Deimos
THE RESURRECTED SWORD
How did you survive? they ask
How long did you suffer?
how dark did they tint your dreams?On occasion, Deimos could admit to being a slow learner (slowly eroding; quick and sharp when necessary, and other times, incredibly oblivious) – and as the smoke sputtered against him, the poison flickered its way into his mask, stung at his eyes, at his lungs, and he coughed – he had to admit the torches might have been a mistake. He’d wanted fire without a flame mage in sight, paid for it with the crush of toxins pummeling upon him again. But he’d expected it; gnashed his teeth, clenched his jaw, and carried on, settling and maneuvering behind their makeshift shelter.
Bird wings, feathers, and plumes stirred, swept away – until they didn’t, and the power of Ashe’s lightning careened and harpooned into the ether, and it was a satisfying notion to watch them wither along flashes of light and prowess.
Luckily Ronin seemed unaffected by the vitriol in the air, directing, and the sword was grateful, incapable of seeing past the maneuvering abyss and void. Throwing the torches, together, a unified blast, could’ve done the job, and then he could follow through with the draining enchantments stored and collected in his frame.
On command, he ducked behind the sanctuary, eyeing the rest of them. “Toss the torches!” When they’d managed to assemble, he hurled his, hoping the flames did more than cause a vicious explosion – maybe cause more damage to the plants than them.
Then he followed through with his deadly invocations – announcing his intentions to Remi with a quick “When you’re ready,”, aiming to coordinate their efforts, and unfolding, unleashing, unraveling the nefarious magic – allowing it to flow towards the plants, pulsing and pervading in the morning’s haze.
--
Deimos follows Ronin’s directions, ducking behind the shelter, hurling his torch toward the plants (and hoping everyone can do it simultaneously). He then aims his life drain on the plants.
Bird wings, feathers, and plumes stirred, swept away – until they didn’t, and the power of Ashe’s lightning careened and harpooned into the ether, and it was a satisfying notion to watch them wither along flashes of light and prowess.
Luckily Ronin seemed unaffected by the vitriol in the air, directing, and the sword was grateful, incapable of seeing past the maneuvering abyss and void. Throwing the torches, together, a unified blast, could’ve done the job, and then he could follow through with the draining enchantments stored and collected in his frame.
On command, he ducked behind the sanctuary, eyeing the rest of them. “Toss the torches!” When they’d managed to assemble, he hurled his, hoping the flames did more than cause a vicious explosion – maybe cause more damage to the plants than them.
Then he followed through with his deadly invocations – announcing his intentions to Remi with a quick “When you’re ready,”, aiming to coordinate their efforts, and unfolding, unleashing, unraveling the nefarious magic – allowing it to flow towards the plants, pulsing and pervading in the morning’s haze.
--
Deimos follows Ronin’s directions, ducking behind the shelter, hurling his torch toward the plants (and hoping everyone can do it simultaneously). He then aims his life drain on the plants.
- 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
