DEIMOS
The Reaper, the Sword, had always wished he could protect those he cherished from the treachery of the world. He’d done so to the best of his ability, from the shadows, from his abhorrence, tearing apart those who dared to threaten one of his own, sliding from his throne on loathing and contempt, feeding the fire, the rage, the acrimony sizzling in his blood, in his veins, tarnished, nefarious, and belligerent. But it seemed no matter how often he strived, no matter how many times he’d come down the mountain to rescue, to liberate, to devastate, they managed to find a way to become trapped in despair, wounded either inwardly or outwardly. Then naught could be done – and his limited emotional range, his inability to comfort, his plots and maelstroms gone to nothing, meant he couldn’t pluck them out of the depths, out of the fathoms.
And now? Now? He adapted, he molded, he sculpted, he swallowed and consumed the same vitriol, the same venom, felt it gnashed and lashed to his bones, to his marrow, but this time he could press and embrace and proffer; even if it mattered so very little.
The warrior waited, time stretching out as the rest of the crowd carried on, lights and lanterns, what might’ve been beautiful if it weren’t marked by tragedy and vile circumstances. His eyes caught her watching him for a moment, before her head twisted back to embers and ashes, the remains of things they used to have, used to hold, used to place their faith in.
A light smile instead of the drawn line exuded from his features, perhaps inscrutable in the dark, as she deigned to discuss the boy – Ru’in – and all he could recall were large teeth and a dream to be better than the rest. “And what did you do?” He couldn’t imagine Kiada taking the teasing, not from some lad, not from some crowd, Kianzo and Romina some distant hazes, and Ashamin, perhaps the token babysitter of the group. “The only time I truly discussed anything with him was when he came to me, asking to be a crafter.” His gaze lifted, stretching out over the plain, watching the world flicker. “He assured me he was better than the ones we already had.” It spoke of arrogance, but confidence too. Perhaps, had there been more hours, more time, Deimos would've seen the youth's capabilities.
And now? Now? He adapted, he molded, he sculpted, he swallowed and consumed the same vitriol, the same venom, felt it gnashed and lashed to his bones, to his marrow, but this time he could press and embrace and proffer; even if it mattered so very little.
The warrior waited, time stretching out as the rest of the crowd carried on, lights and lanterns, what might’ve been beautiful if it weren’t marked by tragedy and vile circumstances. His eyes caught her watching him for a moment, before her head twisted back to embers and ashes, the remains of things they used to have, used to hold, used to place their faith in.
A light smile instead of the drawn line exuded from his features, perhaps inscrutable in the dark, as she deigned to discuss the boy – Ru’in – and all he could recall were large teeth and a dream to be better than the rest. “And what did you do?” He couldn’t imagine Kiada taking the teasing, not from some lad, not from some crowd, Kianzo and Romina some distant hazes, and Ashamin, perhaps the token babysitter of the group. “The only time I truly discussed anything with him was when he came to me, asking to be a crafter.” His gaze lifted, stretching out over the plain, watching the world flicker. “He assured me he was better than the ones we already had.” It spoke of arrogance, but confidence too. Perhaps, had there been more hours, more time, Deimos would've seen the youth's capabilities.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
