death, you bring death and destruction to all that you touch
It was the flippant response, the careless laugh, the irreverent manifestation of movement that coiled more predilections into the Sword’s spine. As if Sunjata truly didn’t care about how many he hurt. About how many he wrecked. About how many lives had been upended in his foolishness, starting from the very beginning. A one man demolition machine, haphazard and heedless. And it certainly hadn’t come from wit, from machinations, from thoughts, but an imprudent reach of too many things, too many people, too many factions all at once. Deimos had known greedy, avaricious individuals, considered himself one in some aspects, but Sunjata continued to surprise him with the lengths in which he’d go, and the people he’d step upon to claim titles of stupidity. And then how he was never seemingly held accountable for it. Consequences be damned.
His hands grasped over the glass of water – mostly to stop himself from reaching over and strangling the Flood – elbow brushing away the flour on the table.
There were days where Deimos wished he’d finished the job on their hunting expedition. Pressed a little harder, listened to the breath try to whistle and wheeze through the panther’s lungs, until it simply couldn’t anymore. There were moment where the General wished he’d amplified his own mistake on the beach, and hadn’t compelled Zuriel to heal him; left his heart shocked and useless, drained and electrocuted. Perhaps they would’ve been small mercies for the rest of the world, to not have to deal with this moron.
A cold, cold malevolence fixated in his form, and he thought to buy himself time, for the anarchy to truly build and brew, for the barbarous incantations to work themselves into a full compulsion and conviction. Seething, primordial treachery, lurking and lingering in his bones, venomous rapture and unholy sedition working their way through the unyielding columns of his backbone – diabolical insurrection at the heart and soul of him. His tones were flat when they finally concocted, the piercing, puncturing juncture of his gaze solely focused on the idiot before him. “Change does not come from hope. You have to do something to earn the alterations.” A tilt of his head, a quick flash of perusal and abhorrence. “But I see that has not happened.” And maybe he had for a time. Maybe he hadn’t, and it was only returning to the Sword now because of Hotaru’s involvement. An empty head, and empty promises. “You have to be most disappointing person I have ever met.”
Which was saying something, considering the amount of lives he’d known. Brutal, barbaric enemies, cunning individuals – those he could at least give credit to, respect for their abilities. There was nothing to admire, regard, or esteem here. Calm, composed, and loathing under all those layers, the monolith took a drink of the water, before continuing. “I want to hear your version of events.”
His hands grasped over the glass of water – mostly to stop himself from reaching over and strangling the Flood – elbow brushing away the flour on the table.
There were days where Deimos wished he’d finished the job on their hunting expedition. Pressed a little harder, listened to the breath try to whistle and wheeze through the panther’s lungs, until it simply couldn’t anymore. There were moment where the General wished he’d amplified his own mistake on the beach, and hadn’t compelled Zuriel to heal him; left his heart shocked and useless, drained and electrocuted. Perhaps they would’ve been small mercies for the rest of the world, to not have to deal with this moron.
A cold, cold malevolence fixated in his form, and he thought to buy himself time, for the anarchy to truly build and brew, for the barbarous incantations to work themselves into a full compulsion and conviction. Seething, primordial treachery, lurking and lingering in his bones, venomous rapture and unholy sedition working their way through the unyielding columns of his backbone – diabolical insurrection at the heart and soul of him. His tones were flat when they finally concocted, the piercing, puncturing juncture of his gaze solely focused on the idiot before him. “Change does not come from hope. You have to do something to earn the alterations.” A tilt of his head, a quick flash of perusal and abhorrence. “But I see that has not happened.” And maybe he had for a time. Maybe he hadn’t, and it was only returning to the Sword now because of Hotaru’s involvement. An empty head, and empty promises. “You have to be most disappointing person I have ever met.”
Which was saying something, considering the amount of lives he’d known. Brutal, barbaric enemies, cunning individuals – those he could at least give credit to, respect for their abilities. There was nothing to admire, regard, or esteem here. Calm, composed, and loathing under all those layers, the monolith took a drink of the water, before continuing. “I want to hear your version of events.”
DEIMOS
