The Brewing Tense

The light surrounding Michael's body faded few seconds later and a strange hissing sound filled the air.

Aelarin's daggers that once gleaming with violet energy embedded on Michael's back now lost their shape and dripping from his hands like molten wax before splattering onto the ground in a steaming, metallic heap.

In an instant, the weapons had been reduced to nothing, melted by Michael's force.

Aelarin stumbled back, his hands trembling as he stared at the useless remains of his blades. He barely had time to register what had happened before Michael exhaled a slow sigh.

Behind him, the wounds on his back had already vanished as if they had never existed.

Kassiel who were still suspended midair gritted his teeth, his muscles straining against the invisible force that bound him.

He could feel the sheer impossible gulf of power that separated them now. Michael wasn't just strong. He wasn't just skilled. He was something else entirely.