DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Alone; and at peace with the solitude. Deimos had spent years of intentional isolation – in and amongst his emotions, his plots, his schemes, well before arriving in Caido, and had since then been surrounded by individuals, dramatics, and his own interplay of hellish foundations. No companions, left at home to watch over the barracks, no friends near, nothing and no one to bother, he’d be permitted to at least settle in amongst the doldrums and contemplate his next course of actions.
Which he might’ve actually done, had a string of curses not volleyed and buoyed around the atmosphere. He paused for a moment in his direction, brow furrowing, then arching, but with the fog and mist distorting decibels, sounds, and nuances, the monolith couldn’t properly navigate where or who it was coming from. If it was a threat. If it was something else entirely.
Within a breath, the Sword hastened and parted the labyrinthine qualities of the mist, contorting the Air mastery with ease, watching and waiting for something, someone, to appear through the proportions.
What he didn’t expect to find was Nate of all people, along another portion of the embankments, yards upon yards away, fending off a sudden deluge of what appeared to be very brightly hued flies.
Deimos couldn’t help it. He laughed. It was so absurd and so stupid and so ridiculous that there was a moment of amusement contorted through his chest, exuding out over the rest of the billowing, murky haze. Between everything else occurring, including the recent news of Ru’s involvement with the latest Torchline drama, he wouldn’t know how to best approach the newest Voice demigod. So perhaps a round of exuberance was necessary. Eventually, when he could cease for a second to actually speak, the beast rumbled out a call over the void. “Problem?”
Which he might’ve actually done, had a string of curses not volleyed and buoyed around the atmosphere. He paused for a moment in his direction, brow furrowing, then arching, but with the fog and mist distorting decibels, sounds, and nuances, the monolith couldn’t properly navigate where or who it was coming from. If it was a threat. If it was something else entirely.
Within a breath, the Sword hastened and parted the labyrinthine qualities of the mist, contorting the Air mastery with ease, watching and waiting for something, someone, to appear through the proportions.
What he didn’t expect to find was Nate of all people, along another portion of the embankments, yards upon yards away, fending off a sudden deluge of what appeared to be very brightly hued flies.
Deimos couldn’t help it. He laughed. It was so absurd and so stupid and so ridiculous that there was a moment of amusement contorted through his chest, exuding out over the rest of the billowing, murky haze. Between everything else occurring, including the recent news of Ru’s involvement with the latest Torchline drama, he wouldn’t know how to best approach the newest Voice demigod. So perhaps a round of exuberance was necessary. Eventually, when he could cease for a second to actually speak, the beast rumbled out a call over the void. “Problem?”
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
