Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
Anything goes was a multitude of things – varnished memories stoked behind his eyes of wars, of invasions, where they summoned munitions from their souls and met one another as colossal figures; contempt and abhorrence, wrath and demolition, desecration and ruin, a wreckage curled from his stoked fineries. No loathing here though, no basking weight of menace or malice, enmity and hostility to unfurl from his veins. It would be an exercise in their either precision, control, or the factions and crackle of dominion between them. “Let me know when you have had enough.” The barest hint of a ruse, of a smile, of a snicker, laden in those words.
He watched as the summoner brought himself to a safer distance, as they were positioned along the oasis lines of water and sun, tucked amidst fronds and trees and some contortion of flattened land to suit their purpose. All the while, the unrelenting supremacy of his incantations seared and smoldered in their callous depths, awakened by the chase, by the pursuit, by the possibility of violence and vehemence. Only since his chase with Roana, as she leapt towards the Greatwood, as he leered and leaned into strangling conflagrations, had been his last exploits; other than the fire, the inferno, seething behind his eyes.
He knew war. He knew battle. He knew disaster and ruin and everything laden in between.
And he wouldn’t hold back.
The quiet, hushed slip of pulsing demise sinuously bent and unwound from his figure; a silent, stealthy regard in its quick, swift motions, cool and disastrous, entangled and unleashed its way towards Loren’s form – a stoked finality so familiar it was like an old friend, death born alongside his wretched eaves and infinite, diabolical whims. Life drain; no warning signs given except its maddening persistence, one brow lifted while his stance maintained a defensive maneuver, waiting to see Loren’s rebuttal.
He watched as the summoner brought himself to a safer distance, as they were positioned along the oasis lines of water and sun, tucked amidst fronds and trees and some contortion of flattened land to suit their purpose. All the while, the unrelenting supremacy of his incantations seared and smoldered in their callous depths, awakened by the chase, by the pursuit, by the possibility of violence and vehemence. Only since his chase with Roana, as she leapt towards the Greatwood, as he leered and leaned into strangling conflagrations, had been his last exploits; other than the fire, the inferno, seething behind his eyes.
He knew war. He knew battle. He knew disaster and ruin and everything laden in between.
And he wouldn’t hold back.
The quiet, hushed slip of pulsing demise sinuously bent and unwound from his figure; a silent, stealthy regard in its quick, swift motions, cool and disastrous, entangled and unleashed its way towards Loren’s form – a stoked finality so familiar it was like an old friend, death born alongside his wretched eaves and infinite, diabolical whims. Life drain; no warning signs given except its maddening persistence, one brow lifted while his stance maintained a defensive maneuver, waiting to see Loren’s rebuttal.
DEIMOS
