Massive chains shot from the walls, wrapping around Mike's arms and legs. He felt his essence bleeding into them, strength draining with every pulse. His scales and claws vanished, leaving only his human form suspended in the air. He growled, straining against the bindings, but they did not budge.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber. A towering man with bronze skin and glowing golden eyes approached, his regal white robes swaying with each step. His face was stern, carved with seriousness, though sorrow flickered behind the hardness.
"Michael," he said, his voice both thunder and judgment. "I am disappointed."
Mike snarled in return, baring his teeth. The man stopped before him and pressed a palm to his chest. Golden lines spread outward, burning across Mike's body and suppressing the whispers that had plagued his mind for days. Silence fell inside his skull.
Mike thrashed against the chains. "What the hell is going on!? Why am I chained up!?"
"Because you attack and kill without restraint," Maymun answered, sorrow clouding his golden eyes as he shook his head. "You succumbed to the whispers, to the power stolen through devouring others. You lost reason, abandoned judgment. Tell me, Michael, what is the last thing you remember?"
Mike frowned, confusion spreading across his face. "I was at a town, fighting giants… I collapsed. I was exhausted."
Maymun's gaze sharpened. "So you do not remember what followed? You massacred the giants. But you did not stop there. You turned on the people of that town, devouring them like prey."
Mike's breath caught. He shook his head violently. "Eating the people? What? I—I don't remember that. I've never hurt innocents!"
"You tried to attack Hamza when he restrained you," Maymun pressed, his voice grave. "You were completely overcome by corruption, twisted by the divine essence you consumed. And what about—"
"Wait!" Mike interrupted, eyes widening. "I… I remember a dream. Someone named Enki. He attacked me in dragon form, called me Kur, when I burned his ships."
Maymun threw back his head, laughter rolling like thunder. "Hah! That was no dream. That was a fragment of Kur's essence, woven into you when you absorbed his bones. A vision or distorted memory, one in a long series of encounters with Enki."
His expression shifted, sly amusement glinting in his eyes. "Kur, my old friend… do you remember being slain by a farmer?"
"Foolish halfling king you know I gave up my body," Bahamut growled, his voice rumbling from deep within Mike. "This is no time for your games."
Maymun chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Very well. I started the rumor… but I thought about blaming it on this copper salesman, Ea-Nasir, the worst I've ever seen. He peddled shoddy wares, just awful merchandise. I thought no one would believe it was Ea-Nasir. The Sumerians over the years made it Enki."
Bahamut snarled. "You are a fool."
Mike strained against the chains, frustration mounting. "What does this have to do with my dream?"
"That dream," Maymun said, his tone darkening, "is tied directly to the tale of Kur's death at Enki's hands."
The golden lines burned brighter, pressing deeper into Mike's skin. The whispers were gone, and for the first time, Bahamut's voice rang clear within him. Yet clarity brought no comfort.
The memories returned, blood, screams, villagers torn apart by his own claws.
And Mike realized with horror that this time, the chains were not the true prison. His conscience was.
Maymun withdrew his hand from Mike's chest, and the golden lines dimmed, though the chains held firm. He regarded Mike not as a prisoner but as a man standing at a crossroads.
"You understand now," Maymun said quietly. "The whispers are not gone. They are only caged. They will always press against you, seeking cracks, waiting for weakness. If you cannot master yourself, you will become nothing more than a beast bound by hunger."
Mike's head dropped. His throat tightened. I didn't… I couldn't have… But the flashes of memory returned sharper now, the screams, the blood, the look in Sorina's eyes as he tore her arm away. He gritted his teeth, chest heaving.
"I didn't want to hurt them," he rasped. "I was trying to protect them. I was…" His voice broke. "I was supposed to be better than this."
Bahamut's voice rumbled inside him, grim but steady. "I warned you, hatchling. Power without discipline is ruin. You've seen now what it makes of you."
Mike slammed his head back against the chains. "Then why give it to me at all!? Why let me fight if it's just going to turn me into, into a monster!?"
Maymun's eyes narrowed, glowing brighter. "Do not mistake your choices for fate. The divine power you swallowed was not meant for you. You took it, and it has warped you. The whispers are not destiny. They are temptation. And you yielded."
The words cut deep, sharper than any blade. Mike closed his eyes, jaw trembling.
For a long silence, Maymun studied him, his regal calm unbroken. Then he spoke with finality.
"You are dangerous, Michael. Too dangerous to walk unbound until you can prove mastery over yourself. Here, before my throne, you will be held until judgment is passed." His voice rose, commanding the chains themselves. "King Maymun will decide your fate, not as an enemy, nor as prey, but as one who may yet become either a weapon… or a catastrophe."
The chains lifted Mike higher, suspending him like a condemned man before the king. His body strained against the golden bonds, but for once his strength meant nothing. His heart hammered from the memories clawing at his mind.
The villagers' faces swam before his vision, their screams still ringing in his ears.
"Please…" he whispered hoarsely. "Tell me I didn't kill them all."
Maymun's golden eyes held no malice, only truth. "That is what you must remember for yourself."
The chamber fell silent. The chains glowed, the air thrummed with suppressed power, and Mike hung in the balance between redemption and ruin.
Maymun raised his hand, and the vast bronze doors of the chamber opened with a resonant boom. From the shadows beyond, two figures stepped forward.
Hamza's crimson eyes glowed faintly as the last embers of his chain still smoldered around his wrists. His jaw was set like stone, but his gaze lingered on Mike, measured, wary, as though the monster he had chained might break free at any moment.
Beside him, Binyai moved like a whisper, his cloak rippling as if stirred by unseen winds. His expression was unreadable, but his words cut clear.
"You see now, my king," he said to Maymun. "His essence does not belong to him. It bends between mortal, beast, and divine. Even in chains, the chaos bleeds from him."
Maymun nodded gravely. "Then it is time we decide what must be done."
He turned back to Mike, his golden eyes narrowing, his presence filling the chamber like the weight of a storm.
"You will not be judged by whispers or shadows, Michael. You will be judged here, before those who witnessed your fall. Hamza, who bound you. Binyai, who tracked your chaos. And myself, who holds your life in balance. Speak truthfully, or remain silent, it will matter little. The truth of your essence speaks louder than words."
The chains tightened, pulling Mike upright. His feet hovered just above the polished stone floor, his chest heaving. His eyes darted between the three figures, each radiating power beyond comprehension.
Bahamut's voice rumbled inside him, low and solemn. "Stand tall, hatchling. They will weigh your soul, not your excuses. If you falter here, they will cast you into the void."
Mike swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, his thoughts fractured. For the first time since his transformation, it wasn't hunger that consumed him. It was fear.