I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Apparently the unspoken truce of ‘not too damaging’ was soon off the table; the apology had him furrowing his brow, before the onslaught of pain came. Nowhere directly and nothing to fend off, it bolstered down into his ribs and out through his bones in such a bizarre juxtaposition he had to wonder if it was somewhat like his own life drain; though without the achingly familiar weight and potency of it.
He stepped and shifted, glancing down at the floor to see if he’d missed something tangible – but with no means of defense to guard against it, and the onslaught of blood he hadn’t caused upon the Ancient, he began putting two and two together. “What was that?” Because he hadn’t particularly cared for it.
And to Astaroth’s luck, the water did go away, but Deimos replaced it with a rampage of Air magic, finally opting to get serious about the return of the gloves; a vicious whirling of wind and turbine forces, intending to pluck the adornments off the Ancient.
He stepped and shifted, glancing down at the floor to see if he’d missed something tangible – but with no means of defense to guard against it, and the onslaught of blood he hadn’t caused upon the Ancient, he began putting two and two together. “What was that?” Because he hadn’t particularly cared for it.
And to Astaroth’s luck, the water did go away, but Deimos replaced it with a rampage of Air magic, finally opting to get serious about the return of the gloves; a vicious whirling of wind and turbine forces, intending to pluck the adornments off the Ancient.
DEIMOS
