DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
“He called them machines.” He waited for some angle of response to that – if Noah considered them much the same. They’d only ever discussed and conversed the particulars of individuals – namely Wessex, Neron, and Nate, considering the aftermath of struggles, the complexities of intertwined fates, misgivings, and sieges. “And apparently went before a crowd at Torchline to tell everyone.” The Sword shrugged his shoulders again. It would take a very bold person to commit to the latter, a person very devout in their beliefs. Impassive now, he pondered the lengths of where the Abandoned were considered now. Or people like himself, unashamed and unafraid of who he was, of what he carried, and long since leaning towards the Old Gods.
He snorted, somewhat of a laugh following suit at Noah’s insinuation. “I did not have the same power then as I do now.” An acknowledgment of growth, of capabilities, of abilities thriving in his veins, pervading and pulsing over his senses; some had simply not been there at the time they’d explored. “But perhaps it would not have mattered, given its primordial status.”
And then the blunted end of it forced another chuckle from his lungs – if only because it was self-deprecating, darkly forged in some sad demeanor of humor. “Only just begun.”
He snorted, somewhat of a laugh following suit at Noah’s insinuation. “I did not have the same power then as I do now.” An acknowledgment of growth, of capabilities, of abilities thriving in his veins, pervading and pulsing over his senses; some had simply not been there at the time they’d explored. “But perhaps it would not have mattered, given its primordial status.”
And then the blunted end of it forced another chuckle from his lungs – if only because it was self-deprecating, darkly forged in some sad demeanor of humor. “Only just begun.”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
