you will be gold and gold again

DEIMOS

the resurrected sword

Was it a bit nefarious to miss the archaic, sinister tactics of old? To be the monster in the shadows? To be the fabled Reaper, stalking the pathways of darkness, intimidating the world with his hostility, tenacity, and silence? Were there moments where he wished he could return to those figments and segments, all lost, all shattered, along the way? It would be a lie to say sometimes he yearned and craved the vehemence and violence, the austere, blunt, curt means of achieving their goals, for letting other worlds fall apart, down around them, while they remained tall, strong, and determined. And perhaps some proportions would always be there, a permanent fixture in their bones, but gods sometimes all he wanted to do was render enemies apart; split them bone by bone, ash by ash, cinder by cinder.

Even if they were just stupid effigies; it could be moments where not everything was lost.

His smile was all demonic entities and juvenile tactics; devilry barely contained. “I suppose we could take a beach day.” And wreak havoc in the meantime, without ever approaching Sunjata and Nate’s corridors.

Or setting it ablaze – a suggestion he didn’t offer, despite all the angles of temptation.

And then on a sigh, probably for both of them, he uttered with a sage nod, a genuine smile. “It will be okay.” For what and for who and for why, it didn’t really matter.

under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed