Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
“No,” Deimos said automatically, maneuvering the armor so it laid on its side and upward, providing potential cover. There’d be no negotiating on any terms for his son’s safety, even if it was just snowballs, he’d be ensuring protection of the youth. Erebos, unbothered, giggled and flung some snow into the air so it landed on top of his hat, then proceeded to sit down behind the glint of leviathan scales, while the Sword built up the snow around it, modifying and amplifying fortifications. The only echoes were absolute glee, the dull thud of a mitten whacking at the defensive means reverberating along the snow. Perhaps in good humor and jest and some manner of fairness, he snorted. “I can give you Belial.” Who would likely be obnoxious. Zuriel snorted nearby, clearly intending to show she wouldn’t be participating at all. “Best get building,” the Sword advised with a grin, snagging at snow and granting additional provisions.
