[Training] find a way

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

The Reaper likely made it no secret that he always attempted to come to the aid of his friends. It was an innate, natural, inherent disposition, acquired somewhere between battlefields, thrones, and imminent death. He never even thought about the consequences: which was another intriguing, blistering contradiction, especially when he calculated, studied, and scrutinized a multitude of other things. Perhaps it did say more about it him than he’d ever realize. The beast nodded at the notion of magic and its effects. Deimos had done the opposite, always orchestrating his training, the fundamentals of the sword, of the blades, before relying heavily on any incantations. It was strength, fortitude, and might all combined into one section and sanction, and depending on the moment, he could use them intermittently, or altogether – sometimes a scintillating relish, diving tooth and nail and fang and eldritch abominations straight into the gallows. “I try to use my weapons first. Then magic, if necessary.” They’d all been required and obligatory down in the caverns, where he was gasping for air in the dark, where he was struggling, where he was faltering, where he was collapsing. Stupid. “It is all in what works for you.” The information about Zariah the Merciless was interesting too – and leave it to Jigano to have a ready wellspring of sagacity, always grasping at knowledge, eager and fervent to share. He listened, he acquired, he tangled it back into the bastion of his mind, because at some point, when all of this came to a head, to a squall, to tempestuous bridges and storms, they’d need something to be better, stronger, mightier. Zariah herself was amongst and amidst the forlorn and forsaken, which wove a cautionary tale in its rampart and oblivion, a certain detachment and desolation calling for them to apply to higher ranks, to higher powers, to higher achievements. Deimos had accepted the titles at face value: Abandoned, for that was what he’d been, even if it had been by birth, and not choice. Child soldiers and living weapons rang a clear, distinct bell: because not long ago he’d been a breathing blade too, a machine, a torrential, embittered, malicious beast scouring his lands like a predator, just waiting, aching, to tear something apart. “Thank you for the warning.” He nodded his head, encouraged another smile to tip along the edges of his mouth, but it was without a sense of feeling – the foreboding, ominous endeavors of rounding up mages was a shadowed cloud on the horizon. Would they be able to refuse? Then there were their powers; he knew some of Edrei’s, been witness to the fire bursting through vampire gourds, then his Luxere intricacies, all before the flinthopper exposition. It seemed they shared something else in common too – the same powers housed in their lungs and limbs - life drain, pulling breath and heartbeats out of those who yearned to exist. And how did one combat lightning? He mused, jaw clenched, gaze on the ground as he lowered his sword to stick it into the grass by his feet, nudging at soil. “We can always create shields.” But it likely wouldn’t be enough – and therein laid the problem. How many mighty, illustrious, beatific beacons would be capable of taking down those potent and powerful? “Is there a way to drain someone else of magic?” It was just a thought and naught more, plotting and calculating out loud – especially if they relied heavily on the enchantments, and less on weaponry. He loosened a sigh from his chest, felt the world press down on his shoulders again. Deimos’ glance flickered back to Jigano, slinged but eager. “I can test you.” There was a rapid inhale, puffing his chest, loosening the fibers of his soul; the invocations responding instantly, twisted and contorted, dangerous and treacherous, like asps, like vicious, thriving throngs of the invisible, torrential, silent, unassuming claws until they dug into one’s flesh, body, and soul. “Let me know when it is too much.” Then he released the enchantments towards the bard, said naught of their capabilities, of their raw, biting, plaguing essence, but let Jigano cultivate and figure it out for himself – because eventually, there would be no one out there on the front lines but themselves, and the familiarity of rapid, escalating danger, the draining, penetrating, lacerating brands would be all that was left. Counter it he thought; pondering if there was a way to not be swallowed into its draining grasp. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate