The void was still trembling.
Ripples of broken space spread where Michael had vanished moments ago. The echoes of his laughter still lingered faintly, curling through the cosmic silence like the memory of a storm. And then—just as the two celestial beings began to calm their fractured senses—a flicker of movement reappeared.
He was back.
Michael.
He appeared without light, without distortion—one moment absent, the next simply there. A faint shimmer of black and blue trailed from his outline, dissolving into the fabric of space. He stood with one hand tucked into his pocket, the other brushing invisible dust from his hoodie as though he'd stepped through a doorway instead of bending the laws of existence.
Maxis barely had time to react.
A sharp breath, a flicker of fear.
Then—movement.
Michael lifted his right hand lazily, index finger extending.
There was no flash. No dramatic buildup. No flaring of divine energy. Just one impossibly quick, almost casual motion—his finger lifted, flicked forward, and tapped Maxis's chest.
A soft tick.
That was all.
The sound was impossibly small, yet it echoed like thunder through the silent expanse.
Time slowed.
Reality itself seemed to hesitate—as if even the cosmos refused to comprehend what had just happened. Maxis's form trembled, the surface of his body fracturing like glass under gentle pressure. No explosion. No scream. Just a faint, crystalline shattering sound—crk-crk-crk—as his body broke apart into fragments of starlight.
Then he was gone.
Erased.
No residue. No energy trace. No echo of life or death. Just… gone.
Even the void seemed stunned, its constant hum fading into a hollow emptiness.
Michael straightened, his black eyes half-lidded, expression calm but not cold. He flexed his fingers as if testing the strength of a tool.
"Huh," he muttered, tone almost disappointed. "He couldn't even withstand that? And that wasn't even one percent of my physical strength."
His voice carried lightly, a lazy mix of amusement and mild annoyance.
"Too weak," he added, shaking his head. Then, glancing toward the second being, he gave a teasing half-smile. "You're stronger though, right? Please tell me you are. Otherwise, this'll get boring really fast."
The remaining cosmic entity—taller, broader, his body flickering with unstable celestial energy—took a step back without realizing it. His mind screamed denial, but instinct crushed thought. His partner was gone. Completely erased from the weave of existence by a touch.
A simple touch.
The being's form flickered violently, the glow of distant galaxies rippling across his void-body like a heart in panic.
He stammered, voice trembling despite his divine stature. "Wh-what are you? You—You're not a Guardian, are you? Why have you come here?!"
Michael didn't respond right away.
He was busy… adjusting his headphones.
As the being spoke, Michael calmly slipped the sleek black band over his ears, humming softly to himself as if tuning into a private concert. A faint click. The bass line of some old Earth song pulsed gently in the silence—just enough to vibrate the air that shouldn't exist here.
He nodded in rhythm, tapping his foot lightly, utterly unbothered.
When the being's voice broke mid-sentence, Michael tilted his head slightly, lowering one side of the headphones. "Hmm? Sorry—did you say something?"
The casual tone struck like a weapon sharper than any blade.
The cosmic entity's aura flared in frustration, veins of raw void energy crawling up his arms. His voice shook with anger and disbelief. "You… You dare mock me?! You might be strong, but I will escape. I will report you to my Lord, and he—he will kill you for sure!"
Michael froze the rhythm of his tapping foot.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
The song faded out as he pulled the headphones off and let them hang loosely around his neck. His black eyes shifted—not glowing, not flaring, but deepening. A darkness far beyond void, far beyond fear itself.
"Oh," he said softly, an almost dangerous humor threading his voice. "Your Lord?"
He smiled, but the air around him began to ripple, the cosmic background dimming like the universe itself took a step back.
"You mean that brat… Xekron?"
The name hit like a detonation.
The void-being's entire body froze—his very essence recoiling in horror. His flickering stars blinked out for half a second before reigniting.
"H-How do you—?!" His words choked halfway. He could barely comprehend that this stranger, this human-looking anomaly, had just uttered that name. A name whispered only by those who served directly under Xekron himself. A name that had never left the boundaries of his dominion.
Michael chuckled. It was soft, almost kind.
Then it turned sharp.
"He'll kill me?" he repeated, a glint of mocking amusement flickering across his face. "He can try. But… let's be real. That little cosmic ego-trip isn't capable of killing me. Not yet."
He paused, his tone dropping lower, colder.
"You ruined the mood. I was hoping to play a bit more."
A faint sigh left his lips. "Oh well…"
The being barely had time to move.
Michael exhaled.
That was it.
No stance, no gesture, no visible attack—just one slow, deliberate exhale.
The breath carried no wind, no visible energy wave. Yet the very structure of space convulsed. The surrounding starlight flickered violently, stretching like a distorted reflection on shattered glass.
