No life pulsed here, no wind stirred the dust—only the relentless clash of two monstrous humans, their bodies cutting through the stillness with terrifying velocity.
Mikoto flew ahead, a streak of black and crimson. His body twisted midair, limbs coiling. A moment later, he extended his arms outward in a slow motion. The air crackled violently, forming concentric rings that rippled outward from his position.
Then, it began.
The air itself convulsed, rippling as though reality could no longer contain the raw force. The space around Mikoto compressed into an unstable mass before exploding outward. From this violent eruption, two immense cyclones tore into existence.
The twin tempests howled, their forms a fusion of wind and raw, unfettered mana. The first cyclone churned with blistering black winds, jagged streaks of crimson lightning arcing through it like veins. The second was a spiraling vortex of condensed destruction, the air so sharp and dense that the space within it fractured, reducing all matter caught in its grasp to mere dust.
Selwyn was engulfed. The cyclones consumed him, the winds tearing at his black armor, the pressure compressing his form as though intent on grinding his body into nothingness.
But the prince did not panic.
Within the depths of the storm, his lips barely moved. A single word escaped them:
"Eviscerate."
The moment the word was uttered, reality seemed to crack. The cyclones, the forces of devastation that had been powerful enough to carve through the planet's lifeless terrain, ceased to exist. Not dissipated, not dispersed—they simply were no more. As if they had never been.
The void that remained where they once raged was eerily silent, the howling winds replaced by an absence that was somehow more terrifying. The force of their erasure sent shockwaves rippling outward.
Then Selwyn landed upon the shattered ground below—only to launch himself upward with terrifying speed.
The force of his ascent fractured the surface beneath him, a vast crater expanding outward from the sheer intensity. The rock formations trembled, great slabs of stone collapsing. His black armor gleamed under the dim light as he soared toward Mikoto.
Selwyn was upon him in an instance, his blade swinging with the force to carve through mountains. The sheer velocity of the attack warped the air itself, a sonic boom following in its wake. Mikoto's red eyes narrowed as he tilted his body at an unnatural angle, the blade slicing just past him, missing by mere inches.
Before Selwyn could recover, Mikoto retaliated.
With a savage twist, he lashed out with a brutal kick, his sabaton colliding with Selwyn's abdomen. The force behind the blow sent shockwaves through the prince's body, the black armor briefly distorting from the pressure before Selwyn was sent hurtling backward like a projectile.
The impact was nothing short of catastrophic.
Selwyn's body crashed through jagged rock formations, obliterating them upon contact. His armored form skidded across the ruined terrain, the friction alone carving deep trenches into the dead planet's surface before he finally caught himself. His sabatons dug into the rock, halting his momentum just as he landed upon a jagged precipice, the formation crumbling slightly beneath his weight.
Mikoto, meanwhile, landed sideways upon a massive, slanted rock structure, his body completely perpendicular to the surface. His black armor did not so much as scrape against it—he defied gravity using magic to anchor himself. His white hair billowed slightly, the ethereal strands barely moving.
He tilted his head, a slow, taunting smirk curling his delicate lips.
"Are you really this pathetic?" His voice was mocking. "Instead of wasting time with this meaningless battle, you should have helped your animal siblings with the festival. At least then, your pathetic excuse for a life would have some purpose."
Selwyn, standing atop the crumbling rock, remained still. The words should have enraged him.
Yet, his lips parted, and what emerged was neither anger nor offense.
A chuckle.
A sound so out of place in the wasteland that it sent an unnatural chill into the air.
"Purpose?" Selwyn's red eyes gleamed with something beyond amusement. His stance relaxed ever so slightly, his blade lowered, but the tension in his form remained coiled—like a beast savoring the moment before the kill.
"Meaningless." He spoke the word as if the very concept disgusted him. "Familial bonds… connection… duty…" His tone grew bored, as if listing off things that held no more value than dust in the wind. "Do you expect me to care for the weak? To indulge in sentimentality?" His smirk widened, his sharp fangs barely visible. "No, my beautiful adversary. There is no 'meaning' beyond this. You. Me. This battle. That is all that matters."
His fingers tightened around his blade, his grip exuding obsession more than mere combat readiness.
"My siblings are nothing. The festival is nothing." His eyes narrowed, his next words slipping out in an almost reverent whisper.
"But you… Mikoto…"
His tongue traced over his lips, savoring the name.
"You are everything."
The eerie silence that followed Selwyn's declaration was shattered by a sharp, derisive scoff. Mikoto tilted his head, his white hair cascading his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with open contempt. His lips curled into a sneer, his beauty untainted despite the disdain twisting his features.
"Pathetic."
The single word dripped with venom.
"You make it sound so grand," Mikoto continued, his voice slow, almost lazy, "but really, you're nothing more than a worthless animal, grasping at something you don't even understand. No purpose, no attachments, no meaning—just hunger. How utterly disgusting." He scoffed again, folding his arms, the action almost theatrical in its condescension. "You stand here, pretending that battle is the only thing that matters, yet the truth is simple—you are alone. You have no one to fight for." His red eyes glinted, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Unlike you, I have. Something you wouldn't understand, since your existence amounts to absolutely nothing."
The words struck deep, though Selwyn showed no anger—only amusement, his smirk unfaltering, his crimson eyes drinking in Mikoto with something insatiable.
Slowly Selwyn raised his blade. His voice was barely above a whisper
"Eviscerate."
The moment the word left his lips, the very concept of the rock structure Mikoto stood upon ceased to exist. It did not break, did not crumble—it simply vanished, as though it had never been. The space where it once stood was now an empty void.
But Mikoto was already gone.
The instant Selwyn spoke, Mikoto had already moved, his form streaking through the air before landing upon the cracked wasteland below. His landing was flawless, sabatons touching the ruined ground with nothing more than a whisper of sound. He did not even glance at the spot where the rock had been erased.
Instead, he simply laughed.
A cold, mocking chuckle that echoed through the dead planet.
"How predictable." His red eyes gleamed as he tilted his head. "Was that supposed to impress me? I've already seen all your tricks." He stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders as if he were growing bored. "You'll have to do better than that, you wretched animal."
Selwyn's smirk remained, but his grip on his sword tightened.
Then, without warning, he moved.
A black blur, Selwyn's charge was more akin to a meteor impact than a mere sprint. The ground beneath him shattered upon his takeoff, cracks spiraling outward from the force of his movement, the pressure of his approach warping the air.
He swung.
His massive black blade carved through the atmosphere, the edges wailing as though hungry for flesh, aiming to carve Mikoto in two.
At the last possible moment, Mikoto leaped, his body twisting midair. Selwyn's sword met nothing but the planet itself.
The moment Selwyn's blade made contact, the wasteland erupted.
The force of the swing carved through the ground as if it were made of paper, an immense shockwave detonating outward. The sheer weight of the strike collapsed the earth in upon itself, sending colossal slabs of rock flying in all directions. A scar was carved into the already ruined landscape, a massive trench stretching for miles in the wake of the strike.
Yet, above all this destruction, Mikoto had already turned Selwyn's strength against him.
Mid-leap, he used Selwyn's own body as a stepping stone.
His armored foot landed upon Selwyn's shoulder for the briefest of moments, his weight pressing down just enough to further unbalance the prince. Then Mikoto kicked off, using the force to launch himself high into the sky, his form ascending rapidly.
The moment he reached the peak of his ascent, he raised his hand.
A spark flickered into existence.
Small, at first—insignificant. A single ember dancing at his fingertips.
Then, it expanded.
A miniature sun was born in his palm.
Its surface seethed, burning with impossible intensity, a swirling mass of gold, red, and white. Raging. Alive. Mikoto's red eyes glowed as he gazed upon his creation. Then, in a single, leisurely motion, he curled his fingers inward—compressing the energy, condensing its heat into something denser. Hungrier.
He threw it.
The instant it left his fingertips, the surrounding air ignited, rippling outward in concentric waves of shimmering distortion. The sky itself warped, unable to contain the overwhelming force surging through it.
It was small—no larger than a clenched fist—yet it roared with a heat so intense that the desolate ground beneath splintered apart just from the sheer residual force. The air turned dense, heavy, and unbearable, as if the very concept of temperature had been rewritten to obey the will of this single, devastating force. The orb streaked downward like a comet, leaving a trail of blazing red and gold, its path carving itself into air. The sheer speed of its descent tore apart the atmosphere, sending out an ear-splitting, oscillating boom.
The instant before impact, a mere fraction of a second stretched into eternity.
Selwyn had no time to react.
Contact.
The moment the orb collided with Selwyn, it did not merely explode—it detonated with the force of a thousand dying stars.
An eruption of fire and pure destructive energy expanded outward in an unstoppable wave. The sheer initial shockwave alone obliterated everything within its immediate radius, erasing not just the ground beneath Selwyn, but solid matter as well.
