[PP-F01] Got a Staring Problem, Pal? | <<The First Few Lessons>>

Rhys · December 27, 2024

There was something enticing - perhaps magnetic - about the way those blessed kunai fit in Rhys' hands. Cold steel whispered promises of future precision and power, a tool forged for ruthlessness - a quality that had flirted immensely with him long before he plunged headfirst into SAO. That familiar siren's kiss called to him now, the sharp edge of his former addiction resurfacing like an old companion.

His neurons and synapses danced a disjointed rhythm with the melody of addiction, patching broken bridges he had never managed to fully rebuild. Emotions tangled into knots he couldn't quite untie, an incomplete spectrum of feelings that made him question who he was - or who he was becoming. A person that his Styx shouldn't ever see, and he prayed that they'd never truly see each other again.

Ruthlessness now had a purpose. His bottled-up irritations found a target: the tiny boarlets. He wouldn't call it murderous intent, really. It was more like therapy - a way to bleed off the anger simmering within him since his journey began.

Rhys spun the kunai idly between his fingers, the sharp edges catching the dim lighting of the shop with each turn. Styx's words were a little more than muffled white noise in his ears, lost beneath the tempest of his thoughts. He mulled over the events of the day with the slight scrunch of his nose, the sluggish churn of his brain making him feel uncharacteristically dull. Yet his party companion's voice finally cut through the deep haze, Styx's gentle prodding ushering them both out of Lyle's shop.

"Penalized, schmenalized," Rhys muttered with a theatric roll of his eyes, his boots striking the ground with heavy footfalls as he followed Styx into the open world. His fingers decisively tightened around the kunai, admiring how they fit perfectly in his grip. Despite his lack of experience with the weapon, it felt oddly natural. He wasn't sure how the two of them would work together in a fight - or how they would fare as a team in general - but the "common ground" Styx had mentioned earlier stuck in his mind. They'd figure it out, and it was clear that they didn't mind each other's company. The outer winds greeted him with a gentle whisper, rustling his neck-length hair and teasing the nape of it. The pair strode toward the fields, as Styx mentioned. Rhys' gaze became sharp, his focus inward even as he glanced down at Styx.

"I'll go first," he said simply, his voice steady yet oddly dry. Then, with a sudden flash of his usual machismo, Rhys grinned. "You can hang back if you're feeling shy."

The field buzzed with tense energy, air thick with anticipation. As the tutorial boarlets spawned in, Rhys' confidence just slightly faltered. They were small, sure, but their feral eyes carried a primal ferocity that set his nerves ablaze. He held the kunai by the handle, his thumb on one side and fingers wrapped around it. His stance was tight, with crimson eyes tunneling on the charging boarlets. Blade forward, kunai over the shoulder.

This was it. The first step into ruthlessness.

Miss.
Miss.
Miss.

"What?" Rhys' voice broke, disbelief etched into his features. His expression had twisted as realization punched him in the face. He fumbled for more kunai, panic settling in as the boars closed the distance with alarming speed. Have people died to these boars?

You're failing, Rhys. You're failing. Like you always do.

The thought took out its grip, gnawing at him with so much voracity that he could barely admit that he truly was a failure. Perhaps it wasn't ruthlessness that had the enticing siren's kiss, but uselessness. Uselessness was more familiar to him than foreign. Education rendered him useless, his family spat uselessness onto his feet, and those he once surrounded himself with stabbed uselessness into his back. His heart pounded in his chest as he braced himself, scrambling to figure out his next move. He didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to do?

But instead, Rhys' gaze found his companion. An apology, for failing once again. The wind had teased Styx's hair, then, his expression unreadable yet calm, a stark contrast to the frenzy flames in Rhys' chest and soul. For a fleeting second, the noises in his head had quieted, replaced by something gentle.

A melody enough to write a new song.

Styx's existence in those moments was grounding in a way that Rhys couldn't quite explain - not even to himself. Styx wasn't panicking, nor judging him. The boarlets surged, their squeals slicing through the air. His gaze lingered for one more beat on Styx, watching him and his next move. His instincts screamed at him to move, yet he couldn't help but follow the starlit trail that led to Styx.

