remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
Deimos could think of a multitude of things to utilize the catapult for – most detrimental, destructive, warnings, ultimatums, ensued and issued to burgeoning adversaries once thought gone. It’d been better off that way, the calm after the storm, before a range of other dramatic insurgencies. If it was effectual at all, then he could always create more, arm them as havoc and wreckage forces, embody them as fellow comrades, bastions of mayhem and ruin. It had been too long since he’d spurned another kingdom, another world, another vantage point – a call of some wilderness, some untamed, savage, infernal, rapacious edge to him, to issue threats and ominous volleys too, just as they’d been pressed into them. No more taking of foreboding bits and pieces. No more potential for peril shoved down their throats or into their spines. They could proclaim the warnings now. As the Reaper, he’d only ever give them in singular form. Leave, a command, a demand. And when they’d failed to depart, it’d been the eldritch incantations unfurling from his core, from his soul, from every vestige of his existence. Those parts wouldn’t be erased or eroded. Sunjata accepted the offer, and the beast stepped clear out of the way, arms folded to watch. Perhaps this man was savage too, under all the subterfuge and smirks; if that was what enticed Hotaru, if there were other layers and lacquer beyond the surface. His eyes riveted from the swinging arm, to the stones gathered, the rumbling forming a backdrop, a canvas, of history. “We had these in Isilme too. And siege towers.” For as much good as they’d done, for as long as they’d held on. “Thought I would try a smaller version first.” A shrug; curiosity exchanged on Korofi, what sort of land it was, what sort of soldier this individual must’ve been.
The rock sailed, crashing soundly into one of the targets, ricocheting through blades of woven grass, a barreling hole whistling through, concaved, as if the material had been nothing. For an instant, his gaze and smirk sharpened, Cheshire with a hint of malice and menace, reserved for those who would dare to provoke or instigate at them again. It slipped away quickly though, content and satisfied with the operation, but yearning to try for himself once more. He grabbed hold of a few more stones, hastening them to the vessel, listening to the clink of their surface against the grain; then fired, the aim still true. It seared and simmered, only for the target’s head this time, a raw chuckle escaping from his throat as the makeshift cranium was blown apart.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
