DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
“A game.” He repeated, tone flattened, as if the notion was ludicrous. Except they both knew better – he could be easily persuaded, coaxed, invoked, or provoked into even the mildest of competitions. Worn and lacquered straight into amusements within the blink of an eye – for his grin curled back into place, mischief contorted anew. It’d been a long time since he’d played any manner of cat and mouse; most of his entertainment venues had come from throwing things at people. “Do you want to start?” Presuming that was the point; her jungle adornments and shifts would be far better suited to these conditions.
Unlike his massive, predator proportions.
He was onto her, but he’d let it slide for now. “I will give you thirty.” Then he mustered a Cheshire length grin, before placing his hands over his eyes. Zuriel and Belial watched on, mildly perplexed, head tilts, as he proceeded to do just as he’d foretold. “One, two, three…”
Unlike his massive, predator proportions.
He was onto her, but he’d let it slide for now. “I will give you thirty.” Then he mustered a Cheshire length grin, before placing his hands over his eyes. Zuriel and Belial watched on, mildly perplexed, head tilts, as he proceeded to do just as he’d foretold. “One, two, three…”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
