[ The scent of burned gunpowder, blood, and gore fills the air, and Silco watches with a half-unblinking gaze, not even a flinch. He takes in the entire tableau before him, the destruction, the knives stabbing, ripping, tearing into the fallen Deino, the way its face was contorted in pain and fear, the hole in its chest. It's violent and messy, and Silco understands this perspective in a way that perhaps he shouldn't.
If Quetzalcoatl had to die again and again to keep a god like this in the world, he would kill her again, and again, and as many other times as he needed to make sure there was someone like this in this world. He had little respect for gods, or higher powers, but those he did were those of violence and power. That exemplified something that Silco so thoroughly believed in because it was everything he was. Everything he had always strove to be. He could only hope...
Well, no matter.
His lips peeled back into something that could almost be called a grin β albeit ugly, and a touch uncomfortable to behold β as he looked on the entire scene. ]
Good.
[ It is firm, and perhaps fervent. Tezca has seen where Silco harks from, that fighting was everything to them. It was survival. He looks on this, and even with his usually dour expressions, Tezca can tell: He approves. ]
Survival should not be a given. It cannot be handed to them. They should earn it, and if they don't, they deserve what comes to them.
[ He tipped his head, and the shimmered one tears off, charging for another, moving with fervent speed, a terrifying grin in its fanged expression, before it starts tearing into another. ]
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If Quetzalcoatl had to die again and again to keep a god like this in the world, he would kill her again, and again, and as many other times as he needed to make sure there was someone like this in this world. He had little respect for gods, or higher powers, but those he did were those of violence and power. That exemplified something that Silco so thoroughly believed in because it was everything he was. Everything he had always strove to be. He could only hope...
Well, no matter.
His lips peeled back into something that could almost be called a grin β albeit ugly, and a touch uncomfortable to behold β as he looked on the entire scene. ]
Good.
[ It is firm, and perhaps fervent. Tezca has seen where Silco harks from, that fighting was everything to them. It was survival. He looks on this, and even with his usually dour expressions, Tezca can tell: He approves. ]
Survival should not be a given. It cannot be handed to them. They should earn it, and if they don't, they deserve what comes to them.
[ He tipped his head, and the shimmered one tears off, charging for another, moving with fervent speed, a terrifying grin in its fanged expression, before it starts tearing into another. ]