DEIMOS
For a few seconds, he embraced the cool, unattainable fathoms of being that beast again – the one that inspired fear, the one that instilled terror, the one that intimidated, haunted, and loomed, so no one could hurt him, so no one could bludgeon those walls, so not a single god damned soul could lay waste or claim to him again – And it was relishing, to savor the spark of horror, trepidation, and apprehension he inspired out of the flock, listening to them scatter, to them race, to upend their perfected bliss. It seared and scalded away moments later, when he released his perished victim amongst the others, as if never there at all – visions and figments of a Reaper sovereign – before designating his next target.
One that had taken off, flown, presenting a bit more of a challenge. This should be the last one he indicated to Loren, figuring they’d seized enough to warrant the hunt finished, and then his piercing eyes honed in, speculated, watched, as the ningo barreled through the sky. His speed was incredulous and demanding, and he soared, he reached, grabbing hold of the bird quickly, efficiently, and then diving, twisting, spinning, amusing himself in some macabre, predator display as they volleyed and turned towards the ground.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
