Mike's eyes snapped open. The first thing he saw was a toothy grin staring down at him from beneath a shadowed top hat.
"Welcome back, Michael," Mephistopheles purred.
Mike jolted upright, claws flexing but his body was human again, ragged breaths burning in his chest. His eyes locked on the demon as fire flickered across his skin. His form twisted, scales pushing through flesh as his dragon self fought to surface.
"Where are the angels?" he growled, his voice breaking into a rumble.
Mephistopheles tapped his cane against the ground, the sound sharp as glass breaking. "Oh, those pigeons? I took care of them. Can't have them interfere with my entertainment, now can we, Michael? I have very high hopes for you and I need you alive."
Mike bared his fangs mid-shift, his wings flaring as he glared at the demon. "Why?"
"Why what?" The demon tilted his head, grin widening.
"Why do you keep helping me?"
Mephistopheles' eyes glowed faintly red beneath the brim of his hat. "Because I need you strong enough to wipe out those feathered rats, and then…" His grin sharpened. "…to deal with Abaddon when he finally drags himself into this world."
Mike's talons curled into the glassy desert floor. His voice came out low, steady, dangerous. "You know I'll kill the demons too."
The demon waved his free hand dismissively, as if brushing away a fly. "Yes, yes, you greedy dragon. I know you want to eat me too. I've made peace with that little truth. I only hope," his teeth gleamed in a smile that never reached his eyes, "that when you start munching down the remaining kings and princes of Hell, you'll take into account the little… favors I've given along the way."
Mike's nostrils flared with heat, smoke curling upward. "Where is another Titan?"
"Far north." Mephistopheles tapped his cane against the ground again, the echo rolling across the silent desert. "Up in New York. A very old Titan. Too old, too powerful. You're not ready for that fight, not yet." His grin stretched wider as he leaned forward. "Instead, I suggest South America. You'll find the primordial cowards there. The strongest chosen, handpicked by the oldest gods and those long forgotten, who fled the United States when the Titans began tearing through their playgrounds. They hide in villages, shoring up their walls and playing warlords. They can't face a Titan. But you? You should go eat them."
Mike's eyes narrowed. "Primordials?"
"Mmhm." The demon gave a sharp, enthusiastic nod, hat bobbing. "The strongest chosen of the oldest gods. Not divine themselves, not exactly… but powerful. Enough to be worth your time. Enough to season your growth for what's coming."
He tipped his hat with a theatrical flourish, cane spinning as sparks of red essence scattered into the air. "Now off you go before more pigeons show up. Or worse the pompous fools from your Temple of Gods decide to start playing savior."
Mike's jaw tightened. His fire flared. "The Titan in New York. Tell me how to reach it."
Before Mephistopheles could respond, Bahamut's voice thundered in his chest.
"Hatchling. He does not lie. That Titan is too old and too strong for you. You will fall. Go weed out the primordial chosen. Grow your power. Abaddon comes soon, and we are short on time."
Mike hissed in frustration but held his tongue. His wings snapped open, fire cracking in the desert heat.
"Good," Mephistopheles said, voice smooth as silk, grin wide as a knife's edge. He twirled his cane once, and with a booming crack of obsidian fire, his chair, his hat, and his grin vanished in a plume of smoke and falling embers. Only the faint echo of his laugh lingered in the air.
Mike snarled at the empty desert, the last sparks fading around him. His body stretched, scales shattering the human façade, wings beating with force. With a roar that split the horizon, he launched skyward, gusts of sand trailing in his wake. South America called. And the hunt would begin anew.
Temple of the Gods Council Chamber:
The chamber trembled with unease, golden scrolls of essence flickering above the table as the news sank in. Koios and Iapetus both consumed.
Two Titans, slain.
Nicolas Galanis rose first, silver eyes swirling like a storm contained within flesh. His voice cut through the whispers like a blade.
"Twice now, the balance has shifted because of… Mike. Twice, the world bends under the weight of his appetite. Do you not see? I am now sure Michael is no ally. He is inevitability. And inevitability does not negotiate."
Pete McCallister's fist hit the table, the sound like stone cracking.
"Then best we start talking survival. We can't waste time wringing our hands while he feeds. Either we find a way to bring him under our roof again, or we prepare for the day he decides Sanctuary is his next meal."
Cyra leaned forward, emerald eyes burning with compassion. Her tone was soft, but sharp enough to pierce the tension.
"You speak of him as though he is only a beast. He is not. Michael has suffered, endured trials none of us would wish on an enemy. That pain fuels him, yes but it does not erase his humanity. If we meet him with fear alone, we will make him our enemy by choice."
Lisa Ariti placed a gentle hand over Cyra's, her own voice steady, motherly, carrying warmth into the cold chamber.
"Cyra is right. Think of the refugees, the families who whisper his name like both curse and prayer. If we turn our walls against him, they will see us as tyrants. And if we force him to fight us… we doom not only ourselves, but them."
Leo Francis, calm and deliberate, spoke only after the echoes of their words faded.
"Emotion and fear will solve nothing. We must weigh this carefully. Michael has demonstrated power beyond our understanding, yes, but also moments of choice. He spared innocents. He struck at demons and angels alike. That proves one thing, he is not yet bound to any one side. That is where our opportunity lies."
Finally, Jennifer Lee lifted her gaze, violet eyes serene as flowing water. Her words settled the air, grounding the storm.
"We stand at a threshold. If we call him calamity, then calamity he will become. If we call him a devourer, then a devourer he will become. But if we reach him with clarity, with truth… there is still a path where dragon and council walk together. The question is not whether Michael is monster or savior. The question is: who among us will face him first, and what words will they choose?"
The chamber fell into silence once more but this time, the silence was not fear alone. It was the silence of decision pressing down, each councilor measuring the cost of what came next.
Nicolas stood up and walked over to the scrolls on the table behind them. "I will reach out to Mr. Johns and see if we can setup a meeting now that he has joined the djinn."
A remorseful look briefly appeared on his face before he opened the scroll to contact Mr. Johns.