DEIMOS
Rebellion was at his core: partial to resistance before acceptance, a great portion of him prone to insurrection at even the most meager of topics. But to find himself suddenly drafted into a new army after dragging and liberating others from a damned cave, urged an insistent, old, arcane drum in his reverberations. He’d grown in the munitions of tyranny and treachery, had been trained and vanquished under its beating blows; extended his might and weight into expelling contortions of it, only for their crusades to flicker out and die before sedition could ever rightly spread. Even on his disappeared, chilling throne, once, once, once, he’d chiseled a glacial forbearance, a foundation of revolution on his tongue. It sizzled and seared there now again, blistering, a clench to his jaw, a ticking of a time bomb in the hallowed, hollowed sanction of his soul.
It was a home – lingering along that predator threshold, waiting for the hour, the minute, the moment, to strike.
He was not alone in his disapproval: Ronin and Remi standing there, before the notice board too, reading over the list. “Agreed,” the beast uttered and muttered in return, suddenly shoulder-to-shoulder with the former captain, turning towards Remi to include him in the torrent. His eyes narrowed, his brow arched, the indulgent whisper scathing its way across his lips, hidden and muffled behind teeth – a feral, savage hiss, a rumble of nefariousness. “So what are we going to do about it?”
The Reaper knew exactly what he craved; mutiny and insurgence bleeding a carnivore rapture in his chest.
It was a home – lingering along that predator threshold, waiting for the hour, the minute, the moment, to strike.
He was not alone in his disapproval: Ronin and Remi standing there, before the notice board too, reading over the list. “Agreed,” the beast uttered and muttered in return, suddenly shoulder-to-shoulder with the former captain, turning towards Remi to include him in the torrent. His eyes narrowed, his brow arched, the indulgent whisper scathing its way across his lips, hidden and muffled behind teeth – a feral, savage hiss, a rumble of nefariousness. “So what are we going to do about it?”
The Reaper knew exactly what he craved; mutiny and insurgence bleeding a carnivore rapture in his chest.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
