DEIMOS
If the world was as small as statements given, the Sword wished he wasn’t so ignorant of it all the time. Stupid. Foolish. Naïve. Learned and experienced and still constantly bewildered by something; even his own actions. But if Maeve didn’t want to touch upon the layers in between, where Reaper and Valkyrie had imminently sunken into their rage and vehemence, then he would. He’d cut through it like a knife. It scorched in his shoulders and launched through his chest, and the fires from before were only a low grumble by the time they left his throat, as his piercing eyes flickered down, staring at the ground. “I wanted to apologize for my actions upon Torchline. It was not meant to be against the land at all.” Not the ocean, not the sea, but when one was embedded with vitriol and malice, strung apart by emboldened, weighted contempt, the control could slip. The composure could shatter – and then there was only loathing. He could recall, so many moments thereafter, how often he’d told Hotaru they hadn’t been worth it. “Just him.” His spy ring. His little schemes planted everywhere. His reach and stretch across places. His blunders.
While Belial continued to reel along his grip, Deimos remained otherwise unmoved, watching as she picked up a stone. For a moment he wondered if she’d hurl it into the cavern’s entrance; fold it into the darkness, break apart the mystique. But she kept it in her palm instead, and he quirked a brow, head raising one more so that his gaze could sweep along the inky outset. There was nothing to be said of her curiosity, preferring action and movement. Zuriel snorted from his shoulder, and he stepped forward, turning over one palm so that flames erupted from it – its light exposing the entryway for what it was worth.
Pieces of bone on the floor; small, as if haphazardly placed. Perhaps they’d been offerings for whatever lurked within, once having meat and then thoroughly picked clean. Left for whatever carrion figures surged from the layers of these parts. He crouched down to study them, turning the bits over, but nothing of value spurred. Not a great omen.
While Belial continued to reel along his grip, Deimos remained otherwise unmoved, watching as she picked up a stone. For a moment he wondered if she’d hurl it into the cavern’s entrance; fold it into the darkness, break apart the mystique. But she kept it in her palm instead, and he quirked a brow, head raising one more so that his gaze could sweep along the inky outset. There was nothing to be said of her curiosity, preferring action and movement. Zuriel snorted from his shoulder, and he stepped forward, turning over one palm so that flames erupted from it – its light exposing the entryway for what it was worth.
Pieces of bone on the floor; small, as if haphazardly placed. Perhaps they’d been offerings for whatever lurked within, once having meat and then thoroughly picked clean. Left for whatever carrion figures surged from the layers of these parts. He crouched down to study them, turning the bits over, but nothing of value spurred. Not a great omen.
think about this
you have the ability to survive anything
you have the ability to survive anything
