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08-22-2013, 04:49 PM
Deimos lived for destruction, molded monster malevolence into abhorrence, into still, rancorous knives, into thunderous requiems and laments of enlightened ruins, waking from the pebbles and sinew of their open wounds, of their fallen flesh. He relished the shaking of bones, the whimpering and screams of moralities sundered, of ghosts scouring and scarring stitched fortifications, obliteration stretching from his bestial scythe into the blemished horizon. Sliding halos whispering the pernicious plunge of their divinity, of their virtue, stained and torn by the Reaper’s mottled rapier, blood-sodden cutlass, the devilish decrees haunting labyrinthine corridors, the entangled maze of his actions, sentiments and emotions. Thriving on persecution, boiling, incensed, invoked candor yearning for the taste, the ambrosia, of decadent annihilation, courting his munitions until they languished their avaricious, twisted desires, distorted, devilish dreams dominating callous, glacial motions of a behemoth unraveled. He’d absconded, he’d plucked, he’d devastated, and would do it over and over again, damage, disfigure, watch as the world burned, seethed, and smoldered beneath his voracious, insatiable ardors. He’d push creatures off cliffs, he’d ensnare their propriety, he’d drive, assault, grind and harpoon until their demise was a mere hum over the spectral plains, until they disappeared into the nocturnal reverie and he’d begin his search for another victim again. The battle within the Throat only plagued, made him ache for more sedition, insurrection, revolution pervading his veins, an iniquitous oeuvre carved by satanic rapacity. A witness to damnation invoked, conjured, by his mere presence, regarding the faltering, the stumbling, the fall of another, all by his silent opus, all by his savage conducting, his brutal composing – he yearned for more of the triumph, the barbarity, the atrocious hymns cresting over his ears. Screeches turned to harmonies, pleas churned to merciless bounties, the battleground became his home again, assaults and sieges like the stroke, the touch, the caress of Mephistopheles praising his bold disciple. Were he able to return, to carve his heinous disregard, to strike, to devastate, he’d promise, he’d pledge, he’d assure to pillage, ravage and leave their world as forlorn, as desolate, as his wicked, devious heart.
Yet, he wasn’t permitted. The stings of the theater of war, of the dias, of the stage he’d played master upon, complemented the unraveling of fortitudes; motions rendered stiff, unyielding, muscles bound in bruising effects. Not enough to summon a healer, for his prowess, audacity and pride didn’t dare to herald medics, menders or nurses, but certainly a drawing length of vexation tracing over his cranium. Barbs of a Pegasus’s wrath, slams, recoils and bites, ferocious, stinging, but not the same ailments he’d made upon her own hide (stars in the muck, mire, of quiet, sullied, stolen ichor, life laying in the dust, dusk and sand of her home, entombed, garroted, gallowed, awaiting consciousness to roll back into the whites of her eyes). The necromancer followed the frigid lines of his home, his kingdom, his empire, sketched laborious movements over moonlight and shadow, absorbed his mind, his facets, his features, into the din of darkness, and paid careful heed to the spring’s vestal melting. The scent of the hot springs, the beast’s intended destination, ushered his labored frame forth, and he stepped gingerly into its embrace, unwinding in slow, deliberate machinations. The distorted warmth of the water (was there another time, another place, where the element graced his resolve, ruminations and ardency?) glided over his frame as a tender hold, unfamiliar, crooning in an assuaging abomination, causing the slightest form of relaxation, the softest snort to exude from his nares, brows unraveling from their nonchalant expression. An offered, brooding contentment, breathing and bleeding into his Tartarean guile, his infernal artifices, from triumph, from conquest, and from the treacherous gloaming drowning his barbaric body into its lacerated animosity.
