Deimos was undeterred by the coming of the ramblings of a religious fanatic. He snarls, pushing back with his wings, dislodging himself from her, leaning back with his front hoof, allowing his talons to grasp full the tender flesh of Raeg’n’s body. They pulse and thrum with satisfaction, and when Death lowers his wings—what a fitting epithet—the blizzard stops and the fog breaks. He eyes Kilter, his gravelly voice finally breaking the silence that has moved in from the dull roar of the wind until now. Raeg’n is forgotten—her presence here is of no consequence. Just another holistic bitch on a crusade.
Nothing more.
“Pangea boy. A home, if you want it.” He spits the word home. This is not his forte. Deimos is normally in the business of breaking souls, than he is of building them up again. But Kilter is useful—more so than he knows. “But do not make me ask you again. Normally I would be digging your grave and dancing upon it. Do not look a charity horse in the mouth.”
Only then does he turn to the little girl on the floor, making snow angels here in the forest. The son of Mars smiles darkly, intent on his quarry—his mind knowing that she wanted him in a way that made her quaint, perfect, virgin little thighs tremble with wontonness. The Hussy. He knew it.
She knew it.
She hated it.
And so, Keeping in mind what Kilter had asked, Deimos reaches down to where the blue girl lay in the snow, and picks her up by the withers…. Placing a sever bite below her hairline. She bleeds blue blood, and Deimos smiles. “Mine” he says with a smirk.
“Will Heaven want you now that you have been marked by the Devil?”
He does not turn away from her, but throws his voice back to the boy. “She comes with us.”
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
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