Deimos
THE RESURRECTED SWORD
How did you survive? they ask
How long did you suffer?
how dark did they tint your dreams?It was much the same, except for the massive hole, an aperture, where goddesses had fallen – his eyes taking in remnants of insecure columns, steps slow, careful, meticulous, intending not to disturb anything before they’d concocted and plotted their schemes. The familiarity of the ominous center was an apprehensive gesture on its own; curling against his spine as the rushing water rippled against his ears, the torches in his hands allowing for a display of the blackened plants: scenes of previous and possible, pending disasters.
Ronin’s astral projection was an intriguing invocation – his gaze widened a fraction behind the gas mask, but he said naught as the King began inspecting, moving further from them, and he listened, for any insight, for any advice, for anything other than running straight into peril (hadn’t they already done that?).
The only consternation he had with the sagacity, since they lacked a wind user, was the notion of igniting. The torches might be capable, and Ashe’s crackling lightning, but it was the possible explosion that lent him some trepidation – caught in it before. He handed each of them a torch (save for the projected, spiritual form of Ronin), to do with as they pleased, to light their way or flare into the abyss, but his words were cautious. “Last time the fire likely mixed with the gas, and caused an explosion.” If they stood back and hurled the flames, would it make a difference?
His gaze maneuvered back to Ashe. “Perhaps your lightning magic can start an inferno. We can take cover,” and then he looked, along the unsteady stones, the wobbly columns, the series of circumstances and artifacts that could either be useful or treacherous. “Remi, could you maneuver some of these rocks to make a sort of shield? Or fortification?” If the components were large enough, sturdy enough, would they be safe to hide behind them, in case of any pending assault, siege, or eruption? He worried the smaller stones would become projectiles under immense force, vitriol wreckage and debris.
Ronin’s astral projection was an intriguing invocation – his gaze widened a fraction behind the gas mask, but he said naught as the King began inspecting, moving further from them, and he listened, for any insight, for any advice, for anything other than running straight into peril (hadn’t they already done that?).
The only consternation he had with the sagacity, since they lacked a wind user, was the notion of igniting. The torches might be capable, and Ashe’s crackling lightning, but it was the possible explosion that lent him some trepidation – caught in it before. He handed each of them a torch (save for the projected, spiritual form of Ronin), to do with as they pleased, to light their way or flare into the abyss, but his words were cautious. “Last time the fire likely mixed with the gas, and caused an explosion.” If they stood back and hurled the flames, would it make a difference?
His gaze maneuvered back to Ashe. “Perhaps your lightning magic can start an inferno. We can take cover,” and then he looked, along the unsteady stones, the wobbly columns, the series of circumstances and artifacts that could either be useful or treacherous. “Remi, could you maneuver some of these rocks to make a sort of shield? Or fortification?” If the components were large enough, sturdy enough, would they be safe to hide behind them, in case of any pending assault, siege, or eruption? He worried the smaller stones would become projectiles under immense force, vitriol wreckage and debris.
- until you had blood glistening on your teeth
- until your suffering paled in comparison to their own
- until you learned to enjoy the sounds of screams
