DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
He was one with the flames and he’d make them see.
Make them pay. Make them suffer. Make them understand who the Reaper was; an unfurling mechanism, a machine, a beacon of violence and vehemence. Do your worst he could proclaim and shout and howl, and then he’d do the same, embarking straight into lines of fissures and demolition.
They were clear as day now, similar formations and ilk from lifetimes ago, hastening on the edges of their misty, foggy precipice, yearning to claim, to have something not rightfully theirs. Beckoned by goddesses of the moon, shaping manipulations to their illustrious biding, wanting and craving and yearning to snag and ensnare.
Not today. Today he could change things. He was far more powerful. Far more brazen. Far more determined. He knew the stakes at hand. He knew, he knew, he knew –
Someone was calling him through the conflagration, and he twisted his head away from the delusional figures, the towering structures of a world not like this one at all (mist, the cliffs, the ramparts of the sea breaking and blasting), confused. He recognized the figure, but not the reason.
Chulane hadn’t been there, guarding a kingdom they were doomed to lose.
But he didn’t relent on the fire, and only shifted so he was behind a tree, wide enough to hide his bulk (a pillar; barely standing upright). “Best take cover,” advice towards the youth who hadn’t been born on battlefields, who hadn’t been hastened and called to bloodshed. “The Qian are coming.”
And with his warning, he sought to strike first, unleashing a torrent of fireballs directly at the shadow herself, Mirage (another pillar).
Make them pay. Make them suffer. Make them understand who the Reaper was; an unfurling mechanism, a machine, a beacon of violence and vehemence. Do your worst he could proclaim and shout and howl, and then he’d do the same, embarking straight into lines of fissures and demolition.
They were clear as day now, similar formations and ilk from lifetimes ago, hastening on the edges of their misty, foggy precipice, yearning to claim, to have something not rightfully theirs. Beckoned by goddesses of the moon, shaping manipulations to their illustrious biding, wanting and craving and yearning to snag and ensnare.
Not today. Today he could change things. He was far more powerful. Far more brazen. Far more determined. He knew the stakes at hand. He knew, he knew, he knew –
Someone was calling him through the conflagration, and he twisted his head away from the delusional figures, the towering structures of a world not like this one at all (mist, the cliffs, the ramparts of the sea breaking and blasting), confused. He recognized the figure, but not the reason.
Chulane hadn’t been there, guarding a kingdom they were doomed to lose.
But he didn’t relent on the fire, and only shifted so he was behind a tree, wide enough to hide his bulk (a pillar; barely standing upright). “Best take cover,” advice towards the youth who hadn’t been born on battlefields, who hadn’t been hastened and called to bloodshed. “The Qian are coming.”
And with his warning, he sought to strike first, unleashing a torrent of fireballs directly at the shadow herself, Mirage (another pillar).
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
