DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
“No need,” he extended with an arch of his brow, gaze falling back to the target. It once had far better days, and had been on its way out. That it could manage and muster one last ditch effort for someone who required the bolstering of skill and practical knowledge, was more beneficial than being tossed out into the debris and refuse. He continued passing her the arrows, until it was emptied – completely, utterly desecrated, pieces shambling back to the stone floor.
And while he bent and tore, crouched down beside its remains, the statement, the inquiry, floated towards him. The basis of it could’ve been circumvented in a variety of ways, but he took considerable time, effort, and notions of memories. There were hordes upon hordes of adversaries – from Mirage’s Qian, to those who’d picked and scraped at the Basin simply because they could, antagonizing and instigating – and the considerations ceased entirely when a particular individual stoked against the fibers of his efforts. There was even a target somewhere in the midst, dedicated to her damned existence, so that he had an opportunity to beat and pummel it once more. “In another world, my kingdom had an enemy that was ruthless, conniving, and unrelenting.”
His eyes narrowed, rising up from the perils of the ruined target, contemplating setting it all ablaze, allowing the wind to take the ashes and scatter them elsewhere. “I never figured out why she continually came after us. At first it was irritating,” and then he shrugged, striving to remove the semblances of Confutatis from his shoulders. “And then she tried to steal the children.” Amongst other things, items, figments, people; a threat that he’d had to stop.
Though he hadn’t been near death, the battle hadn’t been easy. She’d been cunning, merciless, and incredulous, attempting to prove something to the Reaper, to the Lord of the Basin, to the man who guarded his mountains with cold, harsh precision. His gaze went back to her, jaw clenching, wondering at all the other hazards. At nearly dying in the Spire. At nearly dying in the cave. At not being able to save Adam and Peter. At a door that killed his best friend. “Only that I had not done enough.”
That Confutatis hadn’t died, but only disappeared eventually, not fallen beneath his blade. That a dragon had mauled friends instantly, that there’d been no chance, no opportunity, to drag them out of the void. The lines of lives blurred in between, but the notions remained the same. “But if I had perished defending my brethren, then it would have been worth it.” Sacrificial – so that those he loved could carry on.
And while he bent and tore, crouched down beside its remains, the statement, the inquiry, floated towards him. The basis of it could’ve been circumvented in a variety of ways, but he took considerable time, effort, and notions of memories. There were hordes upon hordes of adversaries – from Mirage’s Qian, to those who’d picked and scraped at the Basin simply because they could, antagonizing and instigating – and the considerations ceased entirely when a particular individual stoked against the fibers of his efforts. There was even a target somewhere in the midst, dedicated to her damned existence, so that he had an opportunity to beat and pummel it once more. “In another world, my kingdom had an enemy that was ruthless, conniving, and unrelenting.”
His eyes narrowed, rising up from the perils of the ruined target, contemplating setting it all ablaze, allowing the wind to take the ashes and scatter them elsewhere. “I never figured out why she continually came after us. At first it was irritating,” and then he shrugged, striving to remove the semblances of Confutatis from his shoulders. “And then she tried to steal the children.” Amongst other things, items, figments, people; a threat that he’d had to stop.
Though he hadn’t been near death, the battle hadn’t been easy. She’d been cunning, merciless, and incredulous, attempting to prove something to the Reaper, to the Lord of the Basin, to the man who guarded his mountains with cold, harsh precision. His gaze went back to her, jaw clenching, wondering at all the other hazards. At nearly dying in the Spire. At nearly dying in the cave. At not being able to save Adam and Peter. At a door that killed his best friend. “Only that I had not done enough.”
That Confutatis hadn’t died, but only disappeared eventually, not fallen beneath his blade. That a dragon had mauled friends instantly, that there’d been no chance, no opportunity, to drag them out of the void. The lines of lives blurred in between, but the notions remained the same. “But if I had perished defending my brethren, then it would have been worth it.” Sacrificial – so that those he loved could carry on.
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
