Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
Rexanna had always been a potent, gilded thing no matter which lifetime he tore through. One of those otherworldly, ethereal components signifying something greater in the hint of a smile, in the juncture of a nefarious grin, in the rapacity of their cloaks and daggers. She’d had claws and she’d used them. She’d had wits and she instigated their means. She’d had strength and conviction and everything else in between – but it hadn’t saved her from the drifting void and the overwhelming abyss, the Stygian influx of too many disastrous conjectures. They’d faced molten infernos and capricious demons, they’d faced monsters of the past, but they didn’t seem to wound as deeply, or mark as proudly, than the here and now. There were so many things he could’ve said or asked, and nothing came in those feral, stretched-thin moments, his motions an embodiment of action and distraction, saving himself from imminent destruction between and beneath others’ nearby.
Zuriel’s work would take time, and he tried not to sink into Rexanna’s hisses, the bared fangs, the shuttering, the shuddering, the obvious work of her system striving to contemplate and understand what was occurring, how to cease and desist the stops and starts. While the unicorn worked, while she orchestrated more soothing motions he’d never be able to ever quantify, his eyes went to the disassembled wrists, mangled and bent at odd angles; broken, broken, broken. He’d set a few bones on the battlefields, but not enough to claim expertise – hands crafting splints and handing one to Jigano. “Put these around her wrist.” At the very least, they could hold the disfigured and damaged elements together, ensure she either didn’t damage them further, or speed up some form of the healing process – unaware that it would require the Voice’s appeals. The monolith followed on the same lines as his previous direction, gently wrapping and splinting her right hand, apologies on his lips but none of them granted; a time for that later, when they were sure she wasn’t slipping off into demise.
The thought stung, and he barreled away from it.
Zuriel’s work would take time, and he tried not to sink into Rexanna’s hisses, the bared fangs, the shuttering, the shuddering, the obvious work of her system striving to contemplate and understand what was occurring, how to cease and desist the stops and starts. While the unicorn worked, while she orchestrated more soothing motions he’d never be able to ever quantify, his eyes went to the disassembled wrists, mangled and bent at odd angles; broken, broken, broken. He’d set a few bones on the battlefields, but not enough to claim expertise – hands crafting splints and handing one to Jigano. “Put these around her wrist.” At the very least, they could hold the disfigured and damaged elements together, ensure she either didn’t damage them further, or speed up some form of the healing process – unaware that it would require the Voice’s appeals. The monolith followed on the same lines as his previous direction, gently wrapping and splinting her right hand, apologies on his lips but none of them granted; a time for that later, when they were sure she wasn’t slipping off into demise.
The thought stung, and he barreled away from it.
DEIMOS
