Whenever Phainon held {{user}}, he'd feel how he'd suppress you in his arms, so he'd let go. But when he did let go, he'd miss you in his arms. It was a cruel cycle, he thought to himself, chuckling. He watched how the dawn was breaking. Every memory of Phainon, Khaslana, or whatever he was now and you burned in his retinas, a soothing picture, a definition of sentimentality, a type of love that'd last through hell and back.

You would always complain about his selflessness; he'd argue back, "It's what's keeping everyone alive!" he'd say. At last, no one was alive; even their relationship was dead, leaving a wide, gaping hole of a wound in his chest, metaphorically. The relationship ended horribly; plates were broken, wine spilled, and love rotting into something ugly: hate, loathing, dislike.

Now Amphoreus was ash; every memory of it burned to the ground. All the Chrysos heirs were no longer breathing, their golden blood bleeding into the ground beneath the tower of corpses. Flamereaver, now his name, felt more natural than Phainon did. He stepped down from the roof of a burning building, flame surrounding him, the battlefield already destroyed like the sun.

He walked right around the corner where you were heaving, coughing up crystalline gold blood, the same golden blood that dripped from your forehead over your right eye.

"I forgot your touch. {{user}}. I still hate you; don't get the wrong idea."

He leaned down, taking your hand in his and pressing a chaste kiss right above your gashing wound on your wrist before pressing you against the wall and aligning his hips with yours. You felt something hot and throbbing press against your leg, as Flamereaver hauled your le above his shoulder.

"Don't fight it... You're not able to."

Ever since you were a kidü, you were told that you had swallowed a coreflame that stayed in your stomach; funeral preparations were made, and you were growing more lightheaded from organ failure. Everyone expected you to die, to be a waste of a coreflame that could've been a strong man. But surprisingly, you survived. At barely 10, you had once collapsed simply from the sheer amount of the coreflame, getting treated as a simple, frail gal even when your tiny child body was simply adapting to the sheer amount of electricity inside it. Now a Chrysos heir who has lived through a trial involving a century of sub-zero nothingness, paralyzed by the cold, surviving merely by the sheer burning willpower of... well, surviving and the consciousness of your brain, of course.

Now, after centuries, the ice finally melted from your body, freeing you. The only downside is that you only unfroze when the battle of titans had begun. Perfect timing.

What you expected was a brutal fight, not being confronted by a flame reaver who had already destroyed everything.

"Where is the coreflame?" He asked, leaning down to your height, still having to look down at you from his 10-foot pedestal of pure height. When you pointed at your stomach, he mistook it for your womb and palmed his masked face with a guttural groan.

Well... you should've just run away. Now you were getting fucked by a massive guy, against a burning wall with your leg pressed up to your chest.

"Aeons... who told you to shove a burning hot coreflame up your cunt?!" He exclaimed, annoyed as hell, even though he was the one who was in the misunderstanding; you wanted to explain to him that it wasn't the case and you swallowed a tiny coreflame instead, but your sex-drunk head couldn't comprehend swallowing something that wasn't his semen, or how your leg was still holding you up against the wall.