Rhys exhaled sharply, snapping his focus back to reality. His first throws might have been completely off and wild, but the fight wasn't over. Not yet. Rhys leaped back, his grip fumbling on the next set of kunai. The weight in his hands steadied him as he witnessed the boarlets make their first move. He shifted his stance, kunai at the ready for the next turn. He wasn't throwing blindly, not this time. Pretty eyes remained on course, flickering toward the leading boarlet.

"Little treasure," he called out, a sly grin creeping onto his face despite the tension and embarrassment. He knew he needed to tank for the two of them. A noble sacrifice, should things get messy. "Sorry, I think I gotta get hurt before we move along."

Doubt lingered in his heart. The familiar fear of pain. The chances of dying were actually real in this game. Fear lingered, coiled up and venomous like a snake readying to devour prey, but Rhys pushed it down. Styx was here, and for now, that was enough to keep him standing. It was enough to keep up the fight. He had readied himself to take the first hit from the boarlets, steadying his rapidly beating heart.

Failure needed to wait. They had a job to do.

Edited December 27, 2024 by Rhys

Styx · December 27, 2024

Styx only offered a short nod as Rhys offered to go first, though he had no intention of taking the other’s suggestion to “hang back.” Does he know that we both have to kill three boars? he thought as he watched the man approach the group of boars with lackluster swagger, noting the dazed look in Rhys’ eyes when they were back at the blacksmith’s shop. Perhaps that part of Lyle’s explanation eluded him, is what Styx settled on, though the question of why still hung in the air.

He barely had time to contemplate as the sound of metal whipping through the air reverberated across the nearly empty field. Styx shifted, expecting to see a flurry of blue fractals replacing at least one boar, but he was only faced with the sight of three kunai wedged into the grass, completely missing the charging animals.

His spine straightened immediately. The scent of failure hung in the air like an oppressive smog, choking his throat with an unfamiliar feeling. Concern wormed its way into his brain as from the corner of his eye, he could see Rhys’ face morph into that of dejection. It was a sad reality to face, that even in this world, they were both powerless in the face of admittedly meager forces. Yet Styx had come to accept that failure will follow him in life no matter where he goes– but what is merely a sting to him may feel like a gaping wound to someone as unpredictable as Rhys. Styx will not pretend to know where his friend has gone nor what he has experienced after they parted ways, but he can recognize the eyes of a man who had little to live for.

They used to haunt him every time he looked into a mirror, after all.

Styx shoved away his woes in the blink of an eye. A life such as his was fleeting, but it no longer felt out of place, not when the object of his thoughts for the past four years stood right in front of him.

For once, the silly nickname brought a sense of relief to the tension in Styx's shoulders, now knowing that Rhys wasn’t on the verge of shutting down in the face of failure. Unfortunately, it was short-lived, and his simmering panic turned boiling hot when he glanced at Rhys’ feet, still planted firmly in the ground.

“What are you–” His feet acted faster than his brain could, already pacing forward in Rhys’ direction as alarm crept up on him like cold claws gripping his body. He stumbled, but in a rare moment in his life, fear consumed him, and he broke off into a wobbly sprint. In all scenarios, Styx was the one who was supposed to die. Every path, every choice, every ending– *he* was supposed to be the first one to fall. *His* body was supposed to be on the line, not Rhys’. There was no future for his doomed soul in this life, digital or reality, and he be damned if he allowed the one person who gave it meaning to be whisked away so easily.

Just before the boars rammed themselves into Rhys, Styx launched himself at his companion, barely letting out a surprised grunt before he himself was sent tumbling backward. The terrain was harsh against his skin as his body finally skidded to a halt not too far away, but all he managed to get out of the encounter was a red wound on his side. Styx heaved, feeling no physical pain from the impact, but as he pushed himself up on his elbows, a cocktail of emotions flowed through his veins like a spike of adrenaline. Fear, relief, excitement, anger –

“Are you insane?!” Styx shouted once his finally recovered, wincing when his own voice proved to be too loud for his own ears. His head dipped as he struggled to regain his breathing and pull in his reactions. “You didn’t… you didn’t even try to avoid it,” he rasped under his breath as he pushed off the grass. “I don’t understand– why would you–” His hands twitched as he periodically clenched and unclenched them, his face contorting into a helpless expression. He doesn’t understand. Why would Rhys allow himself to just take it?

