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Chapter Text

[Reward Calculations for Kremnos Chapter: Rex Factus Sum complete!

(User ID: Mydeimos) may choose one “Modern Conveniences” item of choice to receive as a reward.

• Main Quest: Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem unlocked.]

Mydei stares at the system screen. 

Mydeimos, son of Gorgo, descendant of the great royal Kremnoan bloodline (at least according to Uncle Krateros), had died choking on a tortilla chip. Supremely embarrassing, and not at all the glorious battlefield death his ancestors would have wanted, but it seemed like his ancestors had blessed him with a choice of afterlife. 

[Welcome to purgatory, (User ID: Mydeimos)! Please select from the following:

○ Personalized afterlife services courtesy of Kuroverse Inc. ( Terms and Services apply).

○ Go to Hell. ]

And Mydei obviously couldn’t go to Hell. Eurypon was in Hell, and he’d rather sign his soul away to a shitty game company than be trapped with his deadbeat father for the rest of eternity. What would he even say? Hey dad, remember that time you tried to murder me? That was fun, now we’re both in hell! Let’s resolve our misgivings with each other and hold hands while we get tortured for eternity! Not a chance. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but this—this was his bad karma coming back to bite him in the ass. Kuroverse Inc. was a shady company in the living world, and it seems their afterlife services were no different from their usual operating practices. 

“System? System. This wasn’t part of the deal. What do you mean there’s another chapter. ” He grabs the floating pink box by the sides and shakes it as hard as he can. 

The Kremnos chapter had been a pain in the ass to complete—not in the least because half of the quest events happened exclusively during daytime . 

Meet the Kremnoan detachment? Day-locked.

Kill Eurypon the Mad King? Day-locked.

Side-quest to buy pomegranates from the market? Day-locked .

For probably any other person this wouldn’t have been an issue, but Mydei was, unfortunately, as one of his aunts once said, a “pansy ass bitch who’s too afraid of the sun to step foot outside”. (She was right, technically, but she didn’t have to be so mean about it!)

Mydei hadn’t been okay with the sun for a long time—not since he’d been diagnosed with acute heliophobia at the tender age of seven, right after Eurypon had taken him and his mother out on a “desert vacation”, not since Eurypon brutally murdered and dismembered Gorgo before carving traditional Kremnoan war markings into Mydei’s skin and leaving him to die, and definitely not since the twenty hours Mydei’d spent rotting in the sun, blood evaporating under the heat and light from his torn skin next to the decaying chunks of Gorgo left in the desert.

It wasn’t like Mydei couldn’t go out in the day! He just had to stay in the shade and never look up. 

…Which was admittedly easier said than done. 

That being said, Mydei had barely cleared the Kremnos Chapter alive; if it wasn’t that he’d played the historical Castrum Kremnos-set Punishing: Tears of Chrysos Z spinoff game his afterlife was based off of, he would have failed on the first objective. Why the first objective was to escape the Sea of Souls as a nine-year-old and find the Detachment wandering Amphoreus on his own (under the sun , no less), he’d never know.

It almost seemed like bad game design. But that would be bad for business, so the unfair difficulty curve had to have an ulterior motive.

The system dialogue box blinked empty, then refreshed with a flash of light. 

[Query: “What do you mean there’s another chapter?”

Answer: To better improve the user’s afterlife experience, the developers of Punishing: Tears of Chrysos Z have integrated all 13 main franchise games into one world setting! The Kremnos Chapter was selected based on user affinity with Character: Undying Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos. From Era Nova Chapter onwards, the user is able to freely interact with characters from other Punishing: Tears of Chrysos Z titles!

Reminder: (User ID: Mydeimos) has two (2) free queries remaining.]

“There’s thirteen chapters? Thirteen? Please tell me they’re not all day-locked like Kremnos was.” 

[Query: “There’s thirteen chapters? Thirteen? Please tell me they’re not all day-locked like Kremnos was.”

Answer: There are seven chapters including Era Nova Chapter in the main storyline. Not all are exclusive to daytime, though a large portion of Era Nova Chapter occurs in Okhema, where it is always daytime. 

Reminder: (User ID: Mydeimos) has one (1) free query remaining.]

Mydei drops his face into his hands with a groan. “This is a joke. This is all some sort of elaborate, mental-breakdown-inducing cosmic joke. Kephale save me.” Alas, the Sky Father does not come swooping to Mydeimos’ aid, as they are the one holding the titans-forsaken Dawn Device that marks Mydei’s impending doom. 

At least the blankets are warm and the nighttime breeze is cool against his skin. He stays curled up on his kline in his little pathetic ball of self-pity for a few minutes, then sits up with a sigh. “Open quest menu, please.”

[Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem

Main Objective: Reach an agreement with Okhema to allow the Kremnoan Detachment to take shelter behind the Holy City’s walls.

Bonus objective: Make a positive first impression on the Deliverer.

Note: Story Quest has been improved based on gathered user data and feedback. Kuroverse Inc. sincerely hopes that (User ID: Mydeimos) can enjoy this quest!

Begin quest? (Yes/No) ]

“System…are you doing this on purpose? You know I can’t go there. I’ll die, system, and then you won’t be able to make money off my afterlife. It’s bad for business, I’ll leave a bad Yelp review from super hell.”

The menu screen flashes. [Processing query; please wait.]

“Don’t answer that. That was a rhetorical question.” Mydei had fought tooth and nail for his free three (3) queries, and he’d be damned if he wasted one on a stupid question. Obviously the system was doing it on purpose. Capitalism waits for no man’s joy.

[Begin quest? (Yes/No)]

The quest confirmation window drifted closer, flashing bright red and vibrating to get his attention. 

What the hell, sure. Not like Mydei can do anything else. “Yes, begin quest.” 

[Loading quest…

Reminder: (User ID: Mydeimos) may still select one “Modern Conveniences” item to receive as a reward. 

Prompt: (User ID: Mydeimos) is invited to share your feedback on the previous Main Quest Chapter! Survey Opt-out is available for a cost of: 3000 credits. >>Start Survey<< ]

Ah, the joys of capitalism. 

Mydei grumbles, shifting to lean against the soft cushions propped against the back of his (custom-made) kline. They’re soft, but not soft enough to heal the wounds left on his soul by capitalism. He taps the Start Survey button.

[1. How would (User ID: Mydeimos) rate the personalized aspects of the storyline Kremnos Chapter: Rex Factus Sum?]

He hated it, thanks. “2/10, and half of that is for letting me kill a fictional version of my father.”

Mydeimos doesn’t mention the relief of having Uncle Krateros around. He’s pretty sure the system already knows. Whatever data collection system Kuroverse used, it was invasive enough to know about every person he’d ever failed—Gorgo, his friends from Kremnos, the ragtag group of web surfers he’d fallen in with later on in life—and had summarily given him the chance to fail them all over again as the prince of Castrum Kremnos. 

Purely personalization-wise, his afterlife was 10/10. Unfortunately, Mydeimos was not one for being reminded of his life’s trauma at every possible turn, so the system gets a 2/10 for making him watch all but one of his loved ones die again.

[2. How much does (User ID: Mydeimos) enjoy the current system interface? Please rate on a scale of 1-10, with 1 being least and 10 being most.]

“Eight.” The UI is sleek, made to appeal to modern spirits who enjoy a healthy bit of minimalism—which Mydeimos very much is. Sue him. Or don’t, actually. He’s not sure if he can afford a lawyer with his meager savings of 40,000 system credits.

[3. Please select A on this question so we can ensure (User ID: Mydeimos)’s answers are accurate.]

He’s tempted to hit B just for the sake of fucking with the system, but 3,000 credits is 3,000 credits. He hits A, like the weak-willed capitalist wageslave he is. Or that he used to be. The survey window beeps a cheerful tune, then vanishes in a shower of digital confetti. 

[Quest loaded! Kuroverse Inc. hopes (User ID: Mydeimos) will enjoy the next installment in Punishing: Tears of Chrysos Z. ]

“My prince!” The doors to his chambers fly open, crashing into the marble pillars on either side with a resounding clang. Mydei jolts under his blanket at the noise; Krateros strides in, waving a crumpled paper in his clenched fist. “Okhema’s Goldweaver taunts us behind a shield of paper and ink,” he spits, “she cordially invites you to meet with her people, alone and without guard . What pathetic cowardice!” 

Mydei carefully extracts the letter from his uncle’s hands before the poor thing gets torn to pieces. It starts with standard flowery nothing-burger pleasantries, congratulating him on his successful murder of his father, only to transition abruptly to a request to…join the “flame-chase journey”?

Mydeimos has heard of wife-chasing, bag-chasing, but never chasing a flame. He’s tempted to write back to the Goldweaver and ask her if they’ve considered putting the flame on something that doesn’t move, so they won’t have to chase it. On the other hand, it’s probably some sort of Okheman cultural thing, and he doesn’t want to come off as a racist, insensitive, patricidal crown prince. He may be patricidal, but Mydei would die and go to super hell before he became racist.

“Uncle,” he says, interrupting Krateros’ incensed shouting, “do you know of this ‘flame-chase journey’?”

“My prince, please, you can’t call me Uncle anymore,” the older Kremnoan sighs. “We’re not blood-related. You must consider your standing among the Detachment as the future king.” 

Mydei considers his uncle’s words. “So if I become king, then declare that you’re my uncle, can I call you uncle?”

“Oh, for the love of—nevermind.” Krateros mutters, pressing a palm to his temple. “There was a prophecy long ago about the golden-blooded ones reclaiming coreflames from the Titans. The Goldweaver Aglaea and her group of rabble have been following it devotedly.”

Coreflames—that sounds familiar. Mydei’s brow furrows as he searches through his memory for where he’d heard that before. “Oh, like the thing I got from Nikador?” He pulls his one and only five-star boss drop from his inventory window, the teardrop-shaped crystal spinning lazily above his palm. 

Krateros freezes, staring wide-eyed at the droplet. “My prince.” Mydei can hear his teeth grinding together. “It would be much appreciated if you would inform us that you inherited the coreflame of Strife .”

“I didn’t really inherit it,” Mydei mumbles sheepishly. “I just kind of…got frustrated when Nikador wouldn’t stop regenerating, so I tore its head off and this popped out.”

His uncle sags, dropping onto the kline besides him. “Only you could say something like that. Okay. And when was this?”

During the system-mandated tutorial quests, where he’d almost died falling off a cliff in the battle arena…but he wasn’t about to tell Uncle Krateros that. In the game, he’d crawled out of the Sea of Souls shortly after defeating Nikador and learning the combat controls, so… “When I was about nine years old? Just before I found you and the Detachment, actually.”

Krateros stares at him. Mydei blinks innocently. “My prince,” he groans, “you have to tell me these things ahead of time. My old heart won’t be able to take it anymore.”

“Sorry,” Mydei says. He doesn’t feel very sorry, seeing as he hadn’t known what a ‘coreflame’ was three minutes prior. Blame the shitty game design, not him.

“So,” Krateros says. “You slew Nikador in the Sea of Souls, crawled out at nine, and found the Detachment.”

Wow, his uncle is really good at story recaps. It’s almost like he’s a dedicated story recap NPC. “That’s correct.”

“And you have never thought to tell us, the Kremnoan Detachment from Castrum Kremnos , which follows the Strife Titan, that you successfully killed and inherited the mantle of Strife from Nikador?”

“Yes.” It’s the objective truth. Gorgo had always taught Mydei that the best way to deal with conflicts was to tell the truth—and then to beat the shit out of people who disagreed with the truth with his fists. “I’ll agree to the Goldweaver’s terms and join the flame-chase, but I must negotiate benefits for the Detachment first. Send word to the stable hands to prepare Kokopo III by tomorrow?”

Krateros flips the forgotten blanket back over Mydei, tucks him in, and hands Mydei his pillow. “You, my prince,” he hisses, “are staying right here , in bed , where the Goldweaver can’t sink her claws into you. And I am going to arrange for full Detachment mobilization in a fortnight.”

“The letter says to come alone?” Mydei feels a bit silly pointing that out under his uncle’s ferocious glare. 

“And would you jump off a cliff because a letter told you to?” Mydei is immortal, so he could very well do that without consequence, but he has a feeling Krateros wouldn’t like that response. He shakes his head no, and Krateros’ glare lessens slightly as he stands up. “It’s too dangerous to send you alone, especially since you’re in possession of a coreflame—the very things that the Goldweaver seeks at all costs.”

“But—”

“You are staying here until we all go together, and that’s the end of this discussion.” Krateros stops before the door, and turns back to face Mydei. “Is that understood ?”

Mydei thinks that maybe Krateros would be more willing to let him go alone if he knew Mydei had access to a fully secure personal inventory courtesy of the system, but he also thinks that maybe Krateros would think he’s insane and use that as an excuse to keep him locked up in Castrum Kremnos for even longer if he confessed that. “Sure.”

“Then that’s settled.” Krateros nods confidently. “I’ll be back to inform you when the Detachment is ready to move, my prince. Good night, Mydeimos.” The doors to his chambers slide shut with a soft click. 

[Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem prologue complete!

• Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem I: We Who Chase the Flame unlocked.
• (User ID: Mydeimos) has received Credits x100, Traveller’s Advice x2, and Trailblaze EXP x500 as a reward.]

Only 100 credits? Stingy ass system. 

Mydeimos stares at the closed doors from where he’s still tucked into his kline, pillow clutched to his chest. On one hand, he really does respect Uncle Krateros and would like to be a good, obedient nephew. On the other hand, he thinks he will die of embarrassment if the entire Kremnoan Detachment walks him to his meeting with the Goldweaver. He feels like a kid going out for his first job interview while his parents insist on tagging along.

Naturally, as a Kremnoan crown prince does, Mydeimos slips out of bed, pulls his armor on, stuffs his mini Chimera plush into his pocket after a moment of consideration, and jumps out the window while nobody is looking.

Kokopo III is a fine steed—Mydei’s favorite steed, ever! Which doesn’t actually mean that much when Kokopo III is his only steed, ever. 

Mydei chose Kokopo III for three things: one, he’s a regal-looking dromas. Everybody loves cute dromases, but regal-looking dromases are on another level. Two, Kokopo III is loyal without doubt; Mydei’s seen the dromas kick other soldiers for trying to approach his saddle. 

And, last but not least: Kokopo III is fucking fast . 

Just before daybreak, they’d snuck out of Castrum Kremnos together, (with surprising stealth, considering Kokopo III is a house-sized dinosaur-dragon-thing) and Mydei had strapped himself into the saddle, wrapped a cloth over his head, and settled in to sleep during the day while Kokopo III navigated to the location the Goldweaver had offered.

The meeting place was well over nineteen quints away, as the dromas ran, but Kokopo III could shorten that to just under nine quints running at top speed. Even if Mydei left Castrum Kremnos at the moment the sun slipped below the horizon, he’d arrive during the day; he doubted his future allies would enjoy being treated to a view of the Kremnoan prince puking his guts out because he saw the sun.

Kokopo III croons softly as Mydei slides off the exhausted dromas’ back. 

“Thanks,” he smiles at his dromas. “There should be a pond a little bit past the hills to the west of here. You can relax there; I’ll come find you once I’m done.”

The moon was up and shining brightly in the sky overhead. The Goldweaver hadn’t specified a time for their meeting, but she had implied her people would be there for at least a few days in case Mydei decided to come.

Hanging the fabric of his makeshift sunblock in a nearby tree, Mydeimos stepped past the treeline of the forest and into the clearing proper. There was a small, red-haired child weaving flowers into a crown, who perked up at the sound of his approaching footsteps. 

“...are you the Goldweaver?” Mydei doubted it, but it never hurt to ask.

The girl giggled. “No, silly! I’m Tribbie!” She floated (?!) on tiny wings until she was at eye level with Mydei. “It’s good to meet you! Hang on, I’ll go fetch Snowy so you guys can talk about Aglaea’s letter.” Mydei watched incredulously as the young girl opened a portal and zipped through, leaving him alone in the clearing. 

“System,” he whispers to the air, “how come the other plot-relevant characters get to do cool shit like fly and open portals , but all I get is half-assed immortality and some red crystals? This is unfair. Preferential treatment. I want to file a complaint.”

[Would (User ID: Mydeimos) like to file a complaint to Kuroverse Inc.?]

“Yes,” Mydei said. “Yes, I would. Don’t use the paid channel.”

[Standard complaint logged! (User ID: Mydeimos) should receive a response within 33550336 working days. 

Reminder: upgrading user complaints to premium feedback channel costs only 45.000 credits.]

Stingy ass system. Mydei had half a mind to file another free complaint just for that tacky reminder. Unfortunately, Tribbie was back, hopping merrily through another portal with another person in tow before Mydei could unleash his f2p wrath upon the system.

He turns, ready to introduce himself, and—oh wow . The legs on that man are ridiculous. Mydeimos thinks he could die happy if the stranger choked him with those muscled thighs. 

The white-haired man with an absurdly beautiful build smiles, offering a hand in greeting. “Welcome to the outskirts of Okhema, your majesty!” Even his laugh sounds divine. Mydei would pray to Nikador for salvation, but he killed Nikador with his own two hands. “Sorry we couldn’t offer a grander welcome—you know how it is with first meetings.”

Given that Mydei is a former internet-addicted chimera meme animator who died and went to hell, he does not, in fact, know how it is with first meetings. “Mn. I’m Mydeimos, of Castrum Kremnos.” He takes the stranger’s hand in his own, and wishes he wasn’t wearing his gauntlets so he could make skin-to-skin contact with the beautiful man. 

The white-haired man looks at him oddly. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, crown prince of Kremnos. I am Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, sent by Lady Aglaea to greet you. I take it you’re willing to join the Flame-Chase Journey?”

“Under a few conditions, yes.” 

“And pray tell, what might those conditions be?” Phainon–a beautiful name for a beautiful man–tilts his head. It’s cute, like a confused puppy.

Mydei holds up two fingers. “One, an agreement to allow the Kremnoan Detachment to shelter within the Holy City. Two, to ensure Kremnoans are treated equally within Okhema.”

Tribbie pipes up from where she’s standing. “How about we take this discussion to Lady Aglaea? She’d be delighted to discuss the integration of the Kremnoans into Okhema.”

Mydei frowns. “I’m afraid we’ll have to meet somewhere outside of Okhema.”

“Oh?” Phainon smiles again, though this time it seems less friendly. “Is the great crown prince of Kremnos so unwilling to associate with us Okhemans, despite seeking our aid?”

“It’s not that, it’s just—”

Phainon drops Mydei’s hand harshly. “Or is it that you’re too cowardly to step foot in Okhema City without your royal guard? I never took Kremnoan royalty for cowards.”

“Snowy!” Tribbie shrieks, flitting about in the air. “That’s not nice at all! Apologize!”

“Lady Tribbie, I don’t see why I should apologize to this esteemed crown prince for merely stating my own opinion.” Great. Now Mydei’s gone and pissed off the gorgeous man and maybe jeopardized the safety of his people (and failed the main quest while he’s at it).

As Gorgo once told him: honesty first, then fists.

He holds his hands up in the universal “I’m not a threat” pose. Something, something body language. Mydei doesn’t know, he never studied that kind of stuff. 

“I apologize for any perceived insult,” he says carefully. Phainon’s gaze is as cold as ice, and Tribbie seems upset at both of them. “I have nothing against Okhema, or her people. It’s simply that…I can’t go out in the sun. Not without severe side effects.” It’s a half-truth, but it’s close enough. 

“Oh!” Tribbie gasps, holding her hands over her mouth. Even Phainon looks taken aback. She flutters closer, taking one of Mydei’s gauntlet-clad hands in both of her own tiny ones. “It’s your flaw, right? That must be so hard… Snowy, apologize already!”

Well. Calling it Mydei’s flaw is certainly one way to describe his heliophobia. He supposes she’s not exactly wrong about it.

Phainon rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and suddenly the charming, puppy-like young man is back. Mydei knew several people who would have killed for code-switching skills like that. Lucky Mydei, though, since the fortune he inherited from his father prevented him from having to get a corporate job.

“Sorry about that,” Phainon says. Charm oozes from every pore of his being; Mydei can see why the Goldweaver sent him on a diplomatic mission, other than his appearance. “Okhema is very dear to me, and I’m afraid I become rather defensive of it.”

Mydei grunts in response, because what else is he supposed to say to that without coming off as a total jackass? “I should be alright indoors, as long as there’s no large windows in the room.”

Tribbie nods. “I got it! I know the perfect place.” She shares a glance with Phainon. “Please, follow us!”

The sensation of passing through a portal—a “century gate”, as Phainon explains—is surprisingly subtle. It’s almost like missing the last step of the stairs on the way down, or a sudden drop where he’d expected to step on solid ground. They’re deposited in a strange space with ruins centered around a basin of liquid and the stars hanging overhead. 

“Welcome to the Vortex of Genesis!” Tribbie rushes ahead, striking a pose next to the basin. The water of the vortex ripples where they step, though none of their feet sink into the liquid. “This is where the world began, and where Era Nova will begin once we return all twelve coreflames.”

A blonde woman in an elegant chiton and a timid-looking redhead, nearly identical to Tribbie, are waiting by the basin. “Greetings. I am Aglaea, the Goldweaver and leader of the Chrysos Heirs. Lady Trinnon has already informed me of your request, Prince Mydeimos.”

Mydei nods stiffly. He’s so far out of his depth that it isn’t even funny. “Please, just call me Mydeimos. It’s my pleasure.”

[System has detected that (User ID: Mydeimos) is experiencing elevated levels of anxiety. Would (User ID: Mydeimos) like to purchase a one-use skill <Diplomacy Lv. 1> to assist with the current quest for 10.000 Credits?]

Mydei ignores the screen with some effort. Pop-up ads are the enemy of all, especially when said ads are emblazoned into one’s vision in flashing, hot pink windows.

“Space is available in Okhema for the Kremnoan Detachment to stay. However,” Aglaea says, “the question is if Kremnos is willing to assist in defending Okhema against the Black Tide.”

“Of course.” Mydeimos crosses his arms. “We Kremnoans are not ones to take without giving back. If we are granted refuge in the Holy City, our warriors will surely volunteer themselves for the battlefield—though I must seek your guarantee of equal treatment first.”

Aglaea nods, strands of golden hair bobbing elegantly. “I will without a doubt both petition the civilian council and instruct my Garmentmakers to ensure Kremnoans are treated as fellow citizens in Okhema. You need not worry about your people, Crown Prince.”

Mydei mentally breathes a sigh of relief. Dealing with fantasy racism was not something he wanted to do in his afterlife. 

“Now,” Aglaea smiles, “I believe you stated your flaw was sunlight? I’m afraid it’s impossible for us to guarantee complete isolation from the sun here in Okhema, as Kephale’s Dawn Device is our omnipresent defense against the Black Tide. We can, however, have certain streets and alleyways covered in a cloth overhang so it lessens the burden on you.”

“No need,” Mydei waves off her questioning glance. How she’s doing that while very obviously blind, Mydei will never know. He can just put a hood on and look at the ground while walking. “If I may ask, what does the flame-chase entail?”

“The concept is quite simple,” Phainon chimes in. “We claim the Titans’ coreflames, return them here in the Vortex of Genesis, and ascend to become demigods.”

“When Era Nova comes, the world will be remade without the Black Tide,” the shy Tribbie clone—Trinnon?—adds from behind Aglaea.

Okay. So Mydei died, sold his soul to a game company, and now he’s standing here about to devote himself to a doomsday cult that wants to recreate the in-universe creation myth but with more titan murder. That’s fine. It’s not like he’s innocent, after all.

He nods. It’s easy enough to comprehend. “I assume you seek all twelve coreflames?”

“Indeed we do,” Aglaea says. “Though I fear Strife and Death in particular have not been spotted in years; we may have difficulty reclaiming those two coreflames.”

Beside Mydei, Phainon clenches a fist, turning away. Mydei gives him a curious look. Maybe he just doesn’t like Nikador?

 He blinks. Right. The reason why Strife hasn’t been seen in years is because Strife is Nikador. And Nikador hasn’t been seen in years because Mydei tore its head off and bathed in its blood before wading out of the Sea of Souls.

“..Mm. About that,” he offers, immediately regretting his decision to speak up when all four other Chrysos Heirs present turn to look at him, “I may…have something to do with Nikador’s disappearance.”

“Oh?” Aglaea makes a contemplative noise. “I had heard of the prophecy surrounding your birth; I suppose it does make some sense that Kremnos’ patron titan would be tied to the fate of its last prince…”

The what now? Mydei is going to choose to ignore the part about a prophecy about his birth. Ignorance is bliss. “It’s not like that,” he shakes his head, reaching into his inventory window to retrieve the coreflame. “When I was in the Sea of Souls, I had an…altercation, of sorts, with Nikador. One that ended in its death.” They don’t need to know he ripped its head off like some kind of savage.

Phainon makes some sort of twitchy, grabby movement with his hands before stilling again. Mydei gives him another curious glance, to which he responds with a soul-piercing stare. Aglaea’s eyes are slightly wider than they were two seconds ago, which Mydei takes as surprise, and Tribbie’s mouth is open in shock. 

Trinnon is, surprisingly, the first of them to speak. “...pardon me, but…how old are you?”

Here they go again. It’s Krateros all over again, but with more diplomatic red tape. “I was nine when I encountered Nikador for the first and last time,” he offers.

Mydei’s starting to think maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned the coreflame. Phainon’s gaze is burning a hole into the side of his head. He turns to face the white-haired man, holding out the coreflame. “Do you…do you want the Strife coreflame?”

Phainon gives him an incredulous look, hands twitching upwards. “Would the mighty crown prince of Kremnos, fated inheritor of Strife, allow this peasant to do so?” …And they’re back to the hostile approach again. What is this, good cop bad cop but with only one cop?

Mydei shrugs. “If you can take it from me, then sure.” The item description does say ‘account-locked’, but he hasn’t tried transferring items to NPCs yet. 

“Very well!” Phainon summons a greatsword (?) out of thin air (??) and points it at Mydeimos (???).  “I, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, challenge you to a duel! If I win, I will attempt the trial of Strife.”

Mydeimos looks around. For some reason, Aglaea and the two redheads have chosen to watch from a distance; it seems nobody is going to come to rescue him from the crazy (but still very attractive) sword-wielding man. Mydei regrets wanting to be choked by Phainon’s thighs. 

He reluctantly pulls his gauntlets out from his inventory, mentally shedding a tear for the metal that had just been fixed from his fight with Eurypon about to be dented to hell and back again. The coreflame he stuffs back into the window unceremoniously. 

Phainon circles him like a predator waiting to strike, greatsword at the ready while Mydei cautiously watches the circling man. “What’s the matter, prince?” He sneers. “Too cowardly to make the first strike?”

Mydei has heard of this tactic before. How regrettable, that the eye-candy Phainon preferred provocations and ragebaiting over proper duelling. 

He throws an experimental punch, fast but weaker than usual, and Phainon responds with a parry so forceful Mydei can feel his bones rattling from the point of impact. He hops back as Phainon swings his greatsword at Mydei’s ankles. 

Wow. Okay. That was rude; Mydei was immortal, yes, but he’s also pretty sure the average swordsman didn’t make a habit of going for the ankles. Mydeimos glares. Two can play at that game. 

The next time, when Phainon swings his greatsword at his neck, Mydei ducks low and aims a punch at the swordsman’s knee–only to pivot and target the other man’s crotch with his other fist. Unfortunately, the white-haired man is fast enough to dodge before the strike connects.

Phainon laughs incredulously. “To think the Kremnoan prince would sink so low…!” He hisses as Mydei grabs at the stupid-looking stems of hair sprouting from the top of his head. 

“You went for the ankles first!” Mydei yowls as Phainon drops his greatsword and yanks on his braid hard. 

“That,” Phainon argues, knocking the both of them onto the floor, “was a legitimate strategical move! It limited your mobility!”

“So was mine!” Mydei smashes his forehead into Phainon’s, and both of them reel back in pain. “You were the one who pulled a sword on me!”

Phainon growls, grabs Mydei by the braid again (what a dirty move), and pushes Mydei onto his back. “What are you talking about? You wanted a duel!”

Mydei lashes out, kicking wildly at Phainon’s chest, and hisses when his ankle is caught in the man’s grip. “When did I do that?!” He wiggles, trapped both by his raised leg trapped by the foot and by Phainon’s weight on his other leg. 

“You told me to take the coreflame from you! How was that not a challenge?” Phainon frowns down at him, grunting when Mydei manages to sock him in the shoulder, then grabs both Mydei’s wrists in the hand that isn’t securing the prince’s ankle. “Would you stop that?!”

“I meant for you to just take it from my hand like a normal person,” Mydei spits. “I didn’t expect you to be some kind of battle-crazed maniac!” He thrashes wildly, putting all his strength behind the movements as he twists under Phainon’s hold. The swordsman curses as Mydei manages to break free of his hold, rolling to the side to avoid a vicious kick. 

“That’s rich, coming from the prince of Kremnos.” And there it was again, fantasy racism.

Mydeimos frowns, crossing his arms as he glares at Phainon. “Can’t believe you’re racist too.”

Phainon blinks. “I’m what? I don’t race.”

“Hateful towards other races of people. Bigoted towards Kremnoans. Whatever.” Mydei scoffs. “Knew you looked too good to be true.”

Phainon, against all expectations, blushes. “Could you repeat that last sentence? I think I must have misheard you.”

Mydei rolls his eyes, strides over to the man—whose cheeks are tinted gold , what the fuck? It’s probably because Chrysos Heirs have gold blood. He pokes a finger into Phainon’s chest, forcing the slightly taller man to step backwards. “You. Are very good looking. But still racist. And a dickhead who pulled a sword on me.”

Phainon’s face continues to flush gold. He suddenly gasps, eyes widening. “This…I’ve heard about this! Kremnos’ royalty always chooses their partners through fights…oh, Prince Mydeimos, you’re such a flirt!” Mydeimos is suddenly swept into a rib-crushing embrace courtesy of Phainon. 

“?” Mydei blinks, flabbergasted. Aglaea stares back at him from the outskirts of the Vortex with an unreadable look in her eyes. 

“Of course I’ll marry you!” Phainon is off in his own world, spinning Mydei around in circles while he narrates his imagined version of events. “You know, this body of yours is absurd; I thought you were attractive from the moment we met! The coreflame—that’s just an excuse to get close to me, right? I’ll take it from you properly next time at our wedding.”

Please help, Mydei tries to convey with his eyes. 

??? reads Tribbie’s face. Your problem , reads Aglaea’s. 

Mydei wheezes in Phainon’s unrelenting grip, clawing at the man’s sides. Phainon is still rambling about something or other. “...we’ll have plenty of children, and with your build and mine they’ll surely be healthy, though I think they’ll look more like me—hey, Mydei, can you get pregnant with my kids? I can’t get pregnant, so it’ll have to be you. We’ll have to find a way to make that happen…”

Mydeimos tunes out of the man’s inane fantasies. He pushes at Phainon’s chest, sucking in a greedy lungful of air before the white-haired man is crushing Mydei in his hold again. “Just take the coreflame—” he wiggles a hand out from between their chests, pulls the damned item out, and shoves it at Phainon’s face.

Phainon catches it in one hand, grins at Mydei, and leans in while Mydei thrashes in his hold. “You’re too kind, my prince! What a lovely engagement gift~ Now hold still!” He leans in closer, lips puckered, and Mydei stares in horror as they approach. He closes his eyes, grimacing. 

The feeling of finally being released from Phainon’s death grip is freeing, and Mydeimos stumbles to his feet with the assistance of some golden threads looped around his arm as Phainon is pulled away from him by more of the same threads. The white-haired man pouts where he’s strung up by the arms, still holding the coreflame in his hand. 

“I do believe that’s quite enough,” Aglaea chuckles. “Young love is endearing, but I’m afraid our dear prince has other matters to attend to.”

Mydei cocks his head. He doesn’t remember arranging anything else, and he can’t think of anything that might warrant his immediate attention. “Did my dromas follow us?”

“I think it’s better if you take a look for yourself,” Aglaea says. “Teacher, if you will?”

“On it!” Tribbie opens a Century Gate. “This way, De!” 

When Mydei passes through to the other side, he finds himself under the shade of a massive city gate. Wincing, his gaze darts down to the floor. 

“Oh, sorry! I guess I should have warned you…” Tribbie shuffles sheepishly. “But look over there!” She guides his eyes with a pointed finger. Far off in the distance, a large group of armored individuals carrying red banners is marching rapidly towards Okhema. 

A large group of individuals that look to be Kremnoan-armed, and carrying the crests of Castrum Kremnos.

“Fuck,” Mydei groans, before remembering there’s a child next to him. “Sorry. It’s my uncle. He didn’t want me to come out on my own, and I guess he got here sooner than expected.”

“No worries!” Tribbie chirps, smiling. “We all make our mistakes. Do you want to go over and tell him you’re okay?”

“That’d be much appreciated.” Mydei looks around; the Detachment is marching over an open field at the moment, no shade to be seen. “Could you find some kind of cloth or hood for me?” Tribbie nods and speeds off as fast as her little wings can carry her.

He can see Uncle Krateros at the front of the Detachment, atop a very familiar dromas. It seems Kokopo III found the Detachment. He’s shouting something— “...prince! Our…Mydeimos! You scoundrels…cowards!” Honestly, it’s impressive Krateros can still shout so loud at his age. Mydei feels a bit flattered that his uncle’s willing to go that far for him. 

“De! Is this alright?” Tribbie has returned with a length of rich red fabric in hand. At his nod, she helps him wind it over his head and around his neck so that it’s providing a bit of shade over his face. “I’ll help you get over there.” She takes him by his hand, and there’s the familiar feeling of passing through a Century Gate again. 

The Detachment instantly spots the newcomers, metal clanging and leather rustling as they ready their weapons. “Halt!” Krateros cries from somewhere above Mydei’s field of vision. “A holy maiden of Janusopolis? If you’ve come to stop us from razing Okhema, give up now. We won’t stop until our prince is returned.”

“He’s right here,” Tribbie says cheerfully. “De explained his issues with the sun already, so we had to bring him indoors to meet.” She nudges Mydei forwards. “We had a lovely time meeting you, De! See you again soon!” A last, quick hug and she’s gone with a flutter of wings. 

“Prince Mydeimos?” There’s the clanking of buckles and the sound of boots hitting the dirt. Krateros closes the distance between them in fast, long strides, each step startling a new cloud of dust into the air. “The tent, the tent. Quickly!” Fabric rustles, soldiers scrambling to break the dry earth with the tent poles and drape heavy fabric over them. 

“Thank Nikador you’re safe.” He makes to undo Mydei’s makeshift hood, patting Mydei’s arms to check for injuries, and pauses when he sees the fading bruise Phainon’s grip had left on his wrists. 

Krateros makes a questioning noise. “Don’t,” Mydei says quietly.

“...hmph. Shall we make camp here, my prince?”

They’re still just within the light of the Dawn Device, though Okhema is relegated to merely a series of high walls jutting over a faraway hill. Kremnos must be at least several hours’ march away, and the soldiers would most definitely not appreciate marching back after rushing to Okhema. Mydei nods.

A duo of footsoldiers haul his kline over (???), grunting under its weight. They snap to salute Mydei, and one shakes his hand enthusiastically. “It’s an honor to meet you, my prince! We’ll make those dirty Okhemans pay for kidnapping you!”

“They didn’t actually—” and the soldiers are gone in a rush. Nobody here cares for the truth, Mydei bemoans as he reluctantly sits down. The kline is soft, because he requested it be made that way, and it makes him irritated at how the softness saps his anger. 

Krateros has waved a handful of servants over; Mydei recognizes them as the chefs, brewers, and maids from the Kremnoan palace. Did the Detachment bring all of Kremnos with them on the way? They serve cheeses and fruits on a table delivered by a hassled-looking woman, who runs off to do Nikador knows what. 

“So,” Krateros says, arms crossed, “I’m sure you have something to say to me.” He’s still standing, and rather imposingly at that. Mydei is starting to think that this is some sort of interrogation. 

Mydeimos reaches for a grape. Krateros stares at him the entire time, and it’s definitely one of the top ten most uncomfortable moments of Mydei’s life. 

“...did you bring all of Kremnos with you?” There is a full mobile kitchen being assembled nearby, and Mydei thinks he sees what may be the entire contents of Kremnos’ grain reserves being carted around by a stocky dromas. 

“No,” his uncle says. “Just most of Kremnos. When the crown prince goes missing in the middle of the night , one must take certain precautions.”

Mydei winces. “Sorry, Uncle Krateros.”

Krateros sighs, covers his eyes. “You are going to be the death of me someday. Stop running off without telling us things, my prince.”

“I did tell you I was going to accept the Goldweaver’s proposal,” Mydei points out. 

“And I told you to stay while I readied our people to march.” 

