Imrathil watched and waited for the Elf to disappear, before walking into the ruined fortress. He leapt over the collapsed gate, landing swiftly on the other side and causing the dust and grime to explode around him, like a puff of white smoke. Ashes and powdered bone, Imrathil mused, not mere dirt; there was death here, fluttering in the air and lingering on the ground, a dreary greyness that seemed to permeate the very land itself, staining every rock, every stone in a dour color that seemed to drain all life and vibrance. A mortal would slowly lose their years of life just by being here. It didn’t work on him, of course, because he technically wasn’t even human anymore; to that end, Imrathil wasn’t certain if he was still alive.

With a shake of his head, the knight crouched low and laid his hand upon the pavestone ground and closed his eyes.

There was magic at work here, some ancient force that was eating away at the lifeblood of the region. It pulsated and throbbed underneath the city, a corrupting force that twisted the very fabric of the world.

Was this the demon’s work?

It seemed unlikely, but Imrathil had a feeling he would find out, either way.

He stood up and walked towards the ruined and withered fortress.

The entrance to the main hallway remained relatively intact. While Imrathil could very easily make his own entrance by jumping through one of the numerous windows, a part of him was interested in seeing the desolation that was inside. He pushed open the double doors and watched as the things simply fell of their hinges with a loud, but deep groan that sent them falling and clanging on the floor, the loud noise echoing throughout the fortress. Imrathil paused and waited for the demon to show up or react, but only silence greeted him.

He stepped inside and frowned at the smell of old death and ancient decay, of lingering dust and ruinous rust. The floor was covered in powdered bone and ashes, like the ground outside. Ancient bits of armors and weapons lay scattered about, most of them having long since tasted the slow and withering bitterness of time. Necklaces, rings, and braces were also a part of the ruined pile, some bearing the insignias of the people who once wore them, noble families that had likely already gone extinct.

At the end of the main hallway were old portraits of the lords that ruled here, each one painted in a unique style so that no portrait would ever be identical to the other. Imrathil walked towards them and paused, eyeing each one. He didn’t recognize most of the faces, though some of them were covered in so much dust that it didn’t matter if he did. One face, however, was one that he did remember, Sir Douglas Arthur, Knight-Governor of Greensedge, an old friend. The man’s portrait depicted him in his later years, an overgrown beard where the young knight had once been a beardless youth as Imrathil remembered. And yet, the portrait also perfectly captured Douglas’ heterochromatic eyes, which helped him capture the hearts of many a young maiden.

Imrathil chuckled softly to himself, his mind briefly wandering to the past, in the days when he and Douglas would get into trouble with their drinking games in the local taverns. “I hope you lived a good life, my old friend.”

Flights of stairs ascended from either side of him. The one on the left, however, was cracked and ruined, and covered in rubble. So, Imrathil turned right and walked up the dusty steps. He glanced down for a moment, noting the bones that weren’t powdered, portions of skulls and femurs, finger-bones and ribs that broke and shattered under the weight of his steps. There were a few weapons here and there, daggers and spears, and the remnants of them, mostly devoured by rot and rust.

He reached the upper floor and found blackened and scorched remains of unrecognizable things on the floor, alongside mangled cloths and metal, and bones. It was still hot. It’d been set alight a few hours ago, before his arrival. The smell of dark magic lingered in the air, alongside the scent of brimstone and old blood. Along the walls were massive gouges and partially-melted sections of masonry that’d dripped onto the ground, where numerous Elven arrows rested, their tips blunted and broken. On the eastern end were mounds and mounds of rubble and skeletal remains, and on the western end was the open window, the glass long since shattered and its frame melted. Still, there were bits and pieces of what once was a beautiful piece of stained glass.

Such a shame, Imrathil mused. This fortress would’ve been beautiful in its height.

Imrathil stepped forward and breathed in.

The Demon was still here, but apparently wasn’t in the mood to meet him. Is it on the higher floors?

He glanced around and shrugged. This wasn’t a good place to fight in, anyway; it was too narrow and far too cramped. Imrathil always preferred fighting out in the open, where he could utilize the full extent of his physical prowess; though, it wasn’t to say that he couldn’t fight in tight spaces, he just didn’t want to. It was good thing, then, that the Demon wasn’t here.

Just as Imrathil was about to take another step, the fortress rumbled, a primal roar echoing from… the roof. The floor shook, debris bouncing up and down, kicking up clouds of dust into the air; from the ceiling came puffs of ashes and smoke. The air thrummed and vibrated with dark magic. The Demon’s roar echoed across the desolate halls, like the grinding and breaking of rusted metal, and the cracking of ancient ice; it was a most unpleasant sound, but also one that was most familiar.

It was definitely a High-Level Demon; specifically, a Magnus Dominus Ignis, a Fire Demon that stood at the pinnacle of its race. No wonder the Elven Host failed to kill it; even if Lady Maranael marched at the helm of an army of thousands, if they did not possess the right weapon or possessed high enough base stats, then most of the damage they thought they were doing would be negated by the creature’s natural resistance. A Magnus Dominus Ignis was the type of enemy that either died very easily, in the case wherein the proper weapons were brought to bear, or the type of enemy that needed to be pummeled to oblivion until its bones broke and shattered, and its muscles tore.

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The latter option was the most fun, but such battles often led to an equal magnitude of destruction, leaving entire forests ruined or farmlands reduced to ashes.

Imrathil grinned. It has been a very long time since he got to fight one of those. The last one was during the Battle in the Volantar Fields, where Abbalor the Terrible, led a host of Fire Demons, including hundreds of Magnus Dominus Ignis demons, whose presence shook the earth and caused mountains to tremble. The Knights of Dol Morag fought alongside the Knights of the Black Hearth, the Order of the Blazing Sun, the Wolf-Knights of Leto, and the Wind Riders of Kemet in a brutal battle that paved the way into the heartlands of the Demon King’s domain; many good men and women died in the battle, having sacrificed their lives for something much greater than themselves. The blood of men flowed with the blood of demons.

He reached the roof quickly enough; following the source of the roar, Imrathil walked up an ascent of stairs whose steps were covered in scorch marks, until he reached the balcony of the fortress, a wide and open area that’d once been a garden. Whatever plant life had once lingered there had long since perished in the inevitable decay of time. More than that, however, was the dark magic that lingered in the air itself, drinking dry the life of whatever walked the land.

Imrathil breathed in the cold night air as he beheld the creature that’d laid its claim upon the ruined fortress. He smiled and slowly walked towards it. “Good evening; it’s a good night to die, isn’t it?”

A snarl was the only answer he’d ever receive.

It smoldered beneath the darkness of the sky on a starless and moonless night, a demon of the ancient world. It stood taller than any man at a height of nearly ten meters. Its skin was not skin at all, but molten rock and liquid fire, stretched across bulging, unnatural muscles. Its face was akin to a wild dog’s, with a long snout that was filled with jagged teeth; saliva hissed and dripped from its open maw, whereupon a forked tongue snaked through and slithered in the open air. Its eyes blazed like coals in a furnace. Massive black horns jutted out of its head, extending outwards and then coiling into itself, like the horns of a ram. Its powerful legs ended in hooves and a long, spiny tail coiled around its forms. Leathery wings extended from its back, tattered and withered and set aflame.

In its right hand, it held a wicked and jagged sword. In its left hand, it carried a shield that burned with purple fire.

“What are you?” The demon’s voice was akin to the rumbling in the mountains before an avalanche. It sniffed the air and grimaced. “You’re not human.”

Imrathil smiled at the creature as he approached even closer, stopping a few meters away from its towering form. The heat it emitted was uncomfortable, but nothing more. The ground hissed around it. And the layer of stone beneath its feet was aflame. Unfortunately, his clothes – or the rags he happened to wake up in – were starting to burn. That was not good. He needed to finish this quickly, before he ended up naked. “Does my presence aggravate you, demon? Do you not recognize me?”

Imrathil took another step forward, daring the creature to strike. He leaned in and smiled. “You’re weak.”

“Puny creature, I will smite you!” Despite its great size, the demon blurred as it moved to strike him with its jagged blade. The ground exploded when its weapon met nothing but open air and was carried by its momentum onto the stone. Imrathil slid beneath its legs. The back of the demon’s legs were exposed, though that particular window of opportunity would only last an eighth of a second. It was enough time.

Imrathil reared back his fist and unleashed a powerful haymaker upon the back of the demon’s right knee. His knuckles collided against the creature’s hard skin and broke through. And then, it broke through sinew, and ended when it cracked bone. The demon roared in pain and subconsciously lashed out with its wings and tail. Imrathil leapt back and stood at the edge of the balcony. He stood and waited as the creature limped and turned. Its ugly face was contorted in pain; it was not used to the sensation. “How dare you hurt me, mortal?! For that, I shall flay your flesh from your bones!”

Imrathil grinned, the edges of his lips widening and widening and widening.

The demon stomped its broken leg down on the floor and roared; cracks quickly begun spreading across the balcony, the ancient stone floor slowly losing cohesion. Crimson flames snaked around its injury and the wound quickly closed shut, leaving only a small scar in its place.

“Witness your own destruction!” It surged forth, attacking with a low sweep of its blade that forced Imrathil into the air, which brought him close to the creature’s face. Before it could react, he threw a quick jab at its right eye. The demon roared and lashed out with its horns. In the open air, Imrathil could only cross his arms over his chest as he was sent hurling down the edge of the balcony and onto the graveyard of broken stone and mangled metal in the fortress’ courtyard.

He laughed as he fell.

The demon leapt after him, spreading its wings and controlling its descent.

Meanwhile, Imrathil landed full force on his back, cracking the ground around him, cascading outwards in a web-like pattern.

The fire demon landed on its hoofed legs, snarling as it roared and beat its chest in triumph.

Imrathil pushed himself up and chuckled as he wiped dirt and debris from his ruined clothes. The fall rattled his head and he suspected he’d be nursing some back pain for a few days, but that was nothing serious.

Again, he walked towards the fire demon.

His purple eyes seemed to drink the colors of the world as he approached. And his grin was far too wide as it revealed his teeth. His chuckles turned to laughter for a few moments. And when he spoke, the world trembled. “Show… me… more.”

Just as the demon reared its ugly head to charge again, it froze, blazing eyes widening. Its legs trembled. Its knees suddenly weak as it beheld an entirely new sensation. The shadows seemed to stretch around it and the flames that burned across its form flickered away. It took a single step back, hands shaking. Imrathil kept walking towards it. And the once-fearsome creature kept backing away towards the fortress walls. The massive demon seemed to shrink. “Who are you?”

With its blazing eyes, it looked into the soul of its enemy and found a darkness so deep it seemed to drink the very world.

"I'll ask you again, for the last time," Imrathil’s form seemed to grow in height, towering over the fearsome beast. The darkness grew around him. “Do you not recognize me?”

Imrathil chuckled. And the Demon Lord knew fear.