this is the reckoning
There were likely more insects and monstrous heathens he could’ve given name to, measures of the wicked, innocent, or something layered and lacquered in between. But the subject gave way to silence, and then shifted, predominantly across the mantle laden along his shoulders.
And he gave no judgement towards Noah and the question – he’d asked himself the same, deep within the figments of his Machiavellian mind. Not out of the morose notions that Morgan wouldn’t survive, but the quandaries, scenarios, enigmas, and angles, a mass of preparations always looming behind his eyes. Best to have the ideas already kindled and stoked, in case of the worst (because that happened in Caido, over and over and over again).
And he didn’t want it. He’d lived, immersed in power and demolition, amongst mountains before. He’d waged war and onslaughts and terror because other portions of voids had instigated the same upon them. He’d fought and fought and fought, breathed molten crescendos in the infernal keeps, and knew exactly what he’d become the moment another ominous beacon hovered over something he’d sworn to protect. No more Sword; but Reaper precision and disaster. Find someone willing and suitable, he answered, with the insect still on the ends of his muzzle.
Then return to barracks and General instruction, training, regimes, pursuits; live a life of shields and blades, instead of a position, a role, he feared and dreaded the most.
And he gave no judgement towards Noah and the question – he’d asked himself the same, deep within the figments of his Machiavellian mind. Not out of the morose notions that Morgan wouldn’t survive, but the quandaries, scenarios, enigmas, and angles, a mass of preparations always looming behind his eyes. Best to have the ideas already kindled and stoked, in case of the worst (because that happened in Caido, over and over and over again).
And he didn’t want it. He’d lived, immersed in power and demolition, amongst mountains before. He’d waged war and onslaughts and terror because other portions of voids had instigated the same upon them. He’d fought and fought and fought, breathed molten crescendos in the infernal keeps, and knew exactly what he’d become the moment another ominous beacon hovered over something he’d sworn to protect. No more Sword; but Reaper precision and disaster. Find someone willing and suitable, he answered, with the insect still on the ends of his muzzle.
Then return to barracks and General instruction, training, regimes, pursuits; live a life of shields and blades, instead of a position, a role, he feared and dreaded the most.
DEIMOS
