DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Even at Darkeye’s rebuttal, Deimos had to wonder just what kind of life Sunjata led now. If it could be called that at all – meandering, wandering, lost just as much as so many others. With Nate gone. With power lost. With only the root and ruin of his defiance shaping into people tired of his antics, appeals hard fought and withered. Maybe the Flood truly hoped for just that – a gradual decline into dust and ash, soot and debris, and despite all the antics he’d ever wrought into this world, to be merely forgotten, consigned to his own oblivion. “Do not let yourself be consumed by it.” To become nothing more than a vengeful slate was something the Sword had experienced, and it hadn’t led to much of anything.
He continued and persisted with the flame as the cleric spoke, watching as if seemed to reach perilous depths, enough to cause his brow to furrow. After thirty feet or so, his control diminished rapidly, and he could only watch as the fire and the air sanctity wilted and withered, leaving him with more enigmas. With a huff of some amusement, his attention diverted back to the other man. “Could throw him down this well.” For it didn’t seem to have an end.
He continued and persisted with the flame as the cleric spoke, watching as if seemed to reach perilous depths, enough to cause his brow to furrow. After thirty feet or so, his control diminished rapidly, and he could only watch as the fire and the air sanctity wilted and withered, leaving him with more enigmas. With a huff of some amusement, his attention diverted back to the other man. “Could throw him down this well.” For it didn’t seem to have an end.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