The being's form shuddered.
For a moment, he didn't understand what had happened. Then, his perception tilted—literally. His vision rotated ninety degrees, and he found himself looking down at his own body.
Falling.
Through nothing.
The space beneath him wasn't solid, yet his body fell as though it were collapsing through an invisible surface. His thoughts scrambled, his will fractured—and then, like a candle snuffed by a sigh, he was gone.
No explosion. No scream. Just the silence of something erased too thoroughly to be mourned.
Michael lowered his chin slightly, a faint shadow crossing his face as he straightened.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just stood there, the silence swallowing everything, the stillness stretching out infinitely.
Then, finally—he sighed again.
"That was… anticlimactic," he murmured to no one in particular. His tone wasn't cold—just faintly disappointed, like a teacher after a failed test.
He rolled his shoulders once, loosening invisible tension, and then lifted his hand casually. The void trembled in response, rippling outward like disturbed water.
Space bent.
A faint distortion formed near his palm—a circular ripple of inverted light, humming softly with folded dimensions. Michael reached in, as if dipping his hand into a liquid mirror, and after a moment, withdrew it.
In his grasp was the Planet Core.
It pulsed softly, glowing red and gold, its molten surface swirling like a storm of trapped suns. Each beat of light thudded faintly, echoing like a heartbeat through the emptiness.
Michael studied it quietly, his reflection warping on its surface.
"That brat," he muttered finally, half-smirking. "Trying to snatch something like this just to climb ranks? Planning to claim an Authority, huh?"
He twirled the core lazily between his fingers, the glow casting faint shadows across his face.
"Too bad," he added, his voice dropping to a murmur. "He won't find another like this in any other universe."
Then, without ceremony, he tossed it over his shoulder.
The core vanished into another rift that bloomed open behind him—just wide enough to swallow it whole before sealing shut with a soft chkk.
Michael stretched his arms upward, cracking his neck lightly. "Well… that's that."
He didn't teleport or warp away this time.
He simply walked—and each step erased the space beneath him.
One step.
Two.
Gone.
When Michael reappeared, the void was replaced by something startlingly mundane.
A room.
His room.
Marbel floors. A small desk cluttered with random tools and energy nodes. A soft light blinking lazily from a corner screen. The faint hum of Earth's atmosphere filtered in through a slightly open window. It smelled like normalcy—warm, quiet, almost homey.
And sitting on the edge of his bed—was his mother.
She had one leg crossed, holding a folded blanket on her lap. Her hair, streaked faintly with silver, shimmered under the soft glow of the lamp. She looked up, blinking.
Michael froze mid-step.
For a moment, both stared at each other.
Then her brows slowly arched. "...Michael."
He smiled awkwardly. "Uh. Hey, Mom."
Her gaze sharpened. "You appeared out of thin air again, didn't you?"
He scratched the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. "Heh… oops. My bad. Wrong coordinates."
Her sigh could have flattened galaxies. "You promised me no more teleporting directly into the bedroom."
"I walked this time!" he said defensively.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Okay, fine," he muttered, rubbing his neck. "Maybe just the last two meters."
She stood, shaking her head with that mix of exasperation and fondness that only mothers could master. "Honestly, I don't even want to know what you were doing this time."
Michael smirked faintly, voice softer now. "Probably better you don't."
Her expression softened slightly. "Just… don't get hurt, okay?"
For a heartbeat, something deeper flickered in his black eyes—something ancient and human all at once. "You know I won't," he said, his voice calm, reassuring. "No one out there can hurt me."
She rolled her eyes, half amused, half worried. "That's what worries me."
Michael chuckled, walking toward the window. The night sky outside glowed faintly blue, the city lights flickering below like grounded stars. He leaned against the frame, hands in pockets.
Somewhere out there—in a corner of reality only he could sense—universes trembled and gods whispered his name in fear.
But here, in this little room, he was just Michael.
A son who kept forgetting to use the door.
He exhaled slowly, a faint smile curving his lips.
"Still…" he murmured under his breath, watching the night sky, "I guess I'll have to pay that brat a visit soon."
The air hummed faintly, the space behind him flickering with a trace of residual energy.
His mom's voice broke his thoughts. "Michael! Don't even think about disappearing again before dinner!"
He turned slightly, grinning. "Wouldn't dream of it."
A faint hum. A flicker of power.
And then—he was gone.
Far beyond that small blue planet, deep within the shattered borders of the void, a ripple of cosmic distortion spread where two beings once stood.
The echo of Michael's presence lingered—light, mocking, terrifying.
And from somewhere in the endless black, a whisper—faint, distorted, yet unmistakably human.
"Next time, send someone interesting."
The stars didn't twinkle that night.
They watched—and waited.
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To be continued.....