MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

The air within Mitchelle's chambers hung heavy with unspoken tension, a heat that had nothing to do with the flickering hearth at the far end of the opulent room.

The walls were adorned with flowing drapes in deep gold and crimson, their silken surfaces shimmering faintly in the ambient glow of enchanted lamps.
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It was a room of both regal beauty and stifling authority, where even the furniture seemed to bow to its occupant.

Yet tonight, it was not the room's majesty that commanded attention, but the two figures standing in its center, their presences so imposing they could have overshadowed even the stars.

Mitchelle stood with her back to Michael, her silhouette framed by the enormous arched window behind her.

The pale light of the moon spilled over her figure, making her appear almost ethereal, like a goddess conjured from legend.

Her fiery crimson hair cascaded down her back in molten waves, shimmering with an intensity that seemed to echo her smoldering rage.

Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, the tension in her posture as sharp as a drawn blade.

Michael stood a few paces away, his expression calm yet resolute, the epitome of a warrior who had faced countless battles yet found this one uniquely challenging.

His tall frame was relaxed but exuded an aura of immense power, a latent storm barely restrained beneath his composed demeanor.

The dim light gleamed faintly on the edge of his sword intent barrier, an invisible dome enclosing the room and silencing the world outside, creating a sanctum where this heated exchange could unfold without interruption.

"You had no right"

Mitchelle's voice finally broke the silence, low and trembling with suppressed fury.

She turned to face him, her striking emerald eyes aflame with emotion.

"You had no right to put our son's name forward, Michael"

Michael sighed deeply, running a hand through his white, slightly disheveled hair.

"Mitchelle"

He began, his tone measured.

"This is not just about Anthony. It's about the survival and honor of the human race. The decision wasn't made lightly"

Mitchelle's hands dropped to her sides, clenched into trembling fists.

"Don't patronize me, Michael. Don't you dare speak to me of honor when you've thrown our child into a death match"

Her voice cracked, but she steadied herself, her fury blazing hotter.

"Anthony is sixteen. He may be exceptional, yes, a prodigy, but he's still our boy. He's not ready for this"

Michael closed the distance between them in two strides, his dark eyes softening as they met hers.

"He's more than ready"

He said firmly.

"You've seen what he's capable of Mitchelle. He's stronger, faster, smarter than any other candidate. I don't just think he can win; I know he will"

Mitchelle turned away, wrapping her arms around herself as though shielding her heart from his words.

"You know"

She whispered bitterly.

"You believe. But what if you're wrong, Michael? What if he isn't strong enough? What if…"

Her voice faltered, the unspoken horror clawing at her throat.

"What if he doesn't come back to us?"

Michael hesitated, his jaw tightening as the weight of the situation bore down on him.

His hand hovered in the air, almost as if it might reach out to her, to comfort, to reassure, but he held himself back.

The silence stretched between them, a palpable force that wrapped around him like a vice.

For the briefest moment, a reckless thought sparked in the back of his mind, pull Anthony's name back, consequences be damned.

The image of his son, bloodied and broken in the midst of the death match, flashed through his mind with terrifying clarity.

The sight of Anthony, crushed under the weight of his own defiance, the light fading from his fierce eyes, it was an unwelcome specter that made Michael's chest tighten painfully.

His mind, sharp and precise in its usual clarity, faltered under the weight of the thought.

His instincts screamed at him to protect his son, to shield him from this cruel fate.

But just as quickly as the thought arose, Michael banished it, casting it aside like the fleeting shadow it was.

He could not afford to let fear govern his decisions.

Anthony wasn't just any boy, he was his unparalleled monster baby.

A son like no other.

Born of unmatched strength, indomitable will, and an unrelenting drive to surpass every obstacle before him.

Michael had no doubt in his son's ability to emerge victorious.

Anthony had the blood of both his parents, a legacy of power and endurance.

Michael's confidence in him was unwavering, as solid and sure as the sword he wielded.

No, Anthony would face this challenge, and he would overcome it, just as he always had.

