gunmetal bones and wolf's teeth

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Closer and closer still, wolf jaws and the screams of a riotous din – louder, stronger, harsher, bounding against him even as he knew and understood their pretenses. Save me, save me scalded and mutilated, an inward crush, an innate measure searing against a blackened heart, the sinister, nefarious chambers becoming darker, glacial, walls upon walls as he stared right into the facets of lights and their hollowed hells. You’re too late whispered and crooned, a haunting, piercing slate, and he could recall the number of graves dug, the amount of times he rushed to a comrade’s side to hear their last breath, painstaking and torturous, surviving only to watch the rest fall. He shook his head, desperate to escape the melancholy void as he rushed onward, as his piercing eyes glimpsed over the canine. It barked, predator reverberations and warnings, but he was the same – carnivore inhibitions and predilections, just without the fur, the fangs; the bestial, barbaric qualities were all there, christened and anointed in the might, in the menace, in the mayhem. Then it scrambled back, either capable of understanding him or comprehending the essence of the magic unfolding from his figure; he would’ve raised his sword, his knife, or his hundreds of other weapons, but what good would it have done to combat the light? Light – wasn’t it supposed to be just and beneficent? “They are not real,” he ushered into the abyss, cold and stark, struggling to assure an animal of the deceptive measures, the duplicitous quandaries, the lengths in which this world had orchestrated, designed, and manipulated its tethers to assault and siege. It was different from brandished skirmishes and drawn daggers; but still vicious, still abhorrent, still anguishing. And why did it seem to collide with one of its own? Unless clawed in his mind, but he let it be for now. While the wolf snapped its jaws (and he wondered if that worked; if it swallowed down the bits of luminescence and ate away the bane, the baleful essences, or if it bellowed and ached from within then – slipped and slithered its way into lungs and bones), he witnessed some of the lights begin to dim, fade, no longer pressing in, no longer surrounding. He clenched his jaw, and hastened the magic again; the invocations, the sorcery, sprung back into the ether with a glacial quality, a supreme exultance at enmity and savagery, turning and distorting, contorting and unraveling, the wisps once more (if only to no longer hear the screams, the cries, the memories). master of nothing place; of recoil and grace