who we are and all that we're trying to be
The silence, at this iteration, was telling; she’d taken the hint. No other baiting rise to motion or unfurling, and the monolith was allowed to solidify straight into his techniques, rather than raise hackles and brandish hatred. Besides, she seemed to be acquiring the weight of his measure, the strength behind his movements, as she leapt back.
He gave her a singular arch of his brow again, before everything else rounded back together.
She adjusted her stance, her motions, and he watched, waiting for another opportunity. Deimos matched her movement, maneuvering to catch, to snag, to take, to brandish, to absorb, rather than be slashed apart. He’d had enough of that in the passing days. Once more, his blade took the hit aimed for his side, listening to the clash of steel, iron forged and forged again. Only this time, he intended to drop the armament slightly, to slide the sword beneath hers, and towards her navel. A challenge, simply to see what she would do.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
