DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Deimos could hear the frustration, and so he bent his head down, flipping over the paper containing the crossbow diagram, pondering how best to even launch or scale an opportunity. Out of habitual moments and experiences, he began to put his pencil to the parchment, drawing out a rough scale of some sort of ambush maneuver – though he was uncertain how they could implement it. They’d still need a draw, a lure. Others under cover. “What if,” the beast began, motioning his head up –
To witness a completely ridiculous reaction.
The indignation sparking and sizzling was perhaps the single-most irrational move he’d seen in a great while – and that was accounting for his years of leading the Basin. He stood, tall and mountainous in the wake of her illogical fury, absorbing the rage, the wrath, the contempt. Surrounded and pervaded by its incredulous endeavors, he remained completely indifferent, impassive, reticent features in a canvas of unattainable fathoms. And she could say what she wanted – she could blow and billow and unleash a tirade, but the fact remained, for all her statements, she hadn’t. She hadn’t used it. It still remained in his palm; soon to be eclipsed by the incantations of his fire. Essentially, moot, vanished, and gone. What could’ve been something productive hadn’t been – and he stared at her snarl, at her bizarre outrage, muffling a snort.
And apparently she wasn’t done, as one statement spurned and spiraled into another. An interesting turn and twist, considering he’d never accused her of lying. Only that he’d wanted the conflagrations to not be left dormant, to coincide with the destruction, to lend them aid in conquering the monsters.
Considering she had asked Kiada to accompany her, and she died – he left that unsaid for now.
There’d been no insinuation. There’d been no accusation. There’d only been verity and reality. And if she couldn’t face it, perhaps there were far, far bigger problems ahead than LongNight.
When she seemed finished, the rumble of his tones pierced back in – neutral, flat, apathetic. “A yes would have sufficed.” Yes; she’d use it. And the entire thing would’ve been over. Instead, the Wraith’s tirade launched and unfurled, and she was to the measure of cutting off her own nose to spite her face. “Hotaru would have loved nothing more than to see her power crackle across the land.” A burst of precision, might within the lightning expanse. Not to be caged, not to be shackled, not to be tethered, not to be locked and stowed away. But it didn’t matter now.
Instead, she had marred any attempts in her hysterics, the assumptions flaring wildly, inaccurately, and unjustified in their theatrics. So much that she’d rather not have any magical means, for this family she yearned to protect. “This is not about you. You will survive.” Wessex had endured far more grander scales; likely far more than any of them were truly aware. And she could live in a world where she believed everything and anything was against her, or she could pull her head out of the void and look around. Take a step back. “This is about the rest of them.” The ones who had to face the monsters, who didn’t have her depth of skills, powers, upgrades, or items. The ones who had to rampage their way across a void they didn’t want to harpoon through. The ones who weren’t killers. The ones who had found another way to survive, and followed the Voice straight back into damnation. “So you would prefer to spurn my willingness to aid you, and your brethren, for the sake of your pride.” Asinine and foolish, stupid and incredulous.
The Sword kept the crystal in his hand, giving her one last opportunity, one last moment, to dig herself out of the hole she’d made – and then he’d be done.
To witness a completely ridiculous reaction.
The indignation sparking and sizzling was perhaps the single-most irrational move he’d seen in a great while – and that was accounting for his years of leading the Basin. He stood, tall and mountainous in the wake of her illogical fury, absorbing the rage, the wrath, the contempt. Surrounded and pervaded by its incredulous endeavors, he remained completely indifferent, impassive, reticent features in a canvas of unattainable fathoms. And she could say what she wanted – she could blow and billow and unleash a tirade, but the fact remained, for all her statements, she hadn’t. She hadn’t used it. It still remained in his palm; soon to be eclipsed by the incantations of his fire. Essentially, moot, vanished, and gone. What could’ve been something productive hadn’t been – and he stared at her snarl, at her bizarre outrage, muffling a snort.
And apparently she wasn’t done, as one statement spurned and spiraled into another. An interesting turn and twist, considering he’d never accused her of lying. Only that he’d wanted the conflagrations to not be left dormant, to coincide with the destruction, to lend them aid in conquering the monsters.
Considering she had asked Kiada to accompany her, and she died – he left that unsaid for now.
There’d been no insinuation. There’d been no accusation. There’d only been verity and reality. And if she couldn’t face it, perhaps there were far, far bigger problems ahead than LongNight.
When she seemed finished, the rumble of his tones pierced back in – neutral, flat, apathetic. “A yes would have sufficed.” Yes; she’d use it. And the entire thing would’ve been over. Instead, the Wraith’s tirade launched and unfurled, and she was to the measure of cutting off her own nose to spite her face. “Hotaru would have loved nothing more than to see her power crackle across the land.” A burst of precision, might within the lightning expanse. Not to be caged, not to be shackled, not to be tethered, not to be locked and stowed away. But it didn’t matter now.
Instead, she had marred any attempts in her hysterics, the assumptions flaring wildly, inaccurately, and unjustified in their theatrics. So much that she’d rather not have any magical means, for this family she yearned to protect. “This is not about you. You will survive.” Wessex had endured far more grander scales; likely far more than any of them were truly aware. And she could live in a world where she believed everything and anything was against her, or she could pull her head out of the void and look around. Take a step back. “This is about the rest of them.” The ones who had to face the monsters, who didn’t have her depth of skills, powers, upgrades, or items. The ones who had to rampage their way across a void they didn’t want to harpoon through. The ones who weren’t killers. The ones who had found another way to survive, and followed the Voice straight back into damnation. “So you would prefer to spurn my willingness to aid you, and your brethren, for the sake of your pride.” Asinine and foolish, stupid and incredulous.
The Sword kept the crystal in his hand, giving her one last opportunity, one last moment, to dig herself out of the hole she’d made – and then he’d be done.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
