12-04-2016, 06:18 AM
He can sense it.
Like a rabid, ravenous animal it takes over the world and plunges outwards--seeking the warmth of bodies nearby. He sees the child blink, his wings thrust in front of his face as even Deimos leans away from it. Looking on, his laughter is replaced by anger, and a vague sense of disgust. Her scales seem to shimmer, even with the low light, and he realizes, she is barely--unconciously--not even scratching the surface of her power. His lip curls, and he stalls his movements, his wings wishing to grasp at his granddaughter's neck. Twist and snap the problem... Make it go away. Deimos calms his wings, however, and they rest at his side, shifting with great agitation. "Death did not want me. Hell could not contain me. If you wish to know the base of my existence, ask those dear old fairies that seem to follow us around. What they were able to do for me was the best thing of my life. But what they did to you--" he pauses, his eyes widening slightly seeing the boils starting to crawl up Harmonia's leg, almost as if she was unaware of what was happening to her. He trembles.
Fear?
No, Couldn't be.
"How could you unleash that thing upon the world?!" he says, spitting his distaste for the boils that were crawling up his own leg, reaching up out of the earth like a dead hand clawing out of a shallow grave. His wings release and spread again, as if trying to keep above water. With his form still in its creation, the boils popped and festered, bringing infection and sickness to his skin, plunging his reformation backward. He hissed, taking a step back. Ajatar. That nasty little thing. And his clueless Harmonia. "Is this your idea of a joke? Where is your magic to save yourself?!"
Like a rabid, ravenous animal it takes over the world and plunges outwards--seeking the warmth of bodies nearby. He sees the child blink, his wings thrust in front of his face as even Deimos leans away from it. Looking on, his laughter is replaced by anger, and a vague sense of disgust. Her scales seem to shimmer, even with the low light, and he realizes, she is barely--unconciously--not even scratching the surface of her power. His lip curls, and he stalls his movements, his wings wishing to grasp at his granddaughter's neck. Twist and snap the problem... Make it go away. Deimos calms his wings, however, and they rest at his side, shifting with great agitation. "Death did not want me. Hell could not contain me. If you wish to know the base of my existence, ask those dear old fairies that seem to follow us around. What they were able to do for me was the best thing of my life. But what they did to you--" he pauses, his eyes widening slightly seeing the boils starting to crawl up Harmonia's leg, almost as if she was unaware of what was happening to her. He trembles.
Fear?
No, Couldn't be.
"How could you unleash that thing upon the world?!" he says, spitting his distaste for the boils that were crawling up his own leg, reaching up out of the earth like a dead hand clawing out of a shallow grave. His wings release and spread again, as if trying to keep above water. With his form still in its creation, the boils popped and festered, bringing infection and sickness to his skin, plunging his reformation backward. He hissed, taking a step back. Ajatar. That nasty little thing. And his clueless Harmonia. "Is this your idea of a joke? Where is your magic to save yourself?!"