Menace and malice sang to him, called and heralded his barbaric frame, the only song that could be uttered across his ears, the quietus, the opus, of desecration and devastation. The lad turned man, facing the world with brutality lined upon his shoulders, with the encompassing canvas of fire and brimstone, of anarchy, of mayhem, must have crooned the same chords. Strung by gallows, taut, rigid, chaotic membranes resting until upheaval, until calamity, until bedlam was augured, portended, lamented and yearned, the fatal press of their insurrection, their carnage, their cadaverous pursuits. Friction, grinding, unwinding, pulsing and pervading until there was naught left but the finality, the demise, the rapture and reverie of demolition, obliteration, desecration. Feverish, intoxicating, lush, lavished, heathenous declarations; he listened to each and every word, the begging for entry, the layers of acceptance pleading, demanding, commanding, and he wondered just how far he could push the stag. Could he blend into the corridors of chaos, the callous distortions of their abhorrence, their contempt, their loathing, their abomination? Could he discard frivolous antics, could he combine strength into sinew, destroy foes, conquer enemies, vanquish and deride scorn? Could he breathe intimidation, could he whisper terror, could he bend beneath the wake of their anarchy, twist into blackguard, soldier, warrior and pariah? His severe stare studied, analyzed and calculated, wove machinations into stratagems, wiles and tactics, and only drifted back to the femme when she began spitting her venom.

Her asp hide, her toxic doldrums and her spewing vitriol were a grating nuisance. Perhaps she sought approval, a nuance of fleeting glimpses, bestowals of pride and charity, a recommended launching of strength rendered to the next in power and possession. Unfortunately for her, she received nothing from his frame but the begrudging slate of his titles, fulfilling the candor of her ignorance with his deep, resonating enmity and rancor. “Deimos, General.” He then dismissed her from his thoughts completely, no longer obliging inexperience and unfamiliarity. It was the stag that summoned him from the shadows, and it was the same brute he’d examine and survey, ponder over the wake of a vicious change, and if the savagery, the cruelty, was truly layered beneath the scars. His mouth parted once more, an uncommon occurrence, to unleash the harsh potency of his voice, the chilling, glacial, nonchalant features bristling and unraveling, chaos craving companions, ferocity fueling fervor. “What have you learned?”