Chapter 774: [The Rewritten Lost Past] [14]

"What’s going on over there?"

"Open your eyes. That’s Lord Michael."

"Fighting? Since when does he—"

"Two years. Every few days. You’d know that if you came around more."

"Well I don’t, so explain it to me."

"Short version, he’s training someone. Lord Nihil’s son."

"...Which son."

"Think about it. What kind of person gets Michael’s personal attention? The Vessel of Samael Eveningstar of course!"

"The Vessel is here? Right now, he’s in there?"

It drew a crowd the way it always did. Word moved fast through the Garden and angels who had no business being in that part of Eden found reasons to drift over, hovering in loose rings around and above the dome’s golden shell, craning to see through something that wasn’t meant to be seen through. Michael fighting was a rare enough sight. The Vessel of Samael Eveningstar being in the Garden at all was something most of them had never expected to witness.

"He looks... average, honestly."

"He’s getting completely dismantled."

"It’s Lord Michael. What did you expect?"

"Am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea? Training the Vessel, if he actually gathers the Sins—"

"My grandfather fought in that war. Said what Samael did to our armies wasn’t something you could put words to properly."

"Keep it down. Look where you are."

"What?"

"Down. His mother is sitting right there."

Every gaze dropped.

The silver-haired woman in the grass below sat with her back straight and her hands in her lap and her eyes fixed on the dome ahead, wearing an expression that was outwardly composed and inwardly something else entirely.

"...She’s stunning."

"She’s Lord Nihil’s."

That cleared the conversation immediately. They suddenly found the fight very absorbing and moved on.

Inside, it was a different world entirely.

Amael came in with the sword angled low, Wrath bleeding off the blade in dark crackling ribbons, and Michael glanced at it and redirected the whole swing with a loose wave of one hand. Like swatting something away. Amael’s momentum carried him forward and he nearly went face-first into the dirt before catching himself.

He was a mess. Blood drying above one eye, fresh from his forearm, lungs working harder than they should’ve been twenty minutes ago.

Michael watched him recover with something between boredom and curiosity.

"Genuinely, how long?" He said. "How many more years of this before you manage to actually touch me? I’d like an estimate."

"You have over ten thousand years on me." Amael spit blood to the side, squared up again. "Stupid archangel."

The temperature behind Michael’s eyes dropped.

He vanished.

-BAM!

The kick came from nowhere straight into the gut, with full force, and the sound Amael made was less a grunt and more the noise of a body being completely emptied. He crossed the dome at speed, hit the curved interior wall hard enough to make the whole structure hum, and slid.

He got one knee under him.

Lifted his head.

And Michael was already there.

Amael threw the sword up on reflex, but Michael sidestepped it without blinking, came in from the left, grabbed Amael by the skull with one hand, and threw him into the ground.

-BOOOM!!

The crater opened immediately. Stone fractured, soil heaved outward, and Amael lay at the bottom of it staring up at a circle of open sky while the ringing in his ears found its pitch.

Michael stepped to the edge and looked down at him contemptuously.

"I’ve worked with Vessels before," he said. "You’re below the lowest of them. Nihil talks about you like you’re something. I’ve started to wonder if that’s real conviction or just a father who can’t see his own son clearly. Because what I’m looking at right now isn’t Samael Eveningstar’s legacy. It’s a boy who was handed a title he hasn’t come close to earning."

Amael pushed himself to his feet, blood glinting at the corner of his mouth, anger sharpening every word that escaped his lips. "You think I wanted to earn that?" He spat, glare locked on Michael. "You talk as if it’s some divine gift."

Michael’s lips curled up. "It should be a blessing, Amael. For someone as weak and insignificant as you. Without the Vessel’s purpose, you wouldn’t even exist."

Amael chuckled, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "And you wouldn’t exist without Raphiel," he countered. "Her blood was the seed that birthed your that stupid triad of Archangels you are part of and all who followed. I wonder, does she secretly hate you for that? For what you became from her sacrifice?"

The smirk vanished from Michael’s face. In the blink of an eye, he vanished from sight, the air rippling as his presence faded. But Amael had expected it this time. He dropped low, twisting his body in a fluid motion and sweeping his leg toward where he knew Michael would reappear.

Michael caught the attack mid-spin, his grip iron around Amael’s leg but Amael saw it coming. He brought his sword down in an instant, its edge bursting with crackling Wrath.

Michael’s palm shot upward, meeting Amael’s wrist again easily. The sword flew from his grasp, spinning into the air, but as it did, Amael thrust out his left hand and etched a glowing circle into existence, its lines humming and glowing gold.

An Edenic Circle.

Michael’s eyes widened. "This...!"

"This one’s yours," Amael said through gritted teeth. "Take what you give, Michael."

-BOOOOM!

A blinding burst of light engulfed Michael at point-blank range. Amael staggered back, gasping, sliding across the ground, chest heaving. Smoke clouded the dome. For a second, there was silence.

Then, on instinct, Amael pivoted but too late.

Michael’s hand closed around his throat, and he was lifted off the ground. Michael’s expression was calm, but his eyes burned coldly.

"You dare use my own techniques against me?" Michael asked with narrowed eyes.

Amael’s hands clawed at his arm, struggling, air rasping from his lungs.

