He lived for brutality, for savagery, for the heinous barbarity of combat and warfare. This devotion to havoc, to conflict and chaos, hummed in his veins, pulsed in his muscles, breathed and crooned in the steady beat of his figure. He relished the domination and distortion, the supremacy and the callous contortions of his ruthlessness, layered his meticulous whims into the concentration of strategic motions, feeling no need to embark on the feelings of others. He remained in his chilling composition, paid no heed to the ache of his foe, too wicked, nonchalant and reserved, so even when his sword broke flesh upon the Glazier’s shoulder, he didn’t alter these insouciant sentiments. An everlasting warrior, Deimos would have time to appreciate and reflect upon the rapture of his assaults after the skirmish ended, when the bearing of his captivity was either prolonged or dislodged. His attention was focused upon overwhelming his opponent, on massacre, on annihilation, on crossing the plains of his prison and arriving back at the Aurora gates.
While one of his moves had made a mark, the other did not. Swerving amongst their duel, Lace had avoided the kick, and now crossed into closer proximity with the terrible, infidel beast. The latter didn’t have time or opportunity to avoid Lace’s first calculated siege, a sudden, winding burn tossed against his right flank that seared, scorched, his hide. The only thing Deimos could remark upon, in cold, darkened humor, was that, at the very least, the fire-breathing Glazier lacked Ricochet’s exploding powder. He’d been burned before, and neither instance was entirely pleasant or one he wished to repeat. The rapid blistering sensation caused him to swing his hind to the left, intending to dodge further infernal collisions. In this swift motion, he managed to abstain from his opponent’s flying feet.
Ah, there laid opportunity in this torrid calamity, in this vile, ignited haze. His devilish calculations and villainous machinations opted to use that venue as another moment to assault and slay. Despite the throbbing, smoldering wound laden upon his haunch, the heathen barreled onward, hoping to catch his foe off-balance as Lace tossed his heels. He charged from the left again, longing to exploit the Glazier’s injured shoulder on the right, holding naught back from his remorseless, cruel movements. Using his brute force, he aimed to ram his right side into Lace’s left, yearning to prolong the agony of prior wounds, craving the unwinding sensation of his supremacy, aching for apprehension and agitation to flicker into the Edge member’s mind. Would he fall? Would he cave? Or would he continue, carving further onslaught, suffering for his herd?
After the ram, Deimos twisted his cranium downwards again, hoping to apply his elongated, lustrous horn to ensue further damage upon vital portions of the adversary’s body. Still close, still near, he swung the gifted sword in a winding arch, longing to cascade it in a vicious slash down the length of Lace’s left shoulder.
[494 words. 2/4 + last defense post. 0/1 magic.
Taking the burn from the fire-breathing Lace upon his right flank, Deimos swings his hind to the left, avoiding the Glazier’s kick. Despite the pain that inflicts his side, he uses this opportunity to charge at Lace once more, aiming to ram his body into the foe’s left side. After this siege, he also swings his cranium downward in order to use his horn in a long, swinging, slashing arch along Lace’s left shoulder.]
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[JUDGE] instruments to plague us [challenge for freedom - lace]
