Hynemtopep breathed heavily. It was senseless. He was a divinity, breathing was beyond him, but caught in a most mortal sensation of dread, he found himself behaving as though he was not of the divine at all.
Never had he felt like this playing against anyone else. His most difficult matches did not come close to what had happened just now… There was a quality to Loimos that made him exceptional at building pressure without even having to say a word or do anything in particular.
'Death… He is like Death…'
Looming, ever-present. All that was not already dead feared its approach. It could be silent. It could be loud. It could be swift. It could be painful. You could be caught by it unexpectedly. You could welcome it with open arms… It did not matter. When Death placed her hand upon your cold shoulder–You would feel it. The urge to run away. To live.
