11-30-2016, 05:43 AM
Deimos was a sad pile of shit.
He surrendered to the magic that burned at this wretched body of his, and as the thick black blood pumped through his dark veins, he found that he was able to stand upon his own hooves, a thundering sound cracking the earth as they sunk deep into the dirt. And yet, as he pulled further into himself, the heat from his useless heart rattling around inside him, he was still but a collapsed wreck from the man he had used to be. Fire-red eyes that seemed to glow showed from beneath a cloak--a thick tangled mass of black hair that was too long and unkempt shadowed his face. He had never cared for the pleasantries of basic hygeine, but the stench that wafted from him and that weakness he felt were both intolerable to him. He sniffed, the smell of a warm body staining his nostrils with the victim's blood.
Power.
Sleeping power, but power nonetheless. And so he followed it.
Like a thick smog that wound its way between the trees, Deimos rolled forward like the tank he used to remember. A foreboding stench came before him, and as he approached Ruan...he smelled something that made him stop for just a moment. Just a wrinkle in time, and a joker's smile pasted on his face as he realized his quarry. Reagan. That wench that he devoured all those years ago was back, just as he was, and had taken this poor sap. Little did he know...
With a roar that sounded like an engine, Deimos materializes out of the smoke and growls, fangs dripping with black blood as he goes after Ruan with a vengeance. Need drives him, and he covers Ruan, black hooves coming from seemingly nowhere as they attempt to knock the purple spotted one to the ground. Ambush had never been Deimos' modus operandi, but there were other things at work here. A need for revenge.
A need for an old foe to remember...
But he had been given a charge by the fairies, and Deimos was nothing if not obedient--when it suited him. And Deimos without his magic was worth nothing. He knows this. "I shall do you a favor, Ruan," he says, a cold, dark voice coming as an echo that rattles the trunks around them both. "When you go back to her, intact, you tell her that I said hello, won't you? There's a good boy."
Ripping the wings from Ruan's back, Deimos affixes them to his own hollowed out body. white feathers splay forward, the feathers falling away and withering into ash, the bones turning black with char as the flesh is warped and rendered around them like fingers putting on a leather glove. Talons appear and grapple outward towards Ruan, but do not have the clearance to grab at flesh. Unsated, they make their way to Deimos side, the scars stitching themselves together hastily--white marks to signify the gash of where they have been ripped and torn before...Before... Those days were long gone now.
"Thank you for the gift, and now, one of my own---courtesy of those wretched fairies..." And with a kick to the gut, Deimos restores Ruan with his ability to work the ice, to play with it like his bitch, or whatever suits his fancy. Deimos does not care. His only goal--to remind them that he is back.
And he is coming for them.
He surrendered to the magic that burned at this wretched body of his, and as the thick black blood pumped through his dark veins, he found that he was able to stand upon his own hooves, a thundering sound cracking the earth as they sunk deep into the dirt. And yet, as he pulled further into himself, the heat from his useless heart rattling around inside him, he was still but a collapsed wreck from the man he had used to be. Fire-red eyes that seemed to glow showed from beneath a cloak--a thick tangled mass of black hair that was too long and unkempt shadowed his face. He had never cared for the pleasantries of basic hygeine, but the stench that wafted from him and that weakness he felt were both intolerable to him. He sniffed, the smell of a warm body staining his nostrils with the victim's blood.
Power.
Sleeping power, but power nonetheless. And so he followed it.
Like a thick smog that wound its way between the trees, Deimos rolled forward like the tank he used to remember. A foreboding stench came before him, and as he approached Ruan...he smelled something that made him stop for just a moment. Just a wrinkle in time, and a joker's smile pasted on his face as he realized his quarry. Reagan. That wench that he devoured all those years ago was back, just as he was, and had taken this poor sap. Little did he know...
With a roar that sounded like an engine, Deimos materializes out of the smoke and growls, fangs dripping with black blood as he goes after Ruan with a vengeance. Need drives him, and he covers Ruan, black hooves coming from seemingly nowhere as they attempt to knock the purple spotted one to the ground. Ambush had never been Deimos' modus operandi, but there were other things at work here. A need for revenge.
A need for an old foe to remember...
But he had been given a charge by the fairies, and Deimos was nothing if not obedient--when it suited him. And Deimos without his magic was worth nothing. He knows this. "I shall do you a favor, Ruan," he says, a cold, dark voice coming as an echo that rattles the trunks around them both. "When you go back to her, intact, you tell her that I said hello, won't you? There's a good boy."
Ripping the wings from Ruan's back, Deimos affixes them to his own hollowed out body. white feathers splay forward, the feathers falling away and withering into ash, the bones turning black with char as the flesh is warped and rendered around them like fingers putting on a leather glove. Talons appear and grapple outward towards Ruan, but do not have the clearance to grab at flesh. Unsated, they make their way to Deimos side, the scars stitching themselves together hastily--white marks to signify the gash of where they have been ripped and torn before...Before... Those days were long gone now.
"Thank you for the gift, and now, one of my own---courtesy of those wretched fairies..." And with a kick to the gut, Deimos restores Ruan with his ability to work the ice, to play with it like his bitch, or whatever suits his fancy. Deimos does not care. His only goal--to remind them that he is back.
And he is coming for them.