Humble Contribution to Mydei x Castorice

A warrior stood in the center of the battlefield, surrounded yet alone.

Surrounded because of the enemies approaching from all sides, as if drawn by the battle-fury pounding in his blood.

Alone because no living thing remained as such when it entered his reach.

With each motion of his powerful arms, blood-gold spikes burst upward from the ground, casting the monsters into the netherworld. Each weapon that pierced his skin cracked and shattered, leaving him undeterred.

The crown prince of Kremnos raged like a lion undying, vibrant red tattoos standing in stark contrast to the muscled form unsullied by his own golden blood.

Mydeimos the Undying had descended on the battlefield, calling all warriors to their graves from his throne of bones.

With a ferocious roar, he unleashed an attack that could topple city gates and level mountains. The maddened Titankin crumbled to dust, powerless before the fell might that resisted even death.

He felt a pressure from behind, and spun to face it. But he saw no enemies closing in from behind-only ghostly, vibrant flames, spewed forth by a pale dragon flying overhead.

“You’re late,” he growled with a grin.

“My sincerest apologies, Lord Mydeimos,” a soothing voice came from within the remnants of the deathly fire that had reduced the Titankin to ash. 

The dust parted at the swing of a grim, elegant scythe, revealing an ethereal young woman who seemed entirely out of place amidst the brutal strife. Her pale dress was like bones, the splashes of color from the flower and butterfly accessories only enhancing her pallor. What few Titankin remained nearby began to slow and stop, caught in the soft gravity of her presence.

“Whatever,” Mydeimos grunted. “You’re still in time to help me finish off the small fry before the real enemies arrive.”

“Certainly,” the woman nodded. “Netherwing...”

The dragon above them responded to her call with another gout of deathly flame, incinerating another group of Titankin.

“That said,” Mydeimos muttered as he resumed his tireless assault, “I’m surprised Lady Castorice would step on the battlefield herself.”

“Death has its place in all battles. Just because you resist its call does not mean others do not,” she murmured in response.

“Of course they don’t. Ha, can you even imagine the havoc...” he grinned, almost as if excited by the idea.

“Please, save your strength, Lord Mydeimos. Allow me to handle these ‘small fry,’ as you termed them.”

“Oh? Think you can handle them all on your own?”

“There are only a few left, thanks to your admirable efforts.”

Castorice stretched out her hand, a dark purple mist billowing softly out from her. The illusion of shadowy butterflies appeared before the eyes of all present, even the deathless Mydeimos. One by one, the Titankin crumbled and fell, helpless before the inexorable call of Death’s handmaiden.

One Titankin, perhaps more valiant than its fellows, strained against the call. First haltingly, then suddenly, it lunged forward, thrusting its weapon toward Castorice. Eyes closed in concentration, she did not see. “Tch...!” Mydeimos clicked his tongue, reaching out and grabbing Castorice’s arm. He felt the curse of death running through him as he made contact, but paid it no heed, pulling her out of the way of the monster’s strike.

“Keep your eyes open on the battlefield!” he scolded, punching through the Titankin’s weapon and shattering the monster in one motion. With a faint grunt, he pushed aside the effects of Castorice’s fatal touch, standing tall beneath the blazing noon-light.

“L-Lord Mydeimos! You can’t...!” Castorice gasped, realizing what he had done.

“It’s fine,” he scoffed, shooting her a cocky smirk. “Remember who I am.”

Castorice hesitated a moment longer, then collected herself and nodded, readying her scythe once more.

“...it seems the second wave is on its way,” she observed calmly. “I would like to offer my assistance in bringing them down.”

“Do whatever you like,” Mydeimos chuckled. “Just don’t make me save you again,” he grinned wryly.

“I’ll be fine,” she murmured. “I have taken your advice to heart.”

“Good. Well...shall we see who earns the greatest glory?”

“If you don’t mind competing against both me and Netherwing,” Castorice replied with a slight smirk.

“I think I can afford to give you that much of a handicap,” Mydeimos smirked back.

The two nodded to each other, then set to work as the onrushing horde came within reach.