It happened an age ago.

The story began as many others did. The land was peaceful, ruled by a just and powerful Emperor. His lands were rich and plentiful, and his people happy and vibrant. Had it been any other time, in any other life, it would have been declared a Golden Age to rival even the ancients.

But it was not to be. For from the depths of Hell came a Demon bearing the mark of a King, and following him were his vassal lords, each a devil in their own right. And so, at the turn of the millennium in the heart of the Second Empire, the Demon King revolted against life itself.

At first, the brave soldiers of the Empire fought valiantly, holding off the endless flow of Demons. For every one man felled, ten demons fell with him.

But as time crawled ever onward, the trained men of the empire slowly died, replaced again and again by green recruits, each younger than the last. And for every ten demons killed, a hundred took their place.

Soon, it became clear the Empire of Men could not hold back the demons any longer, and so the Goddess in her infinite wisdom sent forth a champion, a Hero plucked from a far off land who could surpass any other and, eventually, kill the Demon King himself.

And, after three years of constant war, the Hero met the Demon King in his Palace of Sin, and plunged his holy blade into his heart, ending him for all time.

And perhaps here the story would end. The Hero victorious, and the Demon King dead. But while the Hero was successful, he was not thorough.

For though the Demon King is dead, his vassal lords do still draw breath;

Edda the Woman-Serpent, who has conquered the six seas, sinking any ships which pass through her territory and waging war against all who live on the land;

Nytheloph The All-Seeing, whose countless eyes witness all that has been and all that could be;

The Black Knight Laurence, The Traitor of Mankind, who hides away in the old Capitol, acting out a pantomime of his lost humanity;

And The Lich-King Aethric the Undying, whose undead legions slaughter any who would dare set foot into the new realm of the demons.

For though their lord may be dead, these devil kings refuse to follow, pushing back the warriors of the righteous further and further every day. And as the years go by, defeat after defeat pile up, and even the few victories achieved only delay the inevitable.

Alas, the Hero is dead, and the heartlands of the Second Empire along with him. And though Mankind still eeks out a living in the south, it is only a matter of time before the demons return to finish what their Lord started.

And this time, there might not be a Hero to save them.

--

The city of Occia had once been one of the largest cities in the world. It sat near the southern edge of the Second Empire, growing fat and bloated off Nostratum Sea trade. It had been the seat of King Aster, the grand-uncle of the last emperor, under whose rule it had sprawled to the greatest heights it had ever seen.

Now it was a tomb. The entire population—tens of thousands of people—killed in a mass sacrifice by the Lich-King in the final years of the Demon Wars. Their corpses were then raised in turn, becoming an undying garrison which had held the line against any attempted reconquest of the Heartlands for the past thirty years.

But today that would change. Today, after decades of constant warfare, the Lich-King would die.

And it would be Sinbad the Paladin who would make sure of it.

Brandishing his holy sword 'Heilige Säuberung', Sinbad roared, burying the blade into the throat of an undead knight. Once the blade came free of the corpse he twisted, spinning around and cleaving through the skull of the next zombie in his path, not wasting a moment in his onslaught.

He fought in the narrow streets of the abandoned city, a horde of undeath before him and his few remaining allies covering his rear. As he ducked under the wild swing of another zombie he winced, his vision flickering for a moment. Biting his tongue he forced himself to stay conscious, as the days' worth of constant warfare started to catch up to him.

He'd come too far to collapse right at the finish line.

"Move!" Geronimo roared, the Dwarven warrior swinging his battle hammer in a wide arc. Sinbad had barely a moment to drop to the dirt before the hammer flew over his head and pulped the zombie behind him, followed a half-second later by a wall of concussive force that tore the shambling horde behind it off their feet.

Without blinking the Paladin rolled back to his feet, knowing that even a second of hesitation would lead to his death. The three straight days of combat after they'd broken the siege had drilled that into him more deeply than a decade as a career adventurer.

Using the momentum of his roll he cut another zombie in half, before turning to face three more bearing down on him.

There'd been an army with them, when they started this fight half a week ago. Now, Sinbad stared impassively as he cut down the corpse of a man who'd helped them breach the walls yesterday. Only three adventurers—Sinbad, Geronimo, and Rosalina—had survived long enough to make it this far. And as he cut down another former ally, Sinbad swore they'd make every sacrifice that got them this far worth it.

