DEIMOS
For all the power, for all the control, for all the contortions bristling in his veins, the inferno plunging beside death, beside creation, there was a portion to him that knew he should’ve been better. He could’ve done something different, in that time and place where the domination, the supremacy, the irreverence was in his palms and power and prestige, when it ignited and scorched, when it unfurled and burned. He could’ve altered a course, ran it rampant or through the monsters, instead of bringing everything down. Instead of toppling a fortress. Instead of permitting and orchestrating it to eat away at the wood, at the paper, at the plains of everyone else’s hard, forged work; in the pandemonium, in the chaos, in the rush for safety and sanctum, he’d punctured theirs. It weighed along his shoulders and chest as he set foot upon the Artisan Guild’s grounds, wandering there because it was the only place he could think of (he’d destroyed their home) to find either Remi or Ronin; to profer some sort of rue, regret, and apologies, to begin to make amends. In another time, in another life, the measures of bedlam and devastation wouldn’t have bothered him – he might’ve been enthralled in its colossal spread, in the heart of blistering belligerence, in the maddening sway of collapsed disasters. Except the alchemist and the Fallen Star were not his enemies, not his adversaries, not of a primordial ilk and reign of terror. No tyranny existed between their presences, and he’d wreaked havoc on their refuge and sanctuary because once it’d been an ideal location for LongNight. Those intonations lanced too. He’d bear the scars and the wounds, the burnt lungs, the ashen throat; eyes lowered, head down, just striving to do something other than wallow.
As he came upon Remi’s familiar stall, he hastened a swift inquiry via attuned measures, pondering if the alchemist was even there, in the midst, or off, trying to instill something else after all the damage had been done. Remi, came first, almost hesitant, regretful in its abyss, before standing along the threshold, waiting for acceptance or denouncement, understanding either directed at him. May I apologize?
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
