Malakor gathered himself once more.
The nothingness around him trembled as his presence flared. His burning sword ignited brighter than before, flames crawling along its length as if the weapon itself screamed for blood. His wings spread wide, scattering waves of heat through the dark dimension.
Michael stood opposite him, calm and unmoving, the glowing sword resting naturally in his hand. The star like lights around the blade drifted slowly, almost peacefully, as if unaware of the chaos surrounding them.
Malakor charged.
Their swords met.
The first clash sent a violent tremor through the nothingness dimension. The ground beneath them cracked open, massive fissures forming instantly. Deep holes opened where the fabric of the dimension could no longer endure the force of their impact.
The second slash was even stronger.
Space itself fractured, tearing open a portal by accident. The edges of it twisted wildly, unstable and screaming with distorted energy before collapsing again.
They moved at irrelevant speed.
To any observer, they would have appeared frozen, locked in place. Yet within that stillness, countless clashes occurred. Sword met sword again and again, each impact echoing across the dimension like thunder without sound.
Inside his mind, Malakor felt unease creeping in.
My rewriting of reality is not working. This is my strongest ability. What should I use now. Blasted slashes. Fire storms. Anything.
He attacked relentlessly, pouring everything into his strikes.
Michael remained composed.
Their movements held no technique, no refined skill. This was not swordsmanship born from training or form. It was raw force meeting raw force. Power colliding directly against power.
Each clash tore open new fractures. The nothingness dimension, once silent and empty, now resembled an abyssal hell. Cracks stretched endlessly in every direction. Chasms swallowed fragments of the dimension itself. Heat and light distorted the dark until it barely resembled its original state.
Michael felt something stir within him.
This demon is desperate. He desires nothing but control. To rule. To kill. To dominate everything.
And that is something Michael hated.
A surge of resolve passed through him.
Damn you demon.
The sword in his hand responded.
Its glow intensified rapidly. The star like lights gathered closer to the blade, spinning faster. A pressure built around Michael, not violent, but absolute. The surrounding space trembled as if recognizing authority far beyond itself.
A massive blast erupted from Michaels sword.
Pure radiant force surged forward, cutting through the darkness.
Malakor roared and responded instantly. His burning sword unleashed an enormous wave of hellfire, compressed into a destructive arc. The two forces collided head on, locking in place as they struggled against each other.
The dimension screamed.
Michael stepped forward, forcing his will into the blade. He swung with certainty.
It is over demon.
Malakor felt something break within him.
No. This cannot be happening. I transcended death and time. What is the meaning of this. What is the point of transcending death if I can still lose.
The radiant slash overpowered his flames.
It reached him.
The blade cut cleanly through his form.
Malakor screamed as his body split in half. His wings shattered into embers. His burning sword fell apart into fading sparks. The flames that once defined him began to collapse inward.
As his existence unraveled, his voice echoed one last time through the void.
My immortality is meaningless. I lost to a child. How can this be happening.
His form dissolved completely, erased into nothing. The presence that dominated the dimension vanished as if it had never existed.
Silence followed.
The nothingness dimension began to heal. The fires disappeared. The cracks closed slowly. Darkness returned, calm and empty once more.
Michael stood alone.
The sword dimmed slightly, its glow returning to a steady calm. The star like lights drifted lazily again, as if satisfied.
Michael looked around.
There was no path. No exit. No direction.
The nothingness stretched endlessly in every direction, silent and indifferent.
He did not panic.
He simply thought.
There must be a way back.
As he moved his hand slightly, his fingers brushed against the air.
The space rippled.
A portal opened instantly. It appeared as a swirling grey wind, gentle and stable, unlike the violent rifts Malakor created. It did not resist Michael. It welcomed him.
He stepped forward.
The void vanished.
Michael emerged back into the Vastyrion realm.
The contrast was overwhelming.
Green fields stretched endlessly. Grass swayed softly beneath a calm sky. Animals moved peacefully across the land. Butterflies drifted through the air, untouched by fear or corruption.
There was no sign of battle here. No scars. No fire.
Peace.
Michael lowered himself onto the grass. He sat quietly, the sword resting across his knees. The breeze brushed through his hair. For the first time since the battle began, his body felt truly still.
He looked at the blade.
At the gentle glow.
At the quiet power within it.
The higher being made me for a reason.
He closed his eyes briefly, grounding himself in the moment.
If that is the case, then I will use this sword to stop demons. And any being who seeks to rule through ambition and destruction.
Michael opened his eyes.
The Vastyrion realm remained peaceful around him, unaware that one great threat had just fallen.
And somewhere beyond sight, far deeper than Malakor ever reached, something greater had taken notice.