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Power was like a signature for certain peoples. It radiated and could be felt in vastly different ways, yet for many there was no way to feel or know another from their power alone.

Only one class and Rank was an exception to the rule.

Those who had surpassed their station as mere soldiers. Those who'd become generals, those who's risen to their rightful rank among royalty. They alone held a power that was smothering and wide, like a single beam of light in an otherwise empty skyline, it was impossible to miss, and each time they did so, they knew the risk they took as they exposed themselves to the world. It was why when one was felt, it was typically brief, and fleeting in it's station.

So when the aura of a chaos senshi filled the senses of Castor not even a few blocks away, he did not rush from it. He ran towards it, knowing only one royal among chaos and rumors of another. If it was Leto, they'd need to discuss recent events, if not?

He'd deal with that as it came. A jump to the top of a roof, he was not far as he called his own royal mantle to him, wings outstretched as he called out into the darkness of the night.
"I did not expect to be host to another royal. If I had known, I'd have brought us a drink."
God knew he and Leto both would need one.

A brow rose as it was not Leto who replied, but the voice of a man. So this left him with one idea as to whom it belonged. "Ah, so you're not the lovely Leto. Ah, Rem... Remarke? Remarque right?" He drew closer, a smirk on his face, wings folding behind him as he did so, the light clatter of his armor echoing in the otherwise empty air.

"Leto mentioned you. If she's not mentioned myself-" he bowed his head, "-Castor of Hail. And could be. Depends, have you considered relinquishing the parasitic nature of Chaos to walk once more under your own banner within Order?" He was sizing up the other royal, arms crossing and for a moment, pausing his gaze on the wings.

"I mean that's all I can see us drinking over. Leto is a bit easier on the eyes you know. And I know where she stands. You however? You're the one I don't know. And what I don't know of Chaos... I tend to remove." Thus far he'd kept his word. No DMC senshi had stood in his path and so he'd not killed any yet. But the other royal was another story. He'd made no alliance with the other prince, and while he'd rather not fight? He wasn't trusting Leto's own court. No more than he trusted his own not to double cross.

It was a game that men tended to play time and time again. Sizing up each other, trying to find a weakness and chip in the armor all while trying to appear flawless and unshakable.
It was the dance that royals played with generals, that generals played with knights- it was just the men that added a little bit of machismo to it all. And in a game where the steaks were high and lives were quite literally on the line, it was a game no one wanted the other to win. It was a game that had stopped being a game for them, and had become a reality.

"Her legs are better. Even I can admit that. Though my armor is more protective." He'd not missed the jab at the fact he wasn't in pants. Old woulds went deep, and he'd always remember having to earn his pants.

The half circling had Castor on edge, too used to the movement from the negaverse, from those in the past who were opportunists, who'd been better than him in finding openings. In proving to bigger threats than they let on. And yet despite knowing this, he fell for it each time. His ego, his pride always the first c***k in his defenses.
"My armor is more to deal with the real threats. Not the words and weak magic of pretenders." Where Remarque was careful in his dictation, Castor spoke with open distaste, with open with his views on just what he thought.

Truce or no.

"Leto can fight, I'll give her that, but you're never around. I'm willing to bet the reason I never feel you is because you're too weak to make a difference. Too weak to protect your own from your so called allies in the negaverse."

He had fallen for the bait- just likely not the one Remarque had expected him to fall for. "I am not white moon." He said, defiant as wings fanned out, utterly betraying his fury at the notion.
"I am not beholden to that dead princess's court or her ideals. I am Castor. Once the head of an empire, I will bow to no power but that of the cauldron itself." Blue eyes had become narrow in their fury, wishes to cut down the man before him apparent.

"Unlike your kind, who bow to a disgraced kingdom, a world that is as lost to you as your queen." He smirked, falling back to pride, to arrogance.
"I never make a claim to be good, only to fill my promises." A cold chilled his voice and tone.
"The promise to destroy chaos, and have my vengeance for what it did to my people."

"Stinging storm." As hail fell around them both, Castor didn't mind how it cut him as well, only that he remained focused on the other royal, looking down upon him, even while standing.
"Or are you too much a coward to face a man whom you'd dismiss?"

"Wasn't talkin' bout Smoke b***h." He had seen the punch coming, but hadn't expected the royal to actually try, so when it connected, it connected. Head snapping, Castor was sent back to a way of fighting he knew far too well.

A good, old fashion fist fight.

"Nehellenia you dumb ********." Nose bloody, Castor took a step back before swinging out on his own. If it was a fist fight this prince wanted, it was a fist fight he'd get.
"I didn't have no shitty kingdom." He even went for a kick to the man's side.
"I had a ******** Empire. There is a god damn difference buttmunch."

It was like he was in Hillworth all over again. "You ain't got s**t."

Castor had known the pain of a good punch for years. This however wasn't just the pain of a good punch. This was a dull throb, an ache of pain that would go deep into his muscle, and last beyond the basic, even with his accelerated healing.
Such was the power of a royal.

"Queen of the dark moon you dimwit. Don't they teach your own court anything?" He spat, the fist getting him square in the jaw, lip splitting open angrily, and a red line of blood going down his chin while teeth rattled in his skull. Only thing he was glad for was that none came ********." He brough up his hand, feeling that pain and smiling. Too long since a real fight.

Too long since he'd had fun.

"Yeah well, got the ******** negaverse and chaos to thank for that one. Watching your people get slaughtered before you die isn't no ******** dream come true-" He kicked upward, aiming for the worst possible place he knew he could aim for.
"At least you mirrors aren't pro genocide. Give ya that much!"

Castor grew up fighting in one way. Dirty. Hillworth was years behind him, but it was infused into his fighting as much as anything. It came as natural as boxing, and yet what also came from his years at Hillworth was arrogance in a fight. That thinking if you got the kick, you would win.

Having his leg grabbed was not a part of that game plan.

Castor's eyes widened as he felt his body weight twist and he was being thrown to the side landing painfully on two places, his arm, and his wing. The wing crumbled and he let out a startled cry. Just because it was not a true limb did not mean it could not feel pain or was no less a part of him or any less real for his body.

"I know that your queen was from another world, dimension. She wasn't part of this one. Ares followed her while they were purified. Then Ares wanted blood. She formed the crazy Blood moon, yet off the rails and corrupted."

He grunted, wing now bent at an unnatural angle as he got up, ignoring the wracking pain that had him coughing. "Your court can't get to your own worlds. That and you and the negas share about as much love a oil and ******** water. Once they kill us, they'll kill you. What else- water is ******** wet."

He took a tentative step back. He'd underestimated the other royal, but damn if this didn't get his blood pumping.
"Leto tells me only what I ask and need to know. Don't worry, she's been keeping what secrets you have out of my ears- Purified her girlfriend for her and she won't even help me get a date. Cold as ******** ice." He made an attempt to punch Remarque once again, even while he was struggling to ignore the visibly broken wing.

Pain blocking- yet another thing to be thankful for due to Hillworth. Or his own stubbornness.

Castor for a moment stared at Remarque before barking out a laugh that was marred with a deep painful cough. His wing and arm were not happy with him. His wing- his wing felt the worst of it all. A second arm in someways, it was broken, and while powering down might have spared some pain- it was still a part of him.

"So you're like me then." He wheezed after his cough. "******** their queen. ******** Serenity. ******** Nehelenia. Any ruler who ******** over their own people for the sake of their own selfish wants is an idiot."

He grunted as he tried in vain to move his wing. It was broken, and all he managed to do was sent searing pain shooting up his spine.
"And yes. It's even more fun to have it ripped off." he winced as his eyes shut for a moment recalling a very painful learning curve from a run in with a Castorian ******** broken mine you d**k."