DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The Sword didn’t expect the brief diminishing of armor from the Wraith. But he didn’t chide her for it either, didn’t pierce into the shell of what remained, didn’t pull apart seams and strayed ends likely already frayed. The monolith knew what it meant for plans to go awry. He knew what it meant to try and strive to protect those loved and cherished and to have it all backfire, destroy, and root himself into despair. Even a year later, it still burned, despite forgiveness, despite angles and a blame not placed upon his shoulders – he carried it with him regardless.
Could the world change things again? Certainly. Other things brewed across the horizon. Ominous wakes scattered ambitions and aspirations they thought they’d known so well. Realms shifted, altered, and changed every day. Deimos schemed. He plotted. He calculated. He’d learned from an early age to instill those fibers of potential and prowess and coldblooded nature deep inside his bones – so perhaps she had a right to be cautious. But for these moments, these bare, minimal instances, these were just strategies and schemes for a week where survival was imminent. One where Kiada was headed, where friends were caught in the crosshairs.
He gave no indication of anything but perusal and thought as his eyes narrowed, gazing down at the crystal in his hands, listening to the latest information. A hive mind. Fake houses to trap and burn them in. What they’d once actively avoided now being utilized as a mechanism for destruction. It sounded foolish. It sounded like it hinged on too much fortune and luck, something they rarely had during LongNight.
His experiences, his suggestions, might not even matter. They’d always tried to stay under the radar, save for the year where they all opened the door multiple times (and look what happened there). He had weapons and incantations to muster. He had shielding capabilities. He had an overprotective foundation. Were they given the option, he likely would’ve been one of the individuals volunteering to chase down the demons. But they weren’t, and he was here, guarding Halo instead. From his stature at the desk, the note unfinished, he pondered and speculated. “Where will your weakest be?” The ones newly resurrected and renewed, the ones who had followed the Voice straight out of other dimensions. Were they to be instant sacrifices? Her suggestion, while clearly rancorous and maybe a little asinine, gave him some pause. “How do you intend to lure them? Draw them in?” Because wouldn’t she with so many upgrades and powers and potency at her disposal, be one they’d seek out first? Wouldn’t she want the fiends away from those most likely to succumb?
Uncertain – the whole damned thing was a cataclysm waiting to happen – he only stared down at the crystal, intrigued by the weight and glimmer of it. “Is there some magic already inside?”
Could the world change things again? Certainly. Other things brewed across the horizon. Ominous wakes scattered ambitions and aspirations they thought they’d known so well. Realms shifted, altered, and changed every day. Deimos schemed. He plotted. He calculated. He’d learned from an early age to instill those fibers of potential and prowess and coldblooded nature deep inside his bones – so perhaps she had a right to be cautious. But for these moments, these bare, minimal instances, these were just strategies and schemes for a week where survival was imminent. One where Kiada was headed, where friends were caught in the crosshairs.
He gave no indication of anything but perusal and thought as his eyes narrowed, gazing down at the crystal in his hands, listening to the latest information. A hive mind. Fake houses to trap and burn them in. What they’d once actively avoided now being utilized as a mechanism for destruction. It sounded foolish. It sounded like it hinged on too much fortune and luck, something they rarely had during LongNight.
His experiences, his suggestions, might not even matter. They’d always tried to stay under the radar, save for the year where they all opened the door multiple times (and look what happened there). He had weapons and incantations to muster. He had shielding capabilities. He had an overprotective foundation. Were they given the option, he likely would’ve been one of the individuals volunteering to chase down the demons. But they weren’t, and he was here, guarding Halo instead. From his stature at the desk, the note unfinished, he pondered and speculated. “Where will your weakest be?” The ones newly resurrected and renewed, the ones who had followed the Voice straight out of other dimensions. Were they to be instant sacrifices? Her suggestion, while clearly rancorous and maybe a little asinine, gave him some pause. “How do you intend to lure them? Draw them in?” Because wouldn’t she with so many upgrades and powers and potency at her disposal, be one they’d seek out first? Wouldn’t she want the fiends away from those most likely to succumb?
Uncertain – the whole damned thing was a cataclysm waiting to happen – he only stared down at the crystal, intrigued by the weight and glimmer of it. “Is there some magic already inside?”
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
