DEIMOS
The shard of appreciation, likely ineffectual in the face of everything else, sharpened over his senses, allowed him a breath in the blistering anarchy –
And then it was gone.
Their luck ran out; he could see Remi’s movements become jagged, wings flapping, and he meant to follow, meant to guard, meant to remain the stalwart Sword, when he sought ascension and the air, the air, the air. But then there were things clawing at his form, at his feathers, at his plumes, and he suffered in silence, not daring to insinuate their presence, not daring to announce they were there, call more for the slaughter. It might have pierced through his connection, he had no control over its subterfuge and reticence now, as things pulled at talons, as they seemed to make monumental efforts to ensure he couldn’t evade, couldn’t escape, couldn’t hide.
Flying was his liberation, his freedom, and they wouldn’t take it from him. He bit down on the exasperation, flapped his wings, striving to dart upwards again on swift speed and flapping precision, on bestial, barbaric movement, unpredictable escapades in altering directions. The beast’s eyes were on Remi though, persistent, sure, and true, even while feathers fell and vexation surged.
And then it was gone.
Their luck ran out; he could see Remi’s movements become jagged, wings flapping, and he meant to follow, meant to guard, meant to remain the stalwart Sword, when he sought ascension and the air, the air, the air. But then there were things clawing at his form, at his feathers, at his plumes, and he suffered in silence, not daring to insinuate their presence, not daring to announce they were there, call more for the slaughter. It might have pierced through his connection, he had no control over its subterfuge and reticence now, as things pulled at talons, as they seemed to make monumental efforts to ensure he couldn’t evade, couldn’t escape, couldn’t hide.
Flying was his liberation, his freedom, and they wouldn’t take it from him. He bit down on the exasperation, flapped his wings, striving to dart upwards again on swift speed and flapping precision, on bestial, barbaric movement, unpredictable escapades in altering directions. The beast’s eyes were on Remi though, persistent, sure, and true, even while feathers fell and vexation surged.
gatekeeper of an endless war
where lines between right and wrong
don't exist anymore