The wasteland cracked apart violently barren crust ripping open as if screaming in agony. The once-dead planet was now torn asunder, fissures miles wide carving through its surface like unhealed wounds, spewing out magma and molten debris. The land did not simply break—it convulsed, as though the very core of the world had been fractured. The explosion's epicenter bloomed, unfolding like a rapidly expanding, fiery lotus. Flames, golden and tinged with deep red, devoured everything in their path, the wave of heat melting stone formations into liquid slag in an instant.
Jagged rock formations that had stood disintegrated the moment the inferno touched them. The very air combusted, turning into a swirling, chaotic vortex.
Then came the secondary explosion.
As the initial blast expanded, it compressed inward upon itself, dragging the already raging inferno into a singular, dense core before violently erupting again, doubling the scope of destruction. A towering pillar of flame shot into the sky, reaching heights that defied logic. The sky above seemed to split apart, the force of the explosion sending rings of fire and raw mana outward in concentric pulses, expanding in every direction for miles upon miles. The ground beneath trembled violently, massive slabs of rock upheaving like capsized ships, thrown into the air before being caught in the storm. Some of these colossal landmasses hovered momentarily, held aloft by the sheer force of the explosion before crumbling into fiery debris.
It began to settle, the furious inferno receding, leaving behind nothing but the scorched, reshaped remnants of the already dead planet. The colossal pillars of flame still clawed at the skies, their dying embers swirling. The once-barren ground had fractured and crumbled, splitting apart into jagged ravines of molten fire.
Mikoto descended gracefully.
His form, impossibly elegant, untouched by the destruction he had conjured, landed without a sound. The tips of his black coat tail barely fluttered as his feet met the ruined earth, his posture relaxed, his beauty untouched, his eyes barely acknowledging the destruction that had swallowed everything.
He sighed, almost bored, letting his gaze settle upon the sight before him.
Selwyn still stood.
From the swirling cinders, his tall figure emerged, his once-imposing black armor all but gone, the chest plate utterly vaporized by the impact of Mikoto's miniature sun. Bare flesh met the hellish air, strong and marred with burns that should have crippled any other man. His muscular frame, now exposed, bore deep wounds where the flames had torn into his body—yet those wounds were closing, sealing, healing, undoing every last shred of damage.
His body reconstructed itself, each torn muscle knitting back together, the blackened flesh fading back to its original, unbroken state. The smell of burnt skin lingered only for a moment before being erased, as though the damage had never existed at all.
The only remnants of his injuries were the lingering traces of soot across his skin, and the ragged, singed edges of his remaining attire. But his sword remained clutched tightly in his grasp.
And through it all, he grinned.
A slow grin, as if he relished every single moment of pain and survival. His crimson eyes, glowing with insatiable hunger, remained locked onto Mikoto.
Mikoto scoffed.
"You're still breathing? Annoying mutt." His voice was smooth, yet dripping in disdain.
Selwyn rolled his shoulders, as if testing his newly healed flesh. "I am quite fond of breathing," he admitted, tone almost playful. His fingers tightened around his sword's grip, his smirk widening. "But tell me, my friend… Did you truly believe that would be enough?"
Mikoto's eyes narrowed slightly—not in concern, but in annoyance.
"I wasn't expecting it to be. I just wanted to see you burn." His lips curled into a wicked smirk. "It suited you."
Selwyn chuckled wiping the lingering streaks of ash from his cheek. "How very cruel."
"I try."
Selwyn exhaled, his breath visible against the heated air. "So?" He lifted his blade, resting it against his shoulder, the remnants of flames still dancing along the steel's surface. "Shall we continue?"
Mikoto didn't answer—not with words.
Instead, mana swirled at his fingertips, the air itself shivering as raw mana condensed into something tangible.
A weapon began to take shape.
The formless silver mass in his hand elongated, shifting, morphing, folding into a pristine blade. Its edges gleamed with an unnatural sharpness, its surface pulsing with a glow. But it was not just the blade that stood out—the handle was uniquely designed, forged in a way that was meant for nothing but perfect control.
Mikoto spun the weapon in his grip with fluidity, the blade singing as it cut through the air. And then, without hesitation, he slid it behind his back in a single, practiced motion, resting it against his armor.
His left hand, however, sprawled out before him.
An invitation.
Selwyn's grin widened.
And then he moved.
Like a hunting beast released from its cage, Selwyn shot forward. His speed was incomprehensible—his form blurred into a streak, devouring the distance between them in a fraction of a heartbeat. The ground beneath him shattered violently, collapsing beneath the force of his launch.
But Mikoto was already prepared.
The instant Selwyn propelled forward, the very air between them ignited.
A shockwave of pure mana erupted from Mikoto's outstretched palm.
The force was instantaneous—an overwhelming, rippling tsunami of raw mana, not bound by flame or any other element, but by pure destruction.
The land caved in.
Everything within the wave's path was annihilated on contact. The ground beneath its wake was not simply destroyed—it was erased. The impact sent jagged rock formations splitting apart, entire sections of the ruined landscape disintegrating into dust.
But Selwyn?
He was gone.
No—he had dodged.
In an instant, his trajectory shifted. A single, inhumanly swift leap sent him soaring into the air, high above the devastation that raged below. His form twisted mid-air, and without hesitation, he shot straight down towards Mikoto.
His blade came crashing down.
The first clash of their swords was like the shattering of a world, the sheer force behind it sending ripples of impact through the fractured landscape. Sparks exploded violently between their blades, cascading like miniature stars onto the charred, crumbling ground below.
Selwyn swung again
The moment Selwyn's sword came crashing down, Mikoto was already gone—his body twisting at an impossible angle, the very tips of his sabatons barely grazing the ground as he sidestepped within a breath's distance.
Selwyn's downward strike connected with the earth instead.
And the world screamed.
The sheer impact sent shockwaves ripping outward, fracturing the land for miles in every direction.
But Mikoto was not there to be caught in it.
With an almost playful ease, he had already stepped onto Selwyn's outstretched sword, his balance unshaken.
Then—he launched himself.
Using Selwyn's weapon as a foothold, Mikoto kicked off, his body spiraling into the sky like a bullet, soaring high above the devastation. His long coat tail fluttered violently behind him as he twisted midair, his piercing red eyes locked onto Selwyn.
Selwyn barely had time to react before Mikoto's blade flashed forward.
A silver streak.
A perfect arc.
Selwyn moved—but not fast enough.
The tip of Mikoto's sword bit into the side of his stomach, slicing through the exposed flesh with merciless accuracy. Blood burst into the air, a violent crimson arc against the scorched land.
But even as the wound was carved into him—it began to heal.
Selwyn's smirk remained, unfazed.
"Fast," he admitted, almost amused. His fingers twitched, gripping his sword with renewed intent. "But not fast enough."
Mikoto scoffed, his form twisting midair before he landed back on solid ground, his sabatons barely making a sound upon impact. His movements were effortless. Almost beautiful.
And Selwyn charged again.
This time, Mikoto did not evade.
He met him head-on.
Their blades collided again—clashing with such force that the very air around them seemed to wail in protest. Selwyn's sword came from the left—Mikoto leaned back, so close the blade barely missed the bridge of his nose.
Selwyn retaliated instantly, spinning his body, the edge of his sword coming down in a lethal diagonal arc—
Mikoto raised his own blade—parry.
A deafening clash of steel.
Selwyn's raw power should have overwhelmed him.
It did not.
Mikoto twisted with the force instead of against it, redirecting the impact so that when Selwyn swung again—Mikoto was already stepping into his guard.
A flash of silver.
Selwyn felt it—a sting along his cheek, a line of warmth trailing down his face.
Mikoto had cut him again.
Selwyn grinned, licking the blood from his lips. "Beautiful," he murmured. "You truly are breathtaking when you fight."
Mikoto looked disgusted. "Shut up and die already."
Selwyn laughed.
And then—they vanished.
For any observer, they would have appeared as mere flickering blurs, two streaks of speed, the only evidence of their battle being the repeated explosions of impact across the battlefield.
One moment, they were on the ground—
The next, they were fighting across the shattered remains of floating rock formations, steel meeting steel in rapid succession, the sounds of their battle echoing through the land like thunder.
Mikoto's blade shot forward—Selwyn parried.
Selwyn countered—Mikoto sidestepped, his body rotating as he brought his sword down at an impossible angle.
Selwyn ducked.
A thin lock of his black hair was severed, floating away into the winds. Mikoto pressed the attack—his blade moving so fast it was almost invisible.
Selwyn dodged left—only to realize Mikoto was already predicting it.
The second Selwyn moved, Mikoto's knee slammed into his ribs.
Selwyn was sent flying, his body smashing through an already crumbling rock formation, sending debris scattering in every direction.
But even before the dust could settle—he emerged again, unscathed.
He did not hesitate.
He did not stop.
Selwyn was on him again.
Their blades met once more, the sheer power behind their strikes sending shockwaves across the battlefield.
Each time Mikoto cut into him—Selwyn healed.
Each time Selwyn nearly landed a strike, Mikoto was already ten steps ahead.
It was a perfect contradiction.
However suddenly—
Selwyn halted.
For the first time in their battle, he stopped moving entirely.
His breath hitched—then, his body convulsed violently. A sharp, wet sound tore from his throat, and before he could suppress it, a thick splatter of blood spewed from his mouth, staining the dead, gray earth beneath him.
His knees buckled, and with a sickening crack, he dropped to the ground, bracing himself with a trembling hand.
Something inside him was breaking.
Something was wrong.
He did not understand.
He had been cut, impaled, burned, and broken countless times—and every single wound had mended within seconds. His body should have been flawless. Untouched.
Yet now—
Pain.
Real, excruciating, all-consuming pain.
His insides felt as though they were being ripped apart from within, as if thousands of invisible, microscopic blades were sawing through his flesh, his blood vessels, his organs.
Selwyn gritted his teeth, his muscles twitching violently. His breathing was ragged, unsteady. More blood dripped from his lips.
And then—
Laughter.
Soft, delicate—beautiful.
Selwyn lifted his gaze, and his vision—blurred from pain—was met with Mikoto's radiant delight.
Mikoto stood just a few paces away, perfectly composed. He looked different somehow, more radiant. His luscious, snowy-white hair, though tousled from movement, cascaded over his shoulders in elegant disarray, framing his immaculate porcelain skin. His blood-red eyes—so striking, so impossibly vivid—were aglow with cruel amusement.
And his smile—
A slow curve of rosy lips, a look of pure, intoxicating arrogance.
Mikoto was savoring this.
"Look at you," he cooed, his voice laced with mocking sweetness. "Brought to your knees already. Pathetic."
Selwyn's grip tightened around his sword, but the pain inside him intensified, sending another violent tremor through his limbs.
More blood splattered onto the cracked earth.
Mikoto laughed again.
A soft, sinful sound, dripping with delight.
Selwyn found himself staring, entranced—his body may have been dying, but his mind was completely, disgustingly enthralled by the sight of Mikoto's joy.
"You're such an idiot," Mikoto purred, tilting his head slightly. His long lashes fluttered as he grinned wider, showing the barest hint of teeth. "Did you really think I was just wasting mana for no reason? Just throwing spells around, hoping one would kill you?"
Selwyn didn't respond—he was too busy holding himself together, trying to decipher the unnatural agony shredding him apart from the inside.
Mikoto's eyes gleamed.
"Let me enlighten you, animal," he said, voice smooth and dripping with mockery. "Mana residuals—tiny remnants of magic, left behind with every spell. They're smaller than atoms, minuscule little particles that no one ever pays attention to."
He took a step forward, his delicate fingers tracing down his own collarbone in a slow, an absentminded motion.
Selwyn swallowed thickly.
"Most people are too stupid to use them." Mikoto let out a mocking sigh. "But me? I can control them. Every last one."
The realization struck him like a hammer to the chest.
All this time—every spell Mikoto had unleashed, every eruption of magic, every lingering trace of destruction—
Mikoto had been implanting those particles into his body.
Feeding them into his bloodstream, embedding them into his very cells.
And now—
He had detonated them.
Selwyn gritted his teeth hard enough to crack bone. His vision swam in and out of focus, his body shaking from the internal devastation. His veins burned, his insides felt like they were being liquefied, his regeneration was struggling to keep up.
And yet—
He could not look away.
Mikoto was watching him with radiant satisfaction.
There was something undeniably intoxicating about the way he looked at Selwyn now—beautifully excited by his suffering, completely enthralled by the pain he had inflicted.
"You see," Mikoto mused, stepping closer, his tone practically dripping with amusement, "I know your little tricks. Your precious, stubborn, infuriating regeneration. How boring would it be to wound you like any ordinary fool?"
His glowing red eyes narrowed, his breath escaping in a slow, delighted exhale.
"No, no, no," he whispered, voice sultry. "You deserve something far more... violent."
Selwyn was barely listening.
Because right now—he was drowning in something else entirely.
Adoration.
Mikoto's smug cruelty, his breathtaking beauty, the sheer delight in his expression—
He was completely enraptured.
Even as his body continued to betray him, even as his own blood pooled at his feet, even as his mind registered the sheer level of destruction Mikoto had inflicted—
Selwyn could only think:
This was the perfect opponent.