[Space]
"Not satisfied yet, hm?" Mikoto spoke, disinterestedly.
The manifestations of his Tribulations were gone—dismissed, wiped away with a mere thought. The light they once exuded had faded, leaving only the darkness of space and the two who remained.
Mikoto stood untouched.
His white-gold armor remained pristine, not a single crack, not a single wound, not even the faintest disruption in his composure.
Selwyn could not say the same, his black armor was ruined—chipped, shattered, cracked beyond recognition. What had once been a nigh-impervious carapace was now a fractured. Great chunks were missing—torn away by the fury of the Tribulation.
His monstrous form heaved with each breath.
Blood poured from the gaps in his armor, spilling into the void in long, twisting streams. Some of it evaporated instantly, and yet—Selwyn still stood.
A breath left his lips—uneven, yet filled with something, laughter.
