The battle continued on its bewildering stages, for Deimos’ first attack missed in a strange, altering collision, finding his right side beleaguered by her frame (now morphed; back into how rumors and hearsay claimed she appeared, barely larger than himself), thrown slightly off-balance, scraping against stone and rubble, confused as to how she’d managed to cross paths so quickly. Another game? Another trick? Is that how she’d secured the Impersonator and her twins? Through snares? Through duplicity? Where he’d wanted to pierce and puncture, he only felt air, no flesh, no sinew. The disappointment caused him to clench his teeth, harpoon layers and layers of frustration back into his chest. It would need to be fuel, kindling, for the continuing onslaught.
But lord, how the monster wanted to defeat her. How he wanted to scour her bones and leave them dry, bleached, in the sun. How he wanted to devastate every inch of her soul until it simply vanished, gone, sunken into ruin and disaster. She’d started all of their malice, all of their menace – if she’d left them alone, the Basin wouldn’t constantly have to challenge her, wouldn’t feel harassed, wouldn’t be left wanton and abhorrent (and then the guilt ran through his veins – because he remembered how many times they’d tried to save Arah and her twins, the feeling of failure when they had to escape on their own, and the tortures etched across their bodies; he should have been able to protect them…).
The wrath surged all the more, along his muscles, unwinding in his flesh, as she composed one more ruse: apparitions. As if one Confutatis, some rotting, disgusting wench, wasn’t enough, she’d managed to obtain over a dozen of the infidel creations, stuffing them all unceremoniously into the marble rotunda, lining the ground with their seething, disturbing nuances. He stood, motionless and staring, absorbing the massive amount of infidels storming the building, for a matter of moments, calculating, surveying, wondering how on earth she was able to form these deceptions and tactics constantly (was there another in the midst; a companion he was unaware of? Were they capable of administering these techniques? If so, it’d be another object he’d have to find and destroy.).
One cold machination yearned to simply coat the entire sanction in death, leave it lacquered in demise, so that each fabrication felt his wrath, felt his ferocity, could wither and falter into the floor, leaving only their craven mistress, shirking behind a fallen comrade.
The whispers, the croons, of the satanic ministrations drummed within him in a seething opus, crowding and brooding, brewing and caressing-
But then, there was a striking, demonic foil bolstered against his right side, like the most violent of caresses, and he nearly folded over, stumbling forward at the feeling of its rage, trying to get away from the choking, strangling, suffocating fringes; he dared not look at the withering portions of his skin along his shoulder, struggling to repair, to mend, while the sinew crumbled, leaving only open wounds and flesh. His body shuddered and rippled at the violent claws, at the seething peels, and in some sort of savage, sinister display, his sorcery took over for its possessor, unfurled and unraveled every sanction of his rancorous, vehement haze. Eldritch and menacing, disquieting and unholy, it burst from the crispest, blackest part of his soul, pervading, permeating, surrounding, and filling the halls with its deadly wake, seeking out each and every doppelganger (and perhaps that hidden companion, waiting in the wings?), each and every piece of stone, aiming to destroy, to plunge death and misery and demise back into the squall.
[2/4. 605 words.
OOC Note: I was very confused on the direction changes, since Deimos was going towards Confutatis’ left in his horn attack, and suddenly Confutatis was on his right. I have responded as Confutatis changing to the right in my post.
Presuming the doppelgangers are another ruse, Deimos decides to use his death magic. While getting ready, he is hit by Confutatis’ rot magic on his right side (specifically right shoulder). Painful and choking, the skin along his shoulder begins to rot away, withering down into open wounds and flesh. His death magic takes over, seeking to fill the entire rotunda with its touch (hopefully including the doppelgangers and unknown, unseen companion).]
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[JUDGED] We're Comfortable Killers [Confutatis Challenge]
