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

No one had ever described the effects to him. He’d seen them, rather than ask, rather than implore; the swaying of limbs, the crunch of fallen forms, the sullen, silent crackle in the air as their heartbeats drummed, then slowed, their lungs heaving one last ditch effort. Often times in his rage, in his vehemence, he hadn’t cared – content, satisfied, to see them demolished and devastated, destroyed and distorted, at his feet, the persistent puissance, pernicious persuasion, unwinding over his frame, his figure, absorbing their finality into his bones. It’d simply been death; no longer haunting, no longer poignant, a rush of calamity, of barbarity, when they hadn’t listened, when they hadn’t left, when they hadn’t fled from his savage ultimatums and sufficient warnings. Leave, and they stayed. Go, and they lingered. You are not allowed here, and they’d thought themselves worthy of trespassing, of trying to snag and steal another of his kingdom, of pressing their treacherous whims into his home. They’d suffered the consequences. No one had ever asked what it felt like to wield it either. The beast watched Jigano – waiting for the requirement to yield, to cease and desist, to honor the code they’d already pledged. He listened instead to the clenched jaw and the details; corpses pulling, and he’d pictured gnarled hands dragging, dragging, dragging one to an early grave, sepulchers and catacombs, restless tombs - unpleasant. Yes; death was unpleasant, especially when it came upon a soul in a swarm, in a struggle, striving to conquer something meant to devour, meant to consume, meant to – Something about rain pulsed down his spine, and he supposed he knew a fixture of the other side then. “Cold,” he mentioned first, considering the answers. Dark – the incriminating callousness of grabbing and ensnaring without care. A plume of glacial acrimony, entropy, a chilling overture of potential doom and damnation. He was accustomed to the frigid vibes, comfortable in his acquisition, in the billowing breath unfurling from his frame, colossal and minatory; never the white-hot embers of wrath and contempt, but the terrible designation of the inevitable. “Greedy.” A constant yearning to snag more and more and more, avaricious and rapacious, ravenous to swallow down any other strengths, any other nuances, any other accord of vitality, to rid any pest, any enemy, of breath, of existence, of life itself. His head tilted vaguely, as the magic continued to slink and slither, not a grand opus, not a mauling maelstrom, but stronger, testing, scrutinizing. “Then renewal.” Because it took and it gave, proffering the others’ vigor and force, placing it into his skin, into his marrow, into his threshold. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate