DEIMOS
He could hear voices; familiar, at the edge of his mind, broken up by the fractures of echoes against his senses. You can leave me here, he almost said, but his throat was raw and his head was spinning. Everyone else does. They saw nothing in him, after all. A machine. A weapon. A sovereign. A fortification. A rubble. A ruin. And down he went with it, every inch a monolith felled upon by his own weaknesses, flaws, and inabilities. He couldn’t keep anyone with him. He couldn’t save his loved ones. He couldn’t do much of anything but try and watch it waste away before his very eyes.
The beast lifted eyelids to see the Warden, and Chulane, and didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom how he’d come to be here or why they were there. Pieces of movement and motion had no rhyme or reason to them now, blank slates on stark canvas, each blink a bewildering glimpse into confusion and self-torment. “Not a General anymore,” he murmured, thinking about closing his stare off again and drifting back to his ghosts, until maybe they’d be frozen with him. That was gone too.
Everything he’d ever worked for, he’d strived so hard to become.
Then there was Zuriel, tugging at his clothes, attempting to an absolution he didn’t deserve. Her head swung to both Chulane and Morgan, and any proud, dignified manner was obliterated too, in the strife she’d encountered over the past few weeks. Did unicorns beg? No – but this one had, with her sharpened, pleading gaze riveting over to Auni, and to the Halo pair, silent and imploring.
There was some notion of a fight in his stance as Morgan attempted to lift him, and then it fizzled out too – weak, disheveled, incapable of remembering when he’d eaten last or if he’d even bothered. Chulane’s efforts solidified the motion, and suddenly he was no longer engulfed in the snow, but on his feet, unsteady, limbs immobile, body faltering and flickering despite its mass and bulk and muscle; the fever contorting over him in waves. “Sorry,” was all he could say, an apology for so many, many things.
The beast lifted eyelids to see the Warden, and Chulane, and didn’t understand, couldn’t fathom how he’d come to be here or why they were there. Pieces of movement and motion had no rhyme or reason to them now, blank slates on stark canvas, each blink a bewildering glimpse into confusion and self-torment. “Not a General anymore,” he murmured, thinking about closing his stare off again and drifting back to his ghosts, until maybe they’d be frozen with him. That was gone too.
Everything he’d ever worked for, he’d strived so hard to become.
Then there was Zuriel, tugging at his clothes, attempting to an absolution he didn’t deserve. Her head swung to both Chulane and Morgan, and any proud, dignified manner was obliterated too, in the strife she’d encountered over the past few weeks. Did unicorns beg? No – but this one had, with her sharpened, pleading gaze riveting over to Auni, and to the Halo pair, silent and imploring.
There was some notion of a fight in his stance as Morgan attempted to lift him, and then it fizzled out too – weak, disheveled, incapable of remembering when he’d eaten last or if he’d even bothered. Chulane’s efforts solidified the motion, and suddenly he was no longer engulfed in the snow, but on his feet, unsteady, limbs immobile, body faltering and flickering despite its mass and bulk and muscle; the fever contorting over him in waves. “Sorry,” was all he could say, an apology for so many, many things.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
