Hurt so Good

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

In truth, yes, Deimos prided himself on his control. Power, authority, and command over something he’d held and unleashed for his multiple lives; a breadth of demise, a dominion of ruin, thrust upon him at a young age, thrown to the wolves when its conspiring notions coiled their way through his blood and bones. To wield it was an honor, but also a dangerous entity, and he’d spent so long in Helovia ensuring no one got too close because of it, the unattainable, unreachable Reaper, a tempestuous, savage monolith stalking the shadows, weapon, weapon, weapon. The Sword had better luck in that its precision, its boldness, didn’t leech out of his skin, didn’t brew across his flesh, here in Caido, but otherwise it was much the same – a born entity of lethal properties, eternally waiting to seize, to sear, to pummel, to unwind and blemish. If Jigano were an enemy, an adversary, it would be much easier to simply unleash the tangents and be done with it. He’d committed the action so many times to so many others; those that threatened, those that promised ruin upon his kingdom, those that dared. But here, he had to honor restraint, regulations, and limitations – the Loreseeker only aiming to grow stronger, something Deimos would forever understand. Might. Strength. Power. So it seethed in his form, unwavering, undaunted, unspoken, hushed threads released the moment the bard permitted; not a full endeavor, but a touch more than what he’d executed before – his depths forceful, his ministrations vehement, his deliberations formidable, at ease with its undulations, with its eldritch abominations, with every stitch and seam of its rapacious, unrelenting edges. It was the fringe of demise, it was the relishing of knives and daggers, silent and unseen, it was the touch of grim, gripping qualities, yearning to steal, to blemish, to taunt, to desecrate. But the General’s eyes were on Jigano the entire time, waiting for the warning signs, the need to cease, to desist, to make all the incantations slither back into his existence. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate