DEIMOS
Killing shouldn’t have been so simple; but he’d been an orchestrator of someone’s demise for multiple lifetimes. Game, enemies, adversaries, rivals, all capable of summoning the infernal spirit of what he’d been trained, honed, to do since he was young. The creature he inhabited was the same as all the others, because at the heart and soul of him, he was a monstrous, dangerous wake, forbidding, heathen, piercing, penetrating, capable of that cold, statuesque mayhem. A clutch of talons, a breaking of certain bones, and the ningo was lifeless in his grasp, dead weight taken to a contortion along one of the walls, placed there for safekeeping. All done within a moment, no hesitation – just as he’d done on the battlefields. Muscle memory, instinctual, inherent pulses, either in his predacious mind, or the animal he instilled; calm, distinct, and no fuss.Another glance ensued towards Loren, and he snorted from his post, scouting out a next target. Impressive. Whether or not he meant it, or if it was tended to in a dry, sarcastic rumble, wasn’t declared.
Instead, he dove again like a beacon, like an omen, like an ominous shadow, upon the next ningo, and the maddening, pervading essence of everything he’d become echoed, reverberated, and he was a silent opus – the talons once more grabbing, instilling, clasping over the wasted, panicked breath of the bird. Over within an instant.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
