Mike loomed over the broken serpent, blood dripping in from his fangs, crimson flames flickering between his teeth. His chest heaved with exhilaration, his laughter still echoing faintly over the jungle, but his eyes narrowed into slits as Bahamut's command seared through his skull.
"Find it. Devour his divinity."
Quetzalcoatl's massive body writhed weakly, coils shuddering, his feathered wings dragging across the ground, soaked in gore. His emerald eyes burned dimly, yet defiance lingered like a dying ember.
Mike lowered his head, growl rumbling deep. "Where is it?" His voice rolled like thunder, rattling the shattered trees. "Where is your divine core?"
The serpent hissed, voice brittle but proud. "You will never know, hatchling. My seed will never be yours."
Mike tilted his head, his grin spreading wider, dripping with blood. He leaned closer, so the serpent could see the hunger in his eyes. "You think I won't find it? You think I won't rip it from you? I'll find every god tied to you. Every coward hiding in their little temples. And I'll devour them all."
His voice dropped lower, quieter, more terrifying than a roar. "Tell me… or I'll burn your pantheon and feast on their bones."
Quetzalcoatl's body stiffened. His gaze locked on Mike's, the ancient serpent felt terror. Not just from the dragon's fire or claws, but from the dark, insidious weight emanating from him. It was something that consumed and did not stop, something that would consume every god, every pantheon, until nothing remained.
The serpent thought of his fellow gods, the ones who had gone into hiding after the collapse of their empire. He thought of them being dragged from their shadows and devoured. He hissed weakly, his wings sagging. His pride faltered, giving way to fear.
Finally, he sighed, the sound rattling in his broken chest. "South. Deep in the jungle. The old temple… Templo Mayor. The seed is hidden there."
Mike's grin split wide, savage and dripping gore. "Good."
With a savage snarl, he clamped his jaws onto Quetzalcoatl's tail and began to drag him. The serpent's body carved trenches through the earth, knocking trees aside, crushing stone beneath his weight. Birds erupted from the canopy in flocks, the jungle trembling under the path of dragon and serpent.
Hours blurred into one long march of destruction until the jungle parted before a ruin. Ancient, towering, and overgrown, the Aztec temple rose from the greenery, smothered in moss and vines. Its stepped pyramid loomed like a grave marker of divinity, yet even buried beneath centuries, it pulsed faintly with power. The air around it hummed, thick with divinity.
Mike's eyes burned with hunger.
He dragged Quetzalcoatl to the base of the ruin and dropped him, the serpent too broken to resist. The dragon stalked forward, claws scraping stone, his massive wings folding tight as he tranformed his body into his human form, walking into the moss-covered structure.
Inside, the ruin's air was alive. Glyphs glowed faintly along the walls. At the center of the chamber sat a sphere of green and gold light, swirling endlessly, radiating divinity so pure the air seemed to vibrate with it.
Bahamut's voice thundered through his bones. "There. Take it, hatchling. Devour it. Become more."
Mike didn't hesitate as he transformed again, lunging forward, jaws spreading wide, and bit down into the orb. It shattered in a flood of energy that burned through him, wind screaming around his body as though the sky itself were pouring into his veins. His scales ignited with light, every nerve set ablaze as he swallowed the essence whole.
When the last fragment faded, something else remained. Beneath the pedestal, hidden within a shallow recess, was a jade pendant carved in the likeness of a feathered serpent.
"Take it." Bahamut's voice rumbled, commanding. "That trinket holds power beyond its shell."
Mike reached down, claws delicate despite their size, and plucked the pendant from its resting place. The moment it touched his scales, it seared with unbearable heat. He snarled, fangs bared, but slipped the chain around his hand.
The instant it rested on his palm, the world went black.
Mike's eyes snapped open.
He was no longer in the ruin. He floated high above a pristine world, glittering temples untouched by time, rising proud and gleaming under the sun. Below, primitive people filled the plazas, carrying offerings, chanting songs that rose in harmony. The air shimmered with vitality, a vision of the Aztec world in its prime.
The wind stirred around him, strong but carrying him gently, like unseen hands testing his balance. It whispered in his ears, tugged at his wings.
Bahamut was silent now.
A trial had begun.
The sky shifted, the winds growing sharper, faster. They roared against him, pushing against his body. His wings strained, his scales rattling. Mike bared his teeth in defiance, fighting the currents that tried to cast him down.
And then the whispers came: Show us you are worthy. Claim the breath of the sky.
Mike roared, wings tearing against the gale, fire boiling in his chest. He would not be cast down. He would master it.
The trial of wind had begun.
Mike's roar riverberated in the air, defiance rolling across the pristine sky. The winds hammered him, cutting across his wings, pulling at his body. They weren't simple currents, they were blades, slashing with divine precision, testing, judging.
Below, the ancient temples gleamed under the sun, their stones unmarred by jungle or time. The plazas swarmed with people in feathered cloaks. They did not look up at him. To them, he was not there.
"Pathetic breeze," Mike snarled, wings flaring against the gale.
The air responded with fury. A cyclone tore upward from the temple below, spiraling toward him with the force of a thousand hurricanes. His wings snapped taut as the vortex yanked him down, dragging him toward the earth.
He fought. Every muscle in his body strained. His claws tore at the sky, his tail lashed against the pull, but the cyclone was endless, its force not of nature but of divinity.
For the first time since the battle began, Mike's laughter faltered. His wings folded against his body, and instead of fighting the pull head-on, he dove. Straight into the cyclone's heart.
The winds screamed in protest. They tried to shred him, slashing across his scales, peeling flesh and scale. His body bled, crimson streams scattering into the storm. But his determination and drive towards his goal made wouldn't let him back down now. Fire began rolling across his scales, boiling out through his wounds, sealing them even as they tore.
"IS THAT ALL?" Mike's voice thundered into the storm, defiant and manic.
His maw opened, crimson fire spilling into the cyclone's core. The storm howled, the fire twisting into spirals, turning the winds molten. The cyclone cracked like glass struck with a hammer, shattering outward in a shockwave that rattled the temples below.
The vision shifted.
The sky calmed for a heartbeat. Then the winds gathered again, sharper, more cunning. They didn't rush him now. They began gathering at a distance.
Blades of pure air formed, slicing across his wings as they passed by, cutting lines of blood across his chest. He staggered midair, snarling, his fire lashing but hitting nothing, every strike scattered like smoke.
Show us control, the whispers taunted. Fire is rage. Wind is balance. Prove you are more than a beast.
Mike's eyes blazed crimson. His laughter returned, low and hungry. "Balance?" He spat blood from his teeth. "I am balance. I take and devour until nothing remains."
He snapped his wings wide, forcing himself into the stream of blades. They cut him, tore at him, but he learned their rhythm. One claw swiped through a blade, not to destroy but to bend it. The slice of air curved, folding under his grip, redirecting instead of killing.
Mike's grin widened. "Yes…"
The winds struck harder, but now he twisted with them. Each cut he redirected, each gale he rode instead of resisted. He was no longer simply burning through the storm, he was bending it. Using it. His wings cut arcs through the sky, his body riding currents that once tried to drown him.
The whispers grew sharper. Yes... Bend and command.
A final gale rose, colossal, a wall of divine wind that tore through the sky, promising to shred him into nothing.
Mike laughed, blood dripping from his jaw, wings beating once, hard. He dove into the wall. His claws reached out, seized the current, and bent it.
The wind screamed, breaking under his will. It wrapped around him, a cyclone no longer his enemy but his weapon. His body glowed with power, scales shimmering as the storm folded into his form.
When the last of the gale broke, silence fell.
The sky cleared. The temples below gleamed golden, untouched. For the first time, the people looked up. Their faces glowed with awe and terror, voices raised in chants that filled the air.
The whispers returned, but not as taunts. As coronation.
You have devoured fire. You have mastered wind. You are the storm now. Carry our breath. Carry our power.
A searing pain tore through his chest. Mike roared as emerald light erupted across his body, mixing with crimson flame. The jade pendant around his balm blazed white-hot, then fused into his scales, vanishing beneath his skin.
The vision shattered.
Mike's eyes snapped open in the ruin. His chest heaved, scales glowing faintly green beneath the crimson fire. Wind coiled around him like invisible serpents, carrying dust and feathers into spirals.
Quetzalcoatl lay broken behind him, breath rattling, wings twitching. His emerald eyes flickered open, locking onto Mike. For the first time, they held no defiance. Only despair.
"You carry… our sky now," the serpent rasped, voice fading. "Hatchling… you are no dragon. You are… calamity."
Mike's grin spread, blood dripping between his fangs. "You're right."
Mephistopheles's laughter rang through the ruin, slow and mocking applause echoing off the moss-covered walls. His grin gleamed under the shadow of his hat as he leaned lazily on his cane.
"Marvelous," the demon purred. "Absolutely marvelous, Michael. You've devoured a god in his own temple. You've stolen his breath, his sky, his heart. Oh, you do make me proud."
Mike turned his head slowly, eyes burning crimson, emerald and gold, wings trembling with fresh power. His growl rolled like thunder.
"Keep clapping, bat. You'll be next."
The demon only smiled wider, the echo of his laughter curling through the jungle as Quetzalcoatl's body finally stilled.