Mike's body still hummed with the storm's breath, green and crimson light swirling across his scales as he turned toward the shadow that never left him.
Mephistopheles.
The demon was lounging again, balanced impossibly on his obsidian chair, cane tapping, grin stretched sharp beneath the brim of his hat. His silver tongue was already coiling for mockery when Mike let out a low growl.
Wind gathered around his wings, tugged at the ruin's walls, hissed across his claws. He spread his arms wide, summoning the wind he felt but lost it.
The currents slipped, tangled, then lashed. Instead of cutting through the air with command, the wind coiled beneath him and hurled him like a toy. Mike smashed across the moss-drenched stone, his body ricocheting through pillars, rubble raining down as the temple shook.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
"Oh, magnificent!" Mephistopheles howled with laughter, cane slapping his knee. "A new god of wind, brought down by a draft!"
Mike roared, fury boiling out of him. His wings snapped, his claws drug against stone as he lunged. His fangs bared wide, aiming to close around that smug throat, to tear the smile from the demon's face, but the he gone. A circle of black fire yawned open, and Mephistopheles stepped lazily through, bowing mid-vanish. His voice slithered back through the closing flame.
"Do try not to embarrass yourself too much, Michael. I'd hate for my favorite dragon to die before the finale. Until next time."
The portal snapped shut.
Mike's chest heaved. His growl rumbled low, violent, but he turned from the empty air. Quetzalcoatl's body still twitched weakly, blood steaming across the wet earth. With savage hunger, Mike descended. His fangs cracked through bone, ripping flesh and feathers, until nothing remained but tatters and blood pooled outside the ruin.
When he finally spread his wings, gore dripping from his jaws, the jungle trembled as he launched skyward.
The air welcomed him. The wind curled beneath his wings, lifting him higher, guiding him south. He aimed for South America. For the next hunt. For more gods to consume.
But then a shadow appeared above him.
The instant stretched thin. And then the world slammed down on him.
A force heavier than mountains, smashed him out of the sky. Mike's body cratered into the jungle, earth buckling, trees snapping like twigs. His chest rattled, scales fractured. He staggered upright, crimson fire leaking from his jaws.
Then agony.
Something struck from the dark. Jet-black wings flashed above him, a blur of shadow and power. Mike was hurled sideways, smashing through trunks, his vision swimming. He looked down and his left arm was gone. Torn clean, bone splintered, blood pouring.
He laughed. A wild, broken, thunderous laugh that drowned out the pain.
"YES!" he roared, body shaking as blood poured down his chest.
The thing descended.
It was no dragon, no serpent, no angel he had seen before. A pale, corpse-like figure, skin gray and stretched thin, with six jet-black wings folding and unfurling like knives. Its eyes were hollow pits of lightless abyss, and its mouth twisted into mockery.
"You are weak for being called a threat," the creature hissed. Its voice cut like glass dragged across steel. "No matter. I shall vanquish you."
Mike lunged to answer but he didn't have the chance. His other arm was ripped away in a blur. A fist followed, slamming into his chest. Scales shattered, bones cracked, blood gushed from his throat.
In his mind, Bahamut roared.
"Hatchling! That is a Watcher. You cannot win. This is a one-time grace. Allow me to descend, and I shall destroy it for you. You must consume the primordials and strengthen yourself for Abaddon. If the Watchers appear again, you will have to fight or die!"
A low growl like rocks grinding filled his skull. "Do you accept?"
Mike coughed blood, the world tilting, blurring. The pale creature stalked closer, its six wings spread, shadow blotting out the jungle. Its smile widened.
"I accept," Mike muttered, his voice almost gone.
The Watcher froze.
Essence erupted outward, a tidal wave of presence so vast the jungle bowed under its weight. The air screamed. Stone split and reality bent.
The shadowed wings twitched. Their owner's face tightened. For the first time, unease entered its pitiless eyes.
And then the voice came.
"Foolish bat," it rumbled, deeper than any quake, harsher than storm or fire. "You chose the wrong time to come after my hatchling."
The Watcher straightened. Its six wings flared wide, its voice carrying its name into the shuddering night. "I am Chazaqiel. I greet the great devourer Kur."
The ground groaned beneath the weight of the name.
But Bahamut's growl shook the marrow of creation itself. "You will nourish the hatchling."
