DEIMOS
“Difficult,” he mustered at first, because in his first life, it had been, manifesting in his touch, in his caresses, in his mere essence so anything he maneuvered within faced a threat. It was the genesis of isolation, when he’d begun to withdraw himself from anyone or anything, to protect them, to safe them, from his own entity. It had been the beginning of the end for any and all comfort or compassion, when he’d journeyed away from Isilme and understood how, when, and why to wield it: the stretch of his worth, the potency of his prowess. Bewitching, and deliberately condemning, he’d mastered it until it didn’t even require his caress, just the stoking of his breath, the finality of his contempt, the unholy predilection of a beast too far gone to care. He’d used it for protection, for ultimatums, for oaths of oblivion, where he’d press and push and lacerate adversaries and enemies into their foretold void. Did I not warn you?; because he always had, granted them a singular threat that some failed to adhere to, and with a sinking, simmering relish, extended his nuances and contortions, beautiful, bestial bedlam. He shook his head, refilled his glass, taunting vibes pulsing off of him in waves. He’d also been detached and forlorn, nonchalant, a reticent, insouciant menace, from everyone, from everything. Unattainable and unreachable on his icy, iron throne, presiding on pinnacles and palisades, choking and cloaking his own pursuits for the art and air of barbaric persistence. The Sword’s eyes narrowed, staring into his drink, musing about the alterations since then. “It was more potent in Helovia. My touch could affect them.” Not so much in Caido – perhaps through portals it’d lost some of its bestial intervals, its dark waves; still deadly, still nefarious, still savage, but allowing him the chance to hold and cherish instead of hide in the shadows again and again. “Seems more controlled here.” He shrugged, then turned the corners of his mouth into a smile, uncertain if he should be ashamed or bewildered, if Remi would be like many in Helovia, immediately shying away from him; despite all the notions and experiences, the circumstances and threats – never a lethal thread orchestrated towards the alchemist. But it hadn’t mattered to some then either; just the notion had been enough.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
