DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Deimos made no mention of how they’d already stoked sedition and insurrection once, in the midst of bakery basements, gathering forces and clenched jaws, the snap of words and vitriol flying in the haste of planning. How he and so many others had carved their armaments into earth and prospered holes beneath prisons. How they’d prepared and anointed a chosen King, and then watched it fall to another. How everything either fell into place or was scattered days, hours, moments later. How, if it came down to it, he’d do it again – a multitude of abhorrence and vengeance scorching the enamel, the marrow, the rush of blood in his bones. His eyes were back on the horizon, on wooden houses and a quiet settlement, striving to struggle through their latest onslaught and terror. The beast was sorry too, in his own way, about how the opening of portals just seemed to increase the damage. When Outlanders had been plunged into this careful little world, with its bubbles and Spires, with its safety nets, scattered to the wind the moment they’d all begun to play a part in its artifice. Now it spread all over, to other worlds, opening and widening the chasms of their actions and motives, conspiring to unleash havoc and hell. Had anything good come of it?
He could answer in his own heart – the people in the end had varnished and lacquered any of the hurt, the suffering, into something bearable.
“Then we will see,” was all he could manage; head not bowed, just prepared, as cold and calculating as days spent beneath mountains, pondering where to stab and lacerate all over again.
Unite and spread the heart apart