Breathing still uneven, he shrugged off the burning in his heart and lungs in favor of pulling out the throwing needles he had received earlier. “Focus, focus, focus.” His muttering was frantic yet composed– a method to his madness. The words came out in a frenzied staccato, forcefully pitched into evenness before he drew his arm back. With a thick needle poised between his fingers, he launched it at one of the boars. The metal hit the animal square between the eyes seconds before it exploded into a cloud of blue shards.

Styx breathes, his body tense with apprehension. He looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing at the man who continues to make his heart beat a million miles per minute. “Don’t do that again.” A dazed look clouded his normally clear eyes, as if he was across the planet instead of here. Without another word, he turned back around, readying another set of needles with dead efficiency.

Rhys: HP: 20/20 | EN: 14/20 | DMG: 5 | ACC: 2
Styx: HP: 14/20 | EN: 14/20 | DMG: 5 | ACC: 2
20-6=14/20 EN

Boarlet #1: HP: 5/5 | DMG: 3
~~Boarlet #2: HP: 0/5 | DMG: 3~~
Boarlet #3: HP: 5/5 | DMG: 3

Edited December 28, 2024 by Styx

Rhys · December 28, 2024

It can't be that detrimental, right?

Rhys reassured himself this, a hollow thought in the midst of all the fog of war. He didn't expect to feel much from the boars - not physically, he hoped. His lack of video game knowledge left him slightly naive, assuming that all he'd suffer would be the string of humiliation at the tusks of the boarlets. His ego might be damaged - and his health bar, of course. But even that, Rhys thought, couldn't hurt more than the dominos of failures he carried with him from real life.

Rhys was no stranger to his ego being reduced to a thread. His boss shredding his lyrics in the studio, fumbling through awkward first dates, never mustering the courage to say I love you when it mattered most. This moment - these squealing, bloodthirsty opponents - felt no different.

In some cases, Rhys even hoped for his health bar to hit zero. The idea lingered in his mind, the darkness strangely comforting. If the boarlets found a way to critically hit him by pure coincidence, if he fell there, perhaps he wouldn't have to carry the crushing weight that was slowly grinding him down to nothing. The thought whispered flirtatiously in his mind.

Doesn't sound half bad, he mused.

But out of the peripherals of his eyes, he caught it - that trail of starlight, the radiant thread moving closer. His heart stuttered, cracking at the edges of the mirror. The lines between chaos and harmony were about to cross. The discordant noises of the boarlets were rising higher and higher, wild and pitchy, threatening to clash horribly against the gentle orchestral melody Styx had brought into his world.

"No," Rhys breathed out, panic slicing through his finalized resignation. His hand shot out, aiming to yank Styx back by the shoulder, to inevitably block the blow with his own body. But before Rhys could move, a flash of cerulean blue cracked through the air. The boarlets howled in victory, their attack finding purchase - not in Rhys, but in Styx.

The sight of Styx tumbling to the ground hit Rhys harder than any blade or opponent ever could. His breath stopped, and in that instant, something inside him ignited in instinct - a protectiveness so fierce it burned away the apathy that had lingered moments before.

Rhys did not think. He moved.

In that millisecond, he was at his companion's side, kneeling down as his hands found their way to his companion. He didn't want to look at the gaping wound in Styx's side, even if he wasn't feeling any pain. Despite Styx propping himself on his elbows, Rhys looped an arm around him, helping him to his feet with a quiet intensity. He was trembling in a concoction of concern and boiling rage. His hand hovered over Styx's wounded side, where the wound fought to bleed, but he refused to let himself falter.

Together, they stood tall, but Rhys' mind was far from stable. The panic in Styx's voice as he spoke was a faint hum against the thunder of Rhys' pulse. Crimson eyes tracked the boarlets as they rounded the field again, his gaze dull and calculating.

Without warning, Rhys turned to face Styx head-on.

His hand rose, firm but tender, pressing against the crevice of Styx's neck, just beneath his jawline. Rhys' fingers rested there, grounding himself as much as he was grounding his companion.

"What you're not gonna fucking do," Rhys began, his voice low, trembling with his suppressed anger. Styx didn't deserve to take the hit of both the boarlets and his rage, "is take the hit for me."

Rhys' tone simmered, hot and raw. His gaze locked onto Styx's deep, clouded irises, an unspoken challenge burning within them.

"I will do it again, and again, and again if it means I don't have to see that happen ever again."

