DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
There was only so much time; and it was fleeting, quicker by the hour, by the minute. The press of its wick contorted against them – for him, the apprehension for Kiada, and for Elide, the possibility of too many other unwinding circumstances. A fresher hell, a denizen of foreign terror that could only be described and allotted so much to one who’d never experienced it – and he wouldn’t wish that upon her. His own gaze flickered over the stones, withholding another breath, stark and clear, as she mentioned no upgrades. Nothing to steal, but nothing to use. “Anything in the armory is yours for the taking.” At the very least, she should’ve been quipped in her preferred weapon (the crossbow; he imagined), and some other regards. She might have done well with an axe too.
Something blunt. Something heavy. Something to render monsters into pieces.
He controlled an instinctual eyeroll from rising to the surface at her mention of the Voice. He had stories to go with that particular goddess too, but also refrained, stifling it down, down, down into the burden of his lungs. But the beast didn’t expect her next words, snapping and riveting his gaze back to her, as she uttered a promise, a vow, an oath to him. No arch to his brow, no jocular impressions, no self-deprecating nuances. She didn’t need to utter anything of such ilk to him. He wasn’t worth that.
But if it kept her alive, kept her going, then he’d take it. No Warden for the moment, a General once more, the indication strong and stern in the rumble of his voice, in the hushed platitudes. “The Shields keep their pledges,” and he nodded, accepting it; the ghost of a smile transpiring in the corner of his mouth. Whatever she required for determination, to raise her head through the shadows doomed and damned to fall.
Then he said nothing on Wessex – his encounters with the Wraith plentiful and wrought with mercurial ramparts. It would be beneficial for her, and for Kiada, but Deimos had his misgivings on the subject matter. Instead, he nodded once more. “You are welcome.” To the information, to the experiences – because he wouldn’t wish the upcoming torment on her. And with another nuance, he withdrew, stepping aside as they began again.
Thereafter, the monolith offered a different tactic. Intending to appear as if he neared her side, to swipe at ribs again, or to careen with her hips, he raised his blade, then angled it completely downward. In a rush of power, precision, and strength, he aimed the hard edge of the hilt towards her wrist – fully attempting to disarm.
Something blunt. Something heavy. Something to render monsters into pieces.
He controlled an instinctual eyeroll from rising to the surface at her mention of the Voice. He had stories to go with that particular goddess too, but also refrained, stifling it down, down, down into the burden of his lungs. But the beast didn’t expect her next words, snapping and riveting his gaze back to her, as she uttered a promise, a vow, an oath to him. No arch to his brow, no jocular impressions, no self-deprecating nuances. She didn’t need to utter anything of such ilk to him. He wasn’t worth that.
But if it kept her alive, kept her going, then he’d take it. No Warden for the moment, a General once more, the indication strong and stern in the rumble of his voice, in the hushed platitudes. “The Shields keep their pledges,” and he nodded, accepting it; the ghost of a smile transpiring in the corner of his mouth. Whatever she required for determination, to raise her head through the shadows doomed and damned to fall.
Then he said nothing on Wessex – his encounters with the Wraith plentiful and wrought with mercurial ramparts. It would be beneficial for her, and for Kiada, but Deimos had his misgivings on the subject matter. Instead, he nodded once more. “You are welcome.” To the information, to the experiences – because he wouldn’t wish the upcoming torment on her. And with another nuance, he withdrew, stepping aside as they began again.
Thereafter, the monolith offered a different tactic. Intending to appear as if he neared her side, to swipe at ribs again, or to careen with her hips, he raised his blade, then angled it completely downward. In a rush of power, precision, and strength, he aimed the hard edge of the hilt towards her wrist – fully attempting to disarm.
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
