filling it. Janus let the Being's weight pull it off of his blade, then stumbled back and went to a knee.

He wearily turned his head from side-to-side, scanning the battle all around him. He saw the Gods of Olympus fighting valiantly, but being driven further and further back. He lowered his gaze and took a deep, steadying breath.

His strength had been returning to him, this much was for certain, but the constant battle was making it slow work. Too slow.

He had been wondering if Olympus could hold out long enough for him to recover his powers fully, but it now seemed unlikely.

And if he had read what Atropos had been up to recently correctly, he was running out of places to hide.

Apollo dispatched the last of the wave of invaders, impaling it as it charged forward onto his golden spear. His boot scraped against the marble floor as he braced himself against it's weight, gritting his teeth in effort holding it back as it still kept lashing at him, seeking to reach his throat. When his foot stopped sliding, and the creature's movements finally ceased, he let the spear fall to the ground, taking the abomination with it. He breathed heavily and looked back over his shoulder.

The gate to the Temple of Zeus loomed high over his head. His eyes widened in fear and shock. This was further, much, much further, than the invaders had reached before. Soon there would be nowhere left to retreat.

He walked numbly forward, scanning the battlefield in the tiers below him.

The Darkness ran up the sides of the mountain like a fungus, staining and ruining the gorgeous vista all the way to the mountain's base. He saw Gods and men struggling to their feet, helping their companions, glancing nervously at the pitch-black, swirling, impenetrable cloud surrounding that aforementioned mountain base where the legions of creatures had been attacking from in waves for over a month.

Apollo knew what they were thinking as they stared into that blackness, as he was thinking the same thing.

Their end was soon.

The next attack would shatter the last remnants of their defenses.

He nodded to himself and turned back towards the Temple, trudging inside. The Gods would regroup here, in theory to plan their next moves and strategy, but he had been in enough wars to know that there was no solid strategy left to plan.

He walked in past the injured and disabled soldiers and glanced cursorily at the throne, where Zeus leaned heavily into his seat, head in hand. Apollo slowed and turned away, heading towards the reflecting pool, the one that doubled as a way to watch the land of the mortals, the realm of Earth.

What he saw there was hardly encouraging.

Most of it was gone, or, more precisely, swallowed up in that same taint that had almost devoured Olympus. Only one bright point of light remained, a tiny, secluded warehouse on the outskirts of Los Angeles. He knew that there was where the Resistance labored. He looked at the swirling masses of destruction surrounding it, and felt the last of his hopes fade away.

It was over. The Darkness had won.

"There is a famous saying there," came a voice over his shoulder. Apollo glanced back and saw that it was Janus, looking just as weary on the surface as everyone else, but strangely, he still had a willful fire in his eyes.

"They used to have a lot of sayings," Apollo sighed. He shook his head and looked back at Janus, who was watching him expectantly, a tight-lipped but strangely contagious smile on his face. Apollo returned the smile. "What was it?" he asked in concession.

"'It is always darkest before the dawn'," Janus replied. "It didn't come from a religious text, or a poet, rather, it was written by a historian, which, in our case, seems apropos."

"How's that?" Apollo asked, frowning.

"Well, before that whole 'Let There Be Light' stuff, what do you think the Universe looked like?"

Apollo watched him closely, eyes narrowing. "I'm assuming that you're going to tell me that it resembled that," he replied softly, eyes flicking towards the base of the mountain.

Janus nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was."

Apollo stepped away from the pool and his hand went to the pommel of his sword, his eyes narrowing further in scrutiny. "Who are you?", he hissed. "Oh, you are the spitting image of Two-Headed Janus, to be certain, but I have heard things over the last weeks, things from my brother Ares as well, that give me reason to doubt...and now you claim knowledge of events that Janus would never be privy...so I ask again, impostor, who are you?!"

Janus shrugged and turned away. "No reason to keep up appearances here anymore, I suppose. Isn't that right?", he asked, casting his question louder in the direction of a person standing in the shadows of a column near the edge of the Temple.

The figure stepped out around into the light and Apollo hesitated, recognizing her.

"Atropos? What are you doing here?"

She shrugged, stepping closer, looking away from Apollo to fix her eyes on 'Janus'.

"It's time. I've done everything I can, and the boss here needs to come back to the office."

Apollo looked over at Janus, his head snapping back. "Boss?"

Atropos nodded. "Mm-hm. Boss. God. Judah. Whatever." She tilted her head and put a hand on her hip. "So, what's the word, big man? Break over?"

'Janus' smiled and shook his head. As he did so, his features changed, his skin tone altering, his hair as well. Apollo gaped, because while he had seen his fair share of imitations and even transformations in his time, he had never seen one that was so easily accomplished, nor so deep and complete.

"Atropos, I've seen what you've been doing...and...well, not to be too critical, but you know how useless it all is, don't you?"

