DEIMOS
Kiada’s appearance and notion of Adam splatting into pieces and portions on the ground was a refreshing, amusing image (half of his intentions for being here had been the potential of the latter). He was only mildly disappointed when the man mentioned it hadn’t been in his planning for the day – didn’t showcase any of it, save for maybe a sullen, nearly inaudible sigh. Perhaps they would have better luck in some other moment.He narrowed his eyes at the gleeful, somewhat delighted laughter spiraling towards him, presuming there was some mocking accord fixtured in there somewhere. Truth be told, Adam didn’t know him at all – and Deimos had calculated and measured that purposefully, as he did with so many others that occasionally irritated him. Though, perhaps he wasn’t a daredevil, but someone who machinated and devised, who schemed and plotted, who streamlined motions of bestial accord when necessary. In Helovia, it’d always been obligatory, required, for him to throw himself into frays and battles, into invasions and wars, scarred and bloodied and torn apart for the sake of his kingdom. Here? Here was entirely different, and some chances to break free.
Other than a shrug, he gave no response, complete nonchalance, reticence, and reserve, eyes flickering to the top of the Spire, and back down again.
Then Adam shifted, blackbird feathers and emblems, and Deimos followed suit, tawny, gilded plumage unfurling, reaching for the skies, for the daunting heights, for the tower and damned threshold that had held them in its grasp far too many times and for far too long. Maybe he wanted to best it. Maybe he wanted to beat it. Maybe he wanted to burn it all down. Eventually, swift and sure, he rounded along the minaret once, before descending, landing, upon the summit.
"who's gonna let you?"
they asked. i said
"who's gonna stop me?"
