METAMORPHOSIS | multi-join

[Luciferr]

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P H O B O S  .|.  D E I M O S

Where Mars went, they were bound to follow,

Nothing could break that - for they were always together and never apart, not even death when it touched Mars had ended him forever - for Mars was death, the redeemer, and so he came back,

as it was written, so shall it be,

And now they followed him again, caught in this orbit as they always were, three cosmic dancers to the beating drum of the pitch heart at the centre of creation

They knew their role, were content with it,

Fear and dread and then death,

Justice, retribution - redemption.

High above they flew as below their obsidian clad companion walked the sands that thirsted - following that siren call of where now the universe told them they would thrive, where now they were needed,

A happenstance that the dirt that begot half of their beloved’s  genetics also happened to be here, but that was for Mars - for Susurrus to decide what to act upon,

They would be there though, either way,

Until the end times

So it was written

PHOBOS landed on the sand behind Susurrus, the great white-blue form of the ice dragon all spikes and spines of careful stalactites somehow untouched by the heat that bore down around them - he didn’t even feel it, so cold was he that he chilled the very air that attempted to melt him.

Fitting, for the lord of fear, that old icy shiver-

He blinked startlingly red eyes at the world around them, untouched, untainted by the other realm so far it seemed and quirked a quiet amused smile - oh the blissful ignorance of this world never ceased to amaze, for all that it stank of blood and death, it had never seen that other they knew - though he could feel it, feel that touch of other presences,

Quaint and intriguing

DEIMOS snorted at them from where he landed, a plume of smoke trailing from his nostrils - if Susurrus was the epitome of shadows and Phobos that of ice, than this one was all brimstone and searing light.

Old books and old religions if they knew what he was would have called him ‘angel’ for all that their limited imaginings of such beings were laughable in their depiction - for he was no cherubim or beautifully faced - though Susurrus called him beautiful to the dread lord’s quiet delight - he was built for instilling his namesake, made for the battlefield, a general peerless to any other.

If Entity was the mind, Susurrus was their soul, if Phobos their heart, then Deimos was their wrath - the executioners axe or the righteous blade, the demon of their enemies or the saviour of their allies.

And so here he was, following Mars now Susurrus - led to this new dark heart out in this wasteland,

They were all of them together in purpose,

The entity, the redeemer, the judgement, the wrath.

And here they waited.