Mavobella: The Angel Of Death

Chapter 47

As the mist continued to clear, the tension in the air was unbearable. The arena felt as though it was holding its breath, the crackling energy of the platform nearly silent as every soul—demon, and angel alike—watched the two combatants, waiting for a victor to emerge.

For a long moment, Isaac and Xavier were locked together, swords pressing against one another with a force that vibrated through the air. Sweat and blood dripped from both men, their bodies trembling under the strain of the battle. Xavier’s massive frame, hulking and armored, seemed as unyielding as a fortress wall, while Isaac, smaller, less imposing, held his ground through sheer determination and grit.

Then, slowly, imperceptibly, the balance began to shift.

At first, it was a subtle thing, a slight falter in Xavier’s stance. His sword, once unmovable, began to tremble under the pressure of Isaac’s blade. The crowd, sensing the change, leaned forward as one, their voices growing into a low, anticipatory murmur. Xavier’s eyes, wild with fury, darted around as though looking for a way out, but there was none. His strength, once boundless, was finally beginning to wane.

Isaac’s grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles white with effort. His breathing was heavy, each inhale a struggle, but there was something in his eyes—a light, a fire that refused to be extinguished. Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward with everything he had left, his blade slowly forcing Xavier’s back.

The platform beneath them trembled with their struggle, cracks widening in the obsidian surface as if the arena itself was being torn apart by the force of their wills. The jagged crystals that surrounded the battlefield pulsed brighter, their glow intensifying as if feeding off the energy of the final moments of the fight. Arcs of electricity flickered between the towering spires, casting eerie shadows across the combatants.

With a roar, Xavier made one last desperate attempt to push Isaac back, his sword surging forward with raw power, but it was too late. Isaac, with a cry that echoed across the entire arena, sidestepped the blow, letting Xavier’s momentum carry him forward. In the same fluid motion, Isaac twisted his blade and drove it deep into Xavier’s side, sinking the sword into a gap in the black armor with a sickening sound.

The crowd gasped as one, a collective intake of breath that seemed to hang in the air.

Xavier’s eyes widened in shock and pain as he staggered back, his massive frame swaying unsteadily. His hand went to his side, grasping at the wound, but the damage was done. Blood poured from the wound in thick, dark rivulets, staining the obsidian surface beneath his feet. The once-unstoppable warrior was faltering, his strength draining from him like water from a broken vessel.

Isaac stood motionless for a moment, his chest heaving, his sword still held tightly in his grip. His eyes never left Xavier, watching as the giant of a man fell to one knee, the light in his eyes dimming.

There was no roar of triumph, no cheer from the crowd—just a stunned, breathless silence.

Xavier, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, looked up at Isaac, his face contorted with pain and disbelief. For a moment, the two men locked eyes, and in that fleeting second, there was something unspoken between them—an understanding, perhaps, or a recognition of each other as warriors who had given everything they had.

Then, with a final, choked breath, Xavier collapsed onto the platform, his sword clattering to the ground beside him. The obsidian platform pulsed once more, its veins glowing brightly before dimming, as though the arena itself were marking the end of the battle.

The crystals around the arena, once alive with energy, began to fade, their light dimming to a dull glow. The mist below the platform settled, no longer swirling with the frantic energy of the battle. The platform itself seemed to steady, the cracks no longer spreading, as though the arena had finally found peace after

The roar of the crowd was deafening, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside me. Isaac had done it. He had won. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared, frozen, at his bloodied form standing tall in the middle of the platform. His sword was still clutched in his hand, the tip resting on the cracked obsidian floor, as if he needed the support just to stay upright.

The commentator’s voice boomed, ringing out over the masses. “Behold the champion of the arena… ISAAC!”

I watched as everyone—angels, demons, guards, and even prisoners—began to bow in unison, an almost surreal sight. For so long, we had been at the mercy of those who controlled this twisted game. And now, all of them were kneeling. My head was spinning, but then I heard it—the distinct clanging of metal hitting the ground.

I looked down, and the chains around my wrists and wings had fallen, just like that. My breath caught in my throat. It took me a moment to process it, but then I saw the same thing happening to the others. One by one, the shackles dropped to the ground, discarded, no longer binding us. We were free.

I didn’t wait for permission. As soon as I realized what had happened, I bolted, my legs moving on instinct before my mind had fully caught up. My heart was racing, pounding in my ears, but it was the best sound I’d ever heard. Isaac had won. We were free.

I pushed past the others, my feet barely touching the ground as I sprinted toward the center of the arena. "Isaac!" I shouted, my voice cracking with everything I had pent up—the fear, the hope, the relief. I could barely breathe, but I didn’t care. My eyes locked on him, and I didn’t stop.

He turned as I called his name, and despite the blood, despite the exhaustion etched into every part of his body, he smiled when he saw me. That smile—it was everything. He was alive. He was standing. He had won.

I threw myself at him without thinking, my arms wrapping tightly around him. He staggered slightly, probably because I hit him harder than I meant to, but he held onto me just as fiercely. The moment I felt his arms around me, I couldn’t stop the tears that had been threatening to fall. They weren’t tears of sadness. No, they were something far more powerful—relief, joy, disbelief that we were still standing, that we had made it through.

“We did it!” I choked out, my voice thick with emotion, pulling back just enough to look at him. His eyes met mine, and in that moment, everything else faded away.

He smiled, that weary, proud grin that said more than words ever could. “We did,” he whispered, his voice rough from the fight, but his eyes still alive with the fire that had carried him through it.

Behind us, I heard the others running, their cheers and laughter filling the space where there had been nothing but fear moments ago. I turned my head just in time to see the rest of the prisoners—our friends, our allies—rushing toward us. They were free too. It hit me all at once, and for a second, I almost couldn’t believe it. We had fought so hard, and now… we had won.

The commentator had faded into the background, his job done, as the crowd still knelt in reverence. The angels and demons who had once looked down on us, who had held us prisoner in this nightmare—they were all bowing. To Isaac. To us.

I looked up at the towering crystalline spires that surrounded the arena, their light fading slowly, almost as if they were giving one final nod to the fight that had just ended. The energy that had crackled between them was dying down, but I didn’t care. The only energy that mattered now was the one buzzing inside me, the rush of knowing we had broken free.

We had won.

I turned back to Isaac, my hands still gripping his shoulders as if I might wake up from this dream if I let go. “You did it,” I whispered again, still in awe.

Isaac shook his head slightly, his voice soft as he replied, “No, we did it.” His eyes held mine, and for a moment, it was just the two of us, standing together in the aftermath of everything. The battle, the chains, the fear—it had all led to this moment, and we were still standing.

I couldn’t help but laugh then, a broken, relieved laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. The others had reached us now, wrapping their arms around us in celebration. There was so much noise—laughter, shouting, even crying—but it was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.

Isaac was still standing, bloodied but unbroken, and we were free.