Deme’s grin widened, teeth flashing white against the warm glow of the room. He steepled his fingers once more, eyes flicking from the board to Malik with something almost like pride flickering beneath the manic glint.
His fingers ghosted over the edge of the board, circling his next move with deliberate patience. A knight advanced, cutting a precise path toward Malik’s defenses. Deme’s gaze lifted, sharp as ever, studying Malik’s face as though weighing not just his strategy, but the very soul behind his eyes.
His voice softened, the crackling edge of madness smoothing into something more measured, more dangerous.
The moment hung heavy between them, the low flicker of the chandelier casting long shadows across the table. Deme leaned back in his chair, the sharpness in his eyes dimming once more beneath the weight of memory or contemplation. Then, as if catching himself lingering too long on the edge of something darker, he snapped his fingers and smiled again, the mercurial shift pulling him back into the present.
His grin turned wolfish, golden eyes dancing.
@Malik Vrai
Ah, but that is where you are wrong, my dear boy. Religion is never merely bluster—it is the scaffold upon which men hang their fears and their hopes alike. Tear it down, and they will build another in its place.
His fingers ghosted over the edge of the board, circling his next move with deliberate patience. A knight advanced, cutting a precise path toward Malik’s defenses. Deme’s gaze lifted, sharp as ever, studying Malik’s face as though weighing not just his strategy, but the very soul behind his eyes.
Sacrifice is an art, Malik. It is not simply the loss of a piece—it is the exchange of something lesser for something greater. A bishop for a queen. A pawn for a kingdom. A man for a cause.
His voice softened, the crackling edge of madness smoothing into something more measured, more dangerous.
The trick is knowing what is worth sacrificing... and what is not.
The moment hung heavy between them, the low flicker of the chandelier casting long shadows across the table. Deme leaned back in his chair, the sharpness in his eyes dimming once more beneath the weight of memory or contemplation. Then, as if catching himself lingering too long on the edge of something darker, he snapped his fingers and smiled again, the mercurial shift pulling him back into the present.
But enough of such morose musings! Your move, Malik. Let us see if your newfound counterplay is as clever as you claim.
His grin turned wolfish, golden eyes dancing.
I do so love to be surprised.
@Malik Vrai
03-06-2025, 07:37 AM
