Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
Deimos hadn’t been one to maneuver or wield dual enchantments at once. Not often, at least; occasionally forging a sword with life drain infused into its breadth, but the notion had been few and far between, unnecessary. Loren seemed to employ the strategy efficiently, and the beast made a casual note of it in the back of his mind – perhaps the summoner was simply in ample supply of raw energy, endurance, and fortitude, capable of running them all in avid conflagrations.
The spinning water was a neat trick, like a dome, like a shield, and the ice spikes, while he usually relished any formation of snow, rime, or the chilling, treacherous nature of the cold, their dagger-like surface glinting off his wings didn’t inspire much contentment. He descended, plummeting, landing, a few yards off; mind spinning, machinating, over the best avenues to explore and instigate.
He lifted his hands and dove into raw power again – the fire scorching over his palms once more, brandished before him like a giant wall, a fortress, a blockade of embers and flames to alleviate the issue of the ice reigning free over his figure. He intended for them to be absorbed by the burning inferno, while he processed and worked out the next notion. If Loren could unravel multiple magics at once, couldn’t he?
A shrug that was really inward manifested, gaining an eyeroll from Zuriel somewhere in the midst, biding her time until the Sword likely had to be healed from maiming, cuts, bruises, scrapes, and whatever fresh hell awaited him. In the lieu of being able to plunge anything into the other militia member’s dome cascade, he unfurled the silent, unseen life drain tactics again, permitting them to spread outward from his fiery emblems and shields, and hopefully instigate, agitate, seep, and slither their way through watery abyss, aiming for Loren’s motions and efforts.
The spinning water was a neat trick, like a dome, like a shield, and the ice spikes, while he usually relished any formation of snow, rime, or the chilling, treacherous nature of the cold, their dagger-like surface glinting off his wings didn’t inspire much contentment. He descended, plummeting, landing, a few yards off; mind spinning, machinating, over the best avenues to explore and instigate.
He lifted his hands and dove into raw power again – the fire scorching over his palms once more, brandished before him like a giant wall, a fortress, a blockade of embers and flames to alleviate the issue of the ice reigning free over his figure. He intended for them to be absorbed by the burning inferno, while he processed and worked out the next notion. If Loren could unravel multiple magics at once, couldn’t he?
A shrug that was really inward manifested, gaining an eyeroll from Zuriel somewhere in the midst, biding her time until the Sword likely had to be healed from maiming, cuts, bruises, scrapes, and whatever fresh hell awaited him. In the lieu of being able to plunge anything into the other militia member’s dome cascade, he unfurled the silent, unseen life drain tactics again, permitting them to spread outward from his fiery emblems and shields, and hopefully instigate, agitate, seep, and slither their way through watery abyss, aiming for Loren’s motions and efforts.
DEIMOS
