DEIMOS
After some, albeit slightly forced, rest and rejuvenation from Evie, Deimos was once again out along the cobblestones and routes of Halo. It’d been hours since his last patrol, but this time he pulled the sled, with its vessel containing hordes of supplies to bring back and forth to bases of operation. Sometimes it was the shelter with a fresh amount of food, linens, and any other necessities, sometimes it was the infirmary, to restock bandages and gauze. It kept him occupied and the restlessness down, away from the carnage and wreckage forming a continual loop in his mind – the void creatures, the water swelling outside their walls, the strange moon settled into Torchline’s sea, and anything else doomed and damned to come.The agonizing inquiries about what to do next – after repairs and reconstruction, after seeing to the people, always lured and lurked in the back of his mind. Because, would all of this simply persist, as long as that isle remained? Would rushes of other trials and tribulations rush to the forefront? What about the illness Flora had mentioned in her letters?
His jaw clenched and he forged onward, Zuriel behind him, Belial ahead, hooting and hollering to anyone he recognized. Eventually, he ceased motions outside the Palace and shelter’s quarters, surveying the parcels within the sled, and between the gilded glow of his hands, utilized the creation incantations to construct more.
He was something solid
to lean against
violent and fierce and unmoving
