remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
Deimos had lived a vast majority of his lives amongst kingdoms. There was always someone dictating, someone demonstrating, someone holding onto pieces and portions of power – and perhaps that was where he’d cultivated sedition in his blood, defiance in his veins, revolution in his ichor. Even when he’d become a sovereign himself, there’d been portions of subversion in his soul, utilized and expressed through their molten vehemence upon others who dared to take, who dared to maim, who dared to do anything to one of their own. But they’d never had outright tyrants. They’d had misguided fools, weak, pathetic, indulgent creatures, grand, noble beasts, and sneaky, cunning, manipulative jesters, and a mixture of everything in between. Zariah had been a particular brand of asinine, miserable, dictator foundations, and he’d detested every moment of it. Never again should’ve been their emblem, their banner now. Time and calculations would tell.He took some measure of pride in Sunjata’s response, from the eesh sound to the notion of practice. “I take precision seriously.” So that it became muscle memory. So that in the heat of battle, everything could be drawn upon instinct, upon inherent abilities, upon the things already stirred and invoked in movements and motions; abhorrent, vicious poetry in pursuit of devastation and demolition. He’d rather be persistent than floundering, stumbling across a battlefield, twisted and turned around in confusion, in bewildering wonder; no help, no guidance, nothing for the rest of his comrades. A sitting duck, a petulant fool. There was a ghost of a smile along his mouth though, like so many other things altered and destroyed by time, by experience.
The General watched as the man took to trying the weapon again, stepping back, folding his arms, expecting to see the rest of the target completely blown apart. His words might’ve doomed and damned him, no sooner than they were uttered did the rocks simply skitter and crash into dust and dirt, rising plumes of dried earth billowing thereafter. The beast shook his head, the grin still remaining, while he maneuvered forward on his next try.
The Sword made a few adjustments and shifts of the equipment, loading them with more stones as he listened to Sunjata query him – something far too simple, which meant there was likely going to follow-up. He snorted, peeking through wooden contortions, pondering where to aim. “A little over a year now.” A year and a half, really – somehow the seasons had flown when he wasn’t knee deep in his own wasting, eroding melancholy. At the affirmation of his time in Caido, Deimos finally allowed the arm to fly, to reel back, and then unleash ensuing havoc once again. The rocks flew, their force great and grand, smashing into the lower half of the target’s remains, leaving hardly anything in their path – the entire thing falling over to the ground; sputtered and lifeless.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
