Designed for conquering and distortion, carved by ancient pariahs and unleashed upon the world in predacious splendor, carnivorous grandeur, he wasted no time in providing further unholy sedition, cruel insurrection. His piercing eyes caught the Glazier’s rear, and while the foe seemed to hope it would aid his pursuits, the deplorable, horrible Deimos opted to manipulate the rising motions to his advantage. He was not here to posture minute, swaying attacks, he had defied imprisonment to destroy, damn, and slaughter – with these aspirations came severe strokes of the condemned, the brutal, the licentious. He delved into rapid, quick movements, and noting the expanse of his enemy’s now open neck and chest, aimed to lacerate those vital areas. His long sword corresponded to his head tilt, embarking to slice along the left side of Lace’s torso, and angled a heinous ascent to continue its serrated journey across his nape. Amidst this chaotic indulgence, the adversary aimed a kick towards Deimos’s right front knee – he maneuvered the front of his body slightly to the left, but still felt the slight prick of a hit target grating against the side of the same knee. With the blistering heat along his right flank and the now dull, muted ache along his limb, he allowed one frustrated snort through his nostrils, one deep clench, twitch, of his jaw, to show, lament, his vexation, then continued onward in his chase for freedom and liberation. Arrogance unfettered, confidence assured, the unforgiving reel of his hushed reticence resumed, renewed, and was eager to possess.
He had no chance to be disappointed in another missed opportunity of additional savagery, a mere scratch to the guard’s forearm had not been what he’d had in mind, before his fellow combatant craved more violence. Lace came at him again, righteous fury invoked within rancorous ivories. The sinister swing of his chilling, blue gaze caught their augured sentiments, and before the enamel could puncture the essential organ, he shifted his face upwards. Instead of catching the desired mark, the opponent’s teeth snatched snippets of Deimos’s cheek, pulling away tufts of hair. The ache was momentary, not blinding or searing like his burn or muted like his knee; he was not concerned about handsome features being rendered less glorious. One’s pelt grew back, year after year, season after season - eyes did not.
Once more, his opponent attempted another strike upon his figure. A snap, a swift emblem of irritation and indignation (was he incensing this foe, driving his terror and menace deep into the recesses of his mind?) seemed to fill the core of Lace’s assault. Deimos shifted his hind to the left, evading the perilous juncture to his fetlock, and subsequently facing the Edge member’s left plane again. His mind crooned, pushing away the spellbinding pain of that simmering burn, rendering control, composure, collecting the immoral murmur of his wicked soul. Then, he began his surge. Daggers beat into the ground, right knee grumbling about the pressure and exertion, as he built a vicious, ferocious crescendo of movement, fleet and brisk, turbulence in the ravenous forest. His motions brought him toward the left side of Lace’s barrel, leveling his head with his target, driving a barbaric, monstrous onslaught to rupture, to puncture, to stab.
And all the while, he noticed the ivory lizard hovering in the sky, the pines, the glades – was it waiting for its damnation too?
[566 words. 3/4 + last defense post. 0/1 magic.
During Lace’s half-rear, Deimos uses this opportunity to try and slash at his opponent’s left side – his exposed chest and neck. He angles the front portion of his body slightly to the left to avoid the Lace’s kick, but is still nicked along the side of his right front knee. As Lace tries to bite at his eye, Deimos swings his head upward, avoiding the puncture of his gaze and allowing Lace to take a bit of hair from his cheek. He avoids Lace’s last kick to his rear right fetlock by shifting his hind to the left. Facing Lace’s left side, Deimos charges at Lace’s barrel with his horn in effort to puncture that area.]
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[JUDGE] instruments to plague us [challenge for freedom - lace]
