To be united within the parlors of his home again meant protection, devotion, loyalty, the cruel fixation of his insouciant travels, enamoring the foul, wicked damnation of his distinct, harsh revolution upon the earth, again and again. Terror and horror drifted through the arts of machinations and despair, twisted into the foundations of distorted calamity, incensing dread, invoking fear. He choked, he strangled and he suffocated, malicious and menacing, conjuring demise amongst the wicked doldrums of a scintillating, seditious din. He marched into the clamor of destruction and allured, beguiled, the quiet, hushed essence of slaughter, stealing the last chords of breath from an impromptu finale. Severe, savage and brutal, he slunk, slithered, amongst the bramble of cold mountain air and chilling reveries, stealing, absconding, pilfering the lavished finery and applying it to the villainous threads of his apathetic grandeur. He slid along foundations of bestial horizon and crooned heinous predilection, the scent of another, a trespasser, wavering and wandering along the grounds of his warlord possession. The walls would not stand for intruders, interlopers, caressing and cavalcading across the grounds of their heretic, irreverent bliss, their villainous convictions mauled and muted by some roaming encroacher. He’d intercepted the foolish, the weak, the ignorant before, embroiled their hides in his infernal wrath, slaughtered and condemned their souls with his silent, quaking ire, devoured and annihilated their entities with his arduous destruction. He’d watched as they lay dying along the floor, prospered further wreckage as their lungs quivered, as their bodies shook, as their veins cooled. Is that what this creature sought, the eternal quietus, the everlasting melancholy of his meticulous calculations, of his patient, consuming indifference? His sinuous design stroked inaudible thrums of obliteration, the barbaric opus of his puissant prowess, beating an archaic requiem of menacing, withering enamel along the chilled earth; the vivid, barbarous song of the depraved.
When Deimos arrived to the aperture of snow, ice and exotic expanse, there the stranger was, nestled amongst the muffled, faint motions of the aurora, a waiting, listless fool. What was to be her fatal flaw, idiocy, ignorance, divine reverence to some newfound god, some glorious hope, a wandering, tedious salvation? Would she induct them to the hallowed halls of justice and let vengeance seep through their veins? Would she vow to deliver them to sanctity if they turned over a new leaf? Or did she long for her suffering to be extinguished, for her melancholy to be stolen and discarded, aligned to the contorted sculpture of obliteration? He gave the blue and gilded femme, a new guard he’d plucked from the Threshold himself, a noteworthy, respectable nod, an inclination of distinction – she’d defended her harem against this audacious clod. Then, he advanced upon the draft. He weaved devil’s motion and movement, barbaric and ensnaring, a chosen offering of ferocious, gruesome insurrection, the violent, brutal predatory hauntings of a raptorial soul. Intimidating, vexing, overwhelming, the eldritch, otherworldly countenance of a frozen, apathetic soul captured his features, rendered them inscrutable, unreadable, while the hastening ruthlessness of his voice chided, echoed, demanded. “State the purpose of your arrival.”
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