The Nameless Heir

He lay there, the blades still plunged into him, blood running down his chest in slow, heavy streams.

"You have no idea what I went through," he rasped. His voice cracked, but it carried weight. "That place was cold… empty. I was alone—so alone."

Every breath tore at his lungs. He pushed himself upright, the blade still buried deep. His hands wrapped around the hilt, flesh searing where it touched. His skin smoked as he tore one blade free, then another, his grip blistering from the holy fire.

"I was chained there." His words shook, not from weakness but from rage.

Michael's eyes narrowed. "It was your punishment."

"No…" He spat blood at the ground, his burned hand clutching the last blade until the skin split. "It was a path he picked for me."

"Shut up!"

Michael's roar split the air. Golden light gathered at his hand, swelling into a massive sphere of fire. He hurled it forward. The fireball slammed into him, bursting across his body.

The holy flames ripped through him. His veins burned, blood bubbling inside them. Blisters split across his skin, the stench of scorched flesh choking the air.

His scream ripped out of him, raw and ragged, echoing through the broken battlefield. The force hurled him backward, his body crashing into the ground with a bone-shattering crack. Stone split under him. He twitched against the earth, skin blackened, blood steaming from the burns.

Still, through clenched teeth, his voice scraped out. "Is this all you've got?"

Then he hit the ground face first. Michael came in and grabbed him by the leg, dragging him across the broken stone.

"You stupid brat, wake up!" Typhon shouted. But nothing.

Until—

"Kael, they are too many of them. We need you now."

Cyrus's voice echoed. His eyes snapped open, and from his mouth he let out a fiery beam straight at Michael as he dragged him upward.

"Why make this difficult?" Michael growled.

He struck him on the shadow, but the blade was blocked. The impact still sent him flying. He landed on his feet, shadows crawling toward him.

His scream ripped out as a single horn tore from his head.

"I'm Kael Voss, son of Hades… god of the Underworld."

Shadows writhed around him, the horn splitting higher, black fire crawling up his skin. His wings tore apart, twisting into black blades. Heat burned behind his eyes until his vision blurred. The earth shook under him, cracks spidering out through the stone.

"This…" His voice scraped, low and broken. "This is what my father gave me." He bared his teeth. The laugh that slipped out was harsh, bitter, almost choking. "A gift… or a curse. Look at me, Michael. Look at what he made me become—a monster."

Light burst from him, wings spreading, feathers glowing like molten shards. His face hardened in rage, but for an instant Kael caught it—the weight in his gaze, grief buried under fire. "Then I'll cut that monster down."

They moved.

Their swords flashed, shadows and fire colliding in a single instant. Both blades crossed, each tearing across the other's chest. Blood sprayed into the air, black and gold mingling as the shockwave shattered the ruins around them.

They staggered past each other, backs turned, breaths heavy. His wound burned, shallow but searing. Michael's chest split deep, golden blood spilling down his armor.

He turned first, his voice steady even through the pain. "You should have stayed down."

His foot slammed into Kael's chest, boot driving him back into the shattered stone. Michael's aura roared upward, blazing so bright it turned the sky white.

He spread his wings wide. The ground split apart. Winds screamed through the broken area, firestorms erupting, waves of molten light spilling from his body.

The air itself bent under the force.

"This ends now!" he roared.

His horn burned bright, shadows ripping across his body like chains snapping free. His chest heaved, throat swelling with fire as black flames gathered deep inside. The ground cracked beneath him, the pressure alone shaking the island apart.

The air grew heavy—like desert winds, a hurricane, an earthquake, a storm—every disaster wrapped into one.

Then he threw his head back and screamed.

"Absolute Cataclysm!"

The beam ripped from his mouth in a torrent of black fire and shadow. It wasn't a stream—it was a world-breaking flood, wide enough to devour the horizon. Stone vaporized on impact. The sky split in two. The sea boiled where it touched.

Michael spread his wings, golden light blazing as he met it head-on. His aura roared outward, divine fire crashing into the storm.

Shadow and light collided.

The world cracked apart. Darkness and light tore through the island, the impact shattering stone and sky.

When the smoke cleared, both were still standing. Their bodies broken, breath ragged, blood running down their skin.

They moved at the same time.

Their blades crossed and tore across each other's chests. Blood sprayed, black and gold scattering into the air.

They staggered apart, backs turned, breaths shallow.

Kael pressed a hand against his wound. It burned, but not deep. He looked down at the cut—not across the heart. Held back.

Michael's chest bled heavy, golden streaks running down his armor. His strike too had missed its mark.

Neither spoke. The silence was heavier than words. In that stillness, they both understood.

Michael's eyes lifted, meeting his. For a moment, the fury gave way to something else—weary, unspoken.

"We'll meet again," he said quietly.

Wings spread wide, light flaring around him. A rift tore open behind his back, blazing gold. Without another word, he turned and stepped through.

The radiance swallowed him.

The island fell silent.

Kael stood in silence, blood dripping into the cracked stone. His chest heaved, every breath jagged. The golden rift had already swallowed Michael. No words remained. Only the weight of what hadn't been done, what hadn't been said. He clenched his jaw. The island was quiet.

The silence pressed heavier than the battle. Dust still drifted, glowing faint in the dying light. Kael lowered his blade, its edge cracked and dark with blood.