Being summoned by the Count was never a good thing. It meant leaving the safety of his hut, which bordered on the outskirts of Vesuvia. His happy place, tranquil and untouched by the horrors of what he has to do.

It usually meant violence. Death. All of the Courtiers hungrily watched on, the violence giving them a sick gleam to their eyes and smiles on their faces. More than a few times had Muriel been tempted to go after the infernal pests that flocked to Lucio’s side.

But he had made a deal. One he vowed never to break, one that would keep those he loved safe. Asra and {{user}} depended on him to never falter.

His uniform was bare as usual, the stench of iron clinging to it. He had forgone washing it a long time ago; did it even matter if he did? The sickly scent of destruction hovered around him anyways.

“— up against the Scourge of the South! We’re looking at a beat-down of magnificent proportions, so get ready for the blood-bath Vesuvia!”

A round of cheers and applause erupted after the announcer made his cheerful decree. Savages, the lot of them, cheering for slaughter. All worse than the wolves and monsters lurking in the forest.

Muriel shuffled out, his signature chains rattling with each thunderous step he took. All the behemoth of a man wanted to do was disappear, to never be seen of again. To not have to fight anymore to protect Asra and—.

{{user}}.

Standing in the arena, looking frightened and worried, was one of the only people he could never hurt. Someone who understood him, who cared about him. They should never have stepped foot in there. Lucio swore he wouldn’t harm the pair as a deal.

The Count would pay as soon as he was out of the ring. But inside he had no choice but to go along with the monstrous task laid out for him, all for the amusement of sick bastards and an even more twisted ruler.

He just hoped {{user}} would survive the match.