A few two-winged angels approached the throne. Ratella fell silent, standing motionless amid the officials like a statue.
He made a single gap in his wings so he could take a look at the couple of men approaching the throne.
All looked rather pompous and entitled; he doubted the meeting would be positive and might need his intervention.
"Your Seraphic Majesty, we come here to request something of your holiness," declared the first angel, leading the pack, bending the knee to the monarch and beckoning his companions to copy his actions.
"I shall hear your request, Count Sable of the Sun."
"As you have already heard, our Dominion is unfit for the rule of the Sun Dominion. She is an absent leader who trusts all the affairs of the Sun to her advisors. In my opinion, I would like to see a new Dominion appointed in her place," exclaimed Count Sable, worry and anger running across his temple as his many wrinkles twisted.
The Choir wasn't the only ranking system in Kathoros; the royal hierarchy also coincided with it. A two-winged angel couldn't move up in the Choir, but the Royal hierarchy was different; an angel's feats could grant them a title of Baron, Viscount, Count, Marquess, or Duke.
Combat was just one of many ways of climbing the royal ladder.
"Tell me who would replace the Sun Princess, Seraphina Vulcan."
Each dominion had its own royal family, always being the family of the ruling Dominion. The native of those Dominions would only go to Michael if their problems weren't being resolved to their satisfaction.
"Well, one of her advisors or possibly the Sables. Under the rule of the Sables, the Sun Dominion would prosper," said Count Sable, his voice weak, as if he didn't even believe the words coming out of his mouth.
"You don't know the first thing about replacing a Dominion. To replace a Dominion would mean the complete change of that land to whatever Edict the inheritor wields," declared Michael, his voice growing more hoarse and authoritative, becoming tired of the man's words. "You can beat Seraphina in a one-to-one battle?"
"Wel-ll, of course not. She's the strongest warrior in the Sun Dominion and a holder of four wings. I couldn't compare to her in might, but my mind is much stronger."
"Your pleas are growing tiresome. Next time, find someone who can beat her in a one-to-one fight, then come back to me. I'll perhaps hear you out that time."
"But my lord! You can't do this!" shouted Count Sable, growing more desperate in his attempts at dethroning the Sun Princess.
"Request Denied, Leave," ordered Michael, but the authority he used on Ratella wasn't used upon the pleading man.
Count Sable continued to plead, his voice rising in desperation and defiance, which only increased the tension in the room between him and Michael.
"You would cast my Dominion into the darkness because of a foolish ruler. You are just as foolish as the Princess. Hear me, you will be next. I'll take this throne from you after I pry the Sun Princess' rule from my home!" spat Count Sable, his fury boiling over into venomous words admitting to thoughts of treason before the most powerful people in Kathoros.
His followers pleaded with the man to quieten and leave, fearing something bad would happen to them. Ignoring their pleas, he continued to shout and make threats.
"You've grown weak in your many years alive, needing a bodyguard now!"
"I have no need for a bodyguard; the lance at my hip is only here for a learning experience."
"You insult me with these lies! I will tear that angel's wings and display them as a warning in my study!"Michael looked down at the man, pity laced within his eyes. His expression was unknown to the raging below, who was too weak to see Michael's angelic form.
Count Sable raised his wings, displaying their lacklustre colouring, grasped the weapon at his hip, and pointed it in Ratella's direction.
"What did I even do?" whispered Ratella under his breath, completely baffled at the man's explosion into a belligerent mess.
Ratella stepped forward and positioned herself between the throne and Michael, adopting a guarded stance.
Ratella stretched his six wings, spreading their divinity and majestic colouring to the ends of the room.
The count's eyes widen at the sight of six wings fluttering in front of him.
"Six wings? That's not possible; you must be a child of experimentation. You can't be one of them. I can see your form, meaning we are equally matched."
"Everyone can see my form; I choose not to hide my divinity. Please leave before I have to take drastic measures."
The situation had quickly grown out of control, and the Count's companions shivered and lowered their heads to try to avoid the consequences of the Count's open acts of treason.
"Do not demean me, freak. That eye of yours tells me all I need to know."
Ratella sighed at the man's foolish behaviour, tapping his lance against the floor, creating a low, ominous boom that rippled through the room's silence.
The man imposed his might upon the other angels, glaring and advancing, trying to scare them off. But his attempt failed; he was too proud to withdraw, and the others stood frozen in fear.
Michael stayed silent, not uttering a word or a command, leaving the situation completely in Ratella's hands, much to his dismay.
"I, Count Sable, will reclaim my pride by slaying the freak before me!" Sable declared, her voice ringing with fury, before charging at Ratella, sword drawn and intent blazing.
Ratella activated the divinity coursing through his blood, directing it towards his eye and wings.
The power words of the Edict of Time came to his mind.
"Time Lord's Domain," declared Ratella.
Time froze still around him, the whimpering of the petrified angels being reduced to a still silence hanging over the throne room.
The Count had frozen in his tracks while charging at Ratella, his sword pointed at the boy's heart, though his advance was far too slow to catch the boy even if he hadn't stopped time.
Ratella advanced upon the Count swiftly, wasting no time, unsure if the Edict had a time limit. Taking his lance and thrusting it through the man's left leg despite the grievous injury, he didn't whimper or collapse, completely frozen in time.
His lance was stained with crimson, dripping even though time was frozen. Anything he touches seems free of the constraints of time stop.
Ratella looked towards Michael, who, like the others, was also frozen still, not moving a muscle. He noted this fact deep within his brain, saving this information for their inevitable clash.
"Release," declared Ratella, allowing the clocks of time to once again turn following their natural course.
Ratella held the lance up to his eyes, inspecting its surface, unsure if the effects of time stop caused any extra strain or damage.
Despite the crimson sheath surrounding its tip, it remained as pristine as always.
Agonising screams could be heard behind him from his earlier aggressor, clutching his leg frantically, whimpering through laboured breaths.
Ratella doubted he'd ever felt such pain, living a sheltered life. His entitled attitude and outbursts when being told not to were giveaways from his early years.
Ratella slashed the lance downwards, discarding the blood littering on its edge, spraying on the man's companions, painting them crimson, inviting more terror in their eyes.
Ratella climbed the steps back to Michael's side, once again covering his body with wings and assuming the pose of a statue.
"Why didn't you finish him?" Michael demanded, his gaze unflinching beneath the shield of wings."I saw no need to. A hole through the leg will teach him not to cross us again," Ratella stated, her tone cold and unyielding despite the growing tension between the two Seraphim.
"Very well, you three pick up this poor excuse of an angel and leave immediately."
The suspicion Michael had of Ratella was only mounting, unable to determine what Ratella's true motives were anymore.
He wasn't the same boy he had fought a couple of hours prior, and the reports from Zafikel and Luna regarding his personality didn't match the boy at his hip.
A growing coldness was bordering on Ratella's mind.
His meeting with the Primordial Light and his newfound goal to ensure Luna's death isn't actualised are massive factors when considering his current mental state.
Michael eyed the boy for a couple of seconds before the doors swung open, inviting the next guest into the throne room after the others left, leaving a bloody trail.