Meanwhile, in Atlantis, Mel sat in a bustling restaurant alive with chatter and clinking glasses, yet he remained silent, lost in his thoughts. Across from him, Elowen spoke with a forced cheerfulness, bouncing between random topics as if the shadow of her near-sale to her brother hadn’t loomed over them just days ago.
Mel sat slouched, his eyes distant as his head leaned against Elowen’s shoulder. She noticed his plate untouched and his hollow expression. “Mel, you haven’t eaten in days. I’m the one who was almost sold—shouldn’t I be the depressed one?” she teased lightly, trying to push a spoonful of food toward his mouth.
Mel kept his lips sealed, shaking his head slightly. “Wizards don’t need to eat every day,” he mumbled, a half-hearted statement he wasn’t even sure was true.
Elowen gave a soft laugh, the sound both comforting and sad. “Shut up, you just made that up,” she said, resting her head gently on his.
For a moment, they sat in silence, their heads leaning against each other like two fragile towers propping each other up. Then, Mel’s voice broke the quiet, heavy with pain. “He put his hands on me,” he murmured. “Percival. He once told me he wished he could’ve adopted me… and I said I wished he had too. I even hugged him.” His voice wavered, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. “And then… he punched me.”
Elowen sighed softly, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm in a silent gesture of comfort. She didn’t try to offer words this time; she knew there was nothing she could say to ease the weight Mel carried. So she simply stayed there, letting him lean on her as the world outside their bubble kept moving, unaware of the pain sitting quietly at their table.
Elowen sipped her drink thoughtfully, then let out a long exhale. “Rue can’t come to Atlantis anymore, and you can’t set foot in Auroria Dominion. I told you, Mel—Liam is pure evil. Everything was fine until he showed up. Then you got punched, I almost got sold, and now you’re… like this.” She gestured at his slouched posture and distant expression. “We need to stay out of his way. Always.”
Mel nodded faintly, his gaze fixed on the table. “I want to, but… if I ever see him again, I won’t be able to stop myself. I’ll kill him on sight.” His voice hardened, anger simmering beneath the surface. “He sees you as collateral damage. Not a person. Just…” His hands clenched into fists as his words trailed off.
“Don’t say things like that!” Elowen snapped, shaking him lightly by the shoulders. “You’re better than that. Just because King Aldara punched you doesn’t mean you should start thinking about killing anyone. Remember your moral code, Mel. Bullying is for the weak. Killing is disgraceful. Violence is a last resort. Real men never hit women unless it’s self-defense. All of that.” Her voice softened as she saw his expression shift.
Mel’s face slowly went from strained to calm as he processed her words. He let out a small sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I still have you—my shield.” A faint smile broke through his gloom, flickering like a candle in the dark.
Elowen chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “Exactly,” she said with a playful smirk. “And don’t you forget it.”
“We’re with you, Captain!” Mark called out, leaning over their booth with his mouth full of food. Crumbs scattered across the table as he spoke.
Elowen sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Oh right, they had to leave the outskirts of Auroria,” she said, her tone heavy with sympathy.
Yasmine leaned in, her voice warm and upbeat. “Mhm, but now we’re all together—like a family.” Her smile was bright, but just as she said it, Logan shoved his plate off the table with a loud clatter and stormed out of the restaurant, leaving everyone stunned.
“What’s his problem?” Lucy asked, raising an eyebrow as she watched him leave.
Mark shrugged and waved it off. “He’s just spoiled,” he said dismissively, shoveling another bite into his mouth.
Yasmine nodded in quiet agreement, though her gaze lingered on the door Logan had disappeared through.
“The only thing I want to know is why someone stole the Lady of the Lake artifact,” Elowen muttered, scribbling idly on a napkin as her thoughts raced. “The artifact can do so much. She gave my father Excalibur, after all. My brother went to the lake, absorbed her essence into the artifact like it was nothing, and handed her over to King Aldara.” She paused, her pen tapping against the table as she collected her thoughts. “It can grant the wielder healing, reveal the truth, summon the Lady of the Lake herself, bind others to loyalty, and even enhance weapons.” Her tone grew heavier as she listed its powers.
Before anyone could respond, Mark slid into their booth, leaning forward conspiratorially. “That’s not all…” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “It can also resurrect the Arcanis Titans.”
Mel and Elowen both froze at the revelation, their breaths hitching.
“The Titans,” Mark continued, his eyes scanning the room to ensure no one overheard, “were banished by a wizard council called the Magisterium centuries ago. Their power was beyond comprehension—elemental forces so destructive they were nearly unstoppable. One of them, Shimoth, was said to be strong enough to rival Merlin himself.”