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "At least we're doing something...not sitting around waiting to die, Judah."

"Oh, make no mistake, this isn't death," he answered, waving his arm around him in an encompassing arc. "This is annihilation. There will be no after-life or gentle transition from this. No Reaper or condescending manifestation of Death. They end Life. They consume it."

"And you're going to do nothing?"

He smiled. "I was trying to recover my strength, set us back on a manageable path." He shook his head. "The Old Ones and Cartaphilus took care of that when they destroyed Michael. Do you have any idea how much of Creation they destroyed when that happened? How much raw Life energy?"

"I have a pretty good idea," Atropos answered. "I've been out there trying to pick up the pieces of what's left."

Judah smiled humorously and closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "See? That's my entire point, Atropos. You're trying to re-create the infinite with finite parts. It's a waste of time."

"I never said that I was trying to recreate it," she shot back. "That's your job, remember? Or it was until you got on this Apocalypse kick."

"It's hardly a 'kick'," Judah growled. "And have a care, Fate, remember who you're talking to."

"A spoiled brat throwing a tantrum?" Atropos replied angrily. "And don't go getting all uppity on me, Boss, " she cut him off as he opened his mouth to protest. "You are the one that elevated my Sisters and I to be the guardians of time and consequence, just as you appointed Death to watch over mortality. You defined us, and until such time as all of this does get annihilated, we are just as important to maintaining reality as you ever were." She glared, letting that sink in before continuing. "So, since I'm pretty sure that the 'Biblical' Apocalypse option is off the table now, and we're simply all fighting to take another breath, I have to ask - why are you still in that form?"

Judah smiled. "Who said anything about it being off the table?" He watched as Atropos frowned in confusion. He held up a hand to silence her. "You have your plan, I have mine. I think that is all that you are going - and are entitled to – know."

Atropos stepped defiantly forward. "What plan?"

"Mine, Fate," Judah growled. "You have no idea what my ways are, nor what I must do to create or destroy. You must only believe that I have a plan. Now, go try to see what good your plan does in the meantime."

"Without you," Atropos asked in a whisper, her voice quivering.

"Without me."

Atropos cast her eyes to the ground, her fists balling at her sides. "You are the Creator, Judah...how are we supposed to re-weave the pattern without you guiding it...?"

Judah turned away and walked off, looking over his shoulder as he left.

"Who said anything about the pattern being re-woven?"

With that, he vanished.

Atropos watched the place where he had disappeared for a long time. She noticed Apollo standing next to her and she shook her head.

"And people wonder why so many turn away from religion..."she grunted. She looked up at Apollo and nodded angrily. "Fine. We do it without him." She turned sharply on her heel and walked over to a glowing portal. She glanced back and looked Apollo up and down. "You Greeks coming or what?"

Apollo leaned back and looked around, shaking his head to break himself out of his thought after witnessing the exchange between God and his Fate. He saw that most of the Pantheon of Gods were also there and had been watching as well.

"We're coming," A deep voice came from the throne room as Zeus stepped out. "There is nothing left for us here."

Atropos nodded and looked away. "For what it's worth...I'm sorry."

Zeus shrugged. "Why? It was a valiant fight. And from what I just heard, it is not the last one we are going to have." He looked around the Temple. "Which is more than I can say for Olympus." He focused back on Atropos. "We fight."

Atropos smiled back at him. "Well, that's more than I can say for some deities. Thank you. Let's get going."

When the summit of Olympus was reached, the Old Ones and their soldiers encountered no resistance. A figure strode through the swirling shadows, resolving itself into the semblance of a large, well-muscled man, wearing a red cloak, with a scabbard on his hip. The Gladius was drawn and held casually in his right hand.

He stopped in the middle of the Temple and turned slowly in a circle.

He sniffed the air and grimaced as a smell reached his nostrils.

"Judah," he whispered in hate and disgust. He whipped his head around, then sighed.

Gone.

"Run all you want," he hissed into the empty Temple. "Soon, there will be nowhere left for you to hide from me."

He strode to Zeus' throne, and tilted his head, considering it. He turned away, then, with a snarl, he spun back around, his Gladius swinging high over his head.

It hit the golden throne and split it in half with a sound reminiscent of thunder.

The two smoking halves toppled to the floor, dark, scorching marks all along the seam where the sword had split it. The blackness spread out over the throne, covering it, the golden structure crumbling to ash in seconds.

Cartaphilus watched it disintegrate and wilt away then turned away in contempt. The voices of the Old Ones - the Outer Gods – whispered in his head, a contact dialogue that had been with him since he had struck his pact with them. The hungered, and grew impatient.

They wanted to feed. They wanted to consume the Lightbringer. And while time meant little to them, they did know hunger, and the promise of a meal.

Cartaphilus smiled.

Soon. Soon.