[PQ] Long may you run

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts The pattern repeated, a concentric series of lines and cycles meant to fray, meant to anguish, meant to despair. Except, this time, instead of crawling away, slithering out of sight, and hovering in those bouts of sorrow, familiar and frigid, he persevered. The Reaper’s intentions were stark and cold, but so very much alive, emboldened by the bristling, barbaric sketches, details, the world decided to etch into his skin, into his mortal, immoral flesh. He held nefariousness in the palm of his hand, the weight of his knives along his belt, the arrows and bow slung across his back, the depths of desecration billowing from his breath; machinations in a swarm, purpose in his outreach. Food and water hung from another satchel lingering across his shoulder, in case the depths snagged and captured them too. Free them, the world echoed and bounded into his ears, into his chest, slipped a growling refrain in the center of his essence, his presence, the triumph and victory never truly in reach. Today, he thought, he murmured, in between the blades of his scorn and the rampaging ease of his savage stride, because it was for someone other than himself, because they deserved liberation and released, because he wanted them content, not imprisoned, not shackled, not tethered to the void, to the unknown. So he’d willingly step in it for them – and he wished they knew, they understood, that the beast and warrior and damned shade was intending to come for them, that they were all aligning for a cause, for individuals who’d notched their way into their souls. I am ready his stance beckoned, on the tree line, on the whisper of death intermingling its way through the eaves and leaves, on the outstretched boughs threatening to lance and desecrate them all. Perhaps they’re walking into a slaughter, into mayhem, into torture and terror; but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d stared it all down, lacing, lancing, and lacerating the depths of his malice and ambition into the fire. He didn't say anything to Jigano, but simply roamed into the grounds - fervent, capable of anything. the last of a line of lasts