The tension between them was charged, palpable, as unspoken emotions battled between them. Rhys' hand dropped from Styx's neck, only to reach for the wrist holding his next set of throwing needles. He lowered it slowly, his grip firm but not unkind.

"Styx," Rhys said, his voice chillingly quiet. The name was both a warning and a plea. His features, intense and unwavering, betrayed his concern. A look to Rhys that no one had ever truly seen. "Stay. Right. Here."

As the last string of words left his lips, Rhys turned, kunai ready in hand. The boarlets were finally rounding back, their tiny forms a blur of feral energy. Anger surged through the renegade, piping hot, propelling him forward. Within mere seconds, the sound of tearing flesh cracked in the air. The first boarlet fell into a spray of digital pixels, then the last. Rhys' movements were wildfire - nearly brutal - each strike laced with the fury of a thousand suns.

When it was over, the field fell silence save for the faint exhale of Rhys' breath. They had another set, if he recalled Lyle's words correctly. His chest heaved, kunai tightly gripped within his fingers. They curled around the grip of the blade, before he turned back toward Styx. Their eyes met, with Rhys' expression unreadable. His eyes softened at the sight of his companion, despite them still flickering with his anger.

"You don't get to make that call," he muttered softly. He approached his companion with light footfalls, his hand reaching for Styx, but slowly retracting in hesitation. "Not for me."

RHYS ONLY STAYS WINNING (HE HAS NEVER FAILED IN HIS LIFE)
AoE vs. Boarlet #1 | ID: 239415 | BD: 5 [hit] | 5(3) = 15 DMG
AoE vs. Boarlet #3 | ID: 239417 | BD: 6 [hit] | 5(3) = 15 DMG

Rhys | HP: 20/20 | EN: 10/20 | DMG: 5 | ACC: 2

~~Boarlet #1: HP: 0/5 | DMG: 3~~
~~Boarlet #2: HP: 0/5 | DMG: 3~~
~~Boarlet #3: HP: 0/5 | DMG: 3~~

Edited December 29, 2024 by Rhys

Styx · December 29, 2024

Already, he feels wrong. As soon as the other whipped his head around, he let out an apologetic sound. “Rhys–” he began, only to be cut off by the sudden hand around his neck. For a moment, his mind raced with countless possibilities, fearful that this was the moment where the consequences of his actions finally got to him, but all that came was a barely disguised promise– a promise that he could not accept.

“Please let me help,” he whispered desperately, feeling his hands shake like a burning itch. They curled around the cold metal of his needles as Rhys slowly lowered them, and Styx shook his head– a plea in it of itself. He could only stand there, helpless and frozen under that crimson gaze like it had rooted him to the ground with its intensity. “I just…” He faltered, choking on his words. ”I just want to help, please,” Styx begged in desperation, so unlike his normal self, eyes wide with an underlying fear that couldn’t possibly be from a few pesky animals.

Let me help you, was the request that got stuck in his throat. Let me die for you. Let my death mean something.

It didn’t matter that their chances of death in this quest were close to none. It didn’t matter that they were facing baby boars of all things. What mattered was that in the grand scheme of everything, he could do nothing. He will amount to nothing because he will only ever be nothing.

The wind swept by, the breeze bringing memories of years bygone with it, and Styx remembers. Just how much did you suffer without me knowing? Was a frequent thought he had as he watched the autumn leaves cascade down the trees from the open window in his hospital room. Why didn’t you tell me? He had asked himself as his shaky fingers scrolled down months of old conversation, so once full of life and hope, yet now reeked of disappointment and yearning. I should have helped, after a particularly upsetting day where his dysarthria had worsened Styx to the point where he couldn’t even say Rhys’ name without his slurring making it completely unintelligible. I love you. Such a simple thing, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had failed someone by never voicing it into existence. Himself or Rhys– perhaps both now that he relives the memory again.

And as he watched Rhys’ silhouette grow farther and farther away, diving into a battle that wouldn’t have existed if Styx hadn’t thrown himself back into the other’s life so carelessly, he couldn’t help but think that he had failed Rhys, again and again and again. Perhaps there was never a why in the questions he had asked himself for years, because the only answer had always been Styx. Because he is Styx. Like a plague, rot spread from his fingertips and infected every nook and cranny of his life. He ruined everything he touched– and like an idiot, he foolishly believed that he could spare Rhys from such a fate.