Mel’s expression darkened as Mark’s words sank in. “Shimoth…” he murmured, his thoughts racing to a familiar name. “Bimoth is one of them? I… I doubt he even knows.”
His words hung in the air, thick with unease. Elowen looked at him sharply, her brow furrowing as her fingers tightened around her pen. “If the artifact is used to bring them back… we’re talking about forces no one alive today is prepared to face,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Mark nodded grimly. “Exactly. If it’s not in King Aldara’s hands, there’s no telling what chaos might follow.”
Mel’s gaze fell to the table as he clenched his fists, determination flickering in his eyes. “Then we need to stop it—before it’s too late.”
Meanwhile, in Goldman’s Gate, Michelangelo stood before an army of twenty knights, their armor gleaming under the faint torchlight as they stood in rigid formation. He lazily popped a gold nugget into his mouth, chewing with an air of indifference as he held a phone to his ear.
“Let me guess… You’re King Liam, right?” he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “And you want me to kidnap Elowen Pendragon for you? Hah! You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you? Worse than those damn wizards, even. No, no, don’t worry—I’ve been itching to come out of hiding. I’ll get her for you with just three knights. Besides,” he chuckled, his voice taking on a sinister edge, “I wouldn’t mind seeing my old student again. Inmate Zero.”
With a low laugh, Michelangelo ended the call and gestured to three of his knights—Nicolas, Hawkin, and Andrion. “Let’s go. We’re heading to Auroria Dominion.” He boarded a sleek, black boat, the knights following close behind as the vessel sliced through the water, leaving the shadows of Goldman’s Gate behind.
Back in Atlantis, the soft hum of the restaurant filled the air as Mel and Elowen dozed off in their booth, the remnants of their late-night conversation fading into the background. Mel stirred first, rubbing his eyes as he glanced at Elowen, who was still sound asleep beside him.
“Elowen,” he murmured, nudging her shoulder gently, “you’ve gotta head back to Solstice.”
She groaned, stretching and yawning as she blinked awake. “I’m sorry,” she said sleepily, her voice soft and hoarse.
“It’s okay,” Mel replied, rising to his feet and scooping her onto his back without a second thought. “Come on, I’ll take you back.”
They left the restaurant and made their way through the quiet city. Mel swam to the surface, his movements fluid and practiced, before emerging into the crisp night air. He shook off the water from their clothes, the moonlight casting a silver glow over Solstice City as it shimmered in the distance.
“I can walk now,” Elowen mumbled, sliding off his back with another yawn.
“You need to rest,” Mel said firmly, his tone gentle but resolute.
She smiled sleepily and gave him a quick hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered before making her way toward the dorms, her figure disappearing into the shadows of the city as Mel watched her go.
Mel turned sharply, his heart skipping a beat as he saw King Aldara approaching with the five wardens flanking him.
“Melanthius, what are you doing here?” Aldara’s voice carried both authority and curiosity.
Mel groaned and waved him off. “I’m on my way back, don’t worry.” His tone was terse, his thoughts preoccupied. As he turned back, his eye caught a fleeting glint of gold, shimmering unnaturally. He blinked, his brow furrowing. “That’s… odd.”
Before he could dwell on it, an all-too-familiar sound froze him in place: a maniacal, blood-curdling laugh that echoed through the air, sharp and sinister. His stomach dropped. He knew that laugh. Everyone did.
Mel’s eyes darted toward the source of the sound, and his blood ran cold. Across from him, just a few feet away, stood Michelangelo, towering and radiating an aura of malice. In his grip, he held Elowen by the hair as if she were nothing more than a trophy. Her screams pierced the air, a sound so raw and anguished it cut through Melanthius like a blade.
Mel’s heart pounded in his chest. His mouth opened, but no words came out. Fear rooted him in place.
Michelangelo’s lips curled into a grin, his laughter settling into a sinister chuckle. “How’s it been, inmate zero?” His voice was mockingly casual, as though they were catching up on old times.
Mel’s entire body trembled, his mind racing to piece together what to do. Finally, he roared at the top of his lungs, desperation and urgency fueling his voice. “EVERYBODY LISTEN TO ME! THIS MAN IS THE RENAISSANCE KING MICHELANGELO! IF YOU EVEN LOOK AWAY FOR A SECOND, YOU’LL DIE!”
Gasps rippled through the crowd like wildfire. People froze, their eyes darting to Michelangelo, and a cacophony of murmurs broke out:
“Melanthius is too scared to move?”
“One of the Renaissance Kings? But they’ve been gone for centuries!”
“Why is he here? And how does Melanthius know him?”
Michelangelo sneered, unbothered by the growing alarm around him. Elowen squirmed in his grip, tears streaking her face as she clawed at his hand. “Aww, don’t flatter me, Melanthius,” Michelangelo said with a dark chuckle, his voice dripping with mockery. “You always had such a dramatic flair, didn’t you?”
The five wardens shifted uneasily, gripping their weapons.
“Your Majesty,” one whispered to King Aldara, “should we intervene?”
Aldara raised a hand to stop them, his face pale but his voice steady. “Wait. Observe. If Melanthius knows him, then we need to understand what we’re dealing with.”
The murmurs grew louder, rippling through the crowd like a wave:
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Why isn’t the King doing anything?”
“Is that really Michelangelo? I thought he was just a legend!”
“What does this have to do with Melanthius? What’s ‘inmate zero’ supposed to mean?”
Mel’s mind raced, his heart thundering in his chest. He took a step forward, forcing himself to focus on Elowen. Her anguished cries tore at him, fueling a deep anger that began to bubble under his fear.
Michelangelo tilted his head, his grin widening. “Oh, look at you, Mel. So helpless, so scared.” He leaned in closer, still holding Elowen like a predator playing with its prey. “I almost missed seeing you like this. Almost.”
“Let her go!” Melanthius shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
Michelangelo chuckled again, the sound cruel and grating. “Now, now. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, you know what happens when you try to play the hero, don’t you?”
Mel’s fists clenched, his teeth grinding. A flicker of gold returned to his eye, brighter and sharper this time. Something deep inside him stirred, threatening to surface.
The crowd’s whispers turned into a cacophony of speculation:
“Did you see that? Mel’s eye—it’s glowing!”
“Is he going to fight him? He doesn’t stand a chance!”
“Why isn’t anyone helping her?!”
Michelangelo, ever the showman, basked in the fear and confusion. “Come on, Melanthius,” he taunted. “Show me what you’ve got. Or are you still the same little coward I left behind?”
Suddenly, Andrion, Hawkins, and Nicolas stepped forward, blocking Mel’s path with determined glares. Andrion sneered. “It’s been a while, Melanthius. You won’t catch us off guard this time—”
Before he could finish, Mel moved like a blur. In one fluid motion, he slammed all three of them into the ground with devastating force. Their heads cracked against the earth, blood spilling as they coughed and groaned in pain. Mel stood over them, his expression dark, his breathing heavy.
The crowd gasped.
“Did you see that?!”
“He took out all three of them in an instant!”
“What is Melanthius?”
Mel’s golden eye glinted dangerously as he turned his glare to Michelangelo. Without hesitation, he dashed forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet.
Michelangelo smirked, calm and unbothered. As Mel closed in, Michelangelo’s hand shot out, grabbing him mid-dash with a vice-like grip. His fist shimmered with gold as he struck Mel twice in quick succession, each punch reverberating like thunder. Mel cried out in pain, his body trembling from the impact.
“Pathetic,” Michelangelo muttered before hurling Mel with bone-crushing force. Mel’s body smashed into the dorms, the wall crumbling around him as dust and debris filled the air.
“Get him!” King Aldara shouted, his voice sharp with urgency.
Benjamin moved first, his dagger gleaming as he slashed at Michelangelo with supernatural speed. The blade sliced through the air, but Michelangelo sighed, unimpressed. “You damn vampires.” With a flick of his wrist, golden chains erupted and wrapped around Elowen, binding her tightly. In a flash, Michelangelo disappeared and reappeared behind Benjamin. Before Benjamin could react, Michelangelo plunged a golden sword into his back.
Benjamin gasped, blood spurting from his wound as he groaned and collapsed to his knees.
“BENJAMIN!” one of the wardens shouted, but before they could act, Michelangelo turned his attention to Chandler, who was charging at him.
Michelangelo raised his hand lazily. “Gold Barrage.”
In an instant, razor-sharp golden spikes materialized in the air and shot forward like bullets. They pierced Chandler’s chest, sending him flying into a nearby building. He crashed into the wall with a sickening thud, sliding down in a heap.
The tension thickened as Arid, Lance, Clyde, Rue, Renita, and Lincoln arrived on the scene, their faces pale with horror.
“Whoa! Everybody stay back!” Arid commanded, gripping his staff tightly.
Lincoln’s eyes burned with fury. Without waiting, he transformed into his werewolf form, his body enlarging and muscles rippling with power. With a guttural growl, he bolted toward Elowen, intent on freeing her.
