The Mask

Silver strikes of lights cut a path through the pearlescent clouds as Michael fly back toward his own dominion.

Wind rushed past, cool against his cheeks, yet inside his thoughts churned. The thoughts that was darker and hotter than any current he rode.

"Clyde was always a contingency," he admitted to himself, "He was like a blunt spear the Ancient One thrust into the board. I never cared for being someone else's second move."

Below, shimmering realms slid by like mirrored shards. No army he have could stand against every Archangel and Demon King combined if they attacked in together at once.

Even Clyde who were uniquely empowered as he was right now would drown beneath that tide.

"If I throw my lot in with him now, I expose everything…and we both die. Yet if I stand aside, the coalition would killed him, and the Ancient One's influence will be broken."

A new, colder possibility glimmered.