A segue from inspiration to imagination. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did imagining it.
Their blades clash once more. The thunderous echo of each impact, lash out with energies hinting at universal origin. In all directions rings of hadronic rays cascade away from their duel. They look like men, but are physically anything but human. One of them is bald, clean shaven with sharp features and a slight hook nose, wearing a pristine silver business suit. His name is Otho. The other has medium length black hair growing straight up into tight bundles, each ending in a point, his face covered in stuble. He's wearing a simple white button shirt and black slacks. He is known as Victus. Both of them wearing small rimmed metallic glasses with reflective lenses. They move at relativistic speeds, their bodies consisting of super dense physiques responding to internal gravitic forces that would tear apart a black hole. Their blades forged from pure Cronium curving with the speed each stroke.
The shock waves are tearing apart the very earth they stand upon. The background shimmers and changes from a blacktop alley in a desolate ruin of a long forgotten city, to the surface of a moon. The men seem unphased, as if they are coordinating the transformation. Neither of them had need of air or heat for thousands of years. The duel continues and on it goes for timescales man was never meant to perceive or endure through. Galaxies collide, are born and wither and still the two duel. Their blade impacts igniting new galactic formations.
Victus pauses for a moment noticing a nebula's glorious energy as they stand upon a small clearing near a lake one starry night. It triggers a memory, and he dreams of an old companion. She was spring to his soul. This moment of distraction is all Otho needs. Thousands of cuts followed by a succession of piercing jabs through his heart cause the great Victus to fall to the ground. A moment later, the ultra dense neutron star like organic materials in his chest begin knitting back together, the scars seal up any trace of the wounds.
Otho reaches out his hand to his old friend, "Thinking about Trish again?"
Victus accepts the offer, grasps Otho's hand, and stands once more. "I think we've done enough damage for now", a warm but guilty smile crosses Victus' face. "Let's get back before they miss us"
Time and space bend before Otho as a gate appears, both gentlemen walk through to the sounds of a large dinner party...
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