There was violence in the air long before they took to the mat. Long before the light went up. Long before the bell rang. Long before the clash of titans.

Legend says that on that fateful night even the nile stopped flowing and the clouds stopped floating to watched the combat of the century. Two entered. Only one returned. The stage was set. Both champions had long anticipated the ordeal they were both entering, however, neither was remotely prepared for the odyssey that awaited him.

As they entered their pristine battleground, soon to be unrecognizably stained with the life blood of battle, they could feel it in the air. They could feel the energy and the victory pulsing through the air. The thrill of the fight, the joy of victory as surely their opponents would fall harder than the tower of Babel! But then transcending all lusts of victory and power; defeat. It laughed at the hero’s, mocked them. There could only be one winner and there must be one loser. There must be one of them who would be crushed, whose name would die and whose memory be mocked. Who would it be?

They stood motionless facing eachother in anticipation. Anticipation of the bell to come. The bell that would mean eternal life, or death. The wonderful bell; the beautiful bell; the terrifying bell; the hatefull bell; the bell that tolls to begin their funeral. Ding.

They circled as did the vultures above Prometheus, high in the realm of Uranus, waiting to strike their prey. They lunge in and out, their blows always flirting never ready to commit. Rivers of sweat coursed down their faces waterfalling off their noses as they tornadoed around the ring in a indefinite stalemate. After an eternity of confusion and tumultuous combat, one of the fighters grabbed the other in an attempt like that of Cronos to swallow him like the child Zeus. However, as the story goes Zeus slipped away leaving Cronos swallowing air. Zeus sends Cronos plummeting down in a perpetual downward spiral into the realm of Tartus. There’s no need to retell the story we all know, but I will anyways: Zeus circles once reveling in victory, his ego had reached zenith much like the sun at midday. He was the sun high above the pit housing his enemy. The lightning bolt streaked from his hand and struck, with such force to rend kingdoms, where his enemy had lain prone. The sun had eclipsed! The impossible had happened. Zeus could not believe that his victory had slithered out from beneath him. The serpent had defied history and escaped.

This snake had tasted victory and liked it. He unleashed his poisonous furry upon the bewildered hero in his moments of paralysis. The overwhelming blows rained like the hottest dragon’s flame. The other with a knight’s valiance raised his shield to stop the liquid inferno. He realized his shield could not hold up for long as it was already almost too hot to hold. His feet began to slip and he could not persevere much longer inside of the oven he once called his armor. By the grace of the gods he was saved by his opponent. Stopping his tirade of attack for a moment the great dragon admired his handiwork. The lump of metal he once called an adversary still stood resilient in trembling courage. Admirable, but still pathetic. In a flash of green and fury the reptilian leviathan dove so quickly that had he blinked he would have missed it. He did not blink. His sword rose with equal speed and met the beast on the floor between them. The explosive force knocked back both contenders sending each back to their corners. It seemed the dance was on again.

They flitted back and forth pirouetting and twirling, the steps increasing in complexity and velocity as they went. Neither knew to which song they danced, but they both knew it was the same one. Heartbeats in perfect synchrony. Feet in perfect synchrony. Minds in perfect synchrony. They danced as one, responding to the other as do lovers in a ballroom. When one lunges the other hops gracefully in the other direction. They swirled around and around for so long even they forgot who was who. Then they locked arms and the music changed from a light waltz to a brisk swing piece that swept them up in its syncopated hypnosis. The swing dance was short lived while they both were switching leads more quickly than any observer could track . One would move for the other to spin then the move would be reversed by the second. Their deathly tango brought them together and apart and as the danseur dipped his ballerina for the final time their was a stillness in the air.

There it was, the end of the match. He had him pinned. in one move he could destroy his opponent. Destroy him forever. He could crush him, the one who had tried to do it to him. So he did it. Over and over in his mind, over and over he broke the child cradled in his arms. The one he had fought, learned from and taught; whom he had been hurt by, hurt and had mercy on; whom he had known completely in those eternal hours. Whom he had love completely. How could he not? In this fight he had become his best friend, the only one who really knew him, knew all of him. He couldn’t hurt the only person who knew him better than he knew himself to be able to best him so many times. They had both fought so valiantly how could he justify beating his best friend at the fault of one minute error. It just wasn’t fair! But there was a reason he entered this fight. A tear fell from the sky onto the man held in his arm, he raised his fist.