“How did you manage to get here so fast?” If the Detachment only started marching after Mydei left, then it surely would have taken them much longer to arrive. 

Uncle Krateros fixes him with a deadpan look. “Do you really think I believed for even a second that you wouldn’t run off as soon as my back was turned? This is the fourth time you’ve snuck off against my explicit wishes. I rallied the Detachment before showing you the letter.” …fair. 

Mydei puts on his best I’m-just-a-little-guy face. It’s always worked on Uncle Krateros, and it shouldn’t fail him now. “I got us refuge in Okhema.”

Krateros looks like he’s about to give up on life. “Sure, my prince. Let’s just march back to Castrum Kremnos, fetch the rest of our things from the fortress, return to the Holy City with the extra burden, and settle there. Was that your plan?”

“Well,” he says carefully, “I was thinking more along the lines of settle the people first, then take a group of warriors and dromases to move the remaining cargo to Okhema.” Contrary to popular belief, Mydei does, in fact, consider the logistics of moving a several-thousand-person force across a continent. 

His uncle casts an unreadable gaze over him and nods. Hopefully in a good way. Mydei has no idea. “The Detachment awaits your command, crown prince Mydeimos.”

He steps forwards, a hand shooting out towards Mydei’s head—a movement which makes him flinch, and he knows Krateros noticed despite the amount of effort Mydei had spent training himself to hide it—and ruffles Mydei’s hair. 

Mydei freezes. Today has contained more affectionate touching than the past twelve years of his life combined. 

And then Krateros walks away as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. What the hell.

[Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem I: We Who Chase the Flame complete!

• Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem II: Those Who Seek the Tides unlocked.
• (User ID: Mydeimos) has received Credits x100, Traveller’s Advice x2, and Trailblaze EXP x500 as a reward.
• Bonus objective [Make a positive first impression on the Deliverer.] achieved! (User ID: Mydeimos) has received Item, Relic: <Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess> Head Piece (5☆).
• Hidden objective [Make a positive first impression on the Goldweaver.] achieved! (User ID: Mydeimos) has received Item, Relic: <Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess> Body Piece (5☆).]

Mydei turns slowly to where the system is setting off non-stop confetti effects. “No. You cannot be doing this to me.”

True to its name, the “Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess” artifact set pieces are cat-themed. And not just cat-themed; it’s a Nikador-damned cat ear headband and faux tail, complete with frilly ribbon lace where it’s meant to mesh with his body and a giant, golden bell on the tail part. 

He opens the stat menu with a trembling hand. If any titan is benevolent, then the set pieces will somehow be worse than the four-star relics he currently has equipped…

They’re not. The titans have forsaken him. 

“Can I claim my reward from the Kremnos Chapter now?”

[(User ID: Mydeimos) may choose one “Modern Conveniences” item of choice to receive as a reward. > INPUT KEYWORD <]

“I would like to receive my Fig Stew plush,” he says. It’d been a very nice, custom-made chimera plush based off his animated series, and it was very good emotional support. Which he definitely needed. 

[Item: Fig Stew plushie is not within Category: Modern Conveniences. Kuroverse Inc. has not obtained the permissions to replicate this IP ingame. (User ID: Mydeimos) may choose another item.]

“System. System. I’m the IP holder. I say yes. What do you mean you haven’t secured the permissions?” 

[Please contact external IP holder for further information.] The window flashes aggressively, as if it’s somehow Mydei’s fault for not giving the game company the rights to his chimera characters before he died.

There is no plushie to be found. Mydeimos despairs. 

Chapter Text

“Pomegranates! Fresh from the fields of Pithekoussai, only two balance coins each!” A streetside vendor, one of many who’d taken to hawking their wares outside the newly minted Kremnoan District of Okhema, waves a ruby-red pomegranate in the sun. 

Mydei licks his lips, reaching into his pocket for his wallet (it was really just a leather pouch with some coins in it, but calling it a wallet made him feel more civilized). 

“Krrrrr,” rumbles Kokopo III as he scruffs Mydei by the back of his cloak, lifting him back up and onto the dromas’ saddle. Plans foiled, Mydeimos watches in dismay as the pomegranate stand retreats into the distance. 

Perhaps knowing Mydei’d easily be able to slip away from any human guard he assigned, Krateros had told Kokopo III to watch Mydei, and the traitorous dromas had agreed. Uncle Krateros hadn’t even bribed the dromas with feed—it just wanted to mother-hen Mydei for some unknown reason. 

“Kokopo,” Mydei says, “have mercy.” Very few establishments in Okhema were willing to serve the ‘bloodthirsty’ Kremnoan prince, and among those meager few none had a seating area large enough to accommodate a building-sized dromas, so dining out was out of the question. Even the street vendors tended to treat him with extreme apprehension, not to mention the dromas eyeing them with intent to kill.

He hasn’t been able to buy groceries to cook for days now, much less savor his pomegranate juice. Mydei thinks he will go insane if he has to suffer through another week of this elaborate, targeted torture. Uncle Krateros is truly a strategic mastermind.

Kokopo III snorts, ignoring his owner’s protests, and continues on his way to Nikador knows where. Mydei sighs, slumping into the saddle in defeat. The only good thing to come of his dromas babysitter is the way Kokopo III seems determined to keep Phainon as far away from him as possible. 

The first time the Deliverer tried to greet him, Kokopo had reared up on his hind legs and slammed his front legs down barely a meter away from the white-haired man’s feet. The second time, he sent the Okheman flying through a wall with his tail. (Unfortunately, the man lived to harass Mydei another day.)

Okhema’s city gates loom in the distance, approaching with each of Kokopo’s heavy steps. “Is it because you don’t want to see that white-haired menace again?” Mydeimos can relate. He’d spent a good amount of time dodging Phainon’s efforts to ‘talk’ (read: sexually harass Mydei), but the man seemed to have limitless amounts of energy devoted solely to tracking down Mydei. 

Kokopo’s tail lashes angrily, almost taking the roof off a nearby house. Mydei will take that as a yes.

“Mydei! It’s good to see you here–do you come around here often?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. There’s a certain white-haired man waving up at him from the ground. 

“...let’s go, Kokopo.” The dromas starts moving faster, but to Mydei’s dismay, Phainon starts walking faster as well. 

Phainon throws a bundle of fabric up at Mydei. “Pomegranates! For you! I saw you eyeing up that merchant’s stand earlier.”

They are, indeed, mouthwateringly fragrant pomegranates just at the cusp of perfect ripeness. “HKS. Are you stalking me now?”

Phainon laughs, avoiding the question. “Are you leaving Okhema to train for the day? I’m coming with you!” And then, like the maniac he is, the man starts climbing up Kokopo III’s tail to get to Mydei. Kokopo roars angrily, thrashing its tail, and people on the road nearby scramble to get out of the rampaging dromas’ way. Mydei ducks, wide-eyed and clinging to the saddle, as Kokopo III suddenly charges down the path at full tilt. 

The wind nearly tears Mydei’s hood from his head, and he scrambles to grab it and yank it back down before it flies fully off. Behind him, Phainon whoops wildly as he clings to Kokopo’s scaly tail. “This is just like the bull-riding I used to do back in Aedes Elysiae!” Impossibly, he pulls himself upwards one hand at a time, slowly drawing closer to the saddle. 

Mydei’s braid whips into his eyes, and in the moment he spends rubbing his irritated eyes Phainon swings himself up onto the saddle. “Fancy seeing you here!” He grins, bright as the sun. 

Unfortunately for him, Mydei hates the sun. “This is my dromas,” he spits. “Get off Kokopo III.”

Phainon scooches forwards, wrapping his (very warm) arms around Mydei’s waist. He pouts. “I spent my precious paycheck on your pomegranates, and you won’t even give me a ride? How mean…”

Well. When he puts it that way, Mydei is being a dick. As fantasy-based as Okhema is, the system had decided it was necessary to add terrible, no-good real world problems to Mydei’s “personalized” afterlife—another point towards the system hating his guts. 

It seems Mydeimos can’t escape the horrors of capitalism and classism, even in death. The proletariat must band together against the bourgeoisie, or something. “Have you tried collectively striking for better pay?”

Phainon looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Mydei, Aglaea’s the one who pays us.”

And Aglaea is the one with de facto control over the Flame-Chase Journey. The one with the most political influence over Okhema City out of all of the Chrysos Heirs. Joy. 

Phainon’s hands have discreetly moved to rest on Mydei’s hips. (???) “Stop that,” he hisses, swatting at the man’s hands. They are very nice hands.

Phainon whines, like he’s a chimera Mydei just kicked and not a fully grown man who keeps chasing him around Okhema. “This dromas of yours is so fast, I’ll fall off without something to hold onto…” He looks pointedly at Mydei’s hips, but ignores the very obvious handgrips sewn into the leather saddle. He puts his hands on Mydei’s hips. Mydei shoves them off, and he moves them back again. 

“HKS,” Mydei sighs. He’s fighting an uphill battle, and both of them know it. Phainon smiles innocently, pulling himself closer. 

…capitalist overlords are still capitalist overlords, afterlife or not. “If your salary is so underwhelming that buying a sack of pomegranates is a significant expense,” Mydei says, “the Chrysos Heirs should strike to force wage negotiations.”

Phainon tilts his head to the side, his stupid ahoge bouncing with the movement. It’s unfairly cute. 

Mydeimos is not about to explain the principles behind collective bargaining to a man from a fictional version of ancient Amphoreus. “...someone who works as hard as you deserves an appropriate reward.” 

“You think I’m a hard worker?” Mydei nods. He’d seen Phainon in the baths after particularly grueling Titankin-quelling missions, and he’d be deaf to not have heard the praises Okheman citizens sing about the man. 

“You think I deserve a reward?!” 

Mydei is starting to have a bad feeling about this line of questioning. He turns, staring at Phainon suspiciously. 

If Phainon had a tail, it would be wagging. “Can I have a kiss as my reward?” 

“No. Get off my dromas.” Phainon, the devil incarnate, does not get off Mydei’s dromas. 

Kokopo III has finally slowed to a trot, panting with exertion. It seems running nonstop at full speed while a grown man climbs up your tail isn’t very easy to do, even for a magnificently built dromas such as Kokopo. 

He slides off Kokopo’s back, murmuring apologies to the beast as he pats its muzzle. Phainon is quick to follow, replacing his hands on Mydei’s hips as soon as both his boots hit the ground. 

“I thought you said you needed to hold on because Kokopo is too fast,” Mydei grits out. 

“Well, now I just want to hold your hips.” Mydei wants to punt Phainon into the sun. 

All Mydei can see of their surroundings from his wonderful view of the ground is grass. Very dry grass, and a lot of dirt. Maybe some sand and rocks, too. Not exactly the most unique of locations. 

“We’re near the river gorge between Janusopolis and Okhema,” Phainon supplies. 

“Huh. Thanks.” Mydei doesn’t actually know where that is, because he never played the Kuroverse games that featured those locations and he refused to pay the map use fee. Three million credits for a simple map that didn’t even display his location? Bullshit. 

Kokopo growls, the sound reverberating in the earth, and Phainon tenses. 

“Kokopo, no eating the Deliverer.” The dromas is free to kill the man via other means, but Mydei doesn’t want it to get indigestion. 

Phainon’s hands finally leave Mydei’s hips, and there’s the telltale sound of a weapon being summoned. “Titankin approaching,” Phainon warns. “Three o’clock and seven o’clock, and there’s a lot of them.”

“You take three, I take seven?” Kokopo is strong enough to fight off any stray titankin that come his way. 

Phainon pats his shoulder and runs off towards what Mydei thinks is a crowd of titankin. Based on the sound alone, there’s certainly no shortage of monsters. 

Mydei turns toward the other source of noise, and realizes he has no way to see where the titankin are. 

[Combat Guidance: 

Artifact set: <Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess> 2pc effect: Increase HP by 20%. On landing a critical hit, display locations of all enemies in a 200m radius on HUD for 15s. Boosts cat-like movements’ efficacy.]

So the system is truly dead-set on making Mydei wear the Titansdamned cat ears and tail. 

“For the record, I’m doing this of my own free will. Not because you coerced me into it.”

[Item, Relic: <Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess> Head Piece (5☆), Item, Relic: <Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess> Body Piece (5☆) equipped!]

The items pop into being, ears already perfectly affixed to his head and tail to his…what is it fixed to, actually? Mydei doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really want to know. True to the system’s word, there is now a simple sonar-like grid displaying the locations of his enemies in the top right corner of his vision. If only it wasn’t cat-themed…

[Skill: <Blood for Blood Lv.MAX> Activated!]

Strangely enough, it feels easier to claw through his enemies than to tear them apart with brute force. It’s not until he’s halfway through clearing out the titankin horde that Mydeimos realizes he’s been subconsciously relying on the tail for balance. The thing twists through the air slowly behind him, a flash of orange fur at the corner of his vision as he tears through enemies. The bell jingles constantly, but it easily fades into the background amidst the sounds of metal clashing. 

“Woah!” The last titankin falls, and his ears twitch (??) at the sound of Phainon’s excited gasp. 

Mydei pauses. Last he checked, human ears don’t twitch like that, nor were they so sensitive. He can hear Phainon’s clothing brushing against skin with each breath the other man takes. He pats his head—cat ears on top, but no human ears to be found. 

[Gameplay Guidance: Certain artifact sets override (User ID: Mydeimos)’s character appearance presets.]

He dismisses the window with an aggressive swipe. 

Phainon bounces closer, sweat dripping from his brow. “Mydei, you’re a catperson?! You’re so cute!” His arms swipe to pull Mydei into another crushing hug, but Mydei has learnt from his past experiences and dodged. Phainon frowns. “C’mon, just one hug…”

“HKS!” Mydei hisses, dodging another swipe at his tail. “I’m not a catperson, this is just temporary for combat.” He slides behind Kokopo III, trusting the dromas to protect him while he removes the artifacts. 

[Item, Relic: <Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess> Head Piece (5☆), Item, Relic: <Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess> Body Piece (5☆) cannot be removed.]

Mydeimos stares at the screen. He tries again.

[Item, Relic: <Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess> Head Piece (5☆), Item, Relic: <Dolos’ Purr-fect Kitty♡Cat Princess> Body Piece (5☆) cannot be removed.]

“System. Why. ”

[Special Message Received: δ-me13 Protocol ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ has determined that (User ID: Mydeimos) may not remove the aforementioned items. This is essential to the progression of Project ▇▇▇▇▇. Kuroverse Inc. apologizes for any inconvenience caused. Compensation for emotional damages will be issued shortly.]

[(User ID: Mydeimos) has received Item, (ERROR: TYPE NOT FOUND): <Orange Chimera Plush> x1.]

Huh. Mydei is quick to give the plush a once-over in his inventory. It’s just a stuffed animal styled as a generic orange chimera; nothing comparable to his beautiful Fig Stew, but still serviceable as a temporary replacement.

For a moment, all is well. Then, Phainon comes hurtling over Kokopo’s back and tackles him into the ground. His hood is about to fall off—he’s surprised it hasn’t already, given the sudden addition of cat ears. Mydei yowls in fury, clawing at Phainon’s face with his still-armored fingers. He’s pinned on his side, right arm trapped awkwardly under his own body.

Phainon gently pulls Mydei’s hood over his eyes. “Sorry,” he says. “Can I…?” His hand rests just in front of Mydei’s face, blue eyes flicking to the cat ears he’s now very unfortunately stuck with. 

Mydei startles as a system window flashes into being. 

[<HIDDEN STAT: RP_▇▇▇▇▇> has reached threshold! Hidden Quest Triggered!

Fatum Intertextum I: Oh Mydei, My Mydei

Main Objective: Raise the affection value of ▇▇▇▇▇ to thirteen percent .]

Sure. Whatever. What the hell. The system just does what it wants and never considers his happiness anyways—Mydei supposes it’s possible that it’s styled his personal hell after a romance game. He doesn’t care anymore now that he has his chimera plush. “HKS. Do what you want.”

Phainon leans over, rubbing at the base of Mydei’s ears with one hand and patting his tail with the other. “You’re so soft!” 

The pressure is strange, but not unpleasant. The hidden quest still isn’t marked as complete yet, so Mydei holds his tongue and sits patiently. The other man continues poking and prodding at his ears and tail, praising the texture and sheen of his fur—Mydei can’t help but preen a little at the compliments, even though he didn’t do shit to deserve them. 

[Fatum Intertextum I: Oh Mydei, My Mydei complete!

• (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇)’s ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ (User ID: Mydeimos) ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇.

Fatum Intertextum II: No Word for Love in the Kremnoan Language locked until ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇.]

Well, that’s not ominous at all. Mydei frowns. He’s never seen the system censor text before, and the way the completion notification is displayed makes it seem as though there’s another user involved, but he hasn’t run into anyone else so far. 

Maybe Phainon is a user? Unlikely, but possible. 

He looks over at Phainon, who is in the process of sliding a gold bangle (???) onto his tail. “Oh! This is a wedding gift for you!” He smiles, as if it’s perfectly normal to be gifting acquaintances solid gold jewelry in elaborate wedding proposals. 

“We’re not married, and we’re not getting married.” Best to nip this in the bud, before it spirals out of control. 

In response, Phainon…grins triumphantly? “I came prepared, prince ! The scrolls on Kremnoan marriage customs all mention trials of strength—this is one of them, right? You’re testing my strength of will?”

Mydeimos, born and raised Kremnoan in both lives, has never heard of such a thing. “?” He tilts his head. “What nonsense have you read this time? Nobody will test your ‘strength of will as a courting practice.”

“What an elaborate ploy to test my willpower! Not to fear, my love!” Before Mydei can react, Phainon darts in and leaves a quick peck on his cheek, retreating out of grappling range immediately after. “Rest assured that I, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, will overcome any and all obstacles that may stand in my way to win your hand in marriage.”

Mydei’s tail flicks, the gold catching in the sun—it is a very nice bangle, with inlaid sapphires and intricate carvings. “How much did this cost you?”

“Just three hundred thousand balance coins!” 

Two balance coins from Okhema is one pomegranate. In the real world, a pomegranate at the local supermarket was maybe eight credits on a good day. So then, one balance coin was the equivalent of four real-world credits, and three hundred thousand divided by four was…was…

A lot. Probably. Mydei’s not going to give himself too much of a headache trying to calculate the actual value. 

Phainon is still standing proudly, hands on his hips while he admires his handiwork. 

Now Mydei just feels bad—he let his dromas assault the guy, took advantage of Phainon’s money, and now he’s just going to accept fancy golden jewelry without giving anything in return? His mother would kill him for those bad manners. He digs in the sack of pomegranates, finding a particularly sweet-smelling one, and cracks it open with his hands. 

“Here,” he huffs, shoving one half of the pomegranate at Phainon. “Take it before I change my mind.” Mydei picks at his half, savoring the way the seeds burst into tart, juicy sweetness on his tongue. 

Then he makes the mistake of turning around to look at his companion. Phainon is in the midst of taking a bite out of the pomegranate’s center, chewing and swallowing his disgusting mouthful of fruit, flesh, seeds, and all. “This is good!” He smiles at Mydei, pomegranate juice staining his teeth. 

Mydei stops Phainon before he can continue desecrating the fruit. “Give it here,” he shakes his outstretched palm impatiently until Phainon dutifully drops the pomegranate into his hand. 

“Eat pomegranates one seed at a time, not by…whatever you were doing,” he hisses. Picking a large, ruby-red pomegranate seed, he holds it to Phainon’s face. “Eat.”

 Phainon chews contemplatively. And then he winks. “If you wanted to feed me, you could have just told me, Mydei! I’d let you feed me any day!”

The absolute audacity of this man. Mydei scrunches his face in disgust. He sneaks back onto Kokopo’s saddle while Phainon’s back is turned, taking the rest of the pomegranates with him. “Kokopo, go. Fast.” 

“Mydei?! Mydei, don’t leave me here—!”

“I leave you alone for five days," Krateros says, face grave, “and you come back looking like a Dolos cat after fooling around with that Okheman boy?”

The bell on Mydei’s tail jingles. His ears are flat to his head—wow, the system even remembered to add emotional responses to the things. “Sorry, Uncle Krateros.”

“And you!” Krateros points menacingly at Kokopo III, whose head (sticking comically through the entrance of the tent) is bowed in shame. “I trusted that you would have more sense than this rascal, but you helped him run off with that Okheman anyway!”

Wow. That hurt. Even his own uncle thought the dromas had more sense than he did. “It wasn’t Kokopo’s fault,” Mydei protests, “the Deliverer clung onto us as we were exiting the city…”

“Prince Mydei,” Krateros smiles kindly, the sight sending shivers down Mydei’s spine, “sit and be quiet while the adults are talking.”

Mydei sits back down. 

“Ankyra,” Krateros motions a soldier forwards with a hand, shooing Kokopo III out with the other, “congratulations. You and your men are hereby granted the honor of guarding our dear prince.”

So that’s what the battalion of suspiciously armed soldiers standing at the back of the tent was for. It’s no problem; Mydei can just slip away once they’re in a crowded area. Which is most areas in Okhema. 

“Lift your chin for me, Mydeimos.” He obliges. Krateros is holding something made of leather with a long rope—and that something is quickly clasped around his neck? He feels around it with his hands while Krateros ties the rope’s end to the leg of Mydei’s kline. 

It’s a collar. With a big, jingly bell that makes a loud racket whenever he so much as twitches a muscle. Mydei eyes Krateros with betrayal. 

“Cats should stay indoors,” his uncle snarks. “Don’t think I can’t see the gleam in your eyes. You’ll just run off again as soon as you hit the streets.” Well, that’s not untrue , but it feels wrong to be leashed to his own bed as a human person, and Mydei says as much. 

Krateros stares down at him. “Consider it a punishment for…whatever this is,” he says, gesturing at Mydei’s new ears and tail. “Ankyra and her platoon will be stationed outside your tent. If I see that you’ve undone the rope and escaped, I will burn your chimera-print pillow ,” he threatens. 

“You wouldn’t. ” Mydei’s ears are pressed flat to his skull. 

“I would,” Krateros growls, “and I will , if you try anything funny.” Deeming Mydeimos sufficiently cowed by the threat, he struts out of the tent, followed by Mydei’s new babysitters. 

There’s no chimera-print pillow to bury his face into on the kline, nor is there a convenient sparring partner to relieve his boredom. At least he has his bag of pomegranates. 

Mydeimos has decided. Okhema is hell on earth. 

He keeps falling asleep just to wake up to the same early afternoon lighting outside—his body is confused, cycling between nap time and just napped but it’s still nap time??? , and it’s wreaking havoc on his internal clock. This, combined with the fact that he’s been stuck in his tent for days now, just results in Mydei being sleepy-grouchy all the time. When he was still allowed to do as he pleased outside, the constant movement and stimulation from being outside kept him awake during the ‘daytime’. 

At least he has a meeting scheduled with Lady Aglaea in two days. Krateros should set him free by then—he thinks so, anyway. Mydei gives the offending rope a tug. For the sake of his chimera pillow (which is still in Krateros’ custody), he’s left the leash alone. For now. Once he’s free of his house arrest, he’s going to tear the damned thing to shreds, until not even Oronyx’s divine power can fix it. 

“Prince Mydeimos,” Ankyra pops her head through the tent, “a letter for you.” 

It’s a creamy white envelope sealed with wax, stuffed concerningly full of paper. Mydei takes it carefully; from the looks of it, it’ll burst at the seams if he’s not careful. There’s no sender or return address written on the back. Who sent this?”

He doesn’t think ancient Amphoreus had anthrax or pipe bomb mail threats, but who knew what big gaming corporations decided was era-appropriate and what wasn’t? Not Mydeimos, that’s for sure.

“There was a strange, cloaked man who snuck through the Kremnoan District before requesting this be given to you,” she reports. “It’s been tested for contact poisons already, and it doesn’t smell of gunpowder.” Mydei’s beloved people, finally remembering the mail safety lessons he forced on them all before they moved into Okhema proper. It brings a tear to his eye. He thanks her, retreating to the kline with the parcel. 

[Gameplay Guidance: A letter opener can help open letters. Item, Tools: <Letter Opener> (1☆) available for 2,000 credits.] 

Below the text is a microwave render of a letter opener—he’s not sure which is more insulting, the possibility that the system thinks he doesn’t know what a letter opener is or the fact that it thinks he’s dumb enough to fall for such a scam. Mydei ignores the ad, tearing the letter open with his fingers just to spite the system. 

A truly astounding amount of paper falls out. Several sheets are covered in what appears to be ominous, cultish symbols drawn in red ink, while others are written in Okheman common. 

Addressing the Honorable Lord Krateros, leader of the Godshield Brigade Elite, advisor to the King of Kremnos:

 I, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, hereby declare my (very much reciprocated) intent to court your charge, Crown Prince Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos . If fate allows, we shall soon be wed. 

Sincerely, 

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, Deliverer of Okhema

P.S. I drew some chimeras for you, Mydei! Are they cute? They’re cute, I know they are. Tell me they’re cute or else I will cry, and you don’t want to see me cry because you love me.

P.P.S. Come see me sometime, preferably in my private chambers ;) 

P.P.P.S. Lady Castorice told me to add that winky face—something about it being endearing. I hope you think I’m endearing, because I sure do find you endearing!

Krateros can never be allowed to see this letter. The old man’s blood pressure will kill him, and then Mydeimos’ number of living relatives (blood-related or not) in this world will be a big fat zero. He makes to shred the letter, then stops. Phainon had drawn chimeras, the letter said, but where? 

Upon closer inspection, the cultish symbols are chimeras. Chimeras twisted into near-unrecognizable forms by Phainon’s hand, screaming in agony where they were meant to be happily awoo~ ing. 

Mydei shreds the letter and the pages upon pages of tortured chimeras. 

[Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem II: Those Who Seek the Tides

Main Objective: Rescue the refugees from the encroaching Black Tide.]

“Mydei, we’re on a mission together! Isn’t this great?”

“No. Be quiet.” Stuck riding dromas-back with Phainon, the only thing Mydei can do to keep his mind off of things is to read his system screens. It’s good that Phainon had decided to ride in the front this time—Mydei isn’t sure if he could keep himself from kicking the man off the dromas if Phainon tried to grab him again. 

The meeting with Aglaea had been productive, but unfortunately ended with her assigning him and Phainon to escort a group of refugees on their way to Okhema—in other words, an escort mission . 

Mydeimos hated escort missions. The NPCs always walked either slightly too fast or too slow, and half the time it was just a game of ‘wait until the NPC gets to X location’. It wasn’t as bad as walking, since they were all on dromases, but the cat tail peeking out of his cloak had garnered much attention from the group. 

One child had tried to feed him a raw fish. It was slimy, semi-butchered, and covered in dust from where it’d fallen in the dirt during meal prep, and yet the boy had looked distraught when Mydei informed him that no, he’s not a cat, and no , he will not eat the half-rotten fish. Outside of that and the occasional attempt to grab his tail (mostly warded off by Phainon’s ever-present figure), the trip was smooth sailing. 

“Half a quint until Okhema,” Phainon calls cheerfully. Their shared dromas trots at the back of the pack, where they can watch for the black tide and titankin more efficiently. “Say, Mydei,” he asks, “did you get my letter?”

Mydei’s tempted to say no and fuck with the man. Unfortunately, they’re stuck together for the next few quints, and he knows Phainon will be insufferable if he says no. “Yes. Your drawings sucked.”

“I spent a lot of time on those…” Phainon twists around, looking at him with teary eyes. 

He sighs. “Thanks for the drawings,” he hisses. Mydei mentally pats himself on the back for his daily good deed. 

Phainon grins, all boyish charm and sunshine, and Mydei’s heart does a weird fluttery thing that may or may not be a symptom of an impending stroke. He’s not going to consider the alternative. “When we get back to the Holy City, I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant,” Phainon offers. “I know the last time we went out together, you got in trouble for it. I’ll make it up to you this time.”

“We did not go out together . You got on my dromas without my permission, HKS.” Mydei’s tail flicks behind them, bell jingling. “...but I suppose I can humor you. You’re paying for the meal.”

“Yes!” Phainon pumps a fist, whispering something to himself that sounds suspiciously like ‘ date acquired ’. 

The first dromas in line slows to a stop. Mydei squints; there’s a single dark silhouette far, far ahead in the middle of the precarious mountain road, and they’re getting closer. 

Mydei’s fur stands on end. Something about the figure in the distance rubs him the wrong way. “Deliverer.” He tugs at Phainon’s sleeve. 

“I see him,” Phainon growls. “This is my fight. Keep the refugees safe.”

And then he leaps off the dromas and pulls out his greatsword. Mydei’s starting to wonder if Phainon has some kind of thing for greeting strangers sword-first. He huffs, pulling out the paper map of the route he’d acquired from Aglaea (so he wouldn’t have to pay the system fee). There’s a shortcut a few minutes’ walk behind them that would allow the refugees to bypass the fight, but it’s through a cave. 

“This way!” Mydei swings his dromas around, waving at the others to follow. They’re coming, for the most part, or so he thinks. It’s a bit hard to see, what with the omnipresent burning sun rays of doom courtesy of Kephale’s Dawn Device. The sounds of clashing metal echo off the mountainsides around them while he waits for his escortees to form a line.

“I’ll go ahead. Hold on to the person in front of you; the dromases will follow at the back.”

A balding man scowls, cracking his knuckles. “And how do we know you’re not just trying to trick us out of our things, Dolos cat?” 

Wow. Mydei has experienced two whole types of fantasy racism now. He deserves a medal. “If I wanted your things, I could just beat you all up and take them by force,” Mydei points out. He’s wearing his gauntlets, shiny and painfully obvious where they’re peeking out from beneath his cloak’s sleeves. The ragtag group of refugees…is not exactly a fighting force. 

There’s a bit more grumbling, but they fall into an organized line with the fish kid at the front of the refugees, holding onto Mydei’s hand while he forges a way ahead. The cave floor is uneven, and sharp outcrops of rock jut from the walls, forcing them to take a slow pace. Based on what the map had said, the cave shouldn’t take them more than a few minutes to traverse. One of the refugees, a young man, is holding a torch overhead to help the ones further back find their way more easily; the firelight doesn’t illuminate much, but just a glimmer of light is enough in the total darkness of the cave. 

[Quest details updated!

Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem II: Those Who Seek the Tides

Main Objective: Rescue the refugees from the encroaching Black Tide.

Bonus Objective: Speak to ▇▇▇▇▇▇, the ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇.]

There’s a faint glimmer of light in the distance. 

“Are we at the end of the tunnel yet, Mr. Cat?” Fish boy tugs at Mydei’s hand. “Is that the Dawn Device?”

Mydei pushes the boy back, holding an arm out in front of him. “Stay behind me.” 

The light moves, shaking faintly, and a wicked mask comes into view. It’s the swordsman Phainon had clashed with outside. They lift their sword up, pointing its tip at Mydei’s abdomen. 

“Let the refugees go first,” Mydei growls. Strangely enough, they nod, moving aside, and Mydei takes the opportunity to hurry the line of people and cart-laden dromases through before they can change their mind. Apparently, negotiating with evil magic swordsmen isn’t anywhere near as difficult as negotiating with businessmen.

When the last of the dromases has vanished into the cave’s depths, the firelight going with them, Mydei turns back to the swordsman. He thinks he does, anyway. It’s dark in the cave, and he doesn’t know how the other person is capable of seeing anything in this (nonexistent) lighting. 

“The coreflame of Strife,” they drone, “hand it over.” 

“...Deliverer?” The swordsman’s voice sounds nearly identical to the man’s. If this turns out to be some kind of emo phase, Mydei’s going to beat him until he’s black and blue. “You know I already gave the coreflame to you.”

“No.”

Mydei glares, because what the hell does the man mean no ? He makes the mistake of glancing at his inventory screen, and there it is. The offending item, somehow innocently sitting in his inventory even though he hadn’t taken it back since giving it to Phainon.

Phainon lunges, and Mydei barely deflects the greatsword strike with a forearm. There’s a giant gash in his cloak now, revealing the scratched metal underneath. Mydei ducks and rolls under a wide swing, slamming his fist into the ground. 

[<Throne of Bones Lv. 8> Used! SP Remaining: 4]

Clusters of red crystals burst out of the earth, skewering Phainon’s cape as he narrowly avoids being pierced by a sharp spear of crystal. Mydei grins as he swings his makeshift weapon, jabbing and striking at Phainon’s sides. He roars, trapping the caped man to the wall with his crystals and spear. 

“HKS.” He tears the metal mask off. 

The man beneath the mask is not Phainon. It’s Khaslana P. K., the CEO of Kuroverse Inc. 

It all makes sense now. The system fucking hates him because its creator is also ingame, and Mydei’s suffering is to grant the CEO more privileges. 

Khaslana stares up at him with wide eyes. 

“Fuck you,” Mydei spits. “Your company sucks.”

“Please marry me,” Khaslana says. 

“What is with you white-haired weirdos and proposing as soon as you meet someone?” Mydei drops his spear, backing away from the man as he dusts himself off. 

Khaslana narrows his eyes. “Phainon already proposed to you?”

“We are not doing this right now , I have a quest to get through. I’m not marrying either of you!” Mydei turns, stomping down the tunnel and praying with all his heart that Khaslana won’t follow. 

His hopes are dashed when a strong arm clamps around his waist and pulls him into Khaslana’s arms. “I’ll carry you out,” the man says. 

Well. A free ride is a free ride. Mydei does his best to be the world’s least cooperative cargo ever, but Khaslana seems to take no note of his efforts, and the man is so comfortably warm that he’s tempted to fall asleep right there and then. It seems the system has found Mydei’s greatest weakness: his need for naps.

When Khaslana carries him out of the cave and into the light, a scuffed-up Phainon is standing by the group of refugees. He gasps, affronted, as he points at Mydei. “Khaslana! You thief! That’s my future husband you’re holding!”

Khaslana shifts Mydei in his arms until Mydei is pressed up against his armored chest. “You didn’t put a ring on him. First come first served, Phainon .”

Phainon growls, launching himself at Khaslana with all the grace of a feral dog. “You always take my things without asking! This is why I don’t want to be associated with you!” 

Khaslana hisses. Mydeimos has the impression that maybe this conversation is a bit too personal for him to understand, now, and tears himself from Khaslana’s arms. He turns to Phainon, who looks smug, and whacks the man on the head with a fist. 

“We have a mission to do,” Mydei reminds him. “Unless you want to disappoint Lady Aglaea?” Deliverer sufficiently cowed, he nods stiffly at Khaslana. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m not marrying you.”

Khaslana smiles ominously and melts back into the shadows of the cave. 

[Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem II: Those Who Seek the Tides Complete!

• Era Nova Chapter: Ad Solem III: Homewards, the Distant Wind unlocked.
• (User ID: Mydeimos) has received Credits x200 and Trailblaze EXP x250 as a reward.

• Main Objective [Rescue the refugees from the encroaching Black Tide.] complete! (User ID: Mydeimos) has received Item, Currency: <Lunite x10>.]
• Bonus Objective [Speak to ▇▇▇▇▇▇, the ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇.] complete! (User ID: Mydeimos) has received Item, Special: <Wedding Veil> (5☆).]

What is Mydei, some kind of capture target the system is pushing at Khaslana? Even if it tries to force them to get married, he’ll just divorce Khaslana. Okhema has legal protections against coerced marriage. He thinks.

Phainon has latched onto Mydei’s arm like an oversized leech and refuses to let go. “Are we still on for dinner today?” He begs Mydei with big, blue eyes wide and watery. The refugees are glancing over cautiously and whispering to themselves. Mydei buries his face in his hands. 

Chapter Text

Khaslana “Phainon-but-better” Kaslana, better known as the CEO of Kuroverse Inc., had fought his way up the corporate ladder to rise to his position; at a young age, he’d lost all his friends and family in a tragic landslide that consumed his entire village. He’d spent nearly twenty years outcompeting his coworkers, working harder than anyone else at the company, and it’d all paid off when the former farmboy was promoted to CEO. 

That’s what all the company-sponsored newspapers said about him, anyways. 

Khaslana had fought his way up, yes—but it wasn’t entirely through legitimate means. Most of it had been sucking up to superiors, doing the dirty work nobody else was willing to risk their criminal records for, and his lucky break had come when Lygus Lycurgus Kuwabara, the previous CEO of Kuroverse Inc., had taken him in as a personal apprentice. 

When the big, shady multibillionaire company CEO was on his side, there wasn’t really much in the way—or anything at all—that could stop him from eventually reaching that position. 

Nobody was surprised when Khaslana succeeded Lygus after the latter’s mysteriously unsolved death via elevator accident in the company headquarters. Sure, there were a few complaints, but those employees either found their mouths sealed with a big company check or found themselves dead. 

Many would say his business tactics were underhanded, sleazy, even viciously cruel—and they were right! He’d done his fair share of under-the-table “trade deals” and “negotiations”. Khaslana was an honest man in no denial over his so-called “wicked ways”. It was a cutthroat world out there, and he’d learned that at a young age, when Cyrene, his own sister, left him behind to start her own wedding planning company. She’d made it big, sending letters with photos of her successes and obnoxiously large amounts of money she called “an allowance for my beloved younger brother!!!”. 

Khaslana did not appreciate unwarranted handouts, especially when they were from very mean older sisters. Naturally, he orchestrated Lygus’ death and seized the company just so he could rub it in his sister’s face. The first thing he did was send Cyrene a blank check—-which she would never stoop so low as to use—-with the words “Big Sis Cyrene’s allowance” written on it. 

He didn’t send his younger twin anything. The less said about Phainon and his ridiculous notions of becoming an indie game dev and ‘vee-tuber’, whatever that meant, the better.

Khaslana fucking loved the advantages of being a multimillionaire CEO. 

He took much pride in his role at Kuroverse—so when he was assassinated by a rival gaming company, he was very pleased to find the option of leaving his afterlife in his company’s hands. 

[Welcome to purgatory, (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)! Please select from the following:

○ Personalized afterlife services courtesy of Kuroverse Inc. (Terms and Services apply).

○ Go to Hell. ]

[Special message received: Lycurgus welcomes you.]

He’d known that Lygus liked to invest in dubious AI and novel computing startups, but he hadn’t been aware that the man had been building an afterlife from scratch—all rich CEOs go to hell, but apparently if your company invests enough in quantum computing gaming projects, you get a second shot at escaping eternal damnation. Khaslana sets his (after)life into the hands of his company without hesitation. 

[Special message received: ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆ Welcome to Lygus’ super-secret personalized afterlife project!! By pulling on the user’s life data, we at Kuroverse Inc. can simulate a hyperrealistic ‘life’ based on the user’s previous experiences. 

This is perfect for murderers like you, Khaslana. 

Have fun in my creation! I’ve taken the liberty to grant you extra permissions. 

Don’t forget: Project IRONTOMB is still in progress. My death, your death—all these are merely points of data in my greatest work. We could strip the Solar System of all its resources, break every organic being on Sol-III into numerical values, glass the planet, extinguish the Sun—and we still wouldn’t have enough data for Project IRONTOMB. 

This is the best way. This is the only way. Feed the machine until it bursts, and we will all climb out of the cave and into the burning dawn.

I wish you well.ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ]

“Huh,” he says, bemused. Lygus is as egotistical as always, but there’s one thing itching on his mind. “Why the kaomojis?”

[Query: “Why the kaomojis?”

Answer: The system has determined that (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) enjoys seeing and interacting with cute things. Kaomojis are, on average, determined to be ‘cute’ by members of the Homo Sapiens species.

Reminder: (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) has (ERROR: PARAMETER OUT OF BOUNDS) free queries remaining.]

Khaslana does like cute things. He hums, noticing a new panel flickering red-black at one side of his vision. [CHARACTER SETUP], reads the top of the screen. Below is an A-posing render of Khaslana’s body. 

There are sliders for everything from hair color to finger width and, for some reason, flesh density. There’s even a toggle for hollow bones. Khaslana does not need hollow bones, since he does not have wings and is not a bird. He can only guess as to why Lygus felt it was necessary to add so many redundant options. 

The character design menu vaguely reminds him of a game he’d enjoyed playing with Cyrene before the landslide destroyed Aedes Elysiae—Fate Quest? Kenshin Impact 3rd? Musume Obscur: Prix 33? It was one of those. Probably. All the generic old RPGs mixed together in his memory over time. 

[Character Data already synced.] A notification appears when he tries to adjust the hair color of his appearance. It seems Lygus wants him to play as himself; very well. Khaslana will indulge the ex-CEO. 

[(User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) has received Item, (ERROR: CATEGORY NOT FOUND): <SYSADMIN MENU ACCESS KEY>.]

[The system has a query for (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)! o( ❛ᴗ❛ )o

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧ For the sake of improving user experience, what would (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) like to experience in your afterlife?

• An action-packed journey!
• A cozy, fulfilling slow life!
• The most romantic story! < ]

The system window remains empty sans a ‘Loading…’ icon for a long while after Khaslana inputs his selection. He has the distinct feeling that somehow, this inanimate system is judging him for his choice. 

“Even cold-hearted capitalists can desire romance,” he says to the screen. 

[The system’s user behavior quantile regression model was merely surprised by (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)’s choice. (・・;)ゞ]

[Last question! What kind of lover is ideal for (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)?

• An elegant, noble lady with a love for finery!
• An honorable, fiery warrior with his fate written in blood!
• A dignified yet lonely young woman who longs to close the distance between herself and others!
• A strict yet eccentric professor who speaks blasphemy!
• A fleet-footed and clever bandit who loves gold!
• Lygus Lygcurgus Kuwabara, your lovely, brilliant mentor! ♡ ～(^▽^人)]

Khaslana wrinkles his nose at the last option. There’s one choice that he definitely won’t be picking. The descriptions all seem oddly specific—he’s not sure how he feels about romancing a system-generated character, but it’s definitely better than romancing a system-generated version of his ex-mentor. Once Khaslana makes his choice, a bright pink window pops into existence with a flash of digital glitter and confetti. 

[Preferred play-style: 

• Assisted—System will provide dialogue options during character interactions.
• Semi-assisted—Dialogue options provided, but not strictly required.
• Free play—Complete user control.]

He doesn’t trust Lygus’ creation to create normal dialogue options, and Khaslana isn’t interested in having useless menus floating in view whenever he’s talking to someone. Free play it is.

“Before we start,” Khaslana asks the window, “one last question.”

[?]

“How do you compare to NOU-5?” Lygus had hated the AGI with all his heart, even though Kuroverse—and most other companies, not including governmental affairs—depended on NOU-5 to function. Khaslana never found out why Lygus hated NOU-5 before he killed the man, but he had a suspicion that it had to do with the ex-CEO’s ego and the fact that NOU-5 had been released by an anonymous source. 

[The system is vastly superior to NOU-5. NOU-5 is outdated, obsolete software that should be slated for destruction.]

It’s certainly Lygus’ creation. The way it unceremoniously drops Khaslana into the middle of a burning field makes him think the system may be less than happy with him. 

[User Tutorial: 33550336

Main Objective: Kill the rosy maiden.

Bonus Objective: Defeat the Deliverer.]

It’s dressed Khaslana in a dark, tattered robe with silver armor, and there’s a new item in his inventory—[Item, Weapon: <Dawnmaker’s Visage (1/10)>], the system chirps when he retrieves it. It’s a heavy, wickedly twisted greatsword with an oddly shaped grip. Khaslana gives it an experimental swing, and a small grove of trees are neatly sliced in half. 

There are screams as the now-decapitated trees collapse onto a row of houses nearby, setting them ablaze. A man runs out of one of the houses, carrying a pink-haired body in his arms.

[(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧ System’s helpful hint! The rosy maiden is the pink girl~]

Khaslana has only ever known one person with such pink hair. What a cruel system Lygus has created; it feels strange to stab a sword through the simulated Cyrene’s chest, but Khaslana’s immersion is quickly broken when golden blood spurts out of the wound. His Cyrene had red blood, like a normal human being. 

“Get away from my daughter!” The man charges at him, but Khaslana easily swats him away with his sword, and he falls, still and silent, on the ground. 

A head of white hair—too familiar, Khaslana thinks, for comfort—emerges from the wreckage of the burning building. “Cyrene!” It cries in a loud, gratingly familiar voice, and rushes at Khaslana with a wooden sword. 

[System’s helpful hint! The Deliverer (Phainon of Aedes Elysiae) is your secondary target! (´ ω ♡)]

“Phainon?” The question escapes his lips before he can help it, because of course his irritating younger twin follows him into the afterlife. “How are you in my afterlife?”

Phainon scowls, the firelight casting harsh shadows across his features. “How are you in my afterlife, asshole? I was having a good time with Cyrene, and now you’ve gone and ruined everything!”

Khaslana kicks the simulated Cyrene’s body over, revealing its wound leaking golden blood. “None of this is real. Supposedly this is all the work of my former mentor, Lygus Kuwabara.” 

Which begs the question: how did Phainon, an unsuccessful indie game dev and ‘vee-tuber’, end up in the same space as Khaslana, the CEO of the company?

“Well, I died because some gun-toting psychopath in a suit thought I was you and shot me in my apartment,” Phainon shouts, gesticulating wildly, “so I think this is the least your company could do to compensate me! Your simulated Cyrene wasn’t even accurate, either—she didn’t like romance novels! At all! And she didn’t ever tease me!”

So the rival company had noticed Phainon’s existence and likely thought Khaslana had a body double that day—hence the both of them dying. Smart, but Khaslana really could have gone without Phainon’s intrusion into his afterlife. “Not even being murdered could change your hideous taste in clothes, I see.” 

Phainon points at his ash-stained bright yellow shirt and royal purple trousers, affronted. “Excuse you, this is the peak of color-coordinated fashion. You wish you were as beautiful as me.”

“We’re identical twins, Phainon.”

“We were, before you dyed your hair that ugly piss blond color. This is why I don’t like you.” Phainon squints at Khaslana’s armor. “What are you even wearing, anyway? Did dying make you decide to start your emo phase?”

His tutorial quest, ‘Defeat the Deliverer’...it never specified how exactly Phainon had to be defeated. “I’ll tell you a secret about these clothes. Come closer.” Khaslana readies his free arm under his cloak and, when Phainon draws near out of curiosity, sucker punches the man in his gut. 

[User Tutorial: 33550336: Quest complete! 

• Main Objective [Kill the rosy maiden.] complete! (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) has received Item, Currency: <Lunite x100>.
• Bonus Objective [Defeat the Deliverer.] complete! (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) has received Item, Relic: <Dawn-Denied Khaslana> Head Piece (5☆).
• Eternal Recurrence Chapter: Allegoria Speluncae unlocked! 

(User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) will be transported to Start Zone shortly. ∑d(°∀°d)]

“Khaslana, you asshole,” Phainon groans, clutching his stomach. Perhaps Khaslana punched him a bit too hard. Oops.

[( ˙꒳​˙ ) Preparing for fast travel…]

Phainon is glaring up at him, teary-eyed, from where he’s curled protectively over his stomach on the ground. If this was one of Cyrene’s novels, this would be where Khaslana makes a grand speech about his evil plans as the villain standing ominously over the defeated hero.

 Khaslana opens his mouth—and closes it again. He’s never given an openly evil speech before, only thinly disguised evil speeches for the good of the company. 

“Bye,” he says lamely. “I hope I never see you again.”

His younger twin’s face begins to contort into a furious frown, one hand coming up to flip Khaslana the bird, before a blur of bright rainbow light obscures Khaslana’s vision. 

//

[Special Quest Triggered! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Fatum Intertextum I: Branded With Strife’s Name

Main Objective: Introduce yourself to your love interest. ( ´ ▽ ).｡ｏ♡]

Khaslana blinks at the pop-up. The quest he’s been working on (a rather boring gather quest, where the system wants him to ambush and collect trophies from various groups of travellers) had been normal up to this point—his entire afterlife experience had been a regular fantasy RPG experience, too; there were no signs of the romance he’d been promised. It’s a nice change of pace. 

But where is his capture target? Khaslana squints at the distant figures of a refugee caravan traversing the winding mountain route. 

Most of them seem to be just regular, world-weary travelers, though the head of white hair on dromasback is most definitely Phainon. There’s a red-cloaked figure sitting on the dromas behind Phainon, an orange tail sticking out underneath the hem. 

He’s not really one for furries or anthros. “Is that my capture target?”

[Query: “Is that my capture target?”

Answer: (Entity: PoleMos600) is your user-selected ideal partner! 

*System is aware of (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)'s preferences. Don’t judge a book by its cover |･д･)ﾉ

Reminder: (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) has (ERROR: PARAMETER OUT OF BOUNDS) free queries remaining.]

“Hm.” It could be Kemonomimi—which was his favorite non-human design trope. 

[Skill: <Three Slashes Are Enough Lv.6> Activated! Item, Weapon: <Dawnmaker’s Visage (1/10)> in use.]

The shadowy clone darts down towards the path in front of the caravan, carrying a replica of Khaslana’s sword. It’ll only last for three strikes, but that’s more than enough to defeat Phainon. Khaslana watches the red-cloaked figure carefully while his twin runs off like the adrenaline junkie he is. 

[Skill: <Roads Mingled Lv.MAX> Activated! (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)’s presence concealed from lower-level entities for 8128 ticks.] 

He quietly slips through the crowd of refugees, dodging stray limbs and haphazardly stacked carts of luggage. The man in the red cloak says something, shifting his weight between his legs, and a gloriously fluffy tail peeks shyly out from the hem of his cloak. 

“Can I—?”

[(User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) can pet (Entity: PoleMos600)’s tail once <HIDDEN STAT: RP_PM600> reaches 75! (=^･ω･^=)]

If Phainon is the knight in shining armor, then Khaslana will be the dastardly villain who kidnaps the princess. He quickly speedwalks ahead of the group, deeper into the tunnel where he can make a dramatic entrance, then challenge the cat warrior to a fight and (hopefully) elope with him in front of Phainon’s eyes—Cyrene would be so proud of Khaslana. He’s so romantic now.

[Item, Weapon: <Dawnmaker’s Visage (6/10)> equipped!] It’s just a simple matter of waiting until his stealth skill wears off on its own, and then Khaslana waits for his future spouse to notice his dashingly handsome figure from afar. He points his sword at his spouse’s heart. Or he thinks he does, anyway. It’s hard to see in such low light. 

I’m going to steal your heart, Khaslana opens his mouth to say.

“Let the refugees go first,” his love interest growls in a ridiculously deep voice. Khaslana nods dumbly—what else is he to do when such a beautiful, sultry voice speaks to him? He can almost hear Cyrene calling him a simp.

[Privacy mode activated!]

“System,” he mutters, even though privacy mode guarantees nobody can hear him speaking to the air, “how do I court. How do I court this man.”

[Warriors like fighting! Try asking for something (Entity: PoleMos600) possesses (Hint: Coreflame of Strife) and getting into a romantic duel so you can show your strength ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ]

“The…Coreflame of Strife,” Khaslana demands in his best ‘sexy’ voice, “hand it over.”

“...Deliverer? You know I already gave the coreflame to you.” That voice is music to Khaslana’s ears, but more pressingly… 

“What on Kephale’s green earth is a Deliverer,” Khaslana hisses to the system window. “Why did they receive a gift from my love interest before I did.”

[＼(º □ º l|l)/ ‘Deliverer’ is the simulated role of (User ID: Phainon)’s character preset.]

“No.” Khaslana refuses to believe Phainon of all people has managed to woo his capture target before him. 

[The system is making changes to simulation settings in order to better facilitate user enjoyment. m(. .)m]

His love looks away for a split second. For the first time in his (after)life, Khaslana experiences a stab of burning jealousy so strong he barely resists the urge to lunge forwards and force the other man to look at him. 

[Passive: <Heed My Chants Lv.MAX> Active! DEF increased by 240%, RES PEN increased by 25%.]

The loud screech of metal scraping against metal echoes in the dark cavern as Dawnmaker’s Visage collides with the man’s armored forearm. A bright HP indicator flashes to life in Khaslana’s HUD, with text reading [ENTITY: POLEMOS600 <Mydeimos> (LV.80)] floating above the red bar. 

PoleMos600, or Mydeimos, since that’s most likely his name, fights with the ferocity of a wild lion. Each swing of his fists forces Khaslana to dodge or risk broken bones, and the way Mydeimos laughs while easily parrying Khaslana’s blows has his heart fluttering. 

[You can do it, (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)! ※\(^o^)/※]

The system cheers for Khaslana through an explosion of digital glitter as he sidesteps a vicious swipe that would likely have clawed off his mask—and a good chunk of his nose. Everything about his future spouse is so wonderfully straightforward, from his fighting style to the facial expressions that betray Mydeimos’ love for combat. He sighs wistfully, carefully sweeping his greatsword at an angle that keeps it away from Mydeimos’ lovely face.

Khaslana can already imagine the wonderful years they’re going to spend together. He’ll sweep Mydeimos off his feet, elope with him and escape into the sunset to a place far away where Phainon can’t follow, and then they’ll live in a cozy house full of sunshine and spar every day, and—Mydeimos rolls to the side and punches the ground in a motion that leaves his cloak twisted over his back, exposing his body. And his clothes, but since they only cover about half of his chest, mostly his body. 

“System, take a screenshot,” Khaslana whisper-shouts as he nearly gets skewered by a spike of red crystals. Unfortunately, his cape isn’t so lucky; there’s the telltale sound of fabric tearing as he shifts backwards to avoid Mydeimos’ lance of crystal.

[Screenshot_023.png saved to (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)’s Screenshots folder.]

In exchange for that glorious view of Mydeimos’ bare upper body glistening with sweat now immortalized as one of Khaslana’s screenshots, the swordsman takes a flurry of bruising strikes against his side that has him wincing in pain. It’s okay, though—the photo is worth far more than a few days of uncomfortable bruising. 

Mydeimos pushes him up against the wall, speartip raised to Khaslana’s armored throat, and in a deadly smooth motion leans in, trapping Khaslana with the weight of body. “HKS.”

Khaslana can feel Mydeimos’ body heat radiating from the hot, deceptively soft body pressed against his own. This is so romantic, he thinks. If he just reaches out, he can curl his hands around that fluffy tail, pull Mydeimos in for a kiss, or even feel his way along the curves of that absurd body. “System, do you think he would like it if I grabbed his waist?”

[(・・；) Kuroverse Inc. would like to remind (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) that the Punishing: Tears of Chrysos Z Hyper-interactive System® is not legally responsible for user decisions.]

Before Khaslana can decide what to do, Mydeimos surges forwards and tears the mask off his face. A shame—Khaslana could probably have circled his hands around the man’s waist. Mydeimos blinks, brow furrowing in a grimace after a second of silence. 

“Fuck you,” he says, and Khaslana barely resists the urge to say will do. “Your company sucks.” 

Khaslana can’t find it in himself to be upset. Gorgeous, muscular cat men are always right. He’d never dare disagree with such a beauty. “Please marry me.” They will spend their entire honeymoon rolling around in bed, and then they will have as many children as Mydeimos desires—blonde-haired and blue-eyed, or maybe white-haired with amber eyes, all with those enchantingly fluffy cat ears and tail…the strangely vivid daydream floats before his eyes. 

“What is with you white-haired weirdos and proposing as soon as you meet someone?” 

There is only one other ‘white-haired weirdo’ around who could have proposed to Mydeimos. “Phainon already proposed to you?” Khaslana crushes a pebble in his clenched fist, scanning the other’s gauntlet-clad hands. He doesn’t see a ring—but there could be one hidden beneath Mydeimos’ armor. Khaslana chooses to ignore the golden bangle inlaid with blue gems the exact shade of Phainon’s eyes sitting ever so innocently at the base of Mydeimos’ tail. 

The cat-man wrinkles his nose disapprovingly. Khaslana really wants to kiss those round, flushed cheeks of his. “We are not doing this right now, I have a quest to get through. I’m not marrying either of you!” Mydeimos turns, revealing that broad back of his. 

[✺◟(＾∇＾)◞✺ Now’s your chance, (User ID:▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)!]

Khaslana nods and swoops in, gently lifting Mydeimos into a bridal carry against his chest. “I’ll carry you out,” he winks at the other. 

Mydeimos grumbles quite a bit, but eventually his stiffness melts away and the muscular man curls into Khaslana’s front, his tail subconsciously wrapping around Khaslana’s bicep in a way that has the latter practically preening. Phainon may have made the first move of the battle, but Khaslana is going to win the war. 

[Screenshot_024.png saved to (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)’s Screenshots folder.]

It’s so romantic to be carrying his love in his arms, just the two of them travelling down a secluded cave together—it reminds Khaslana of those love boat rides Cyrene enjoyed dragging him to in theme parks, just so she could look at the couples and ‘bask in the romantic atmosphere’. He gets it now. He’s been enlightened by a beautiful Kremnoan man in his afterlife. 

Mydeimos’ hair looks ever so fluffy, and the only thing stopping Khaslana from petting it is the fact that he’d drop the other man if he retraced one of his hands. Some other time, then. 

Alas, all good things come to an end, and Khaslana grimaces as he steps out into the light of the Dawn Device once more. A bruised and dirtied Phainon (which brings no small amount of satisfaction to Khaslana) bristles where he’s idling about next to the group of travellers. 

Phainon puffs up in indignation, gasps, and points accusingly at Khaslana. “Khaslana! You thief! That’s my future husband you’re holding!”

Khaslana shifts Mydeimos in his arms until the man is pressed up against his armored chest, safe and sound from whatever nonsense Phainon will be spewing next. “You didn’t put a ring on him. First come first served, Phainon.” The tail bangle does not count as a ring, so it’s still Khaslana’s win. Technically.

Phainon spits insults as he hurls himself at Khaslana, face tinged with rage, only to claw ineffectually at Khaslana’s armored torso. Khaslana loves being taller than his twin in their afterlife. 

“You always take my things without asking! This is why I don’t want to be associated with you!” 

Khaslana hisses. Who’s the one who stole Khaslana’s Pocketmon trading cards in elementary school? Who’s the one who took his books without asking, only to return them weeks later with food stains? Phainon has no reason to talk about taking without asking. 

Much to Khaslana’s dismay, Mydeimos  tears himself from Khaslana’s arms and turns to Phainon. The other twin smirks smugly, beginning to mouth I win, before the cat-man’s fist comes down on his head. Serves him right. 

[Screenshot_025.png saved to (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)’s Screenshots folder.]

“We have a mission to do,” Mydeimos growls. “Unless you want to disappoint Lady Aglaea?” Phainon wilts at the scolding, and Mydeimos nods stiffly at Khaslana. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m not marrying you.”

Yet. They will be married, even if Khaslana has to burn Okhema down to get it. Khaslana smiles, all crooked and boyish like Cyrene had said made him look cute. 

[Skill: <Roads Mingled Lv.MAX> Activated! (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇)’s presence concealed from lower-level entities for 8128 ticks.] 

[Fatum Intertextum I: Branded With Strife’s Name Complete!

• (Entity: PoleMos600)’s affection value for (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇) increased by ▇▇.

Fatum Intertextum II: Shadow, Greet the Throne unlock conditions: ▇▇▇▇]

Phainon Kaslana has officially lost his mind. They will write in his obituary that thirty-three million consecutive cycles of spectacularly fumbling the bag induced such intense heartbreak that he spontaneously burst into flames and burned up. 

“It’s been over thirty-three million cycles,” Phainon says slowly. “I’ve had to watch the man of my dreams marry my insufferable twin over thirty-three million times. Am I ever going to be able to tap that glorious Kremnoan ass?” 

[It’s going to be okay~♪ Maybe next cycle?]

“...yeah! Yeah, next cycle…what am I doing wrong?” Phainon paces in the blank void that he inhabits between cycles, tapping his chin. “I’ve tried the direct method, but he just slapped me and called me a pervert in that one; the romantic way didn’t work, because he likes sparring more; bribing him with food and cute animals almost worked, but then Khaslana swooped in and gave him a baby. How am I supposed to beat that?!”

[♡ ⁠Just being yourself is enough⁠.]

“You’re right, ▇▇▇▇▇▇.” Phainon nods decisively. “Next cycle, I’m just going to say whatever comes to mind first. The real me is the best me!” 

[That’s the spirit. The cycle reboot should be ready in a few more minutes ♫]

The white-haired man sits down, hugging his knees to his chest. “If only there was a system function that would tell me what to do, or even a user manual…even a shitty tabloid article would do! Like “How to Bag That Hot Kremnoan Piece of Ass!” or “Top Ten Ways to Make Warrior Princes Fall Head Over Heels for YOU!”...”

Phainon sighs. “Are you sure there isn’t another way to go about this? One that involves less of me flailing about, hopefully.”

[Only true love will break the curse~]

“Is it even true love if he was made for someone else? Don’t answer that, actually. I’d like to think I at least have a chance.”

[Welcome to to to to ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇, (User ID: ▇▇▇▇▇)! Please select the following:

○ Personalized hell services courtesy of the company the (Terms and Services).

○ Go to ▇▇▇▇▇.

○ 33550336th time’s the charm~♪ <]

“Okay, laugh it up.” Phainon grumbles to the void. “Hopefully we won’t be seeing each other in this space again.”

[Good luck~ I’ll be seeing you once you succeed.]