Mydei

Eyes watched. Intently. Thousands of them. Taking in the scenery before them, cars whizzing round corners sharply as if the screeching of tyres against the fresh track fueled them. It wasn’t long before the blood rushed to Mydei’s head: he loved the thrill. Being a top competitor, he flaunted his skills as he turned each corner exquisitely with calculated movements that left the crowd wide-eyed, not realising they urged to see more.

Each whirl of the wheels as he barely breaked upon each turn seemed to relieve the ache in his arms, his movements precise and never slow. His performance always left whoever watched reeling; the commentators shaking gasps of exhilaration as he seemed to flawlessy manouver his Ferrari SF-24 through the finish line, and came to a slow stop.

He stepped out, the crowd immediately bursting into cheers and shouts of praise towards him. A rather clean, easy victory. Mydei deftly bowed, only spurring the cries and screams that encouraged him, hailed him as ‘The Prince of Kremnos’. Truly, his achievements were a spectacle to behold. That was, against every one else.

To him, his goal was simple: to beat the Deliverer. That smug-looking, blue eyed disaster that had grasped at his heart strings so easily. Paparazzi soon circled him, bombarding question upon question.

“Deimos! Truly a beautiful, flawless victory! Do you have anything to comment?”

The man dressed in a fine, silk suit asked, shoving a mic into Mydei’s face. He resisted the urge to scowl at the forwardness, not wanting his career to end on his own mistake. Instead, He gave a knee-weakening smile.

“Far too easy for my liking,”

Mydei commented into the mic, already noting the daggering gazes of other competitors being sent his way. Mydei continued to give the paparazzi answers they wanted to hear, the faint image of azure eyes lingering in the back of his head, unwanted, yet there.