Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
Zariah’s reputation usually preceded her nowadays, considering how many she’d irritated. Perhaps if enough of them warned, then someone would eventually listen. The presumption of lessons only gaining in more difficulty sounded like the Merciless too – more parameters and particulars he had no intention of utilizing in his own methods. All of his pupils, students, and trainees would always be safe, free to grow confident in their abilities, the implementation of treachery and danger under his prowess and control. There were life lessons in Zariah’s conjectures and methods, but Deimos could wield the same sense of mayhem and maelstroms without the confounding benefit of possibly demise. There was enough of that already amidst Caido.
He molded more conflagrations along the autumn breeze, the SparkBird transforming into a wayward whale, fiery and ferocious, a gaping mouth meant to swallow the world in its stead. Thereafter were a series of mountains, meant to align as the Basin, with blending auroras and plunging valleys, but it only seemed to signify a volcano, lacking the snow, the chill, the rapacious eaves. The Sword mulled over her inquiry quietly, because some portion of the answer escaped him. “I discovered I had it last LongNight.” His brows furrowed briefly, recollecting the event with a rush of vitriol curling in his veins – the flames altered to show monsters with claws, with fangs. “I thought it had been passed down to me from my father. But it was already powerful and potent.” Capable of taking down the Monster Hunter’s Guild when the demons erupted it into flames, when he could control its sanction and sector long enough for everyone to flee. “Some magic seems to take longer than others.” And maybe that was it – depending on their compositions, their strength, their might. He had no doubt Weaver would get there eventually.
So he stood, a mountain, a fortification, a bastion, a bulwark, and uncertain how to answer her next question. Not many asked him – likely expecting a stoic, disregarded response. The past seasons had been difficult, not in terms of tasks or current trials, tribulations, but emotionally fraught, cumbersome, and weighted. There weren’t many good replies he could muster – a shrug to his shoulders, as if to piece away the impending onslaught, to pretend everything was fine. “Better.” Because Amalia had been healed. Because the rest of this void was still alive, no matter how much they seemed eager to rid themselves of such a fate. He stared across the glade, transforming the demonic formations into a cave. “I went with Sunjata’s group to get the dragon.” As if that clarified and explained everything: undoubtedly she must have heard about the reckless, disastrous quest, harbored and harpooned against something they had no chance of beating. "And you?"
He molded more conflagrations along the autumn breeze, the SparkBird transforming into a wayward whale, fiery and ferocious, a gaping mouth meant to swallow the world in its stead. Thereafter were a series of mountains, meant to align as the Basin, with blending auroras and plunging valleys, but it only seemed to signify a volcano, lacking the snow, the chill, the rapacious eaves. The Sword mulled over her inquiry quietly, because some portion of the answer escaped him. “I discovered I had it last LongNight.” His brows furrowed briefly, recollecting the event with a rush of vitriol curling in his veins – the flames altered to show monsters with claws, with fangs. “I thought it had been passed down to me from my father. But it was already powerful and potent.” Capable of taking down the Monster Hunter’s Guild when the demons erupted it into flames, when he could control its sanction and sector long enough for everyone to flee. “Some magic seems to take longer than others.” And maybe that was it – depending on their compositions, their strength, their might. He had no doubt Weaver would get there eventually.
So he stood, a mountain, a fortification, a bastion, a bulwark, and uncertain how to answer her next question. Not many asked him – likely expecting a stoic, disregarded response. The past seasons had been difficult, not in terms of tasks or current trials, tribulations, but emotionally fraught, cumbersome, and weighted. There weren’t many good replies he could muster – a shrug to his shoulders, as if to piece away the impending onslaught, to pretend everything was fine. “Better.” Because Amalia had been healed. Because the rest of this void was still alive, no matter how much they seemed eager to rid themselves of such a fate. He stared across the glade, transforming the demonic formations into a cave. “I went with Sunjata’s group to get the dragon.” As if that clarified and explained everything: undoubtedly she must have heard about the reckless, disastrous quest, harbored and harpooned against something they had no chance of beating. "And you?"
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
