Hang hallowed halos

Deimos The Reaper’s death had been imprinted amongst his slumber; a cold, distant rain, a haze blinding his sights, his frame drifting down, against embankments, heart giving in, lungs gasping for air until they ran out of strength – it came in dreams, in nightmares, sometimes the brutal, barbaric unknown, sometimes exactly what it was meant to be. A reminder, a decadent, blistering note of what he’d lost, of what he’d had, of what he’d squandered away in the pain and anguish of demise. But something about her story, something about the twist and turns, of gods foiled, of darkness flickering in and out, wondered if his presence would’ve even made a damned difference. Chaos was still chaos, bedlam was still bedlam, and even with his commands, demands, or declarations, it likely wouldn’t have mattered: their celestial beings would have still perished, sacrificing themselves for the greater good, lives lost and blown to dust, thoughtless, heedless, rash, and irreverent. Would he have stood amidst the rabble, unleashing hell against hell? Would he have sunk into the mire, ash and bone, with those perished? Would he have pushed and shoved inhabitants into portals, hoping they found a better threshold, a better life, outside their doomed, consigned to oblivion, world? He’d never know. It was Kiada’s involvement that was interesting. He wasn’t surprised to hear she’d been drawn to the arches and lilts of darkness; she’d after all, followed the Reaper long enough, striving to protect those she cherished – his eyes ghosted to the scar sketched into her skin, another constant in a series of moments outlining who and what she was now. There was a light smirk on his mouth as she described yelling at a god; he’d never, actually – always the calm, quiet, composed one in any Haruspex corridor, the reflecting pools and mirrors hastening the God of Time before him, waiting to be smited and spited for not being enough. When she’d finished, he was looking out over the shadows, the portals of lantern light fading behind them; only the woods, the trees, the boughs, the branches, and the stars beckoning overhead. “So you followed darkness, hoping it would save everyone,” he uttered, comprehending, mulling on the statement, the layers of why not let him die swallowed down because she believed it was for the greater good. No judgment lingered in his voice, it would be hypocritical, when he’d roamed in the Stygian abyss for as long as he could remember; but it explained the present Kiada – still fiery, still determined, still rooted in convictions. “How did you escape such a world?” He proffered, features looming and present, waiting for the rest of the story. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime