01-09-2017, 11:36 AM
He heard the call of the wild.
It drove through him like a spike of ice through a useless black heart. A dark smile was plastered across his face as he saw the young man trying to die in front of him. Not to day, little boy. Glass shatters around his brain and he is made aware of the beauty of his lines. He is powerful… derived from magic and born in the fires of hell.
Except that hell doesn’t want him this day. But Deimos does.
And Deimos will have him.
The snow is thick here and the black war machine stands tall against it—his body sleek and svelte. His is a form made perfect—the demons licking the sides of his body until he is the picture of a beast created from shadow and flame. Red eyes glow against the cold of night, and between the trees, he makes his silent approach.
Kilter, he whispers. His voice is cold, but it is smooth as satin, gripping around the boy’s throat like a noose… The coming of death, greeted as an old friend. Perhaps those brothers of shadow and smoke that the boy was familiar with, the claws and paws of a pack that had once been called family. What he wouldn’t give…
Kilter…
It drove through him like a spike of ice through a useless black heart. A dark smile was plastered across his face as he saw the young man trying to die in front of him. Not to day, little boy. Glass shatters around his brain and he is made aware of the beauty of his lines. He is powerful… derived from magic and born in the fires of hell.
Except that hell doesn’t want him this day. But Deimos does.
And Deimos will have him.
The snow is thick here and the black war machine stands tall against it—his body sleek and svelte. His is a form made perfect—the demons licking the sides of his body until he is the picture of a beast created from shadow and flame. Red eyes glow against the cold of night, and between the trees, he makes his silent approach.
Kilter, he whispers. His voice is cold, but it is smooth as satin, gripping around the boy’s throat like a noose… The coming of death, greeted as an old friend. Perhaps those brothers of shadow and smoke that the boy was familiar with, the claws and paws of a pack that had once been called family. What he wouldn’t give…
Kilter…
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
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