mydcimos

[mydcimos]

[BALL TOSS]　/　"come on, little prince ~ ! don't you know? it's been a long time since i've seen someone from kremnos take a shot at a ball game. mmm, a couple centuries, maybe?" finally, she'd managed to find a place that wasn't so close to the ocean——the waves crashing on the sand always threatened to get saltwater in her fur even if she kept her distance, making her feel sticky all over like she'd just bathed in some glue after a while. but here, higher up where the sand was still dry, it wasn't so bad. the breeze was pretty nice, and the day wasn't too unbearably hot, either.

never imagined she'd be goading the baby prince of kremnos into some——what'd they called it? harpastum toss?——anytime soon, but can't say she could complain. everyone talked about this guy like he was some super up-and-coming hotshot ; 'course, as long as he was a chrysos heir, lots of people would blow everything out of proportion. so she wanted to see just how much of that was for real.

she stretches her upper body out perpendicular to her legs, arms extended up, up past her head. "mrraah ~ ! if i knew places like this were out there, we should've gotten rid of that billion-eyed sky tyrant a long time ago." when she straightens up, it doesn't look like mydeimos has moved an inch. "hey, what's taking you so long? you're not chickening out, are you? the last time i took on a kremnoan in a sport, i beat him so far into the dust he didn't even know what hit him! i don't think their pride's recovered since." only half-true ; she'd beat him fair and square all right, but because of some stupid rules they hadn't been clear about, had been declared the loser anyway. but he didn't need to know that. "you want to let me walk away unchallenged champion still? fine by me."

letting the goad hang in the air for a few more seconds, she tosses the harpastum ball easily up and down in the air, waiting on a last answer. going once, going twice. . . if he was really going to back down just like that, maybe he wasn't all that that agy kept making him sound like.

Curiosity has gotten him this far.

With a permanently affixed frown, he trails the embodiment of Zagreus where she bounces several paces ahead. He could catch up with her, but the distance is comforting, his gaze fixed at her back as if one mistimed blink would bring disaster to the peaceful thread that tethers them.

( Was it unfair of him to judge her so harshly? Words had never passed directly between them— but… )

Then, she talks.

His displeasure is made known with a scoff, arms crossing as he briefly surveys their surroundings. He’s almost certain that the other Chrysos Heir is playing some kind of game, but where they stand – with the ocean endless before them and dozens of joyous gatherings happening a distance away on the beach – he hasn’t figured it out yet. He crosses his arms in defense. “If you know my people as well as you claim, then you are aware that chickening out is not something that exists in our language.” Despite the severity of his tone, his pulse jumps to answer her call as he stalks to her side.

As old as the heir of Zagreus was, she would have seen Castrum Kremnos in all of its glory. Before the madness … though for this very reason, he can’t ask her. The words don’t come.

“None of your tricks,” He warns, reaching out to snag the ball as it flies from her hand with speed and precision that suggests that they are in battle. Because they are, aren’t they? He has never done anything by halves. He points to the far side of their field, where the targets are painted red, gratified when the ball strikes and detonates. He turns to her as the sand and debris rain at their feet, eyes brightened by the competition, a flash of teeth in his grin. “…Unless you think you need them to stand a chance against me.”

[mydcimos]

Dealing with people is sometimes necessary.

Sometimes. Though more often than not, he finds that it’s more trouble than it’s worth. No…almost always. For as long as he’s lived, there have only been precious few that he’s allowed himself to lean on.

Most of whom had already traveled across the Sea of Souls…

So, it’s surprise that colors his expression when Kafka ends up at his side. “Hmmm.” She doesn’t seem like much – none of them do, aside from Castorice – but he shrugs the judgement away with a reflexive smirk. “Don’t think too hard about winning,” Because you won’t, his tone implies it. He can’t help the edge of interest that finally, finally overtakes the agitation that’s been simmering in his blood since their ship stopped here. “But the game is simple. If you win, you can request anything of me and it will be done…barring murder, of course. The same for me, if I win. That alright?”

roll 1, successful resource acquired. mydei 2, kafka 0

Still at the edges of their little camp, he waves Kafka along, holding up his second valuable find – a handful of birds eggs, scooped from a hastily abandoned nest. They join the berries placed carefully in his pack. “You’re already behind. Let’s plan to meet back here before dark. Mira,” The guide has not been forgotten, though his tone is decidedly less friendly as he considers the man. “You’ll come with us, or with them,” He indicates the other group of foragers. “Choose quickly.”

@fermatafour @revelation-beach

𝐑&𝐑 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

kafka | mydei investigation game

[mydcimos]

His stride never falters, though he does cast a glance over his shoulder as they stop to collect themselves-

“Perhaps none of you realize how small our opportunity may be,” Seasons, days, nights- admittedly Mydei often forgets to account for things like sunrise and sunset, except that he’d been watching the sun climb further into the sky as they sailed. “We don’t know what this place will look like at nightfall, and… it’ll be harder to hunt food and water in the dark.” Where was their sense of self-preservation?

It didn’t matter…though he’d be lying to say he was eager to see anyone die. If they wanted to stay on the beach and protect themselves from bugs, it would be better to let them go at their own pace. “Keep up or stay behind. We will need water before we need food, and it might be in our interest to divide to find it.”

Mira had said the island was small and, in that case, he planned to find out how long it would take him to reach the other side. It was also…reasonable, that they would find fresh water in doing so. “Perhaps a challenge? A prize to the person who can retrieve the most supplies?” He raises his voice again, this time less bite and more amusement. It was hardly as exhilarating as one of his battle challenges back home…but it would have to do. Maybe he could even find someone worth competing with among them.

@grannyitztli @thetruthbehindtherose @fermatafour

4 old bitches and the gays

[mydcimos]

The beginnings of a headache were the least of his worries, but only because the real threat of dehydration wasn’t an issue yet. “He just said that we wouldn’t find anything dangerous. It’s an island.” The woman, Citlali, he places the given name to the purple head that stops at his shoulder as he divides his attention between the two. “My name is Mydei. I’ll accept your apology.”

Silence filters through as he thinks, scanning where Castorice and two others have begun looking at the ship. What does she know of seafaring, he wonders, but the Aidonian has proved handy and capable too many times over to truly worry.

For better or worse, these were his comrades now, and who was he, if he could not take such things in stride after so many years of pushing forward at all costs?  “Fine. If it is as you say, then we will venture out in search of food and water, should anyone else wish to aid us.” He pitches his tone to carry, as if he were addressing his own people, where one needed to project to be heard over the ever-present clash of steel. “You will come too. As our guide.” For Mira, he makes clear there is no choice, turning from them and making decisive steps toward the tree line.

So I can keep an eye on you, is heavily implied at the edges of his baritone.

And if they do not follow? Then, at least, Mydei is used to operating alone.

@grannyitztli @revelation-beach @thetruthbehindtherose

4 old bitches and the gays

[mydcimos]

To say the ocean here and the ocean there were the same would be blasphemous.

He thinks it instead, sharp-eyed and silent as he contemplates their broken-down ferry and the gentle waves that destroyed it. It was an omen like any other, an awareness that he wished not to have racing through his head.

You, one of the many strangers addresses him. You. Mydei has always detested informalities, as if learning his name were insignificant over the need to bark orders. (The truth was, he had never been one to follow such direct orders). The gold of his gaze flashes in her direction, frown turning truly severe as he scoffs. “I don’t care who you are,” He tells her after a moment’s scrutiny. She doesn’t look like anyone’s grandmother, anyway. “If you cannot be bothered to learn my name before handing out orders.”

It's all he can spare for her now, when more pressing things need to be done first. Mira, their guide. He had been easy-going enough, adept as he manned the ship alone. Mydei had initially been interested in the technology, where back home it took several skilled men to pilot such a ship. “Mira,” He alerts the man as he stalks toward him, using his name both as formality and as a demonstration of good manners. “What reason do I have to trust that you didn’t have a hand all of this? Tell me what you know of the island, and what might be waiting for us here.”

@grannyitztli, @revelation-beach

4 old bitches and the gays

[mydcimos]

It's difficult to say what his opponent is thinking.

Not that Mydei has ever excelled in such a thing. He learned early on that guessing the expressions on people’s faces, their motives – how could he come close, when his own experiences are so different? When the values and standards he lives by are foreign and violent and nothing more than relics of a people that often exist in cautionary tales and horror stories?

It always ends badly. One market brawl too many. Over-turned food stalls and shouting crowds in the Ohkeman marketplace…it’s better to stay silent, even if it makes him seem less approachable. A brute.

He is one, really. Humor flutters through him to recognize that even if he cannot tell what Kosma of the Fire Moth is thinking, the sharpness of his gaze has other tells. The kid has been sizing him up all this time, not in awe like any other aspiring hotshot. He’s a soldier, and Mydei knows the flash of his gaze because it mirrors his own as he takes his stance-

Where are his weaknesses?  

The first clash of steel or fist is the most telling. Mydeimos the undying has always weighed his actions on first-hand experience versus memorized battle tactics. Kosma is not as quick as his build would suggest, but his blow has power when Mydei pivots to catch his wrist. Already, the gold of his divine blood warms his hand, a scowl forming to realize that Kosma’s fingertips are weapons in the blink of an eye. Just a graze, an annoyance, he tightens his hold and pulls. “Hah,” He can’t look for long or it leaves him too open, but there they are. Claws like blades where a regular hand had been. “So you’ve got tricks after all. What else, Fire Moth?”

Not that he plans to allow much of a counterstrike. His fist is already drawn to connect with the boy’s cheek. Men much less fragile than Kosma appeared buckled under the force. The price of allowing Mydei to strike at close range.

Drakos Canavarı

#GHRevelation2025 ┆ Kosma & Mydei ┆ Cont. Fight Club

[mydcimos]

[FIGHT CLUB] - Maybe you so happen to hear the rumors, or maybe you stumble upon it yourself. Welcome to the underground– place your bets and make a friend, or an enemy. There aren’t rules here, after all.

There was something about the stifling heat and the tang of sweat, the closeness of one's breath steaming the air and that rush of blood to the head as the spatter of blood streaked the floor.

Kalpas paced.

From one end of the room to the other, he stalked, watching the ring as combatants moved in and, inevitably, out. They were pathetic, they weren't worth the effort it would have taken for him to go down there and announce himself - they were human. They were children.

They would die. There was nothing grand about crushing an ant beneath his heel, about culling a herd of sheep. Though it stoked the coals in his heart, he knew he needed to wait, to let them filter themselves out before the mighty stepped forward, something that he could really sink his teeth into.

And he paced.

And then he stopped, eyes narrowing in on the flow of movement, the rush of heat and he knew that one was it, that would be the one whose blood tipped his claws today, the one who might bring out the true fire.

He was awaiting challenge, the referee standing out of bounds in discussion, but Kalpas couldn't be bothered to wait that long, didn't need to work through the channels for this one - it was a bounding leap down from the stands, and a plume of orange flames skittering across the dinged up ring, and he snarled, releasing a hiss of steam underneath his mask.

"No need to waste anyone's time here," he said, to everyone, and no one in particular, dropping his stance and beckoning with crooked fingers. "Throw them at him or throw them at me, we'll end up here anyway. So let's just cut out the middle-man - !!"

There were no rules here, so Mydei had been quick to set his own.

No killing. An unspoken rule for all, but Mydei especially, with Strife growing more and more insistent as victory loomed close. It was a familiar battle. Except that no killing, meant that the King of Kremnos would not call for any power other than his own strength. His fists, his feet, and every ounce of muscle in between.

No threats. Another similarity, and many years on the battlefield taught him that the first person to start taunting was usually the weakest. The one that needed some sort of psychological edge to find a foundation. In this, he was efficient, offering no words other than his name – so that his opponents would understand just who it was that bested them.

No second chances. This, he carried everywhere he went. Outside of his own warriors, he was not a teacher. Those who couldn’t stand against him didn’t deserve the honor of trying again. At least not until they improved.

Flame roared when he least expected it, and it’s the grace of too many hard-won battles that had him responding with muscle-memory and a snarl.

The enemy – no, challenger – he can hardly decipher the ring from a battlefield for a few terrifying moments, when he effortlessly shattered one of his rules. The power of strife rippled between them in answer, splitting marble and tearing right up to the masked man’s feet. In his peripherals, Mydei could see the bystanders jumping back in shock. First, from fire. Now, the blood-stained crystal that laced through it. “You’re flashy,” He drawled, focusing on the face even if he couldn’t see it. The steam was concerning, foreign, his frown deepened even as his limbs shifted into a battle stance. “But I have no interest in pretty tricks, and if you need them to win, then you’ve already lost.” It’s only the truth. Did the other think that the element of surprise, of shock, gave him an edge?

Weak. Usually, he would give his name. Honor dictated it, in such duels. But this man…was he trustworthy? Something about him made his head ache, so he gave it no other thought, launching forward – more viper than lion.

[mydcimos]

[BALLROOM] - The venue’s been rented out to some startup company for their first Soon-to-be-Annual charity ball, and your name can be on the guest list for the small price of a donation and a dance! Go on and get swept off your feet, or maybe be the one to do the sweeping!

She did not know the steps. This was certainly nothing new to her, and certainly nothing that would provoke a response of shame, but as she watched those around the resort move, and the swirl of couples across the sleek ballroom floor, there was the gentle wistfulness that came with knowing that this, too, was something that she did not know, but could, if she tried to learn.

Shenhe found herself only somewhat a fish out of water here, standing stiffly at one end of the ballroom, having already had the vaguest experience in a formal setting - that had been much different and simultaneously exactly the same, and Shenhe was unsure exactly of which experiences to take forward, and which to leave behind.

She was not, it seemed, the only one who was out of their element here, and without regard for the motion of dance on the floor, Shenhe stepped forward and crossed the ballroom with long, graceful strides, swerving through the dancing, and soon whispering, couples.

"You are Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos," she announced when she approached, and it was almost a familiar scene - her determined, him irascible - that when she found herself a few paces away she stopped and looked at him with a flat expression for a moment. "I have been told that it is important to remember where another is from, as this is something that consider to be integral to their identities."

She did not say so, but she hoped that he remembered the same about her.

A hand extended, and Shenhe's eyes flicked out over the sea of movement. "I don't know this dance, but I don't think that's a problem. It's more important to try. Right?"

They wanted him to leave.

In fairness, Mydei wanted to find somewhere else to be, too. It was something similar to the Ohkeman people, who looked to the brazen, war-battered Kremnoan Detachment and thought that their visage was too rough for the bathouses, the restaurants…

This was the same, where glittering dresses kissed the floor with every turn and crisp suits covered every secret and scar, he was not slow or stupid. His armor was polished, pristine, and he refused to change it for any occasion. Let him be who he was- he had enough sense to leave his gauntlets behind, at least.

A familiar face was the last thing he expected, and the way his eyes widened were damning enough. They must have clashed in every possible way, her elegant, silvery tones against red and gold and steel. People turned to watch in a way that made Mydei’s fists clench at his side. But…her. It took him several moments to respond, weighing his words until he had no choice. “Hm…Shenhe of Liyue.” A nod, though it was all the confirmation he could offer her. She had proven…headstrong. Diligent in pursuit of what she cared for. “It’s true for some,” For him, even if he wished it different. “Though, your actions make you memorable.” Truly, the strength of someone’s will be the mark on history…she had shown herself capable of that and more. A warrior. Not Kremnoan but...respectable.

For this reason, he didn’t scoff at the offered hand. “Of course it matters. Do you hand a fully-weighted greatsword to a child and trust them to swing it at you?” If they were Kremnoan…yes. But that was beside the point. He took her hand, though neither of them had begun moving because they didn’t know how to dance!

Strife. Did she not know what he was? He’d more readily throw himself against blades than attempt…he sighed. At least no one important was around to see. Too carefully, he watched others as they went, adjusting his hand on her back until it looked nearly the same. “What’s the point of this,” The question is genuine, every inch of him tensed for a blow even if his mind understood that their proximity was not a fight. “Spinning in circles and then…what. Is this fun.”

It was disaster from the first step, when Mydei thought he spied a chance to spin as the others were. Instead, her feet leave the ground entirely, the arch too wide as Mydei’s shoulder collided with someone who promptly crumbled to the floor.  

[mydcimos]

[FIGHT CLUB] - Maybe you so happen to hear the rumors, or maybe you stumble upon it yourself. Welcome to the underground– place your bets and make a friend, or an enemy. There aren’t rules here, after all.

It should not surprise him to see the embodiment of Strife in a place like this, and yet, Anaxagoras cannot help but to widen his eye slightly in curiosity at the visage of Castrum Kremnos' Crown Prince. The fighting suited him, sure; but the dingy atmospehere? That certainly didn't suit him.

"Mydeimos," The scholar announces his presence sharply, "Do you like a fight that much that you would seek it out somewhere like this? Surely you know that none of these fools would even stand a chance against a demigod; right? Why, even my meager power would be enough to lay them out on their feet, if I were capable of using it currently."

Demigod, the word ripples through the crowd as if the professor had taken a match to kindling. Mydei’s current opponent is bruised and bloodied, but only now does his stance falter, split lips working to form around the word as he eyes Mydei with a new kind of emotion.

“This fight is over.” Mydei announces, limbs aching from exertion as the baffled referee declares him the victor. Cheers rise from those who continued to profit.

The professor is not hard to find, though they’ve never been properly acquainted. The man has been described to him in deed and details to a degree that he would call exhausting.“Professor Anaxagoras.” He’s sure that every ounce of his irritation sharpens the long syllables, crossing his arms as he steps to his side. “If you’re interested in fighting, then the ring is yours.” Were it anyone else, he would have shrugged them off here…but he lingers. This is a Chrysos Heir, a piece of home, someone cherished by his friends. “Otherwise, my motives are my own, and when I’m in need of an opinion –“ He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t be my first choice.”  

[mydcimos]

[ ＳＯＡＲＩＮＧ ＨＥＩＧＨＴＳ . ] [FIGHT CLUB]

Kosma had heard tell of a mighty warrior within the circles of the underground. The daylight was when the word of a new man to challenge in the ring below the city's guise of night was spread through the more seedier part of town. The ones who do get a good look at him, asking where to find this hole-in-the-wall, and are more inclined to wince and censor themselves for his sake. For his sake they say, he huffs, it's best not to tell him where this pit is lest they find him there.

Muscles pulling and pulsing from the inside out, a hunger that transcends sustenance and water of any kind. None of the creatures that his canines wished to rip into and feast on are not present in this resort. He claps a hand over his teeth and any grip he places upon a surface leads to fear he's dented it. He needs... he needs an outlet. Something...

And he does, eventually, find it at last during the late afternoon. The fight club isn't like how they describe for the most part, it's crowded in the way that any sort of person you look at could be given the moniker of expected. Expected, but nothing like the cutthroat descriptors that had happened upon the street earlier today. Until, someone as foreign as he caught his attention—and for a second he thought the man was a cutout.

Golden adornments and tattoos are deep red, heavy, and spilling all across his skin. The blood red and black clothing held a traditional feel that he's worn once upon a time, but not in a recent enough time that he could honestly discern the exact intricacies. Blonde hair frosted with red, just like the whispers said. Kosma gets closer and while he's unsure if the man even wants to acknowledge him, he will at least hear him.

"I want a match in the ring with you." Even with such bluntness, he does not forget his civility and manners. His eyes shown with determination. "I do not care about the weight difference or the class balance; if that's of any concern."

You shouldn’t enjoy this.

The part of him that sees it for what it is fights for purchase, to be heard. A losing battle. This is not Castrum Kremnos. In fact, the mere thought of it is insulting- the dimly lit, sparsely decorated fighting ring holding no similarities to his city’s old arena. The people here fight battles on whims, for money, and as much as it disgusts him - none have died at his hands.

Many met their defeat, but even here the rules are different - no fighting to the death. It comforts as much as it chafes.

The crowds have become warier of him by the day. Fear and wonder and outright admiration, and so the little arena feels like home after all. A distraction, when the rest of this planet is overcrowded and alive with a kind of merriment that makes his skin crawl the longer he lingers.

Luckily, there seems to be no shortage of people willing to challenge him. The gold in his gaze darkens as his eyes narrow, scanning for signs of weakness more than he listens to the words. He doesn’t look like Mydei’s usual opponent. Thin, but not frail, though Mydei has learned over the years that many seem small when they stand in front of him. He hums, an affirmation that he’s heard the request while his eyes flicker around the room. Too many people have stopped to watch them, laughing among themselves at the expense of the person in front of him.

Mydei’s attention returns, “It’s not my concern. If you want to fight, we’ll fight.” Simple, easy, like most things are. Mydei has seen warriors of all caliber in his travel, small and slight did not mean weak as much as others liked to believe.

Some of these people had even been his closest friends.

They take the ring to cheering, to bets, but Mydei mutes the people that call for him to make it painful. “Dueling without trading names is for those that lack honor,” He’s had to tell this to many on this planet. “I am Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos. Tell me your name and prove your strength. I won’t be pulling my blows.” It lacks any condescending air, but the crowd reacts as if it were an insult. Mydei scoffs. After all, the greatest insult he could give the other man would be to underestimate him.

[mydcimos]

♆ GH Revelation 2025

Mydei will be attending lore. Is he happy about it? That...depends on whether or not he thinks the story is worth his time, in the end.

As he is NOT on vacation, his plea for asks is less pretty than...other muses. The truth is, he has little need for all the opulence, and is openly distasteful towards the resort itself. Dancing? Why bother? And these ARE his formal clothes, thank you very much. Take it or leave it.

The best place to find him during the downtime will of course be the fight club or maybe even hunting down that weird monster in the woods.

「 ♆ Accepting asks/threads on all locations」 though some may require extra plotting. As always hmu on discord.

[mydcimos]

Fear changes people. Warps the best beyond recognition and strips honor, dignity, conviction, and all else that makes up the worthwhile pieces of a human soul. In Mydei’s experience, that is. It’s why fear is uncommon to the Kremnoan tongue. A sentiment spoken in gestures and disappointment over words.

His people would rather say that someone has lost all sense before wasting time to assign a word to this feeling-

Undeniably, the woman who names herself Furina is afraid.

The taste of Mydeimos’ answering scowl is bitter, listening to the fluttering swell of her voice as she answers. Teyvat means nothing to him. Fontaine and bus – Krateros catches his eye from where he stands guard to his right, the slightest shake of his head acting as an axe might drop over an exposed neck, but the Prince averts his gaze, denying. Both tense when she jumps in the middle, pale hands clutching for something that had never been there at all.

Oddly enough, he nearly thinks that her voice is steadier now that the fear is focused somewhere far away. At a loss for words, he glances to his mentor. It’s a mistake. Krateros has drawn to his full height. Perhaps it’s age, but the man never seems to need time to think through his decisions. “We do not have time to alter our course,” He says, and Mydeimos nods, knowing him well enough to see where his thoughts are going. “Our victory…the King’s head in your hands, as prophesied. As tradition demands!” The king of Kremnos, crowned in blood. Mydeimos can’t tell if Krateros actually says it, but the sentiment echoes all the same. He’s heard it for too long now, hears it between every word and glance that even his friends toss his way.

Glory for their kingdom… he sighs.

“You cannot afford this- this,” He struggles, as Mydeimos does, trying to find a description for Furina. “Distraction! A madwoman raving nonsensical places that do not exist in Amphoreus, so obviously costumed by our enemies that we should rid ourselves of her while we can. March on Castrum Kremnos now.”

For a moment, he forgets the girl is there. “Enough. I have made it clear that I have no intention to wage war on the city. We will not win that fight. We wait.” The siege on Aidonia crippled them, but his homeland was far better prepared for such invasions. Meeting the King at a disadvantage…Mydeimos knew he would win. If he needed to carve his lance through all the warriors still loyal to his father, it would be done.

The Detachment would not survive it. What would be the point of it all, if everyone who followed him died in the process?

“Go, Krateros. I will deal with this matter.” A lengthy pause followed, the older man’s jaw betraying the argument building there. Mydeimos leveled a sharp stare, holding until his mentor stalked away. For all that their ideals differed, he had never been disloyal. If he wished it…it was done. It was all he could ask for.

Eyeing Furina for the first time in minutes, he can’t say she looks less panicked, eyeing the floor between them and so small that he thinks it must be a defense mechanism. “Furina of Fontaine,” Testing it aloud, it did sound like a character from an Ohkeman storybook. “With an important book that you’ve happened to lose. Did I miss anything?” They don’t carry many chairs with them. Moving from place to place is hard on the wood, but the few they do have always end up in his tent. With one hand, he places the shorter chair near her with an impatient wave. “Sit down and stop…that. None here are sympathetic to cowardice. It makes you untrustworthy, which gets you killed faster.”

He turns away so she can gather herself, finding plucking the worn cups from his pack alongside the wine-red jar of freshly juiced pomegranate that he’d planned to share with his comrades. It wasn’t often that they had the luxury, but the roadside merchants that served Janusopolis never turned them away. Over the years, they’d even learned to stock the things well liked by the Detachment that liked to skirt the border of this territory.

It takes too little time before he’s offering the juice in a small amount, and he fumbles for what to say next. She’s already so…afraid, and nothing she’s said so far has made sense. “The book. It’s important to you? Can’t you just-“ His friend would throw something at him, if he were still alive, but it’s the only thread of conversation he can think of. He teeters the line between resigned patience and underlying irritation. Books are real…at the very least.  “Get a new one. Once you return to whatever city you come from. Ohkema? Janusopolis?”

A NEW AND SANGUINE SUN.

comm.⠀ABUNDANCE⠀∶⠀unexplored frontiers

[mydcimos]

Dead.

Mydei can’t pretend to be surprised. He even lacks what he assumes is the customary measure of sympathy – hadn’t known to expect it until the Kremnoan Detachment stationed in Ohkema, where family and friends wore grief on their sleeves and insisted on wiping it on everyone they came across. Fortunate for this child though, because he doesn’t balk at the whining quite as noticeably. Instead, he manages a slow, solemn nod.

He isn’t foolish enough to be surprised that orphaned children are a commodity everywhere, but it still stings. Around them, the traffic picks back up again, interested eyes dimming as people return to their usual lives. Leaving him alone with a redheaded child that belonged to no one and probably wasn’t even from this planet. The hug comes so suddenly that he freezes, the air in his lungs releasing in a hiss.

Realistically, he knows it’s an embrace. Even if it wasn’t, the kid couldn’t do damage even if he were armed. Still, it’s instinct that has his unarmored hand poised awkwardly over the redhead’s shoulder, ready to fling him away.

Titans save him… “Hey.” Mechanically, he pats his shoulder. The surge of irritation that comes with the shaking sobs is smothered, even if his voice betrays the effort. “Crying is…” Weak. Mydei would call it weak. Useless. He stops himself, searching for a better way to phrase it, staring down at a head of vibrant red hair and finding little inspiration. “Look. You’re not going to find your ocarina by shedding a few tears – you get your bearings and start moving” A pause, and he straightens, ready to stand up. “So? Which do you want to do? I’ll help you if you want to look.”

It goes without saying that he can do little with a crying child. He rises carefully. The boy isn’t so small that carrying him is normal (not that he can boast having spent much time around children), but it’s still an easy thing to hoist him up in one arm. Without explanation, he begins walking towards the stairs that the other had indicated.“Sounds almost like we grew up in the same place, except my home is…well. It’s always dark.” Not a lie. The sun hadn’t shone on Castrum Kremnos in what felt like ages. “You survived it, so you’ll survive this. I’ll watch your back until you’ve got it figured out. Just tell me your name, so I have something to call you by.”

The new level was…nearly the same as the last. Mydei hates the lights, the music, the people- even the crowded bathhouses in Ohkema weren’t as stifling. He finds a corner for them and tries to set the boy down, expectant. “Well?”

🌹 𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖐 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖘

mar. harmony commission | ft. argenti, ???

[mydcimos]

Fate would have him fall in step next to a fool. Mydeimos scowled at the implication, tracking hands that seemed poised to draw a weapon. Short and silver like a dagger, but there wasn’t much else to see. He rolled his shoulders in response, the man’s answer just aggressive enough to test for cracks in his resolve.

If they did fight here and now – in the brief span of time it would take to crush odd stranger – there would still be witnesses. A spectacle. Several other duels would join them…those who jumped for any opportunity to draw blood, though the spotlight would be theirs. His. This alone had him clenching a fist at his side. Refusing, though he couldn’t help but acknowledge that such a duel was badly needed. If only to dispel the buzz of adrenaline that scorched him – that always tipped towards rash decisions and ended with warm blood at his fingertips.

Was it because of his own temperament, or was this a testament to the Kremnoan blood in his veins?

The stranger relented before he could consider it further, but his eyes retained lingering rage even as he huffed, dismissive. “Good choice.” Even if he did want to piece an answer to the next question, it would’ve been drowned in the sudden roar. Ahead of them, the front line had crossed the threshold into the city to a roar of triumph fit for the titans themselves. The warriors quickly joined in, steps kicking up a faster tempo until all were running across the bridge. “Glory to Kremnos!” and “Glory to the King!” intermixed with chants to Nikador themself bled together as one euphoric feeling, that Mydeimos could not temper his answering grin, sharp and dangerous and too alive-

He needed to break free of this before he let himself be swept away by the revelry that followed conquest. Phagousa would not turn their gaze to Castrum Kremnos, but the people here had long since twisted customs to serve the Strife Titan. There would be blood and battle even as they feasted and indulged in their wine. Wandering in the sea of souls, he had been regaled the customs of his people over and over. Seeing it was something else entirely, even if it was tainted by madness.

The drums of victory had only grown louder, a beat to fight or dance or fall to whatever passion any wanted to follow. Mydeimos was not familiar with the city itself, did not know what – or who – he searched for. A mentor, and his friends and the fallen lingering in the sea of souls had always rejoiced to know the Prince lived, that there were those still breathing here that supported the long-dead Queen. These would be his allies, if he could find them.

Allies…

The thought struck him almost a second too late. The man who had challenged him before had managed to stay close, but still moved towards the inner chambers, where the King would look upon the victorious and grant valor before the madness truly settled in. On a whim, Mydeimos reached for him, catching threads of silver hair and pulling him from the moving tide. A faceless countryman laughed at the sight of it, though none stopped to look further into the matter, the two alone in the walkway between the palace and the streets below.

“They won.” He told the man, though that thread of conversation had long gone stale. It was also a stupid question to ask. Obviously they’d been victorious. The mountain dwellers in the east were nearly extinct now, if not enslaved, and this city was the catalyst. “Kremnos is always victorious in battle. Anyone from around here already knows that.” If there’s an accusation in his tone, Mydeimos moves on before it can be addressed, sizing up his…not ally. Not enemy. His acquaintance, though his answer might see him thrown from marble walkway. “If you’re looking for a fight, you’ll find one at the feast- Many, even. But outsiders like you won’t walk away. Whatever business you have in the city, get it done and go while you can.” He could hear that the words sounded…harsh. Biting, like he wanted the man out of his sight. Did he? He had purposefully left his friends behind so that he would walk the city alone and undisturbed. But… he blew out a short breath, adjusting his stance into what he hoped was something more relaxed. Friendly, and not as if he were planning to spring into a fight at a moment’s notice.

「 ♆ 」 𝘔𝘰𝘭ṑ𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘣é

abundance commission [ mydei | boothill ]

[mydcimos]

The end of a long battle is not always pretty. There are dead. There are wounded. Victory rings in his ears nonetheless, familiar and welcoming and Mydei can almost taste the food that he would make to honor his friends.

mydei uses Kingslayer, be King (-7 yanqing) and Godslayer, be God (-8 yanqing) 0/200 – Phase 2 begins.

Odd, that the body in front of him does not fade as the others did. Instead, he seems in stasis, the backdrop of a city landscape rushing past in a sea of clouds that threatens to throw him off balance. Blinding, dizzying, encompassed in a fog so wholly unlike Lingsha’s except for the sweet smell of jasmine and jade. Wary, Mydei keeps his eyes open (it does no good), calling a warning to his companions that is nearly mute.

As clouds that cover the heavens, will the Knights protect the Xianzhou.

The mantra repeats, as if being recited in Mydei’s own baritone. All encompassing, diligent – and just when he thinks to cleave through cloud and mist with his irritation alone, it vanishes. What’s left behind is a courtyard, vast and well-kept, overlooking the same sea of clouds set to the color of dawn.

At least, he thinks it might be dawn. As described in old poetry or too-imaginative artists taking liberties with days and nights that never see their end.

The boy summons his swords again – though they appear as animated wooden targets. Things used for children at play. Kremnoan warriors rarely wasted time with dull tools. How would anyone get better without proper incentives? Stakes? He shakes his head free of confusion, one of the targets gliding forward in warning, singing dangerously despite the innocuous design.

Mydei snorts, even as he readies for another fight. “What are we, in training? This is a farce.”

10,000 ꜱᴛʀɪᴋᴇꜱ, ꜰᴏʀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ

team 4, floor 3.

[mydcimos]

The Kremnoan detachment had won more sieges than it lost, in the end. When Mydeimos returned to drive his spear through his father’s heart, Amphorean denizens had already been singing songs of his conquests – both friend and foe alike. With respect or fear, it did not matter.

To earn it, he’d spent all his years training. Relentless focus over natural talent, aided by his undying curse that allowed him to survive his blunders where his friends did not.

Mydei uses kingslayer, be king [crit -16 yanqing, imprison unsuccessful]

The blonde swordsman brought him back to this. Armed with steps and strategy that was foreign, icy winds following the fall of his sword, where the chill of it was just as sharp and threatening as his weapon. A familiar phantom, Lingsha says, so he files it away for later inspection. It made sense, a capable healer often stood behind unmatched warriors. It isn’t real, he knows, but- “Not bad. Maybe when you’re older, you’ll even beat me.” It sounds harsher, said between strain and gritted teeth, for all that it is a compliment on the prince’s lips.

Shards of ice clash with Strife, powder-blue and blood red grating together with the high, unpleasant pitch of scraping stone. It’s shocking – how the ice gradually crumbles…though fitting, perhaps, for the coreflame’s divinity spurring his rage.

Mydei uses godslayer, be god [crit -18 yanqing, imprison unsuccessful] uses throne of bones [crit -3 yanqing, imprison unsuccessful, +8hp mydei, yanqing taunted to mydei]

Besides, he is still young. There are flaws to be exploited and the sheer strength behind Mydei’s weapon that can’t be matched.

Had this been the training that Mydei pretends it is, he would have called the fight long ago. Blood stains the swordsman’s lips, arms tremble, though these are the only indication of fatigue where the rest of him remains soulless. Compelled. It’s the only explanation he can find as a final tear of crystal splits bone and muscle with wretched swiftness. The swordsman falls only briefly, no pain or fear showing even as he falls to his knees, unable to stand.  

Mydei uses godslayer, be god [crit -18 yanqing, imprison successful]

10,000 ꜱᴛʀɪᴋᴇꜱ, ꜰᴏʀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ

team 4, floor 3.

[mydcimos]

Steel strikes steel– Mydei has no choice but to draw a weapon to deflect precise strikes.

It rings loudly, rattling bones as he weather’s attacks that are blindingly quick. “So now it pulls real people?” His voice may well be lost to his companions from this distance. It doesn’t matter, a new wariness settling into his chest. Could it bring…anyone?   

Mydei Godslayer -9 Yanqing, Kingslayer -8 Yanqing

The thought is unsettling enough, the warrior gritting his teeth as a slender sword bites into his side before his motion is wrested away but one of his companions. “Hmm,” Nevertheless, they traded blows in ways only truly skilled warriors can – nearly no one on Amphoreus can match it. “Whoever he is, he’s got skill,” Mydei says as he falls back, appreciative, though with an undercurrent of weariness. He isn’t tired from the fight, not yet, though he can’t help but think that this is one he shouldn’t have found himself in. It stings, “We can win, but the battle will be long.”

10,000 ꜱᴛʀɪᴋᴇꜱ, ꜰᴏʀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ

team 4, floor 3.