"He will come back to us"

Michael spoke at last, his voice quiet but imbued with the unyielding steel of resolve.

"Mitchelle, I understand your fears. I feel them too, more than you can imagine"

His gaze softened, but his words held firm, unshaken by the turmoil that raged within him.

"But this is something Anthony must face. We both know the world he will inherit is not kind. It will not wait for him to grow stronger at his own pace. If he is to lead, to protect the ones he loves, he needs to step into the fire, to test his mettle in ways we can't shield him from"

He let his words settle in the air, like the weight of a thousand battles fought and won.

He could see the fire in her eyes, the motherly love that burned through every fiber of her being, and it pained him to be the one to stoke the flames of her agony.

But he knew, as she did, that this was not about her pain, it was about Anthony's future.

Michael took a slow, steady breath.

"This isn't just about the match. It's about his journey. A journey he must walk alone, if he is to rise above the darkness of this world. We are his parents, yes, but we are also the ones who will prepare him for the harshest of trials. This fight... it will shape him, just as every hardship he has endured has"

He looked at her then, his gaze piercing, yet filled with a quiet kind of compassion.

"I have confidence in him, Mitchelle. Absolute confidence"

Mitchelle spun back to face him, her emerald eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"You speak as if fate is set in stone"

She said.

"You forget, Michael, that fate has a way of breaking even the strongest of us"

Michael stepped closer, resting his hands gently on her shoulders.

"And you forget, Mitchelle, that Anthony is not just any child. He's ours. He has your brilliance, your resilience, and my strength. I've seen him fight, seen him push past limits that would break most men. This match isn't just a test; it's a stepping stone. He will rise to it because he's Anthony and my son"

Mitchelle shook her head, biting her lip as her anger gave way to helplessness.

"And if he doesn't? If we lose him, Michael?"

Her voice broke, the anguish spilling through.

"What then?"

Michael's grip tightened ever so slightly, his own voice softening.

"Then it will be on me"

He said.

"But that won't happen, Mitchelle. Not to our son"

She closed her eyes, drawing a tremulous breath as if trying to steady herself against the oncoming tide of emotions.

The room fell into a deep, almost reverential silence, broken only by the faint, constant hum of the sword intent barrier, an ethereal wall of power that sealed them in their private world, away from the weight of the outside.

After what felt like an eternity, Mitchelle exhaled slowly, the fragile tension in the air wrapping around her like a shroud.

She pulled away from Michael, the distance between them feeling vast and yet incredibly small, before turning toward the window.

Her movements were graceful, deliberate, as though each step carried the weight of her inner turmoil.

She placed a hand against the cool, smooth glass, the chill of the surface offering a fleeting comfort.

Her gaze wandered out into the moonlit garden below, the silver beams of the moon catching the shimmering leaves, casting long shadows.

The sight, both peaceful and haunting, seemed to draw her in deeper.

Her fiery red hair, vibrant and untamed, cascaded over her shoulders like a living flame, the soft curls moving with an elegance that contrasted sharply with the storm raging inside her.

The garden, serene beneath the moon's glow, seemed a world away from the violent clash she now faced in her own heart.

"I know the world isn't kind"

She said finally, her voice a quiet murmur.

"I know it's full of cruelty and sacrifice. But I'm his mother, Michael. I'm supposed to protect him"

"And sometimes"

Michael said, his voice barely above a whisper,

"The best way to protect him is to let him fight"

Mitchelle didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

The tension lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding, but the argument was over.

For now.

Michael stepped back, his hand brushing against the edge of his sword intent barrier, which shimmered faintly before fading.

The room seemed to exhale, the tension lifting with a palpable sense of relief, yet the silence that remained was frail, uneasy, like the calm before a storm.

Amidst this quiet, Mitchelle's emerald eyes glowed with an unwavering resolve, a silent storm brewing within them.

She would not intervene, not yet.

But she would not remain passive either.

If Anthony was to walk into the furnace of danger, then she would see to it that he emerged from it not only unscathed but stronger than ever, honed like a blade forged in the heart of a fire no one could withstand.