After the ice crashed, Aly’s sight grew faint and blurred. She heard the massive ice formation crash onto the hard ground beneath, but it was muted. She threw her head up, trying to regain composure to no end. She was heavily light headed, with a pounding headache. She had plenty of magic reserve left, thanks to Ciarca, she could feel it. But the mass production of freezing spells severely affected her. In the chaos, she dimly saw their enemy rush towards Ciarca who was unprotected, only to be saved by a leaping Mithras. He had caught her in midair, crashing tumbling onto the ground. When the dust had settled, his arms were stone, holding the goddess in a death hold. She was writhing like mad, her piercing screams slicing through the air. Mithras’s shout cut above her cries, screaming for Aly to end it all.

You fool! She thought. Had she not warned him to give her space? Is this what he really wanted, to risk his life for the sake of others? It was a sentiment she didn’t completely understand. Being a distraction is one thing, but to put yourself directly in front of a unicorn’s blast of magic was something else entirely different. Very well. “You blithering idiot! Don’t blame me for what happens next.” She shot her hand up, fighting against the spinning of her sight. She steeled her sights, mentally locking onto the pair. The way Mithra’s had grabbed the goddess, her chest was exposed, her arms locked behind her. A quick chill flashed through the air as a barrage of long, sharp icicles materialized infront of her pointing at their target. With a flourish of her hand, they shot through the air, every sharp ice dagger meeting their target and sinking into the goddess’s flesh.

She screeched in pain as the icicles sunk deeper into the flesh, penetrating her completely, finding their way into Mithra’s flesh. She raised her hand, casting a second barrage. A third. A fourth. The goddess took the brunt of these attacks, desperately trying to escape Mithra’s death grip, slowly realizing she was losing the fight thanks to Mithra’s sacrifice. She screeched once more, this time barely reaching Alythea’s ears. She cast one last barrage, the goddess convulsing on the several sharp ice daggers. With a slump, the goddess let loose one last wheeze before slumping in Mithra’s now riddled arms.

The fight was over. She cast a quick glance around her, catching Ciarca with the same apprehensive look. After a quick moment of stillness, Alythea rushed forward towards her brave companion that had taken her magic head on. The goddess had been released, tumbling on the floor, lifeless.She collapsed to her knees, pulling Mithras into her lap. It didn’t look good. There were several wounds throughout his body. Large trails of blood pooling from the wounds. His eyes were half shut, on the near of collapse with heavy, ragged breathing. But he was alive. This brought a tremendous smile to her face. She could heal him, as long as he lived. She softly cooed, running her hands over the various entry points. A warm sensation ran between them as the wounds quickly closed.

A cough erupted from his throat, and Alythrea let out a sigh of relief, quietly admiring the brave warrior that had somehow survived her magical barrages. A spent a brief moment, giving him a genuine smile before slapping him across the face. “Do you know how stupid that little move of yours was!?” She roughly pushed his head off her lap. “Well. I can’t say it didn’t help. It looks like were done, thanks to your stupid stunt.” She stood up, shooting her hand out for Mithras to grab. “Highfive.” She said graciously, finding it hard to hide a goofy smile. She then moved to Ciarca giving her the same celebration of slapping hands.

Just as she thought she was doomed, Mithras snatched up the goddess in his powerful arms. He gave out a shout of instructions towards Alythea and only then did she realize what he was trying to do. A full blast from Alythea would kill the goddess, and possibly kill him as well. Before she could move or cast or do anything, Alythea attacked with several sharp ice daggers. Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes grew wide as she saw him take on the ice. There was a moment of silence, of fear and of stillness before both of them collapsed onto the hard ground. For a moment, Ciara's guard was completely down and her face showed shock and confusion at Mithras' actions. A deep gratitude developed in her heart for his saving her life as well as fear for his safety.

Even from far away, she could see the movement of his chest as he breathed. He was alive. But a new concern grew in her mind. He had just saved her life, which for any other person was a wonderful thing. For a fae like her, it meant a debt. She owed him on some level. Her face returned to its neutral state as she drew closer to Mithras, who was covered in Alythrea. A cough flew from his mouth as he began to regain consciousness. His eyes fluttered open and he was immediately slapped in the face. Unexpected, but interesting.

"Its good to see you are among the living." Ciara said to Mithras.

She had to be careful. To admit he'd done something for her was dangerous. On their last meeting, did she admit she was fae? Or did she leave it be? Her memory was fuzzy no matter how much she tried, she couldn't recall every word from that conversation. But her expression was reserved though she had a smile on her face. Inside, she was all mixed up. At one point she had a deep gratitude for him but at the other point, she now had reason to be wary of him. Ciara didn't say anything and gave Alythrea a smile and received the high five. 

"We should get our reward now. Great job, the both of you." She gave a nod, her voice as sweet as honey, "After we receive our rewards, perhaps we could visit a dining place? I'm sure you two would love to talk and I could use some food. And don't worry, I can pay for anything you'd like."

The fae woman was still interested in getting to know the both of them, especially after this battle.

Fortunately his companions were not one for hesitation, and that was exactly what they needed to assure their victory. As the false goddess raved and railed against the heavens to the very end–the lion-headed lord's visage was awash with bloodlust and ecstasy. In the end, she was no different from her prey. For all her arrogance and bravado, she attempted to flee when faced with death. When the shards of ice impaled the entity, Mithras' sense of pain was partially dulled by the rush of the battle. Perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through him, or it was a delayed reaction as his mind had yet to fully catch up with what was going on. As the ice tore through his chest, he was elated. It has been ages since he had experienced such a challenging bout. At last, the so-called goddess' body slumped and there was nothing resisting his hold. When her body fell to the floor, it began to dissipate as her essence returned to its original plane of existence. All that was left was Mithras lying face-up on the bloodied arena grounds. The burning sensation that had enveloped his entire body was gone, and the air felt cold on his skin.

Exhaustion–it was a feeling he hadn't felt ever since he had been sealed for who knows how long. As his eyelids felt heavy, he smiled to himself as he recalled the fight. He wouldn't mind if he died like this. He had lived as a warlord, it would surprise no one if he expired in the same manner. But then…he heard voices calling him. Blurred and distorted, he recognized it to be Alythea. She was frantic, as if she was trying to keep him from slipping through her fingers. It would certainly make sense for her to worry so. The pain began to subside and the numbness was leaving his body. An attempt to take in his first full breath came out as a cough as the blood that had been pooling in his throat was cleared. Then there was the stinging sound of a slap across his face. When the pale-haired woman started berating him, he collapsed into a fit of laughter punctuated with a few coughs. There was relief and joy behind her harsh words, and when she offered her hand to celebrate their win, he grasped it and held firm for a few moments before letting go. 

 Getting back on his feet, he was unconcerned that there was a mass of dried blood staining his robes and the front of his chest. While most would be somewhat shaken by a brief brush with death, the primal lord was practically beaming. "Let us proceed. Even the smallest of victories deserve a good drink in celebration! I do not know what sort of rewards we should expect to receive for our efforts. As for I, the fight was quite the reward in of itself." He was unaware of Ciara's well-concealed apprehension towards him, after all he had received everything he had come for.