DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
The world snapped and sizzled around him; Amalia’s rage pervading through senses, igniting the cold, hardened fury curling rapidly through his own. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d ever been so disappointed and enraged by another – perhaps not since Helovia, when he’d had to lecture or dispute with one of his own. This was entirely different though, because there’d been a chance, an opportunity, and they hadn’t taken it. Sam hadn’t taken it. The monolith finished the last of his wine, letting it smolder down the back of his throat, reach down into the pit of his ferocity, of his wrath, stirred and contorted, melding with flames he so often kept away. They quelled through his jaw, his bones, his limbs; doing nothing to cease and desist in the rising tension, in the folly of idiocy. The calm tones didn’t betray his inward contempt and abhorrence, but struck in piercing notes, in the way his stare, narrowed, dangerous, treacherous, refused to leave the Ascended’s. “You think this is fine to live through, year after year.” Fine for others to die, at the hands of the Voice’s former claims. Fine for ghosts and demons and infidels to rise up. Normal. An eternal nuance. A perennial circumstance. Nothingness.Muscles undulated and bound together, and he forced himself to remain sitting, to not rise from the chair and grab ahold of Samuel by the throat, the slow, numbing realization crawling up the back of his spine. “Is this why you helped me with the door?” To assuage the guilt? To facilitate something else, when he’d been too weak, too cowardly, to march against those who plagued them?
His head shook, fists forming on the table. “How many times have we sacrificed ourselves to try and fix the Voice’s mistakes?” Into the Spire, nearly dying, to try and eradicate whatever they knew about the Blight? Traversing with thorns and loved ones chasing them down. “And you sit over there, making your damned maps."
Deimos hadn’t forgotten how the other had almost gotten Rexanna killed in the previous LongNight; though perhaps it didn’t matter much now. The bitterness chiseled and sculpted, carved a niche, until nothing was left but cold, glacial, fury, blistering at the back of his eyes. Would’ve died? How many times had all of them nearly died for their attempts, their trials, to overcome whatever dastardly force threatened their world? “Who is to say you would have? You did not bother to try.”
Unite and spread the heart apart
