Bellicose, belligerent and brutal, he was a tempest, a gale, an inferno, searing shadows, callously twisting, distorting, annihilating, the grind of humanity into demise, into quietus, into disintegration. Morality extinguished, leaving only the taut cords and sinew of villainy, irreverence and corruption, and as he sinuously stepped along the veiled eaves, he harpooned the deliverance of rectitude and ethics. He watched the world wither around him, decaying plumes dragged to their murky doldrums, slithering fronds atrophied, then perished, and as a particular scent carried upon the cool wind, he yearned for another to meet the Reaper’s scythe. The monster recalled the mare, drifting amongst the Edge in ignorance, draped in audacity and obliviousness, coiled in the reverie of the naïve and inane. Was he being offered another opportunity to choke and smother her in her own vapid noose? Was he being bestowed the chance to unravel her further, to drown her in the wake of turmoil, torture and anarchy again? Could he desecrate her serenity, annihilate her livelihood? The brief moment of longing, of bloodshed, of mayhem and turbulence, died alongside the flora and fauna; other scents followed, banked by Basin and Foothills redolence, and he would not be permitted to commit murder under some strangely ominous diplomacy order. Deimos was not one for statesmanship, his sovereignty was placed in realms of bedlam, assailments and assaults, but he would be present amongst the faction, as witness, as potential executioner. He followed the trace of smells lingering in the cold, touched, lavished, varnished the earth with his condemning motions, and only when he came upon the gathered, poised Basin Phantoms, Ophelia and some other draft soul, did he cease all movement. The refined poet laureate of desolation, of rigor, of puissance, of pernicious, antagonistic prowess, drew the lifeless hymns of his nonchalant exterior. He said nothing, because his stance, his figure, his countenance displayed the entirety of his existence, of his presence: portended, presaged, and augured menace, malice. Silent, unsung loathing curled amongst his stare, piercing, puncturing, registering solely upon the ivory femme; waiting for the purpose of this affair.
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[O] Confirmation [Roland/Arah/Archi/Psyche + others]
