The air grew heavy, thick with tension, as I watched from the shadows.

Caelus’s voice dropped into a low, satisfied chuckle, and for a moment, I thought he might say more. But then, in the silence that followed, I saw it—a flash of movement so sudden it stole my breath away.

Mi'kael moved.

Not a flinch. Not anger.

A snap.

A blur of motion so sudden it looked wrong—like the world skipped a frame.

His hand darted towards the Blaster at Caelus’ side— not to fire but to distract. Caelus’ attention flicked to the motion, a flicker of instinct too slow to save him.

And in that heartbeat— 

The crest on Mi’kael’s palm flared to life.

The brilliant blue light ignited once more, the mark glowing as particles of light spiraled into being.

The air shimmered.

Energy coalesced.

And then—

His White Katana erupted into existence— pure, blinding and precise enough to cleave the air itself.

Caelus staggered back, the smirk evaporating from his face. The first time since I'd known him, I saw fear bloom in his eyes.

But it was too late.

Mi'kael drove the blade forward with a speed the naked eye wasn't built to track.

The sound of impact cracked through the alleyway, drowning out the gasp that ripped from my throat.

Caelus fell, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

His eyes, wide with shock—and betrayal—found mine for a heartbeat before the light faded from them completely.

Silence swallowed everything, except for Mi'kael's breathing—ragged, uneven and too fast.

He stood there, Katana still in hand, dripping red.

But it wasn't the blood that made bile rise in my throat.

It was his face.

A stranger's face. Cold and Hollow, as if carved from something merciless.

Before I could even speak, Mi'kael’s eyes snapped up to mine.

For a brief, chilling moment, I saw no recognition there—only ruthless, unyielding determination.

Then suddenly, he broke away.

No words.

Just a desperate sprint toward the Main Hall like his body was being dragged by gravity itself.

"Mi'kael!" I called, barely a whisper—but he didn’t pause.

I looked down at Caelus one last time.

Blood spreading across the ground.

The first domino.

Then I ran after my brother, fear clawing up my spine.

_____MI'KAEL SERAPHANE_____

The stairs trembled under my boots, each step shaking like my body couldn’t decide if it wanted to run or erupt.
My pulse wasn’t beating — it was hammering.
My thoughts weren’t thoughts — they were sparks flaring in dry brush.

Something was wrong inside me.
Not rage.
Not grief.

Something sharper. Something breaking open.

By the time I reached the doors, my hands were trembling not with fear — but with a pressure building beneath my skin like my veins were turning into live wires.

I didn’t kick the doors open.

I slammed them wide with enough force to make the Smartwalls flicker.

The room froze.

Dozens of gazes snapped toward me.

Shock. Apprehension.

The clan elders—those once-untouchable pillars of command—looked fragile beneath the pressure of my fury.

"Explain," I snarled, lifting the Katana so its edge caught the hollow-blue lighting. "Why did you send Caelus? Why did you have her killed?"

A crack—just one—ran across my grandfather's expression. A flicker of guilt.

Then he masked it.

"You know nothing," he said, voice measured, layered with authority.

I stepped forward.

"No," I hissed. "I know enough."

One of the elders scoffed and stormed toward me, decades of arrogance wrapped around him like armor.

"You speak out of turn, boy," he spat. "One kill and you think you're anything but a liability?"

My jaw trembled. Not from fear.

From something breaking.

He grabbed my shoulder.

“Did you think you could kill one of ours and walk free?” he hissed. “You, your brother, everyone close to you—you will all suffer.”

That did it.

My hand moved before the thought formed.

The katana swept once—clean, merciless.

His head hit the floor with a dull, obscene thud.

Chaos erupted.

Shouts rang out. Data-lanterns shattered. Panic swept through the chamber.

One elder screamed for the guards. Another tried to find a weapon to defend himself with.

I cut him down before he was given a chance.

Not with flourish.
Not with fury.

Just a single, brutal stroke that felt numb in my hands — like the blade was moving on its own.

He collapsed beside the first elder, his blood tracing a line across the tilestone as if marking the path I was walking.

The others finally understood—

I wasn’t lashing out.
I wasn’t out of control.
I was choosing this.

And that terrified them more than the blade.

When the last body hit the ground, only one man remained standing.

My grandfather.

The center of it all.

Silent. Still.

I turned toward him.

My blade pulsed faintly. It thirsted for finality.

I stepped forward—

"Stop!"

Azrael's voice hit like a stun grenade.

I turned.

He stood framed by shattered doors, black broadsword humming with energy, eyes locked onto mine.

Filled with more than just fierce defiance.

Pain.

“Get out of my way,” I snarled.

He didn’t move.

His stance was perfect. His grip unshaking.

A sentinel in the path of a storm.

“I won't let you do this,” he said, voice steady, but full of hurt.

A heartbeat passed.

A breath suspended.

Then I lunged.

Steel met steel with a thunderous clang—

His broadsword locked against my katana

A thunderclap echoing through the ruined chamber.

We pushed against each other, teeth gritted, muscles straining.

"You'll regret this!" I roared.

"I'm trying to save you—you idiot!" He shot back, voice shaking.

The chamber blurred around us.

Blades clashed.

Fists struck.

Steel sparked against steel as we collided again—

Until the force of the impact shattered a divider wall and sent us both tumbling down the descending stone steps.

We hit the lower floor hard.

Stone cracked beneath us. My breath caught. Blood smeared across the cool tile as we sprawled on opposite sides.

Whispers rose around us as clan members gathered.

"Mi'kael did it."

"He killed Lady Tahlia."

"Wild and Untamed as usual."

"He always was."

Each word stabbed deeper than any blade.

Azrael looked at me—horror on his face.

"Mi'kael, please... just stop." He said, voice low and raw. “Let me help you. Please.”

I shook my head.

It was too late. No way back.

"There's no stopping," I rasped. "No turning back."

Azrael’s grip on his weapon tightened.

“If that’s how it is,” he said, voice grim, “then I won’t hold back.”

Then Azrael attacked—fierce, fluid, relentless.

Before I could even blink, he was on me.

Each strike was brutal—precise.

He was stronger. Faster.

And I realized instantly.

I wasn't fighting my brother.

I was being dismantled by him.

He cut down every desperate attempt I made to resist.

Step by step, he drove me back—

Up the staircase, toward the upper courtyard.

My legs ached. My arms trembled.

But I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

Desperation burned in my chest, my body betraying me with every sluggish move.

At last, Azrael’s blade knocked mine aside.

A sharp kick landed in my stomach, folding me in two.

I flew backward—

Over the courtyard rail—

Down toward the cliff's edge.

My hand caught the jagged stone.

Barely.

I dangled there, my body trembling, the wind howling around me.

"Azrael..." My voice barely sound.

He stood above me, sword lowered, breath uneven.
But it wasn’t victory on his face.

It was grief.

Real, gut-deep grief — the kind you only see when someone realizes the person they love is slipping somewhere they can’t follow.

“Mi’kael…” he whispered, voice cracking at the edges. “Just… stop. Please. I can still pull you back.”

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
The wind howled through the courtyard like it was waiting for an answer.

Then Azrael’s jaw clenched — not with anger, but with a pain so sharp he could barely breathe.

“Don’t make me choose,” he said.

I looked up at him.

“You already have.”

His eyes hardened.

No going back now.

Then—

He stepped forward.

Expression like carved ice.

"Finish it."

Those words hit harder than anything.

This was no test.

No verdict.

It was an execution.

Azrael’s jaw tightened, his hands trembling at his sides.

He looked down at me. His brother. His family.

"No," he whispered. "He's still my brother."

Our grandfather’s face twisted in fury.

"You know the truth. That mark will only bring ruin to us all."

Azrael stayed silent.

Frustration snapped across the old man’s face — then twisted into something colder.
Deliberate.

He stepped toward me.

Azrael’s hand shot out instinctively. “Wait!”

But our grandfather didn’t.

His boot came down on my wrist with a sickening crunch.

White-hot pain shot up my arm.
My fingers spasmed open.

“No!” Azrael shouted, grabbing for me—

My grip failed.

The cliff edge vanished under me, breath ripping from my lungs as gravity seized hold.

For one suspended moment, I saw Azrael lunging, arm outstretched, face contorted in horror—

Then the world dropped away.

And I fell.