DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
What a contemptuous creature, and Deimos unfortunately tied and tethered to not wrapping his hand around the man’s throat. Regardless, a seething maelstrom began to brew within him, from between the columns of animosity, the structures of all his recent failures, misfortunes, and misgivings, and the abhorrence cycling through the air. Systemic breaths collided against the temptation to merely decimate and obliterate the man from where he stood, but instead he looked down his nose at him, eyes narrowed – the pulse, the pervading countenance of age-old incantations threatening to spiral around him. It only spiked and blistered once more on the other comments – notching against his spine, malice within the self-loathing, barbarity amidst the guilt, Rexanna the monster queen. You were anything but that he would’ve curled into the ether to send after her soul; but instead all the warnings, all the forbearings, traced over his essence. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to read the message. “What would you prefer?” Whispered between clenched teeth – knowing full well it wouldn’t be wise to destroy the elderly man right then and there, but it was enticing.
