Ratella's fist pounded on the grand door towering over his frame, its design a testament to absolute control and royalty.
His strikes grew stronger and stronger, each blow fueled by desperation and defiance, casting aside the looming silence that enveloped the endless halls around him.
"Enter!"
A thunderous voice rose from the shadows, its wrath and command flooding Ratella with an all-consuming terror, his body shaking uncontrollably for a brief moment.
Absolute authority oozed from the voice, betraying no sense of weakness laced within.
Ratella pushed the doors open with surprisingly little force, its structure hollow and weightless.
A single figure lounged in the room atop a silver throne made of the finest materials, idly tracing patterns on the armrest. Two heavenly wings stand tall behind the man, stretching to the ends of the room.
Ratella carefully approached the throne, dread scraping along his nerves, each step weighed down by fear that coiled like a serpent in his chest.
The man's full figure eventually came into his view. A charming young man sat lazily upon the throne, appearing to have no thought about what others would think.
Long, snow-white hair draped down to his shoulder, matching his milky complexion. His eyes were completely covered by two wings, their colouring slightly different from the others. An almost blinding divine light emanates from their form, shrouding them in God's divinity.
The strain it put on Ratella caused him to look downwards towards the man's feet, where two wings nestled themselves into the soles of his feet.
A long white and silver garb covered every inch of his skin from prying eyes, its design and colouring much like the one Ratella was wearing.
The man jumped up from his throne, silent, as the boy stood tall before him. Then the man vanished, leaving no trace behind.
Ratella frantically looked around the expansive room, trying to locate the missing monarch.
Michael reappeared right next to Ratella, walking softly to stand beside him. Michael looked down at the boy, carefully inspecting his posture.
Excalibur hissed in its scabbard, its usual harmonic melody twisted into a hideous screech reaching his ears despite the presence of his vision.
His mystical sword was screaming for Ratella to leave immediately, sensing an unbridled and limitless power emanating from the Tyrant.
Ratella placed his hand atop the blade, grasping its pommel, but this did not dispel Excalibur's endless verbal assault, only heightening its effects.
While blocking out all other noise from the area, Michael stood silently, not speaking even when someone was nearby.
He quietly observed Ratella in the stillness, his attention fixed on the boy.
Excalibur's pleas of retreat only grew louder in the next couple of seconds, drilling into his mind until the effect became unbearable—a desperate agony that left one of his ears bleeding gold.
Excalibur wasn't the only thing warning the boy of looming danger; a surge of icy dread prickled along his spine as his brain began to throb and pound against the base of his skull, sensing the potential danger in the air.
Ratella acted on instinct, lifting Excalibur from its scabbard and raising the blade in a defensive posture, the flat face facing away from him.
He lifted it towards the nearest source of danger closing in on him. The jagged wing tip thrust into the boy at an alarming pace, launching him backwards.
Michael sidestepped the boy, offering no help as his body fell limp into one of the many silver columns supporting the room.
The Tyrant's onslaught wasn't over, however, as another one of his wings came barreling towards the boy's fallen form.
Thinking as quickly as he could, he decided to harden his wings into an unbreakable armour. He crossed his four wings in front of himself, shielding his form just as the Tyrant's wing slammed into him.
Ratella's wings strained under the stress emitted from his attack, but then held firm, warding off his attack.
Michael flared his wings wide and drew them back, gathering himself before thrusting forward to break through the boy's defences.
Ratella rooted his wings deep into the floor below, supporting their defences.
"What do I do? Why is he doing this to me? Am I going to die?" thought Ratella, panic clawing at his chest as floods of questions crashed through his mind.
His composure was beginning to crack under the stress of battle, but Luna's words and teachings began to appear in his mind.
"Cover my eyes and let my hearing point the way," mumbled Ratella as he commanded his wings to fold over his eyes. He then fixed his full attention on the Tyrant, using his ears to guide him.
Excalibur's shouts calmed, matching its master's composure. Its melody returned to a delightful, harmonious tune.
The fluttering of Michael's wings reached Ratella's ears as they pounded against his own. Withdrawing his wings, Ratella weaved past Michael's half-drawn attacks, dashed along his opponent's side, then lunged at Michael, sword drawn, slashing at his neck.
His sword crashed into the side of Michael's neck, leaving a small scratch oozing a golden liquid briefly before closing itself.
Ratella's attack should have cleaved his head off; although inexperienced, he wasn't naive enough to doubt his own strength.
He leaped backward, pointed his sword at Michael, and planted his feet firmly. Through laboured breaths, he strained to hear any sign of another attack.
Soft footsteps encroached on him, although their sound gave no indication of hostility or violence. His once ominous aura dissipated, replaced by a soft, serene one.
However, this shift couldn't quell the cold, tightening dread clutching Ratella's chest as the Tyrant loomed ever closer, his anxiety and fear growing heavier with each passing moment.
"Stop," commanded Michael, the authority embedded within his voice unyielding and overwhelming to the boy, causing him to lower his blade and assume an unguarded stance, completely open to danger.
"Let me go!" shouted Ratella, trying to break the man's control over him.
Their meeting had gone differently in his mind; never had he considered this outcome.
"Release," complied Michael, releasing his grip upon his life.
Ratella collapsed to his knees, wheezing for breath, as the pressure of Michael's authority strained him and slowed the flow of divinity through him.