Deimos
Dare we know the halo's hanging low
Decisions made, he offered a brief chuckle through his chest, before heading into the training ring with Marcus in tow. “Very well,” with his usual air of nonchalance, save for the small smile tucked in the corner of his mouth, eternally ready to unfurl his incantations at any notice.His brow arched as the younger hybrid snagged at a container; meaning the enchantments had yet to reach their full potential. It would come with time, as most did, but it gave Deimos the information he required and where the layers and levels of potency resided. The concentration and focus bridged across the Olson’s brow was another tell – he’d seen the same expression on his own son’s face, striving to force and build something that wasn’t as adept yet.
Regardless, he gave Marcus time. Moments were valuable. While he could study, the other could strive, attempting to concoct and construct his first blow. When the water whipped toward him, the Sword tilted his head and took a breath.
The fire flared around him instantly, strong and stalwart, pervading and constant. Rather than giving chase though, given how they’d orchestrated one another’s offensive and defensive means, it surrounded him, not unlike an infernal wall, extending outwards to catch the surging water. As it crashed into the embers, they hissed with a feral steam, collapsing briefly before restoring themselves in the fiery enclosure.
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