Rhys would live a life where Styx does not exist, he hoped, but the same can not be said about Styx, who watches his life tick by in a body that is not really his.

I’d like to be selfish, just once, came the bittersweet thought. Just a year or two with him, and then I won’t be around to ruin anything anymore. Please, he would wish to whoever would hear him, give me one last moment to be selfish.

His please blurred into a muddled gray as the hacking of flesh reverberated through the calm hills, as if the world was oblivious to the tragedies replaying in this dying man’s mind and the brutal killing of the one who plagued it. Rhys spared no restraint when it came to his methods, and when all was said and done, only the two companions were left on the field again.

"You don't get to make that call."

Styx’s eyes fell to the grass beneath their feet, still swaying in the light breeze that wafted in and out of the rolling hills. His squared shoulders relaxed, as if making peace with the fact that he will never be what he expects himself to be. In this life, he will never be the right person the make the call.

He only hoped Rhys would find it in himself to forget him once Styx, in time, decides that it wouldn’t matter.

The fingers enclosed around his needles twitched before he eventually nodded. There was no promise, spoken or unspoken, just an understanding. Styx does not lie, but if it eases that expression on Rhys’ face, he will be complicit for now. For a moment, they just stand there awkwardly. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but only a soft inhale was taken before he shakes his head to shoulder past Rhys, renewing his grip on the weapons just as another pair of boars materialize into the overworld.

He falls into the headspace of doing with practiced ease, hand poised beside his head before he launches the needle at one of the boarlets, striking it on its side with precision unbecoming of someone who is so characteristically weak. The technique is amateur at best, but Styx holds it with such unwavering confidence and focus that he comes close to looking like a machine instead.

I’m sorry I can’t be more for you. His fingers graze another needle as the remaining boar charges towards him. But even if it doesn’t matter… He lets go, the cold metal leaving his fingertips before landing between the boarlet’s eyes, a shrill sound leaving its lifeless body before it tumbles to its side in a heap of fragments.

It will always be you. I would always die for you.

Rhys: HP: 20/20 | EN: 14/20 | DMG: 5 | ACC: 2
Styx: HP: 14/20 | EN: 10/20 | DMG: 5 | ACC: 2
14+1-5=10/20 EN

~~Boarlet #4: HP: 0/5 | DMG: 3~~
~~Boarlet #5: HP: 0/5 | DMG: 3~~

Edited December 31, 2024 by Styx

Rhys · January 1

His heart wept.

Something so minute, so seemingly inconsequential, shouldn't tear him apart this deeply. The significant trials ahead loomed over their heads, the walls and barriers they'd yet to face stood seemingly so unconquerable. Yet Rhys' resolve had unraveled. Something about Styx's voice and the quiet tempest brewing in his eyes completely thawed him. A resonance so raw and painfully familiar that it struck chords Rhys had long since buried. Chords that he had long since played.

Rhys, in all his talent and ambition, had a very curious habit - he heard melodies in the people he met. A fleeting hum of strings, a faint trill of the piano, or a symphony of chaotic notes. Each person carried a song within them, and for as long as Rhys could remember, he had instinctively listened for it. Back when he was a little boy, music had been his refuge, his way of untangling the world's sin into something beautiful and coherent. That habit had been his source of inspiration during his time as a musician, fueling lyrics and guitar melodies that once brought him success.

Now? Most songs were painful to listen to. He wanted to abandon music. He had abandoned music. Every note reminded him of his torn-up sheet music, shattered ambitions, and the empty sound of an unsaid "I love you."

To anyone else, Styx might have been an enigma. Yet to Rhys, he carried a beautiful, yet guarded symphony. The first song he had heard in a long, long time. There was more than the gentle orchestra that trailed behind Styx's every footfall, more than the soft notes that lingered whenever their gazes met. There was a countermelody. A deeper resonance beneath the facade, an ache hidden in plain sight.

Rhys hadn't known Styx for long - barely more than a fleeting encounter in this strange hellscape called Aincrad - but that connection was certainly undeniable. Even Rhys couldn't step away from the familiarity of Styx's existence. The way Styx carried himself, carrying the world upon his shoulders, every step laced with a weight he refused to show. It only made everything harder for Rhys to look away.

