Cloister of Trials: Jigano vs Deimos

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

A graze on the arm; and the match was finished before it’d even truly begun. For a moment, his features fell away from their nonchalant veneer, from war facades, to a searing, emboldening contortion to audacity - first blood - as if that had ever truly mattered. First blood didn’t mean one would live. First blood didn’t mean one would die. First blood simply meant they’d found a way – And that he had not. If it was anyone else he might have offered them congratulations, a nod of the head, but Jigano was Jigano, altered and morphed and so ridiculously warped from what he’d once been, from the rooted foundations of how Deimos had recognized and understood his efforts, his tactics, his wisdom. So the Reaper, the sword, granted him nothing; rancorous and defiant, his eyes flickering to the crowd, vehemence for their sanction, before the stare rendered hard on the Sage’s departing back. Both companions had far better sense than either man, Zuriel with her proud bow, Isuma with her apologetic circle; Deimos with his abhorrence, simply sheathed his blade and turned from where he’d arrived. No Greatwood guardian, but still a warrior nonetheless; he’d prove it in other ways. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate