[???]
Mikoto flew ahead, his body twisted midair. A moment later, he extended his arms outward in a slow motion. The air thundered violently, forming concentric rings that rippled outward from his position.
Then, it began.
The air itself convulsed, rippling as the space around Mikoto compressed into an unstable mass before exploding outward. From this violent eruption, two immense cyclones tore into existence.
The twin winds howled, the first cyclone churned with blistering black winds, streaks of red lightning arcing through it like veins. The second was a 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 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 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 intensity. The rock formations trembled, great slabs of stone collapsing.
Selwyn was upon him in an instance, his blade swinging, the 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, sparks ignited as it scraped by his armor.
Before Selwyn could recover, Mikoto retaliated.
With a 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.
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 strands barely moving.
He tilted his head, a slow 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.
"Purpose?" Selwyn's red eyes gleamed with something beyond amusement. "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 silence that followed Selwyn's declaration was shattered by a sharp, derisive scoff. Mikoto tilted his head, his white hair falling over his shoulder, his eyes alight with open contempt, rosy lips curling 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, "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. "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 perfect 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 eyes drinking in Mikoto with something insatiable.
Slowly Selwyn raised his blade.
"Eviscerate."
The moment the word left his lips, the 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 one.
But Mikoto was already gone.
The instant Selwyn spoke, Mikoto had already moved, his form streaking through the air before landing upon the cracked land 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.
"How predictable." His red eyes narrowed 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 disgusting animal."
Selwyn's smirk remained, but his grip on his sword tightened.
Then, without warning, he moved.
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 air, the edges wailing, aiming to carve Mikoto in two. At the last possible moment, Mikoto leaped, his body twisting midair. Selwyn's sword met nothing but the ground.
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 weight of the strike collapsed the earth in upon itself, sending colossal slabs of rock flying in all directions.
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, small, at first—insignificant. A single ember moving around his palm, then, it expanded. A miniature sun was born in his palm.
Its surface seethed, burning with impossible heat, then, in a single, leisurely motion, he curled his fingers inward—compressing the mana, condensing its heat into something denser.
He threw it.
The instant it left his hand, the surrounding air ignited, rippling outward in concentric waves of distortion. The sky warped, unable to contain the overwhelming heat surging through it. It was small—no larger than a clenched fist—yet it roared with a heat so intense that the ground beneath splintered apart just from the residual force. The air turned dense, heavy, and unbearable, as the orb streaked downward like a comet, leaving a trail of blazing red and gold, its path carving itself into air.
The instant before impact, a mere fraction of a second stretched into eternity.
Selwyn had no time to react as it made contact. The moment the orb collided with Selwyn, it did not merely explode—it detonated with the force of a star. An eruption of fire and pure pure force expanded outward. The 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. The dead planet was now torn asunder, fissures miles wide carving through its surface, spewing out lava and hot debris. The land convulsed, the explosion's epicenter bloomed, unfolding like a rapidly expanding lotus. Rock formations disintegrated the moment the fire touched them. The air combusted.
Then came the secondary explosion.
As the initial blast expanded, it compressed inward upon itself, dragging the already raging fire 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 mana outward in a 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.
It began to settle, the fire receding, leaving behind nothing but the scorched, reshaped land of the already dead planet. The colossal pillars of flame still clawed at the skies.
Mikoto descended gracefully, landed without a sound. The tips of his black coat tail barely fluttered as his feet met the ruined earth.
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 fire. Bare flesh met the 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, healing 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.
And through it all, he grinned.
Mikoto scoffed. "You're still breathing? Annoying mutt."
Selwyn rolled his shoulders, as if testing his newly healed flesh. "I am quite fond of breathing," he admitted, tone almost playful. "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."
"So?" He lifted his blade, resting it against his shoulder. "Shall we continue?"
Mikoto didn't answer—not with words. Instead, mana swirled at his hand, it condensed into something tangible.
A weapon began to take shape. The formless silver mass in his hand elongated, shifting and folding into a pristine blade.
Mikoto spun the weapon in his grip, 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.
Selwyn's grin widened as he shot forward. 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 air between them ignited. A shockwave of pure mana erupted from Mikoto's outstretched palm.
The force was instantaneous—an overwhelming, rippling tsunami of mana, the land caved in. Everything within the wave's path was annihilated on contact. The ground beneath its wake was destroyed. The impact sent rock formations splitting apart, entire sections of the 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 sent sparks exploding violently between their blades, Selwyn swung again
The moment Selwyn's sword came crashing down, Mikoto was already gone—his body twisting at an impossible angle, the 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, 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 weight barely registering.
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. His long coat tail fluttered behind him as he twisted midair.
Selwyn barely had time to react before Mikoto's blade flashed forward in 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. Blood burst into the air, a violent red arc. 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 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 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 in a parry, a deafening clash of steel rang out.
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 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, healed.
Selwyn was on him again.
Their blades met once more, 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 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 invincible.
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.
Laughter rang out, it was soft, delicate and 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, he looked different somehow, more radiant. His luscious, snowy-white hair, though tousled from movement, fell over his shoulders, framing his immaculate porcelain skin. His blood-red eyes 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 false 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 spat, tilting his head slightly. His long lashes fluttered as he grinned wider. "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.
"Let me enlighten you, animal," he said. "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 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. 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 pain. 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 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, "I know your little tricks. Your precious, stubborn, infuriating regeneration. How boring would it be to wound you like any ordinary fool? 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 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 level of destruction Mikoto had inflicted—
Selwyn could only think:
This was the perfect opponent.