"Still," Michael continued, head tilting slightly, "I’m impressed. You’ve done this before, replicating patterns, mimicking power in your own way." His gaze lingered on Amael’s silver eye. "That annoying pair of eyes Horus granted you, your mind records faster, learns faster. Pity it doesn’t make you stronger."

Amael forced a glare through the haze, channeling what remained of his Wrath. Purple lightning danced across his skin but it shattered uselessly against the golden aura that flared around Michael.

"Look at yourself," Michael said with a faint smile. "You claim to be driven, but I see nothing. You lack conviction." His gaze flicked toward Belle, seated beyond the shimmering dome, her eyes staring back coldly as if she could hear everything of their conversations which he was sure she was. "Maybe I should... give you a reason to fight?"

Amael narrowed his eyes dangerous and his hand clenched tighter around Michael’s arm, veins glowing a faint purple.

A pattern flared to life before him, a sharp pentagon traced in pulsing purple light.

Michael’s expression twisted in shock. "A Khaos—"

-BOOOM!

The explosion hurled Michael backward, his grip breaking at last. Amael collapsed to his knees, coughing violently, a weary grin breaking across his bruised face.

Michael touched his forehead, feeling the single line of blood that now streaked down. Just a minor wound but enough to prove Amael’s strike had found its mark.

Expression unreadable, Michael appeared again, moving like a flicker of gold. His hand shot forward but a pale, cold hand caught it midair.

"That’s enough for today, Michael."

Michael turned, teeth clenched.

Nihil stood beside them.

Michael lowered his hand reluctantly, his golden light dimming. "Your son isn’t ready," he said. "He’s weaker than you think. If he’s to be a true Vessel, he needs to be broken, reshaped. Let me—"

"I said that’s enough," Nihil interrupted, lowering his tone.

Silence lingered between them. Michael gritted his teeth, before he vanished, his body dissolving in a flare of golden radiance that faded into the still air of the dome.

Amael lifted his gaze toward Nihil, his breathing still ragged but slowly steadying. A faint smile appeared on his bloodstained lips.

"Do you want me to thank you, Father?"

Nihil’s gaze was cold "Do you believe yourself clever for provoking Michael?"

Amael scoffed, pushing himself up onto one knee. "He’s the one who starts it every time. That self-righteous bastard just can’t stand losing. Samael used to wipe the floor with him back then, so now he takes it out on me."

"Enough." Nihil exhaled, the sound more weary than angry. He reached into his robe and tossed a small crystal vial toward him. Amael caught it clumsily, uncorked it, and drank. The golden liquid was warm, glowing faintly as it slid down his throat, and in seconds the ache in his muscles began to fade.

It was an elixir brewed from the Holy Ground of the Garden, rare, sanctified, meant to restore both body and essence.

"If you’re truly worried about your son," Belle said as she entered the dome, "you should be the one teaching him, not letting Michael break him apart."

Nihil didn’t turn. "I’ve taught him enough," he said calmly. "What he needs now is perspective. Michael provides that."

Belle let out a sharp, incredulous laugh and strode closer. "Perspective? You call this torment ’perspective’?" She brushed past him. "You’re standing between me and my son. Move."

Nihil didn’t argue. He stepped aside, watching as she knelt before Amael. Her hand touched his cheek gently, tracing the faint traces of battle on his skin.

"You could at least admit you don’t care," she said. "Or admit you were never made to be a father."

"I am a Guardian, Belle," Nihil replied quietly.

"Yes, you are," she said, glancing up at him with that cold, tired gaze. "The Guardian of Eden, before you are Amael’s father. I learned that long ago." She stood, steadying her son by the arm. "But I am his mother first, before duty or Eden or eternity. That gives me more right to his fate than you."

As she turned with Amael at her side, another voice rang out.

"You don’t own the Vessel of Samael Eveningstar."

They turned to see A-Nihil approaching.

Belle groaned, throwing up a hand. "Oh, by Ymir, no. We’re leaving." She grabbed Amael by the wrist and pulled him away.

"You heard me, Belle," A-Nihil said icily.

Belle stopped only to glance over her shoulder. "How about you mind your own children, Aniha?" She snapped. "Your daughter, especially, tell me, how’s she doing in that quiet little prison you and your husband built for her? Don’t lecture me about parenting when you’ve abandoned your own blood. I’m sure that poor girl hates the both of you deeply."

A-Nihil’s expression darkened and she took a step forward. But Nihil moved between them immediately.

"Aniha, enough."

She turned her glare on him. "Always defending her," she said. "You could at least stop pretending, Nihil. I know our bond was never love and she’s the one you truly care for."

"Aniha," Nihil said again, taking a step forward.

But she was already retreating, her eyes burning with anger. "Just remember our roles," she said and left.

For several seconds, Nihil stood in silence. Then he turned his gaze toward the two figures in the distance.

"You always have a knack to piss off A-Nihil, mother."

"And I love it."

"I love watching it as well."

"Love you sweetheart."

"Love you too mother."

Nihil watched both his ex-wife and son blatantly mocking his wife in the Garden of Eden calmly. It was clearly not a new sight around here...

But as he watched them with a bit fondness, a faint chill stirred at the back of his mind, a sense of foreboding that he couldn’t erase.