Serenity

DEIMOS Delivered from the blasts In another time, in another world, he’d held his icy throne, scepter, and crown with a voracious, ferocious grasp, promising pain and torment for anyone who ever crossed his brethren. He might’ve been a bestial, barbaric mess, complete with iron detachment and forged mayhem, but at least he’d always had their best interests enclosed in his nefarious heart. He asked for their input. He presided with their wills and predilections intact, combining forces, allies, and armistices with those that used to be adversaries. He’d guided military minds and punctured lungs, invoked and instigated thieves, protected any and all within his terrain. Perhaps Zariah would be the same way. Perhaps not, preferring to merely reign in her temple and palace, going about things her own way, with no regard for those she served. Maybe she had it backwards, presumed everything was in her command, that she could implement tools of war and destruction with or without humanity in play. Such a notion could become a costly error. The Reaper said none of these things to her – would allow her to wander down into the muck and mire if she so wished, the slow smile she afforded him not quite impressing him: the mold of his features revealed no changes, no stark, keen intonations. It was just as stoic and nonchalant as before, but he nodded at her agreement. Whether or not she could adhere to such proclamations would remain to be seen. As an outsider always looking in, the Naturals appeared proficient at what they needed to accomplish. He’d just been a set of muscles and brawn to adhere to certain tasks, to rebuilding, restructuring – but Zariah wanted more, more, more, from everyone and everything. He shrugged, maneuvering away from the water’s edge, and further down the embankment. Whether or not she followed, he really didn’t care, having said his piece. It was enough, for now. Anything thereafter would have to be reserved for the incoming storms, the tempestuous councils. “Good luck,” he proffered solemn tones and reverberations, before motioning back into the abyss. the last of a line of lasts