As Moxie and Michael traded blow after blow, the ground beneath them trembled, each impact shaking the battlefield. Sparks flew from the clash of their weapons, Moxie’s aura glowing brighter with the power of Patience, while Michael’s golden light radiated with divine fury. Every punch Moxie landed was met with a counter, but the Heavenly Virtue coursing through him gave him an edge, allowing him to break through Michael’s defenses, carving deep dents into the once impenetrable golden armor.

Insanity, watching from a distance, was itching to join the fray. Every time he tried to get closer, the intense shockwaves from the battle kept pushing him back. Liza, noticing his frustration, shot an arrow toward a group of nearby angels, clearing a path. "Come on, Insanity! We’ve got to help him!" she shouted.

Grinning wildly, Insanity wiped the blood from his face and charged forward, swinging his axe with reckless abandon. "This is amazing! Fighting someone this strong—I haven’t had this much fun in ages!" With one massive swing, Insanity sliced through a line of angels, cutting them down with ease. He could feel the rush of adrenaline as he got closer to the core of the battle, where Moxie and Michael were locked in their deadly dance.

Moxie, though empowered, was still running on borrowed time. The soul of Patience whispered in his mind, "You’ve only got 20 minutes before this boost fades. Make every second count." Moxie nodded to himself, determined to push harder. He dodged one of Michael’s swings and landed a flurry of punches onto Michael’s armor, each hit causing cracks to spread across the surface. Michael growled in frustration, his divine form slowly weakening under the relentless assault.

Sensing an opportunity, Michael lunged for his sword, gripping it tightly as he swung with divine precision. Moxie raised his broken sword hilt to block, and the two forces collided with such force that the ground beneath them cracked open. The sky above darkened, and the winds howled as the two powers clashed once more.

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This time, Moxie wasn’t giving any ground. He pushed harder, the weight of the Heavenly Virtue fueling his every move. As Michael raised his sword for another strike, Moxie ducked low and delivered a brutal punch to Michael’s face, sending the Archangel staggering back. Blood spilled from Michael’s mouth, his once-perfect visage now marred by Moxie’s blow.

Michael’s eyes burned with fury. He turned to one of his nearby angelic knights and barked, "Gather the entire army! Bring them all here now!" The knight quickly flew off to relay the command.

As the battlefield grew more chaotic, Moxie felt the pressure mounting. He knew they couldn’t keep this up forever. Insanity, having finally reached Moxie’s side, joined the fight with a wild swing of his axe, cutting down any angels that tried to get near them. "Let’s finish this!" Insanity yelled, grinning from ear to ear.

Liza, firing arrows from a distance, watched as the chaos unfolded. Her heart raced as she saw Michael getting more and more desperate. But even with all his strength, Michael wasn’t backing down. If anything, Moxie’s blows only enraged him further.

Michael let out a roar of pure anger, his eyes glowing with divine wrath. "You think you can defeat me?!" he bellowed. "I am the commander of Heaven’s armies! You are nothing compared to the might of the gods!" With that, Michael charged at Moxie with renewed fury, his sword glowing with holy light.

Moxie braced himself, feeling the power of Patience still flowing through him. He locked eyes with Michael, unflinching as the Archangel bore down on him. In a split second, their weapons collided once again, and the battlefield was consumed by light.

But Moxie wasn’t done. With all his strength, he pushed back, forcing Michael off balance once more. Before Michael could recover, Moxie delivered a final, devastating punch to his face, sending him crashing into the ground.

For the first time, Michael looked shaken. His army was approaching, but Moxie had dealt him a significant blow. Moxie stood over him, breathing heavily, knowing the battle wasn’t over yet, but that he had made his mark.