12-21-2016, 06:13 PM
It calls him forward, so he moves.
The scent of raw power—the power of the bear that brings forth the world from the underbelly of society. He stumbled about, sniffing for a neon sign and a gifter of horses. And Deimos is nothing if not Santa Clause.
Ho fucking ho, bitches.
He takes a step, the reverberations of his massive body going through the ground. He is aware that his quarry is blind, groping for a sense of power and being. He can also see his mind. He knows, more than anything else, the bear wants to feel the fangs in front of his tongue once more. The thick blubber and fur hanging in front of his eyes. He lumbers around like the giant hairy thing he is… easier to get around when he can throw his weight around.
A dark smile plays on the son of Mars’ mouth. He has found the servant. The heart. The body. The body—Ecco. He spat her name out, even as his loins quivered with want. He had not intended what had become. He wanted her power—her blood—and had ended up with himself something else entirely. His black wings shivered with the thought that upon his stoop there would be a package in the coming year—but he would deal with that when it became a thing. In the meantime, he would choose his words much more carefully. Siberian presented to Deimos the rare opportunity to take for himself something that was missing from his body—his strength.
The strength of a Grizzly.
And so, a black smoke that carries with it the feeling of dread—his useless victim has no eyesight and he plays this to his advantage—wraps around the man, a cold voice speaking inside his mind, a thick seductive sound that whispers to him.
Freedom.
Freedom from this hellish life you’ve known. Do this for me, Siberian, and you can become whole once more. Go to where the broad-leaved forests become as needles, and the trunks are as wide as a bear. I will give you back your abilities, if you can attack and kill the members that lay dormant in that forest. It is all yours for the taking.
The scent of raw power—the power of the bear that brings forth the world from the underbelly of society. He stumbled about, sniffing for a neon sign and a gifter of horses. And Deimos is nothing if not Santa Clause.
Ho fucking ho, bitches.
He takes a step, the reverberations of his massive body going through the ground. He is aware that his quarry is blind, groping for a sense of power and being. He can also see his mind. He knows, more than anything else, the bear wants to feel the fangs in front of his tongue once more. The thick blubber and fur hanging in front of his eyes. He lumbers around like the giant hairy thing he is… easier to get around when he can throw his weight around.
A dark smile plays on the son of Mars’ mouth. He has found the servant. The heart. The body. The body—Ecco. He spat her name out, even as his loins quivered with want. He had not intended what had become. He wanted her power—her blood—and had ended up with himself something else entirely. His black wings shivered with the thought that upon his stoop there would be a package in the coming year—but he would deal with that when it became a thing. In the meantime, he would choose his words much more carefully. Siberian presented to Deimos the rare opportunity to take for himself something that was missing from his body—his strength.
The strength of a Grizzly.
And so, a black smoke that carries with it the feeling of dread—his useless victim has no eyesight and he plays this to his advantage—wraps around the man, a cold voice speaking inside his mind, a thick seductive sound that whispers to him.
Freedom.
Freedom from this hellish life you’ve known. Do this for me, Siberian, and you can become whole once more. Go to where the broad-leaved forests become as needles, and the trunks are as wide as a bear. I will give you back your abilities, if you can attack and kill the members that lay dormant in that forest. It is all yours for the taking.
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
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