DEIMOS
Still a predator in the midst of melancholy, lamenting, and rue, the piercing stature of his eyes took in the approaching man. They only narrowed further in speculation, in intrigue, and then a blunt note of irritation at the overly familiar tone and actions taken. Were he not so coiled in grief there might’ve been a growl, a rumble, a threatening, barbaric sway to his stature – instead the unsaid, unholy menace reverted back to nonchalance, to reserve, to waves of primordial predilection collected in his ether. Spine rigid and taut, head tilted in regard, a feral scrutinizing that came with the territory of warrior machinations, he likely should’ve recognized some mannerisms, but the movements presiding around Kiada blinded him to a more irreverent, emboldened tone. “Who are you?” And the fact that the Harpy permitted the figure to loom around said hundreds of things Deimos hadn’t been quite prepared for. Not now, not in the damned haunted, hollowed eaves.
He didn’t know what to do any longer when Kiada stepped back into his arms; apologies echoing through his mind, the regrets churning over and over in response. But I should have answered and scathed in return, the loathing, contempt, wrath, and abhorrence reserved for himself. Should’ve known, should’ve been able to see the writing on the walls, the way manipulations, distortions, and ministrations had been cast. That his protection meant so very little. That his thoughts had measured to nothing. That gods would be gods, that demons would be demons, and his actions had merely advanced infidel incantations, avaricious designs, and the coming of something else in the distance. They’d done the opposite of what he’d strived for – and here was the aftermath, rankling down the fringes of everything he’d stood for. His arms returned around her, likely needing it just as much as the Harpy, steeling and fortifying another breath, uncertain how to move forward, onward. “What else happened in Halo?”
He didn’t know what to do any longer when Kiada stepped back into his arms; apologies echoing through his mind, the regrets churning over and over in response. But I should have answered and scathed in return, the loathing, contempt, wrath, and abhorrence reserved for himself. Should’ve known, should’ve been able to see the writing on the walls, the way manipulations, distortions, and ministrations had been cast. That his protection meant so very little. That his thoughts had measured to nothing. That gods would be gods, that demons would be demons, and his actions had merely advanced infidel incantations, avaricious designs, and the coming of something else in the distance. They’d done the opposite of what he’d strived for – and here was the aftermath, rankling down the fringes of everything he’d stood for. His arms returned around her, likely needing it just as much as the Harpy, steeling and fortifying another breath, uncertain how to move forward, onward. “What else happened in Halo?”
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
