The Imprisoned Swordsaint

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I look so f*cking ugly! If I had met you looking like this back then, would things have turned out differently, Laulice?"

Kevin sat on a rock nearby and watched him without a word.

"Kevin," Marolyt said without turning away, "Why did you save me? Weren't you trying to follow Pyro's will?"

"I didn't go against Pyro's will."

"But you had a far easier way to fulfill his wishes."

"While it might've been easier, it's not necessarily the best one--" He shrugged. "--I only picked the way I thought was best."

"You don't want me dead?"

"Yes. Because you're my friend."

"Friend, huh… Though I still can't measure up to your bed buddy, Pyro."

"Say whatever you like. I just don't want you dead," he replied nonchalantly, "All my life I've only had a worthy rival like you. I don't wish for you to die so easily."

"Hah, you aren't fit to be my rival. Had it not been for Pyro back then…"

"Alright, I admit it," Kevin smirked.

He didn't think the gap between the two would widen so much after their last fight two decades ago.

He furrowed his brow with dissatisfaction, the battle replaying in his head yet again.