Rage, maybe rage would lift me up
The Sword quite enjoyed the chasing of prey; a haunting outcry and return to Reaper tendencies long, long before, in another life and another time. As if they were the condemned, brought to slaughter beneath his demolition. As if they were those who’d threatened his land, and he’d come to return the favor. As if they were lingering adversaries, enemies and heathens where he’d sought eternal revenge. A very fiendish sort of glee settled over him as he dashed again, as he watched another fall from his viewpoint under the undulation of waves, satisfied, content, before going to intercept the other scattered remnants.
How many more do you want? interrupted the chaotic semblances for half a moment, enough human left in him to consider and contemplate, before returning to the carnivore wakes. The two that had escaped Cordelia’s arrows had grown even more frantic up ahead, maybe tired, maybe already exhausted, from their panicked flights and leaps. Several times they returned to the tides, and in each turn he snapped his jaws and promised condemnation; and they’d rise, but lower and lower and lower, flaps growing weaker, pivotal points closer and closer.
How many more do you want? interrupted the chaotic semblances for half a moment, enough human left in him to consider and contemplate, before returning to the carnivore wakes. The two that had escaped Cordelia’s arrows had grown even more frantic up ahead, maybe tired, maybe already exhausted, from their panicked flights and leaps. Several times they returned to the tides, and in each turn he snapped his jaws and promised condemnation; and they’d rise, but lower and lower and lower, flaps growing weaker, pivotal points closer and closer.
DEIMOS
