intention erased

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The Reaper might’ve taken from an individual and given nothing in return – but a majority of the time those were adversaries and enemies, snagging any avaricious claim, whether it be information or livelihoods, had been par for the course. Games of subterfuge, duplicity, and bloodshed; often times ending in some form of ruin. The Sword had been immersed in tolerance and acceptance, and therefore extended it back, granting without expectations. With Samuel’s sacrifices for the Grounds, it only made sense for the General to extend something in accord; besides bestowing some honorifics on a door (which he already had plans for; a mind musing and mulling again). However, on Samuel’s uncomfortable laugh, on the vestiges of foreboding actions, Deimos managed to hide a wince, a cringe. “Yes,” unfortunately; drops of the fluid weren’t going to protect them from monsters. “How do you want to do this?” Best to move forward with what made the Ascended secure – his eyes roaming towards Zuriel, lurking and drifting amongst the room – and then back to Samuel, pondering where it would be best to cut, if their veins worked the same as everyone else’s, merely lacking blood, made up for in Voice contortions. He could always cut at an artery and have his companion heal while everything else spilled forth; an unpleasant notion all around. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace