There were always successes and there were always failures in battle. Deimos had come to realize this many times in his cataclysmic, warrior life, when maneuvers seemed plausible and just, and when their motions spiraled, careened, into nothingness. An assault could wind up favorable, but anything thereafter could be disastrous – he couldn’t control everything, just the unfurling mayhem of his own brushstrokes. His first siege upon chest and neck didn’t land precisely where he’d wanted, but he would take the puncture of ribs and shoulder again, rather than naught but air and sky. It was his next attack, the charge toward Lace’s barrel, which left something to be desired.
As he tore into the earth, the ground beneath him changed, altered, and he remembered exploding powder, burning sensations along his limbs, the careening, swift act of evasion as Ricochet threw his strange dirt at his feet. Did Lace contain that unholy magic too? The memory was enough to send him skyward, rearing, aborting the charge and stab, to avoid the taste of gunpowder floating into his mouth – but nay, it hadn’t been that blasted, barbaric dirt. Rugged, jagged roots pulsed, erupting, from the soil, had been careening towards his chest, hoping to impale his flesh. He turned left as he came back down so that the wood wouldn’t graze against his skin and nearly allowed a swift smirk to cross his face. Perhaps Lace was a smarter creature that he’d taken him for. His distraction had worked, unraveling Deimos’s rushing puncture. The balance of battle and warfare: success in avoiding being run through, failure in not being able to accomplish his own strike.
There weren’t any other opportunities to document the moment, for Lace wasted no time in crashing back into the beast’s left. His knee was not smarting enough to quaver over the assault; he kept his weight firm and balanced as the Glazier attempted to mow him down. He felt the tangle of ivories again along his pelt, drifting over hide across his left hip. This prompted his motions to the right, angling his hind away from the further bombardments by the Glazier, and all the while escaping the tides of Lace’s march upon his rear cannon bone. He didn’t reel too far away, didn’t flee from the close proximity, for the ferocity of his finale brewed within the decadent core of his satanic glory.
Devilish toils brushed against the layers of enchantments curled along his bones, muscles and veins, humming, pulsing, with the vibrant mayhem of mortality and immorality. In the chaotic silence, they unfurled their rapturous decay, their corrupt, depraved bedlam - slinking, serpentine vespers of hushed death crawling across his sinew and unleashed into the world before him. They were beguiling eventuality, perpetual anarchy, the alluring, ensnaring grasp of life suffocated and destroyed. Would the Glazier fear the stroke of demise, courting at his lungs, reeling at his soul? Would his companion sink again, as it had that day he’d struck the lizard with the same nefarious necromancy? Would the trees shake, quiver, and fall to their doom, incapable of escaping the inevitable? He reached into the beating crescendo of annihilation and allowed it to sidle over the kingdom before him – to the Glazier near his side, to the walls of forest enclosing their battlefield, to the dragon floating along the canopy. He aimed for destruction and carved a niche in its illustrious scabbard, waited as life was stolen from roots, from trunks, from trees, listened to their crackling void as they began to descend, as he finally immersed the world in his wicked supremacy. Several queries postured across his licentious mind, but only one ultimately culminated within his brow. How does one avoid death?
[620 words. 4/4 + last defense post. 1/1 magic.
Deimos aborts his entire charging attack as Lace uses his magic to raise the wood underneath his chest and impale him. To avoid this impalement, Deimos rears up, and turns to the left. As Lace crashes into his body, he maintains firm, secure balance by remaining completely upright. Lace bites his left hip, but Deimos uses this moment to turn to the right, slipping away from the mark across his cannon bone.
Deimos then uses the close proximity to the Glazier to unleash his death magic. He extends it towards not only Lace, but also his companion and the nearby trees. The trees (3-4), having been sucked of their life, also begin to crash down towards them.]
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[JUDGE] instruments to plague us [challenge for freedom - lace]