Mike's form twisted, scales shifting. His body swelled, no longer his own, Bahamut's essence poured into him, his frame reshaping with the wrath of the Primeval Dragon. The sky blazed crimson.
In the blink of an eye, Bahamut moved.
One instant he stood before the Watcher. The next, he had it by the face.
And then impact.
The world exploded.
Stone, soil, and jungle obliterated outward as Bahamut slammed Chazaqiel into the ground. A crater blossomed, a mile across, then five, the jungle peeled back as earth heaved like waves on an ocean. The sky shook, clouds ripped apart by the force.
The Watcher screamed, muffled beneath Bahamut's claw. Its six wings thrashed, shattering trees, rending air but they could not move him.
Bahamut leaned low, his eyes glowing like suns, his teeth glinting with fire.
"You are not eternal," he growled, each word a cataclysm. "You are meat."
And he pressed harder, grinding Chazaqiel into dust and ruin.
The Watcher's shriek split the night, jagged and inhuman, a sound that made even the jungle tremble as if the trees themselves were afraid. Its six wings flared wide, each feather of shadow dripping oily darkness, and struck against Bahamut's grip with enough force to tear mountains apart.
Bahamut did not move.
The Primeval Dragon's claws dug deeper into the pale flesh of the Watcher's face. Bone cracked beneath the pressure. Black blood spilled out, sizzling as it touched the soil. The jungle screamed as the blood burned holes through trees and stone, but Bahamut pressed harder, his growl building into something that wasn't just sound, it was a vibration that rattled the entire jungle.
Chazaqiel's voice shattered the air, each word like broken glass.
"You… cannot… kill me. I am one of the eyes of the Watchers. I watched the first stars ignite. I watched the first gods fall. I—"
Bahamut's other claw shot forward, impaling the Watcher through the chest.
Chazaqiel's words turned into a strangled howl as Bahamut ripped his claw upward, splitting the creature's torso in half. Black wings snapped wildly, flinging chunks of flesh and torrents of blood across the broken crater. The ground hissed as pools of the Watcher's blood burned through it.
"You watched," Bahamut snarled, his eyes burning like suns. "But I devour."
With one motion, he slammed the bisected body into the ground. The impact sent a shockwave outward, trees flattening for miles. He spread his jaws wide and loosed a roar so vast it cracked the sky. The sound wasn't rage. It was a proclamation. Dominion.
Mike's vision blurred. His body, though filled with Bahamut's essence, could barely withstand the force of the roar. His bones vibrated. His scales threatened to splinter. But through the haze, he laughed. Laughed as his master's power tore through creation itself.
Chazaqiel twitched, black wings writhing even as his torso lay shredded. His voice came again, faint, hollow.
"You… cannot… kill… a Watcher…"
Bahamut leaned down, lips curling back from fangs older than the stars themselves. His breath reeked of brimstone, void, and eternity.
"Then I will do worse."
He sank his fangs into Chazaqiel's chest and tore.
The Watcher's scream was apocalyptic. Black light poured out of him, twisting sky and earth. Whole sections of jungle evaporated into ash. Mike could feel it, the Watcher's essence, something older than anything he knew, being consumed.
Bahamut chewed, black blood dripping from his fangs. He swallowed. And when the last of Chazaqiel's chest was gone, he bit again. Again. Again.
Until there was nothing but shredded wings and scraps of bone sizzling in the crater.
Silence fell.
The jungle lay flat for miles, trees reduced to splinters, rivers boiled dry. Smoke and blood hung in the air like a veil. Mike felt the true weight of the presence in him.
Bahamut turned his gaze inward on him.
For an instant, Mike felt it, the weight of that gaze. Not love. Not pity. The gaze of something that had seen gods burn, that had broken angels, that had fed on eternity. The gaze of what he would one day become.
Bahamut's voice thundered in his mind.
"This is what awaits, hatchling. This is your path. Devour. Grow. Or be devoured."
The last fragments of Chazaqiel's wings turned to ash, scattering on the broken wind.
Bahamut's presence began to fade, receding like a tide. The Primeval's final words rumbled low, curling around Mike's bones like chains.
"Abaddon stirs. The Watchers will come again. And next time… they will not face me."
The jungle groaned as silence returned. Mike collapsed, his body mangled but slowly healing from the watcher that was consumed. But even as his vision darkened, he laughed, because now he knew what true power looked like.
And he hungered for it.