DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Silence, blessed, blessed quiet, wasn’t something expected by Oliver, but Deimos took it for what it was worth: growing, and learning. For a man who was frequently hushed and hidden behind his nonchalance and reticence, it’d become a comfortable habit. To sit. To wait. To patiently watch the rest of the world, calculating, pondering, wondering, until there was an opportunity for his move.
Understood traversed through the bond. Oliver had the right notions, considering which would be easier for him to snag, what dangers might be in the midst, before making his maneuvers. The careful observer, the General noted positive changes since the last time they’d trained and met. The blacksmith seemed far more comfortable in the motions of his shift, in the capabilities, and in the possibilities of what he could do, instead of reeling in dangerous amounts of uncertainty. They’d have to see if any of it paid off.
And while Oliver slunk and crawled, the Sword slowly stalked, intending to use Oliver’s assault upon the doe as an ample distraction. Reverberations of almost nothing, ricochets of naught, he lingered across the grounds as if a piece of its backdrop, scenery, surroundings, crossing towards the buck’s opposing side. When Oliver extended and leapt, Deimos did the same, unfurling a range of violence and vehemence eternally stored within his body, within his mind, unleashed in a cataclysm of destruction and mayhem. His massive form intended to knock the stag asunder, and down, to pounce and sink claws into flesh.
Understood traversed through the bond. Oliver had the right notions, considering which would be easier for him to snag, what dangers might be in the midst, before making his maneuvers. The careful observer, the General noted positive changes since the last time they’d trained and met. The blacksmith seemed far more comfortable in the motions of his shift, in the capabilities, and in the possibilities of what he could do, instead of reeling in dangerous amounts of uncertainty. They’d have to see if any of it paid off.
And while Oliver slunk and crawled, the Sword slowly stalked, intending to use Oliver’s assault upon the doe as an ample distraction. Reverberations of almost nothing, ricochets of naught, he lingered across the grounds as if a piece of its backdrop, scenery, surroundings, crossing towards the buck’s opposing side. When Oliver extended and leapt, Deimos did the same, unfurling a range of violence and vehemence eternally stored within his body, within his mind, unleashed in a cataclysm of destruction and mayhem. His massive form intended to knock the stag asunder, and down, to pounce and sink claws into flesh.
still standing
not because you can
but because you have to