Michelangelo didn’t even spare him a glance. With a flick of his arm, a golden hammer materialized around his fist, and he struck Lincoln square in the head. The impact was deafening. Lincoln howled in pain as his body hit the ground, the werewolf form phasing back into his human shape. Blood trickled from his temple as he clutched his head, tears streaming down his face.
“AHHHH!” Lincoln screamed in agony, his cry echoing through the city. He stumbled away, disoriented, running blindly in desperation.
Renita, Arid, Clyde, and Rue stared in shock, their hands covering their mouths as they watched in horror.
“He didn’t even look at him…” Renita whispered, her voice trembling.
Arid’s jaw clenched, and he stepped forward, conjuring his staff. His emerald-green eyes burned with resolve. “You must be… Mother Nature’s son, right?!” Michelangelo’s grin widened as if he were savoring the moment.
“Correct.” In a flash, Michelangelo plunged a golden blade into Arid’s stomach.
“ARID!” Renita screamed, her voice breaking as Arid staggered back, clutching the blade with shaking hands. Blood seeped through his fingers as he collapsed to his knees.
Before Michelangelo could strike again, Aegis stepped forward, his wand glowing with raw magical energy.
“Get away from him!” Aegis roared, firing consecutive blasts of energy at Michelangelo. Each strike hit with explosive force, pushing Michelangelo back slightly. He groaned, irritation flickering across his face.
“I hate these damn wizards,” Michelangelo muttered under his breath.
He raised his hand, and shimmering gold particles swirled around him. They coalesced into several identical golden clones, each radiating the same overwhelming aura. The clones lunged forward, descending upon the wardens and the remaining fighters like a storm.
Screams and the sound of weapons clashing filled the air as the clones overwhelmed their targets, beating them mercilessly.
Michelangelo stood with a bored expression, brushing dust off his golden armor. “Is this all Auroria has to offer? I came here for some fun with Melanthius, and yet you’re all hogging me,” he muttered, pouting with mock jealousy.
But then, his demeanor shifted. A sharp, dangerous presence stirred behind him. He turned, and his eyes locked onto Mel.
Mel was gripping Elowen’s Excalibur tightly, his black gauntlets conspicuously absent. The sword hummed with power, but Mel’s aura was unstable, wild. Excalibur’s raw energy seemed to pulse uncontrollably through him, crackling with black lightning. His face was tense, and Michelangelo noticed the telltale gold glint creeping up the right side of Mel’s face, spreading toward his eye like veins of cursed light.
“You’ve realized it by now, haven’t you?” Michelangelo smirked, a gleam of satisfaction in his tone. “I already placed my Midas Touch curse on you the moment I arrived. Bit by bit, you’re turning into a golden statue, and yet you’re still fighting. My student—”
Before he could finish, a searing black lightning bolt erupted from Excalibur, striking Michelangelo square in the chest and sending him skidding back. The air crackled with the clash of opposing forces as Michelangelo wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. His smirk remained. “Whoa… my student really is worthy of that weapon, huh?”
Mel didn’t respond. His body blurred as he dashed forward, Excalibur cleaving through the air in a deadly arc. The blade cut through Michelangelo’s side, and golden blood spilled, glimmering like liquid sunlight. Mel followed up with a devastating black lightning-imbued kick, sending Michelangelo crashing into the ruins of a nearby structure.
“Eclipse Grasp,” Mel muttered, his voice low and cold. His hand glowed with black lightning as he absorbed the golden energy from Michelangelo’s blood, channeling it into himself. The golden energy twisted into a dark, corrupted hue as Mel molded it into a weapon, forming jagged black-gold spikes along the edge of Excalibur.
Michelangelo stood, his face now a mix of pain and genuine surprise. Mel surged forward and drove the black-gold blade into Michelangelo’s shoulder. The sharp crack of impact rang out, and Michelangelo’s eyes widened.
“That technique… That’s your father’s move! How do you know that?!” he demanded, his voice sharp with shock and rage.
Mel’s gaze burned with intensity as Michelangelo retaliated, his fist encased in molten gold. He swung with all his might, only for Mel to meet his blow with his own black-gold encrusted fist. The collision sent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield, carving fissures into the ground and shaking the air with raw power.
From the sidelines, Rue cried out, tears streaming down her face. “Someone needs to stop this! They’re going to destroy each other!”
“Do you really want to get between those two, Princess?!” Chandler barked, his voice trembling as he yanked Rue back. “Get back inside where it’s safe! You’ll only make things worse!”
Rue hesitated, glancing at the chaos before them—Mel and Michelangelo trading blows like gods clashing in the heavens. Reluctantly, she and the others retreated to the castle, leaving the battlefield to the two titans.
