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After ten million cycles, Khaslana expects the sight of Mydei standing proudly at the edge of the coliseum to feel numbing. But the proud visage of the kingdom-less king’s bare back, carved with red of Strife, always stirs something fleeting in Khaslana’s chest.
Just like always, that small part of humanity he has held on to still trembles at the sight of Mydeimos.
And he must cling to that feeling until the pale dawn breaks.
“You don’t look so good, Deliverer.”
Khaslana chuckles dryly. “And you never change, Mydeimos.”
The demigod keeps his back turned for a moment, as if contemplating the grating silence around them. Eventually he turns, facing the broken man that has come before him to take his life. Arms crossed, he stares with fire in his eyes that feels as if it burns the shell of Khaslana’s body.
“I’ve come to fulfill your wish.” Khaslana finally says.
Mydei’s laugh echoes off of broken pillars and weathered stone. “What is my wish to you, Deliverer?”
Khaslana sucks in a sharp breath; his chest aches…no, his very soul aches. His eyes grow weary with each cycle, but he must persevere. “An honest duel, blade to blade, hand to hand, with no sight of self-restraint.”
“Hah…” Mydei breathes another laugh. “Did I ever run away? Give in?”
“No.” Khaslana says, the words painful as they leave his lips. “Not once.”
“Then they died honorably, worthy of the name ‘Strife’.”
Khaslana sighs, closing his eyes as he closes the distance between them slowly; this scene always plays out the same, over and over and over and over again.
Oh, it’d be nice for some change.
When he doesn’t hear the rustle of armor as he approaches, Khaslana opens his eyes while they stand merely a few feet apart.
“How many cycles have you witnessed, dear Deliverer?”
“Ten million…three-hundred thousand…and fifty-two.”
“And how many times have you thrust your sword into my back?”
Khaslana lets out a shaky sigh. “Ten million…three-hundred thousand…and fifty.”
Mydei lifts a brow. “Did you falter once? Did I best you in battle?”
“You…were never even born.”
Mydei closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. “I see.”
“Are you disappointed?” Khaslana asks.
“No. It is not victory that burns into my golden blood, nor needless bloodshed.” Mydei explains. “But glory…glory of never submitting, never holding back my punches, never bending the knee to death.”
Khaslana chuckles, softer then. “That is so very…you…Mydeimos.”
More time stretches between them, hills and valleys separating them despite how closely Khaslana can see Mydei up close like this.
“You have not brandished your weapon yet.”
Mydei frowns. “Neither have you.” Khaslana doesn’t need to ask the demigod why. “I have a feeling you’re going to ask me something foolish.” He says quietly, despite no one around to hear. “I’m sure you’ve tried to reason with me, tried to get me to see your plight and let a madman run away with my divinity. But you must know my answer each and every time.”
Khaslana smiles, but it feels empty. “Of course. I cannot ask you to hand over your coreflame without a fight.”
“So…what is it do you want, Deliverer? Or…no…Flame Reaver.”
“Ah.” Khaslana laughs, the phantom pricks of tears almost bringing his eyes to water. “Mydeimos…oh Mydeimos…I am so tired.” He says in defeat. "Your wish, I will uphold it. I know that you will not relinquish ‘Strife’ without an honest duel. Our blood will spill on this battlefield in tragic, numbing gold. You may not trust me, the Flame Reaver with millions of coreflames singeing my resolve.”
Khaslana takes a deep breath and steps forward slowly. “But I want you to place your trust in the small sliver of humanity I have safeguarded for millions of lifetimes deep inside of me. Trust that I would not dishonor either of our names by tricking you into a dishonest theft of your coreflame.”
Standing so close, Khaslana can feel Mydei’s warm breath fanning over his cold face. The demigod doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move…but he knows Mydei is listening to him intently. “Mydeimos...” Khaslana speaks again, “I’m tired. I promise when our weapons clash, I will stake my entire life on the line. I will never soften my blows for your prized glory.” His voice cracks. “But...for once, I want just one thing that's different. Even if its just for a moment, five minutes, however long you decide to grant me.”
Khaslana reaches a hand up, finding Mydei’s cheek in his touch with no resistance. “Can we pretend we don't have to fight and hold each other in a dream of Era Nova...and then I promise you, I will give you a duel that the Mydeimos of the next cycles will never…forget."
Mydei doesn’t move for a few moments, but it almost feels like entire lifetimes for Khaslana. If his body is able, tears would pour down his hollow cheeks. But there is no time for that; his weaknesses were already out in the open for Mydeimos to see, to touch, to hold, to ravage and destroy.
There is nothing stopping Mydei from shoving his armored fist into his chest and attempt to steal back the coreflames Khaslana has so precariously fought over.
But he doesn’t…he won’t…Khaslana knows Mydei wouldn’t subject himself to such a weak victory.
So…instead…Mydei lets out a deep, bone-shuddering sigh, and lets his hands grab fiercely at Khaslana’s hips. He doesn’t speak, but the look in his eyes tells stories.
We can pretend for a little while.
When Khaslana leans in to feel Mydei’s lips against his own, the tiny ghost of Phainon inside him burns with a glorious light. Mydei is soft, and irresistibly sweet. His lips tremble, the fear of Mydei dissipating in his touch taking hold of his battered heart.
Mydei lets him act soft for just another moment before he’s growling against Khaslana’s lips, biting down on the tongue that gently touches his own. “Ten million lifetimes and that’s all you’re going to take?” His armored grip against Khaslana’s hips tighten as he drags the reaver closer against his body. “You should know by now…that I am no fragile man.”
“M-mydeimos…” Khaslana winces slightly. “I just…”
“Pathetic.” Mydei spits. “Take, Reaver. If you can so easily take my coreflame from my corpse, how is this any different?”
“It’s never easy.” Khaslana bites back. “Not the first time…not now…”
“Then take.”
Khaslana closes his eyes, steeling himself for a second before he exhales deeply. “Khaslana.”
“Huh?”
“My…name.” Khaslana says slowly.
Mydei regards him, armored claws digging into Khaslana’s hips. “I cannot speak for future Mydeimoses, but I can promise you this.” He leans in, pulling Khaslana’s lips between his teeth and biting down. “Take.” He echoes once more. “Let this moment be the fuel you need for the raging fire of humanity still somewhere inside of you. Don’t let it go out…and don’t forget what I have done for you.”
“H-hah…” Khaslana can feel sweat bead at his brow. “I will never forget…” He confesses. “Never have…not a single incarnation of you, Mydeimos.”
“This is the last time I’ll say this.” Mydei presses their foreheads together, escape futile. Their eyes meet, and they cannot bear to look away. “Take me, Khaslana. Then fulfill your promise and give me a battle I won’t forget in the next lifetimes.”
Khaslana could cry then, but instead he takes. His kiss is no longer sweet, no longer gentle, no longer afraid of Mydei leaving him just yet. Never has Mydei ever said his true name, and it shakes Khaslana to his core so unimaginably so that it almost scares him.
But more so than fear, all Khaslana can feel in this moment is hunger. Mydei does not shy away from his eager teeth and desperate tongue. He merely grunts and moans against his lips, not bothered when Khaslana shoves him against the stone behind him.
Mydei falls back against the steps, Khaslana pushing him down while he drags his teeth against Mydei’s jaw and neck. Biting, tasting, golden blood coats his tongue…it is nothing short of addicting. Mydei still holds onto him, drawing blood of his own, gasping as Khaslana brings their lips together again.
If it had been Phainon in his place, still full of hope and jubilance, perhaps there would be less blood. Phainon would take his time, commit Mydei’s lips to memory, and learn every little thing that would set the demigod off.
But Khaslana doesn’t have the luxury of time nor a future. So he chases after Mydei with insatiability, eliciting sweet moans from swollen lips with fervor. He can hardly breathe, but it’s not a concern when Mydei is pulling him deeper and closer.
Mydei’s lips on his own is a small oasis of the endless purgatory. Khaslana lets out a painful moan as their bodies press together; their clothing doesn’t allow much friction beneath their hips, but it’s already more than Khaslana could ask for in that moment.
Khaslana drags his lips to Mydei’s neck, one hand holding Mydei’s head. His fingers latch onto fiery strands, holding him still while his lips purse against the side of the demigod’s neck. Mydei lets out a deep growl, a low moan, something carnal and beyond human. It makes Khaslana’s own blood sing, chanting in his mind to take.
Take, take, take.
“You are…exquisite…Mydeimos…” Khaslana sighs while he sucks and bites a deep mark onto tanned skin. He laps over the sanguine blood, moving only to feel Mydei’s throat against his tongue. Khaslana feels the breath in Mydei’s throat hitch, and it makes his head swim in delirium.
If he kept at this, there might not be much of Mydeimos left until Khaslana is satisfied with devouring him.
When they part, the battlefield is etched like heroic fables on their bodies. They are a clash of aggression dipped heavily in forbidden affections. They are violence and ferocity wrapped in a neat red bow, impossibly warm with a word neither of them could bare to speak nor imagine.
Khaslana extends a hand, half-aroused and half-mournful at the sight of Mydei laid awkwardly against the stone steps that encircle their battlefield, bathed in sweat, blood, and a tell-tale flush of something raw bubbling under his skin.
You deserve better, Khaslana thinks. You deserve a Phainon that doesn’t remember the horror’s I’ve gone through and will continue to witness. You deserve a Phainon that visits your library, not destroy it.
Mydei takes the hand with a low grunt, standing up to Khaslana’s level. He frowns, letting go and crossing his arms. “Your thoughts are loud.”
“Sorry.” Khaslana doesn’t deny it; instead, he hides behind an empty smile. Mydei already knows what’s echoing in his head; there’s no need to let the thought fester.
“‘One day you shall die with a wound in your back.’” Mydei repeats. “Even though I denied it for a while, I knew it had to be you.”
Khaslana steps backwards, creating distance between them but never taking his eyes away from Mydei. “It has to be me. I can’t…I will not let it be anyone else.”
Mydei brandishes his blood-stained claws as they slowly walk in opposites, almost stalking one another like prey. “Let me salute you, Khaslana.” Mydei bellows. “May you crown yourself in the blood of Strife. And may my ten million lives, and the millions of lives after mine…may Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos fuel the blazing sun of deliverance!”
The transformation happens just the same as the ten million versions of his most trusted partner have done before. It still doesn’t hurt any less. “Indeed, Mydeimos. You will fuel the fire within me for millions of cycles ahead. I shall never forget this moment, as I hope you will not either.”