intention erased

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Sword had no preference to where he amputated another’s limbs, but since Sam was willing to sacrifice great portions of his life, the monolith accepted the terms with a nod, following after the Ascended. He left the door open, surveying it for a moment, a multitude of thoughts circulating over how to honor the other man, and permitting Zuriel to slip inside. Once the unicorn accepted, another petulant bout of her personality pervading their bond upon her view of the college, he ignored her entirely, since Samuel had thrust his hand near his face. If the Ascended hadn’t been so nervous or apprehensive, Deimos might have laughed. But a loss was a loss, and concerns about what he was doing were understandable. Bravery in accepting, in offering himself up to these particulars was enough; and instead of answering Samuel immediately, he merely directed him to a nearby table. “That is fine,” he rumbled, fathoming witnessing the removal of one’s own fingers would be something akin to horrifying (he hadn’t had many moments to watch the near-deprivation of his own arm; Zuriel’s feat thereafter in rendering it completely healed had been something of a marvel in his near-exhaustion). From there, he ensured the man’s hand was flat against the surface, tucking the fingers together. With no other preparation necessary, he grabbed hold of the knife on his belt, holding it high to gain momentum, strength, and might behind the swing, and descended it down upon the digits, slashing and cutting with one feral motion. “Done,” the General responded, in case Sam dared to look. Meanwhile, after wiping off the dagger, he pulled his hands together, then unfurled them outward, and in between the gilded precision, formed two glass jars. In one, placed along the table, he put the fingers, and the other drifted beneath Sam’s hand, catching any of the fluid draining out. Thereafter, he pulled up chairs, presuming the other would like to sit, as he did so, best to concentrate, hone, and focus. “What is your preference for the prosthetic?” Metal? Natural? Hidden and tucked away, as if it wasn’t there at all? master of nothing place; of recoil and grace