As they fled, the sky above darkened, black lightning and golden radiance colliding in brilliant, violent flashes. The ground quaked beneath the sheer force of their power, and a grim silence fell over the spectators who remained, too stunned to intervene or even breathe.
“Melanthius…” one of the wardens murmured, clutching his arm as he staggered back. “What in the world have you become?”
Michelangelo drove Mel’s face into the ground with a heavy kick, pausing to survey the damage. His gaze lingered on Mel’s right side, now completely consumed by liquid gold, shimmering ominously. “You’re really a stubborn student, aren’t you?” Michelangelo sighed, shaking his head in mock exasperation.
But his expression twisted into a grimace as Mel’s black-gold fist erupted with jagged spikes and struck him square in the chest, sending him crashing into the ground. Michelangelo groaned, wiping golden blood from his mouth.
“Still got some fight left, huh?” Michelangelo muttered. He lunged, grabbing Mel’s arms in a crushing grip before planting both feet into his chest with a powerful kick. Mel hurtled backward, smashing into the ground.
Mel staggered to his feet, gripping Excalibur tightly. The sword hummed with raw, unstable energy as black lightning coiled around its blade. Mel’s eyes burned with fury as he spun the weapon in a dangerous arc.
“Wrath of the Obsidian King!” Mel roared, plunging Excalibur into the earth.
Black lightning surged upward, tearing through the sky in crackling arcs, then descended like a vengeful storm. Bolts rained down on Michelangelo, forcing him to dodge frantically. But Mel’s outstretched fingers twitched with precision, manipulating the lightning’s path to track Michelangelo wherever he moved.
Michelangelo growled in frustration, his golden armor scorched and cracked in places. “ENOUGH!” he bellowed, his voice echoing with raw power. In a flash, he dashed through the storm, closing the distance between them.
His hand struck Mel’s chest with a sickening slap. “Midas Touch!” Michelangelo sneered, the golden curse flowing into Mel’s body.
But something went wrong. The black gold coursing through Mel’s veins began to corrupt Michelangelo’s own power. The liquid gold on Mel’s right side warred with the black-gold seeping into his left. The opposing forces twisted and pulsed violently, spreading like molten veins across Mel’s face and body.
Michelangelo’s smirk faltered. “So stubborn…” he muttered under his breath. He raised his fist, now glowing with pure golden energy, and slammed it into Mel with enough force to create a crater beneath them.
Mel’s body hit the ground, motionless.
“I wasn’t even using half my power,” Michelangelo said coldly, his voice carrying a note of finality. He conjured four golden swords in the air and stabbed them into Mel’s torso one by one. The sound of metal piercing flesh echoed across the battlefield, followed by the horrified screams of onlookers.
“Mel!” Rue shrieked, tears streaming down her face. Arid and Renita reached for their weapons, but fear and despair rooted them in place. None of them dared move.
Michelangelo stood over Mel, his breathing heavy. His gaze lingered on Mel’s lifeless form, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—an old memory surfacing from the depths of his mind.
Flashback
A dimly lit cell in Caldara Bastille. A seven-year-old Mel sat cross-legged on the floor, his tiny hands clutching a piece of paper. When Michelangelo entered, the boy’s face lit up with a bright, innocent smile.
Mel toddled toward him, holding the drawing out proudly. “It’s you! Look, mister—you’ve got a lot of gold in your teeth. Can I call you ‘Goldman’?”
Michelangelo sneered at the childish nickname, but his lips twitched, almost betraying a smile. “This kid…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
Present
Michelangelo blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. His expression hardened as he turned away from Mel’s body, leaving the golden swords embedded in his chest. Without a word, he grabbed Elowen and the three knights, dragging them like trophies.
The battlefield fell silent, save for the crackle of fading lightning and the muffled sobs of Mel’s allies, who could do nothing but watch as Michelangelo disappeared into the distance.
In the grand halls of Camelot, Goldman dropped Elowen unceremoniously at King Liam’s feet. The room glimmered with the light reflecting off Liam’s gilded throne, his smile razor-sharp as he surveyed the scene.
“Well done,” Liam said smoothly, tossing a pouch of diamonds toward Goldman. The jewels clinked softly as they hit the floor at his feet. “But tell me… are you crying, Michelangelo?”
Goldman froze, his shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he turned his head, revealing golden tears tracing glistening paths down his face. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, his expression hardening.
“Call me Goldman,” he muttered, his voice low and resolute. “And no… a real man doesn’t cry.”
Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel and strode out of the hall, the weight of his own words trailing behind him like a shadow.