DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
Only the lightest of smirks bounded, and then ghosted away, as if it was never there, at the minor quip. There were a multitude of responses conspiring in his head, but none of them were lifted and launched along the surface of the training arena. Not worth it. Not when he was wielding and teaching, instructing and orchestrating.
Once more, she attempted to catch, to distort, to unravel his own blade – but were would be too much force behind it. He was might and demolition, and remained persistent in his own practice. No complacency, no shortsightedness, brawn and strength contorting in the breadth of his muscles, in the scale of his abyss, consuming the notions as if they were nothing. His blade stayed in his hands – as if it had always been there, trained from an early, early age, where the callouses had mended and molded to the shape of an armament. Where he’d begun to become a living, breathing weapon, where he’d been stung and strung along until he was bestial, barbaric, and behemoth enough to stand on his own.
So it was with his brutality that he mustered back, forging oblivion, pushing directly into her space, pressing blades into blades, intending to march her backwards.
And then sliding, twisting, turning, towards her left, swinging both of their blades free, and aiming for a tirade of the flattened side towards her back.
Once more, she attempted to catch, to distort, to unravel his own blade – but were would be too much force behind it. He was might and demolition, and remained persistent in his own practice. No complacency, no shortsightedness, brawn and strength contorting in the breadth of his muscles, in the scale of his abyss, consuming the notions as if they were nothing. His blade stayed in his hands – as if it had always been there, trained from an early, early age, where the callouses had mended and molded to the shape of an armament. Where he’d begun to become a living, breathing weapon, where he’d been stung and strung along until he was bestial, barbaric, and behemoth enough to stand on his own.
So it was with his brutality that he mustered back, forging oblivion, pushing directly into her space, pressing blades into blades, intending to march her backwards.
And then sliding, twisting, turning, towards her left, swinging both of their blades free, and aiming for a tirade of the flattened side towards her back.
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
