Cloister of Trials: Jigano vs Deimos

D e i m o s

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

Jigano. He was facing Jigano. In another moment in time, he might not have even reacted – calm and composed, a chilling monolith, a carefully arched brow to mimic their once-open gestures of mischief and musings. But that had been before pending arrests, before brooding factions, before the mountain was charged in lacking courage or strength, because he’d asked about contributions. That had been before crowns and thrones, tossed aside, abdicated, a whirlwind of choices and rancor now flowing through his veins. They were silent – apparently naught needed to be said. Neither hastened apologies. Neither composed regret. Perhaps that was where they stood now, the line drawn in the sand, the rapier in the bard’s hand, coming, coming, coming. He placed his throwing knife back into his belt, watching, calculating, biding his time. He was a titan, a Colossus, bestial and barbaric, drawing his sword, witnessing the Sage leaping across the sand – striving to fling his staff towards his bulk, drive edges and fringes into flesh. Jigano would be quicker; there were no doubts about it, meant for swift intervals – but Deimos was built for war and all the moments that came with it. He attempted to intervene the rapier’s onslaught with his raised blade, trying to follow the sharp movements with precision, with rooted muscle memory, arcing to align steel against steel. Then, thereafter, he lowered it in an aspiration, a striving, an endeavoring motion, to sweep across Jigano’s legs, and impede the speed. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate