DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
The damage had long since been done – and the Sword held no trust for the Flood. Not after multitudes of incidents, not after a multitude of choices that segmented in death and delusion. So to anyone else, the statement might have seemed genuine, the Old God name thrown out there so the General might be a bit more compliant. But he’d lived here for too long, had embarked amidst and amongst too many manipulative means, to not remain skeptical and dismissive of Sunjata’s antics.
His head tilted, still predator, still carnivore, still an infernal beast brewing with power and might; the dangerous, piercing slate of his eyes pinpointed straight upon the demigod. “And will this quest also benefit the Voice?” Connections embossed with Nate, with the Ascended who’d marched straight into Stormbreak and drove Towers downward, who’d flown into Halo on the wings of his dragon shift – the speculations were rampant. Because he wouldn’t be lending out any of his skills, any of his incantations, in that wake any longer.
His head tilted, still predator, still carnivore, still an infernal beast brewing with power and might; the dangerous, piercing slate of his eyes pinpointed straight upon the demigod. “And will this quest also benefit the Voice?” Connections embossed with Nate, with the Ascended who’d marched straight into Stormbreak and drove Towers downward, who’d flown into Halo on the wings of his dragon shift – the speculations were rampant. Because he wouldn’t be lending out any of his skills, any of his incantations, in that wake any longer.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