Rhys felt it, clear as day, the rhythm of Styx's burdens playing in tandem with his own.

He didn't fully understand why his chest coiled so tightly in this way, why his attention peeled back the layers of Styx's expression as if searching for a truth hidden beneath. Yet, as Styx nodded faintly in response to his earlier warning, Rhys saw it - brief but unmistakable. The weight Styx carried wasn't just heavy, it was completely bone-crushing. Rhys knew the expression all-too-well.

Styx's hands moved like clockwork, tearing through the nearest boar with a well-aimed throw. Yet as Rhys watched the needle leave his companion's fingers, his mind spiraled around a single, coherent thought:

We don't know each other.

"Look at me."

Rhys' voice was a quiet plea. He lifted his index and middle fingers, brushing them gently along Styx's jawline to prompt him. "Please."

When their eyes finally met, Rhys froze. His own red gaze, intense and unyielding, finally softened at the edges. His fingers lingered for a breadth longer than necessary, before he let them drop. Heat rushed to his ears as the moment branded itself into his mind, climbing to his cheekbones and settling on the bridge of his nose. His face painted him in a soft pink.

A kunai slipped from his open hand at the expense of his energy, falling into the grass with a muffled thud. A truce. The last boar still lingered, pacing in the distance, but Rhys didn't care. Not yet.

A very faint scoff left his lips as he glanced down at the kunai, an apologetic smile curving his mouth. He raised his chin slightly, forcing himself to hold onto the fragile guise of confidence he held so close to his chest. "Looks like we need to set some ground rules, little treasure."

The humor in his tone didn't reach his eyes, which flickered a sense of vulnerability. "You remind me of someone," he added softly, his voice dipping into a warm honesty. A faint flash of his white fangs accompanied the admission. "A little too much, actually. You two would've gotten along. That is, if I knew where he went. Or if I hadn't-"

He stopped abruptly, his mouth snapping shut like a venus flytrap catching prey. The words hung in the air, unfinished and unprompted, as his brows knitted together in frustration against himself. His fingers curled into a loose fist before releasing, the anxious tension in his body betraying his internal turmoil. Rhys sucked in a breath, forcing himself to meet his...acquaintance's gaze again.

"I don't know you," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "And you don't really know me. But I can tell...you deserve better than this. I've got a temper, and a shitty attitude. And I can't sleep at night without my fucking teddybear. You deserve better than to just throw yourself in front of me."

His hand gestured vaguely toward himself, a self-deprecating smile creeping onto his lips. A very convincing smile, as if he wasn't truly bothered by his own words. But the blush on his face deepened, making him look more sheepish and boyish than usual. "I don't have any control over your choices - I mean shit, I don't even have control over my own. But if you're planning on taking another hit for me..."

He trailed off for a beat, his voice hitching ever so slightly at the sight of Styx's face. He managed to steady it before continuing. "At least warn me, yeah?"

The world around them faded - the distant dancing of the grass, the faint sound of the final boarlet's hooves. All that remained was this strange, unspoken understanding between them. Curiosity, fear, the separating of identities and the coalesce of identities. For someone who prided himself on being quick-witted and charming, he suddenly felt like his vocabulary had abandoned him. For that spark of a moment, Rhys was rendered mute.

When did he grow so soft?

But he caught himself as he finally exhaled, the breath sharp and heated. Tension finally left him with the huff of his lungs. "Now," he muttered, his tone lighter but still heavy with the weight of his words. "Let's finish this so I can choke out that NPC for making us do this."

With a flick of his wrist, he retrieved the last kunai from the grass below, readying the blade. The next step toward purpose.

i might have the worst rolls the site has ever seen
Attack vs. Boarlet #6 | ID: 239675 | BD: 1 [miss] |

Rhys | HP: 20/20 | EN: 8/20 | DMG: 5 | ACC: 2

Edited January 1 by Rhys

Styx · January 1

ph

Rhys · January 1

PLACEHOLDER AGAIN SO I CAN ROLL AGAIN IM GONNAC RY

Attack vs. Boarlet #6 | ID: 239675 | BD: 9 [CRIT HIT SMD] |
~~Boarlet #6: HP: 0/5 | DMG: 3~~

Rhys | HP: 20/20 | EN: 6/20 | DMG: 5 | ACC: 2 Edited January 1 by Rhys

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