Mike tears through the sky like a meteor, the hesitation now gone. He stops pretending to fight against the truth.
The realization doesn't slow him.
It frees him.
He surges forward again, laughter tearing from his chest in full, unrestrained bursts as his wings snap wide and the air folds around him. The fire spilling from his scales deepens, black-red turning almost molten, dense with overwhelming essence.
Abbadon meets him halfway, equally eager.
They collide midair again, but this time they are both savoring the battle. Acceptance of who he is, freed Mikes mind and allows him to fully enjoy the battle.
Their impact creates a spiraling shockwave that corkscrews downward into the battlefield, shredding everything in its path. Angels caught in the outer ring are ripped apart molecule by molecule, their radiant forms unraveling into harmless sparks that go out before they can scream. Demons closer to the center implode, bodies crushed inward by warped gravity before exploding outward in showers of gore.
Mike spins away from the collision, laughing breathlessly as he flips end over end, then snaps his wings and rockets back in.
Abbadon catches him by the arm mid-charge and throws him.
Mike slams through three angelic formations in a single streak of fire. Spears disintegrate. Wings shear off. Haloed heads vanish in bursts of white light. Mike barely notices. He rights himself midair, twists, and rams shoulder-first into Abbadon's ribs hard enough to send the Destroyer skidding sideways through the clouds.
They burst back into open sky, trailing storms behind them.
Below, the battlefield is no longer a battlefield but a graveyard for both forces who dared attack them.
Demon commanders scream orders no one follows. Angels attempt to regroup, desperately trying to reestablish formations that collapse the instant Mike or Abbadon drift too close. Entire divisions vanish just from proximity, crushed by pressure, burned by stray essence, erased by shockwaves meant for someone else.
Mike loves it.
He slams Abbadon downward, driving him into the ground again. The impact flips the earth inside out. Magma fountains roar skyward. Demons caught too close are liquefied instantly, their bodies reduced to blackened smears across the forming crater.
Mike drops after him, landing atop Abbadon with a laugh that shakes the bedrock.
Abbadon grabs him by the throat and grins.
"There you are," he says, delighted. "You were holding back."
Mike tightens his grip instead, claws biting into Abbadon's armorless chest.
They explode apart again, the crater expanding outward as if something beneath it is trying to flee.
Angels dive in desperation.
A host of radiant figures streak downward, voices raised in unified command.
"ERADICATE THEM NOW!"
They never finish the order.
Mike whips around, tail snapping out in a wide arc. The shockwave alone annihilates the front ranks, turning angels into scattered feathers and light. Abbadon follows immediately, extending one hand. Gravity spikes erupt upward beneath the remaining angels, crushing them into collapsing singularities that wink out a second later.
Mike laughs louder.
"Oh come on!" he roars at the sky. "SEND BETTER ONES!"
Bahamut's presence thrums warmly in his mind, no longer a distant echo but a steady, approving weight.
"Yes. Destroy the feathered bats! This is the path young dragon!"
Mike feels it now, the symmetry.
Abbadon's joy mirrors his own. The way destruction feels right. The way opposition exists only to be broken, not out of cruelty, but necessity. Pressure must be released. Stagnation must be shattered.
They clash again, each strike sends new shockwaves rippling across the ruined plains.
Abbadon lands a blow that sends Mike skidding backward through the air. Mike flips, recovers, and immediately counters, ramming Abbadon headfirst into a fleeing demon soldiers.
Thousands vanish.
Abbadon laughs hysterically as they tear free of the wreckage.
"LOOK AT THEM!" he bellows. "RUNNING FROM WHAT THEY THOUGHT TO CONTROL!"
Mike's grin stretches impossibly wide. "They always do!"
On the walls of Sanctuary, the council watches in stunned horror.
Nicolas grips the broken parapet, knuckles white, golden light flickering weakly around his hands. "This isn't a battle anymore," he says hoarsely. "It's… it's a celebration."
Lisa can barely breathe. "He's not trying to stop Abbadon."
"No," Cyra whispers, eyes reflecting the firestorm below. "He's found someone who understands him."
Pete clenches his jaw. "And the rest of us?"
Leo doesn't answer.
Below them, Mike and Abbadon spiral upward again, tearing through the clouds. Lightning detonates around them, not summoned, displaced. The sky cannot hold their presence.
A fresh angelic legion arrives through a tear in reality, hundreds strong, descending in perfect formation.
Abbadon glances at them and laughs.
Mike doesn't even slow.
He barrels straight through the center of the formation, body wrapped in roaring fire. Angels disintegrate on contact, holy armor evaporating before it can touch him. Abbadon follows, clapping his hands together once.
The resulting compression wave collapses the remaining angels into a single point of light that implodes silently.
Mike circles back, breathless, exhilarated.
"This is incredible!" he shouts.
Abbadon nods approvingly. "Isn't it?"
They crash together again, driving each other toward the ground. The impact obliterates what remains of the central battlefield. The crater becomes a chasm. Lava floods outward in glowing rivers.
Demons still alive flee in every direction.
Angels retreat through broken portals, wings shredded, formations nonexistent.
Neither Mike nor Abbadon pursue them.
They don't matter.
Mike pins Abbadon again, pressing him into the molten stone. The heat around them spikes violently, rock vaporizing at the edges of their bodies.
Mike's laughter shakes the crater walls. "You feel it too, don't you? That rightness?"
Abbadon laughs back, unrestrained. "I was made from it."
They trade blows at point-blank range, each strike devastating, each one answered with greater force. The earth beneath them caves further, layers collapsing into glowing depths.
Bahamut's voice rolls through Mike like thunder wrapped in approval.
"You no longer deny what you are. Good. Do not heed the old man's words. Folllow your path you chose."
Mike grins, bloodied and burning, eyes alight with manic joy.
"I finally feel free after the trial. Fuck the gods and chosen. I am still coming for all of you."
Abbadon's smile widens. "Welcome to the truth, dragon."
They explode upward again, tearing free of the crater in a pillar of fire and lightning that reaches into the sky. The remaining battlefield is flattened entirely, nothing left but molten glass and drifting ash.
Mephistopheles leans forward in his chair, practically vibrating with delight. He stands and begins dancing with his cane. Moving his arms like a conductor while watching the carnage.
"Yes… yes, yes, YES," he murmurs. "This is marvelous. Abbadon may be out of reach but my goal can still be achieved."
High above the ruined world, Mike and Abbadon hover, facing each other, laughter echoing across the broken horizon.
Below them, angels and demons alike lie scattered, erased, irrelevant.
Mike spreads his wings wider, fire roaring brighter than ever.
Abbadon mirrors him.
And together, they dive back toward each other not as enemies but as equals.