Marvel: The last Timelord

[1327 words]

In the streets of London, blanketed in snow and draped in dazzling Christmas lights, a man, reflected in all the panes of steamy glass along the street, stumbled across the white and fluffy roads. His teeth gritted in no small amount of effort to ward off the pain and the inevitable end that was fast approaching.

The man left a trail in his wake, a sign of his weakening state and a testament to how long he had been struggling. He didn't know why he struggled so much, why he persisted in fighting against the end that he had faced so many times before. He could just lay down in the snow, enjoy the snowflakes land on his face, the sparkling lights above and the warmth that would come before he would eventually close his eyes and the finale of his song would come.

But the man pushed on.

Just like he always had.

Giving up just wasn't his style.

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.

.

"His song is ending..."

Somewhere else in London, another spoke as he watched the man fight against his fate. He held no sympathy for the man despite watching his struggles and pain, he knows the deeds this man has committed, he knows the lives this man has taken...

"But the story, the story never ends..."

…and he knows this is just another beginning.

The man always escapes deaths hands.

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As the man finally stumbled against the wooden door of an old police box, the blue paint flaking under his touch, his fingers fumbled with the old and ancient-looking key in his hands. He had done this so many times, more times than there were grains of sand on this little blue planet in fact, yet right now his actions looked so clumsy.

Finally pushing open the door, the man stepped forwards into the vast space inside. Pulling the door shut behind him, he fell against it in a small moment of weakness, one of few in his long lifetime, and stared down at the floor at a loss at why he still pushed on.

Plague as he was by such thoughts he still dragged his eyes away from the floor, and looking towards the centre console, the man finally pushed off the door and with wobbly legs, walked towards it. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the bannisters at the side, both to support himself and in an effort to keep himself here and alive as long as possible.

He was not afraid of the pain, he had never been afraid of something so trivial, no, what he was afraid of was it going away.

And as he let go of the bannister and threw his old and weathered trench coat across the room and onto one of the supporting pillars, he finally felt it. The pain finally washed away and a feeling of warmth began to engulf his body.

Bringing up his hand, the first signs of his end finally appear as a radiant and golden warm light flowed out of his skin. His face remained stoic as he examined his hand and watched the beginning of his end. Despite only experiencing it once before himself, this had already happened more than enough times throughout his long life, even if he couldn't remember them, for him not to be afraid. Yet why is it, that when he looked down at his hand, does a feeling nag at the back of his mind?

He didn't know, and the worse thing about that was the fact that he would never know. How laughable. The man who knew everything, the man who had seen everything, will forever not know something as simple as a feeling in the back of his own mind.

Pushing back the golden glow in subconscious greed for more time, the man walked up and caress the centre console. No one in the entire universe could know what he was feeling right now, in fact, no one even had the right to know what he felt as his fingers fell across the hard, yet so familiar, warm metal.

Watching his silent companion, the man pulled down on the leaver in front of him and the old beaten police box flew off into space. His companion always knew what he wanted, even if he didn't so as he watched as they flew through the stars he knew what it was trying to tell him.

He was running.

However, even if he knew he was running, he still couldn't understand why. What was he running from? He had run from many things in his life; the death of his world, his friends, his family and even himself at one point. He wasn't new to is such a thing nor did he feel that it was beneath him to do it. And despite this being his end, he knew this wasn't his death, he would continue living, even if it wasn't exactly him. So why was he running? But as he walked around the Tardis, taking in everything around him one final time, he finally realised it.

He was scared.

That thought alone was almost as terrifying to him. And in a weak voice, the man, who has carried the weight of an uncountable amount of lives and lived long enough that even the oldest races have forgotten his name, trembled. "I don't want to go..."

However, life was cruel and death was always the end, not even he, The Lord Of Time, could fight it.

With his breath quickening every second, the inevitable finally came. The golden light burst out of his skin in one of the rarest cosmic displays this universe had to offer. Energy so pure and dense that it could even be comparable to the life-fire of a phoenix, burned away the insides of the Tardis, tearing away at its defences and bursting out of its confines and into the void outside.

Everything was going as fate had determined. Everything flowing along the strings that fate was silently and always weaving. But things can always go wrong. Nothing is definite. And sometimes threads can escape the tapestry fate weaves.

This, of course, doesn't mean fate loses control, god no, if fate lost control every time a thread frayed from her design then she would never have created the masterpiece she had created today. No, fate tries everything to fix her mistakes but sometimes even she can't stop the dominos from falling and the thread escaping.

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"And there's one other person you pissed off. His name is Phil!" Tony spoke with venom before he raised his hand and a beam of concussive energy shot out of his hand, hitting Loki in the chest and blasting him across the room.

Tony didn't have long to revel in the satisfaction of smacking this arrogant god before a blue beam of concentrated energy burst forth from the top of his building and shot up into the sky. Yet here's where fate was changed again. Caught up in someone else thread.

The blue energy twisted and distorted as it moved towards its destination, burning even space apart with its power.

The now boiling energy struck the sky like a hammer, the impact shattering the windows in all of New York in a much more violent display than what certain people in the know expected it to incur. They didn't worry though, why would they? Their plan was complete, they had done it. The army was here. They had won.

The light smashed against the sky a total of ten times, each impact cracking the sky in a display so magical and captivating that the residents of New York had forgotten to run away until eventually the tenth finally hit and the sky broke apart.

Tony stared up at the sky, no, stared up at the void that now open up above his tower in no small amount of fear. He only had one thought inside his head at the moment and that was 'What is on the other side?' a thought shared by almost everyone else in New York who stared up at the sky at this moment. All except one man.

"Haha, you see Iron Man," The name practically spat out as Loki laughed manically, "I win! You will all bow before me!"