fracture patterns

Deimos The force, the crack, the resounding motions through his fist bombarded and ricocheted – watching in debauched contemplation as the Dark Star fell to the ground. His features remained indiscernible, countenance rendered reticent, treacherous considerations weighing heavily in his mind at the next onslaught of words. The temptation to continue was there, ravenously poised in the back of his mind, action in treacherous eloquence, arcane, ancient, inherent degrees coiling along banks of frigid, Stygian mayhem. It’d be easy to do so – to unleash and unfurl friction and animosity, loathing and contempt – return to the Reaper, to Basin abhorrence, to challenges and unholy manifestations for those that crossed lines and bombarded those he cherished. But he glanced at the man thrown into the earth, at the ruminations of why everything had spiraled and happened, and simply let it be. Perhaps enough was enough, seasons and cycles done in, Amalia already healed, other traumatic events segmented thereafter, a constant attempt at recovering from the drama. To let this one go, back out into the ethers and vestiges; the reminder already there on the man’s jaw. “No,” followed on a cold, chilling sigh. He turned back towards Zuriel, whose attentions had finally been torn away from the wonder puddles’ images, lofting a haughty brow in his direction. His head inclined towards Ronin, and she snorted, wandering forward, bending her head so that her glowing horn prospered towards his newfound wound, intending to heal. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime