Their eyes locked—one brimming with unshaken pride, the other burning with raw disgust. Michael was at his lowest, his worst. A broken leg throbbed beneath him, its source a mystery. His body felt unbearably heavy, drained from a single attack. Confusion weighed on him—where was he? What was this place?
In the metallic haze, one thing stood out: an iron door behind Mr. Bola. It loomed, ominous yet oddly grounding, like a faint beacon in a storm. Michael's gaze lingered on it as he fought to calm his chaotic thoughts. He needed clarity. Calmness was his only weapon now.
Taking a steadying breath, he finally spoke. "What do you want?"
Mr. Bola chuckled, his voice laced with condescension. "If I remember correctly, you're the one who tried to break my neck with that feeble kick a few minutes ago."
He began walking toward Michael, bending down to grasp his dangling leg. Michael, helpless, could only stare. Bola chuckled again, a dark, resonant sound.
"Control Z," he muttered.
Immediately, Michael's leg reverted to its normal state. The pain vanished. Not only that, but the crushing exhaustion lifted entirely. Sensing an opportunity, Michael acted instantly. Using one hand to push himself up and twist his body for momentum, he aimed a surprise strike at Bola. But Bola moved faster. With a cold precision, he caught Michael's leg mid-twist.
Michael wasn't done yet. His eyes began to bleed, crimson streaks dripping like liquid fire. Bola's expression flickered with intrigue as Michael stretched his hand forward, the energy building.
But Bola's calm voice cut through.
"Shift."
Before the energy could take form, Michael's body was slammed with an invisible force, hurling him into the metallic wall. The impact sent a sickening crack through the room as his bones screamed in protest. Michael crumpled, gasping for air, but Bola was already there, his presence looming.
"Control Z," Bola said casually, and once again, Michael's body reset, the pain dissolving.
This time, Bola dropped him, allowing him to stand. His tone shifted, edged with something almost paternal. "Michael, stop. You're smart enough to know you can't escape this room, no matter how much that iron door behind me tempts you. With a word, I could erase you, break every bone in your body. You're not a threat to me, not yet. But you have potential."
Bola stepped closer, his voice low and commanding. "The power you wield isn't normal. It's dangerous—more to you than to anyone else. Until you can control it fully, it will kill you. Slowly, agonizingly. I'll help you master it. I'll train you. After all, your father wanted me to."
At the mention of his father, Michael's fury ignited.
"Bola," he spat, his voice sharp with venom. "I don't understand this twisted game you're playing, but I want nothing to do with my father—or you. Both of you only use me to satisfy your own selfish goals. If I could, I'd kill you both right now. So spare me the dramatics and stop raising your hand. I'm not running. I know I can't beat you. Not yet. But mark my words—I will kill you, Bola."
Bola laughed, a deep, mocking sound that echoed in the metallic room.
"Michael Ozor," he said, the name dripping with mock reverence. "You can lie to yourself all you want, but we both know you love your father too much to ever truly hate him. As for me, I'm in no rush. I'll wait for the day you can kill me. In fact, I'll train you to do it. Consider this our new arrangement.
"But understand this, boy. I don't tolerate weakness. The power within you chose you for reasons I can't begin to fathom, but if you misuse it—if you keep letting yourself be ruled by blind rage—I'll take everything from you. Piece by piece. The girl you care so much about? I'll rip her from you without hesitation. Because the Michael I want isn't this reckless fool. I want the Michael who thinks, who strategizes, who controls."
Bola's voice dropped, his tone chilling. "So behave. Or I'll destroy the things you love until you have nothing left but me. After all…" He smiled cruelly. "I love you. I hate you. I want you alive. And I want you dead."
Bola waved his hand dismissively. "Now begone."
The metallic room blurred, and in an instant, Michael found himself standing before the door to his room. His fists clenched, his mind racing, fury and confusion swirling like a storm.
Meanwhile, back in his office, Bola leaned back in his chair, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He stared at the screen before him, the camera focused not on Michael but on Elizabeth.
"My soon-to-be queen," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with sinister intent.