07-31-2017, 03:04 PM
He moved with a rickety grace. A well-oiled machine that had seen better days. Instead he spluttered blood like oil as it dripped from all the different places on his body where there was a festering wound that never fully healed. Such power that had the ability to heal itself, to be contained in a pretty box of dark beauty… but instead was warped and twisted into something grotesque—mainly for effect, and with a sarcastic… almost arrogant look upon his face, he leveled his eyes upon the blue girl in front of him… much like a bruise, Thana was an inkstain upon the world… her fathers missed jizz shot that had missed and been accidently successful.
And yet, the words that she hisses as her delectable body slithers around him… he finds it intoxicating. She accuses him of being sterile…of being stagnant. Of hiding in the shadows. Because he does not play with them. Because he refuses to become them. And yet, the call has been sounded, and Deimos will answer it.
As much as it pains him to do so.
An age of languishing about in the dark, pouring his soul into nothing and finding that the return to glory was not nearly as exciting as he had imagined it to be…
It is true. Deimos is bored.
He wants to feel the grip of his wings scraping against flesh again. It was time to find Ouija and Giohde again.
And then, her voice turns whimsical… almost… happy. She looks at him, and asks him the question that nobody has asked him before, and his body goes rigid with the way she speaks. Tell me, Deimos - the adrenaline I feel, it is positively thrilling. Does it ever dull?
His wings, they thrum with excitement, the tendrils of his membranes bristling with motion. Feeling that old fire finally start burning within the seat of his belly. “No. no it does not. Once you’ve tasted death, you will do whatever you can to feel that way again.”
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
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