[KQ] What Lies Beneath

D e i m o s

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

The last time he’d ventured into the underground, it had been to salvage and locate Emmett’s remains – when they’d been lingering in its depths for a more favorable outcome. There’d only been the slightest shock, a bewildering surprise, when he’d been asked to accompany them, but then figured it’d been presented on Amalia’s extensions, suggestions, or that he was deemed worthy, useful, to the Sage. Because there were notions of curiosity, sanctions of inquiry, a scholarly interest instead of constant upheaval and sedition nestled into the dark catacombs (and lacking the precarious weight LongNight’s endless preparations held), the beast agreed. If there were any other precarious sentiments looming over him, casting enigmatic quandaries, Deimos orchestrated no nuances of it, displayed no outward signs or displays of any pending misgivings. Instead, along the early morning hours, used to the midnight shades of dawn, he prepared for their sojourns and crusades alongside Amalia, loading up his bag of holding with adequate supplies for both of them (and anyone else who required the provisions): enough daggers for a lifetime, rope, canteens filled with water, chalk for marking pathways and trails, and a new tinier satchels of food rations in case of some pending trials or tribulations. Nestled into furs, and jackets, he also loaded up some gloves, and then left the rest to whatever means would be necessary in the moment – where his magic could come in handy. Then, on memories of Emmett’s unfortunate demise, on the potentials of pitfalls anywhere and everywhere, Zuriel came along; her prideful look enough to make him want to roll his eyes. So they arrived along the edges of the underground, beneath the haze of morning, and his eyes immediately went to Jigano beside the opening – form becoming more composed, more rigid, more taut and straight, features wrought into their reticent expanse, a guard, a wall, a tangible means of fortification. “Jigano,” the Sword intoned, still dignified with a nod, and stood nearby, unicorn and bag in tow. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate