DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
“I wanted to see where this trail led,” came on a deep rumble towards his traveling companions, human and animal alike - a place not marked on his map of Climb notations, beginning with pathways towards hot springs, bejeweled caverns, or even mountainous roars of waterfalls. Though, perhaps, given the name of the world before them, the expectations for what they’d see were mismatched and disproportionate. Angels, perhaps, might have once tread and flown, but descended into the murk, solidified magma, and bursting, dry winds suddenly billowing through the sector. Even Belial didn’t seem readily inclined to go hovering about the whirlwind of thermals, tucked beside Zuriel for the moment.
But stepping in, testing out a darkened slate beneath his feet, Deimos rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, before glancing at Hotaru. In between hunts and long winters, there hadn’t been much time for idle discussion, the comings and goings of adventures, or anything else circumventing their lives. The Sword, as often noted, had inquiries upon inquiries for the Valkyrie, but started with the most important. “How have you been?”
But stepping in, testing out a darkened slate beneath his feet, Deimos rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, before glancing at Hotaru. In between hunts and long winters, there hadn’t been much time for idle discussion, the comings and goings of adventures, or anything else circumventing their lives. The Sword, as often noted, had inquiries upon inquiries for the Valkyrie, but started with the most important. “How have you been?”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
