DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Another vial filled, another rendering of enchantment to center him, to grant some modicum of normalcy in breadth of his coiling, churning mind. The words Chulane spoke burned against him too, in another way, in another form, because more than once he’d thought about conducting similar motions. When the pain annihilated, lacerated, tore, when the grief was so overbearing, overwhelming, mind-numbing, all-consuming, when there seemed to be no escape from the terror, or from the ghosts lingering in between heart, ribs, and chest – he’d wondered if he could tumble into the abyss. If anyone would care if he sought the void. If the darkness finally washed over his senses again, and there’d be no more despair.
No more agony. No more, no more, no more.
His eyes went away from the water, and back to the other man, jaw clenching again, gaze narrowing, uncertain of how far to press or where to convey his sentiments. That he understood, comprehended, knew those feelings, even when he’d been a beast who endured, persevered, and remained. One bludgeoning motion after another cost him his strength: Rexanna, Kiada, Amalia, Hotaru. The list could’ve started even far earlier, but those names were enough for now. That somehow his limbs had taken his rattled, addled mind and tossed the rest of him into the snow, that he would’ve willingly stayed there for eternities, frozen and buried, bones unknown, indifferent.
Except that he’d been found, by phantoms in his mind, and by friends who refused to leave him behind.
So he wouldn’t let them stagger in those perils either.
“If it ever gets that bad again, let me know.” The implications there – the way the fathoms twisted and turned, mauled and crushed – and he could reach in, if the world let him, to grab and snag the brutality away for an instant, for a moment. “I will strive to do the same.” To not let the hollowed renderings catch him, swallow, devour, so that he could learn and live, even when it hurt, even when it threatened to crush.
But then there were descriptions of where he’d been, and the Sword recognized the components; he’d been amongst and amidst the same walls, the same glittering, bewildering caverns. “Loren and I went there too. I was looking for clues.” Before lilies, before they knew how many to snag and where to place them. “Grabbed a gem, but nothing happened.” A tilt of his head indicated more pondering, memories reeling over and over. “Amun found you then.” Landsharks, Ascended; it’d be that character - and perhaps Deimos was grateful to the latter even now; for he'd ensured Chulane had a distraction from the torrential claws of self-torment.
No more agony. No more, no more, no more.
His eyes went away from the water, and back to the other man, jaw clenching again, gaze narrowing, uncertain of how far to press or where to convey his sentiments. That he understood, comprehended, knew those feelings, even when he’d been a beast who endured, persevered, and remained. One bludgeoning motion after another cost him his strength: Rexanna, Kiada, Amalia, Hotaru. The list could’ve started even far earlier, but those names were enough for now. That somehow his limbs had taken his rattled, addled mind and tossed the rest of him into the snow, that he would’ve willingly stayed there for eternities, frozen and buried, bones unknown, indifferent.
Except that he’d been found, by phantoms in his mind, and by friends who refused to leave him behind.
So he wouldn’t let them stagger in those perils either.
“If it ever gets that bad again, let me know.” The implications there – the way the fathoms twisted and turned, mauled and crushed – and he could reach in, if the world let him, to grab and snag the brutality away for an instant, for a moment. “I will strive to do the same.” To not let the hollowed renderings catch him, swallow, devour, so that he could learn and live, even when it hurt, even when it threatened to crush.
But then there were descriptions of where he’d been, and the Sword recognized the components; he’d been amongst and amidst the same walls, the same glittering, bewildering caverns. “Loren and I went there too. I was looking for clues.” Before lilies, before they knew how many to snag and where to place them. “Grabbed a gem, but nothing happened.” A tilt of his head indicated more pondering, memories reeling over and over. “Amun found you then.” Landsharks, Ascended; it’d be that character - and perhaps Deimos was grateful to the latter even now; for he'd ensured Chulane had a distraction from the torrential claws of self-torment.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
