02-27-2017, 11:18 PM
He is late. He does not care.
And yet, of all the situations that could possibly have been marked, it could not have been a better choice if he had manipulated it himself. He stands off to the side, his presence pressing inwards into the Krampus’ mind. Taiga, it says, ever menacing. Ever darkening as the shadows between them seem to draw the two closer together. Taiga is ripe for the taking.
He growls, his voice like scraping gravel against sand. He does not approach—he has no love of Harmonia, and his distaste for Ajatar is not one he looks to repeat. And yet, her usefulness is one that he sees the Gift-giver using. A weapon.
Cry Havoc and let slip the dogs of war.
He cares not for rank or prestige—he knows it is his for the taking, should he so desire.
Does Deimos belong? No. He is nowhere.
And yet he is everywhere.
Taiga. Give me Taiga, and I will give you the blood of power.
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
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