[Training] against the tide

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts A test was exactly what he required; how far he could push until the earth resisted, how far he could descend until his lungs burst, how far he could simply exist until the world decided enough was enough. He was rebellion even in the lightest of hours and days, a scourge, a plague, a damned ruffian chiseling his revolutionary tendencies straight into the hearts and bones of the kingdom, and he dared because otherwise he wouldn’t have anything left. He listened, nodding, obliging, watching as Ronin propelled his form into the midst of the Stonesong’s swell, cresting over the current, waving haphazardly, an invitation to join. The beast studied and examined first, trying to decipher and find a noteworthy technique, something favorable so he wouldn’t immediately fail, but then the lure of the water kept hastening, kept imploring, kept sending him onward. He clenched his jaw, a confirmation as good as any towards his intentions, then moved forward too, a little ways beyond Ronin’s reach. His muscles bit into the cold clarity, his form and figure implored and urged, an insistent plunge beckoning him onward and onward, arms reaching forward again and again, demanding, commanding, and dictating. He turned his head to catch air and then swept on and on, crashing against the waves, the currents, challenging a river to machinations, pride, and resolve. His limbs uncoiled and jettisoned, and it was wonderfully chaotic, a discordant harmony akin to his place on the battlefield, where he seized and assaulted, where he fought to have the upper hand, where he cast aside all thoughts and feelings, and became a mighty, maneuvering fortress. the last of a line of lasts