DEIMOS
we've all got blood on our hands
something somewhere had to die
so we could stay alive
He’d done very well here, a majority of the time, with not immediately slaying everything that irritated him. He gave warnings. He gave ultimatums. He assured repercussions. He didn’t entangle idle threats. But gods, it was very difficult to keep the energy, the restlessness, the depravity in his bones from not seeking forth and skewering the man where he stood. Nothing subtle, the man continued to glower and glare and utter forth his condemnations for everything in sight. This had been exactly as Safrin had informed – the vile hatred and abhorrence, the need for vehemence to snap and sizzle against the Ascended.Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he did. Maybe there were fine lines and no right or wrong. Maybe there were choices they all made that bordered on stupid or brave or brazen, and anywhere in between. Maybe everything was harsh, and in the end, they’d all come to the same slaughter anyway.
He ignored the Outlander quip; old hat by now. The elderly beast didn’t know anything about him either.
But he’d heard enough.
“No one is keeping you here.” Least of all him. Perhaps the man could go live elsewhere, surround and barricade himself from the void. It might be more beneficial for everyone else in the long run. "Though, you could always run for council." What a King.
And perhaps Deimos was weak, and could only go through the motions, staying his hand from murdering the fool outright. The Reaper would have long since tossed him over a mountainside.
The Sword had to keep his composure, his control, because this cretin wasn’t worth it. “You are likely as ignorant.” A shrug of his shoulders, a callous disregard, a level of apathy and antipathy settling over his brawn.
Then he left, collecting the sagacity in the back of his mind, for the goddess who had warned him.
{FIN}
