Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
He didn’t focus on the onlookers, on the growing crowd, on the cries or discussions. Instead, sharp, calculating eyes didn’t miss the slightest hesitation along Loren’s features before grabbing hold of the blade – and the beast was content that they were using the wooden, training swords, instead of harsh metal, instead of lacerated, serrated edges, instead of the grueling, unwinding, unfurling disaster of steel meeting flesh and bone. Thereafter though, it almost didn’t seem to matter, the ministrations, the movements, the maneuvers still just as malicious in their fissures.
Were they on a real battlefield, the pop resounding from Loren’s shoulder wouldn’t have given him any pause at all; it would’ve just been a moment of continued menace, ushering forward into the onslaught, into the terror, preying upon the weakness in his form until there was nothing left – blood for blood, disaster for disaster, kingdoms and crowns on the line in the swoop of their swords, in the diligence of their annihilation.
Except it wasn’t – only a show, only proof of their abilities. And as he stared upon the summoner’s useless arm, he only arched a brow, all right? segmenting through accustomed attuned natures, pondering if they should already cease, or why the fellow mage wasn’t healing already. It’s what he’d always done. If Loren wanted it to end, he’d need only say the word.
No time to ponder further – raising his shield in front of his chest on instinctive, inherent habit, a rush of war frames, machinations, and munitions battering over his mind, the circular, guardian tactic caught Loren’s, another blistering echo. In response, Deimos lowered it, lifting his blade to reach across the void, slashing upwards, aiming to notch a hit against ribs or chest.
Were they on a real battlefield, the pop resounding from Loren’s shoulder wouldn’t have given him any pause at all; it would’ve just been a moment of continued menace, ushering forward into the onslaught, into the terror, preying upon the weakness in his form until there was nothing left – blood for blood, disaster for disaster, kingdoms and crowns on the line in the swoop of their swords, in the diligence of their annihilation.
Except it wasn’t – only a show, only proof of their abilities. And as he stared upon the summoner’s useless arm, he only arched a brow, all right? segmenting through accustomed attuned natures, pondering if they should already cease, or why the fellow mage wasn’t healing already. It’s what he’d always done. If Loren wanted it to end, he’d need only say the word.
No time to ponder further – raising his shield in front of his chest on instinctive, inherent habit, a rush of war frames, machinations, and munitions battering over his mind, the circular, guardian tactic caught Loren’s, another blistering echo. In response, Deimos lowered it, lifting his blade to reach across the void, slashing upwards, aiming to notch a hit against ribs or chest.
DEIMOS
