wound relentlessly

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame With the freedom to move, the Reaper wandered to great lengths, surveying territories over and over again, taking in the sights, the sounds, the images changed or altered since Long Night’s wild, nefarious antics. It’s hand had played throughout each region, but there was a distinct lack of treachery in the air now – cleaner, fresher, without the feeling of talons sliding down spines, without the space between each rib filled with dread. It left him to hunt, to roam, to roam on the outskirts of fields like a predacious, diligent beast again, liberated from his shackles. Deimos kept the nuances, the notions, of striving to not sink himself into desolation again, to not always retreat into isolation at the beckoning hand of familiarity and comfort. It was easy, it was security and safety, away from the threats of becoming closer to anyone else; but it was ridiculous, stupid, and ineffectual too. He’d get naught accomplished, and wouldn’t be able to push his ambitions any further if he continued to sink further into the murk, into the grime, into the hollowed, empty vessel of his cold-blooded soul. Days long ago hadn’t been filled with stark, barren potency – they’d been contorted with power, with diversions, with mischievous antics and the unsung potential for disaster, for ruin, for beatific glory and triumphs. It’d just been simpler to slide away from it when the devastation unfurled, the strands frayed, and the victories, conquests, and successes diminished (crushed beneath the weight of greed and avarice, spellbinding to watch their homes burn to the ground). A sigh flowed through his chest, but he persisted along the edges of the grass, puncturing gaze flicking over the blades striving to become long again; it’d be grand covering for future, carnivorous outlooks – but for now, the weaponry, quiver and arrows, across his back were left untouched; distracted and deterred from his normal routine. Trying was an outset, but he wasn’t certain of where to go or how to accomplish the task anointed upon him by ghosts and dreams. master of nothing place of recoil and grace

Kiada