DEIMOS
These were the moments where he lost some of the Sword edges, the compassion, the distinction and foundation of warmth. It was instances of Reaper predilections and upheaval instead, where the cold crept into his bones, where the impassivity, the detachment, warred and crawled its way back into his heart, his lungs, his soul, and all he craved were the inherent instincts of violence. To do just as he’d promised, rip and tear and maul and mutilate, anything and everything in his path, in his wake – where the semblances of another’s fear, where his intimidation, and unreachable derision, made an apathetic entity snicker and smirk. For a few seconds, he savored the taste of terror in the air, as the birds took flight, as they were pushed and shoved and snared right into the path of the next viper. Thrived on it, remembered, recalled, all those hours, days, seasons, years when his name, his shadow, his presence, was a conviction of condemnation.
Hadn’t that been what he’d yearned for in the Basin? Amongst and amidst his mountains, where the earth would leave him alone?
His talons wrapped around a fat, ivory form and the ningo’s life was deprived almost instantly, a crushing blow, a shortening of breath until it was gone. The eagle glanced up, wings maintaining their predator prowess, landing nearby to witness the rest of the short-lived hunt. One of them stood no chance in Aisha’s wake, bound and mauled within her clutches and jaws, and together they’d formed another tactical unit of might and calamity. Perhaps it was a credence of things to come, lines of defense and assault, or maybe they were naturally skilled hunters.
Then the Reaper was gone, hidden, tucked away, and all that was left in his filaments was the composed tone of the General. Enough? If not, he knew several other ranges of where the flocks were immersed, but they’d likely be at risk of being discovered.
Hadn’t that been what he’d yearned for in the Basin? Amongst and amidst his mountains, where the earth would leave him alone?
His talons wrapped around a fat, ivory form and the ningo’s life was deprived almost instantly, a crushing blow, a shortening of breath until it was gone. The eagle glanced up, wings maintaining their predator prowess, landing nearby to witness the rest of the short-lived hunt. One of them stood no chance in Aisha’s wake, bound and mauled within her clutches and jaws, and together they’d formed another tactical unit of might and calamity. Perhaps it was a credence of things to come, lines of defense and assault, or maybe they were naturally skilled hunters.
Then the Reaper was gone, hidden, tucked away, and all that was left in his filaments was the composed tone of the General. Enough? If not, he knew several other ranges of where the flocks were immersed, but they’d likely be at risk of being discovered.
gatekeeper of an endless war
where lines between right and wrong
don't exist anymore