Hours passed and he began to lose track of time, killing and re-killing a seemingly endless horde of the undead. His exhaustion slowly began to catch up with him, his arms shaking with each swing and each step becoming more of a stumble, when suddenly his ears popped and the faint smell of the sea flooded his nostrils. He turned, and only got a faint rumbling as warning before the street was flooded, a sudden tsunami overtaking everything.

And yet as the waters reached his group they suddenly split, the rushing waves dodging them completely and instead taking out only the zombies around them. Sinbad barely blinked before both the waves and the undead army were gone, leaving only the grinning face of a scaly Drowned-Man with them in the street.

"David!" Rosalina sagged in relief, leaning on her stave in support. She looked like she was about to cry in relief.

Sinbad sympathized. They'd been one wrong move from being overwhelmed there. "Where have you been, you damn show-off!?" He grinned, reaching forward to clasp the Drowned-Man's arm. "We were worried you were dead when you didn't show up last night!"

"I thought I was too!" David grinned back, showing off row after row of jagged teeth. "Luckily for me it turns out Fleshwalkers fall apart when you blast 'em with enough saltwater, else—"

Their short reprieve was instantly cut off as the earth suddenly shook. The overgrown cobblestone streets before them suddenly exploded as giant, skeletal hands erupted from their earth, rotting flesh still clinging in chunks to the yellowing bones. The hands numbered one—two—four—eight before they grabbed the surrounding buildings and heaved, bringing the rest of their bodies out from the depths.

Or, rather, body.

"What in the Lady's name—?" Sinbad whispered, as the full demon came into view.

Eight rotting limbs, each the equivalent of an ancient oak tree in girth, connected to not a body but a titanic, jawless human head, pulsating with dozens of misshapen eyes and hacking up liters of black toxic tar with every agonized gasp.

The eyes as one turned to glare at them, and the thing let out a garbled, anguished scream, before skittering towards them like a spider with its oversized hands.

"Go!" Geronimo screamed, before letting off a shockwave of power that knocked the thing back a few blocks. It immediately got back to its feet (hands?) and charged again with its horrible cry. "I'll hold it off here!"

"But Geronimo—!"

"Don't worry about me!" he snapped back. "Just make sure you get Rosy to that damn Lich! It's taken decades to get to this point, but if we fail here it might take decades more! And I don't know 'bout you, but I'm not that patient!"

Sinbad set his jaw and nodded, grabbing Rosalina's arm and dragged her away, the half-elf only resisting for a moment before following.

"He's going to die," she whispered.

"Probably," Sinbad grimaced. "He's strong, though. Remember, as the Goddess says, have faith."

"…Faith, huh?"

They didn't speak anymore, instead focusing on their mad dash through the city. Sinbad took the lead, with Rosalina behind him and David taking up the rear. They didn't stumble across another undead at any point in their run, though they may all have decided to consolidate on the battle between Geronimo and the monstrosity that was causing skull-rattling shockwaves further back in the city.

And before they realized it, they'd made it to the center of the city.

It was a cathedral. The Cathedral. The seat of first Lady Pontiff and the old heart of the Faith. Before the demons came, this had been where pilgrims flocked to, where the Lady Pontiff appointed her bishops, where the Goddess was said to have anointed the first Emperor as Saint.

And yet, now… it was underwhelming. Little more than a ruined husk, far smaller than he'd expected. Really, even in ruin, it was underwhelming. The Cathedral of St. Alexia in Vola was grander, and it had been abandoned centuries before this city had even been founded.

Sinbad shook away those thoughts. They weren't here to sightsee—they were here to kill a demon.

Still. It was a bit disappointing.

At least that meant he wouldn't feel bad about what happened next.

Raising his sword above his head, Sinbad channeled the holy energies of the Goddess, and with a single swing let off a blast of holy energy, blowing the grand, ancient doors of the ancient Cathedral off their rusted hinges.

The three of them burst into the Cathedral, power thrumming in their hands and righteous fury in their eyes.

"So, you've made it past my spider."

And there, standing at the crumbling altar, was Lich-King Aethric himself.

And for the second time today, Sinbad was surprised. For the Lich-King, the great Demon of Death, looked surprisingly… human.

Clad in only a black battle skirt from the waist down, the Lich-King had lively bronze skin that accentuated corded muscles and a wide, powerful physique. A mane of vibrant red hair fell neatly combed from his head and was matched by an immaculate beard. The only part of the being in front of them that showed the creature's true nature were the eyes.

Those black, soulless eyes, that pinned him to the spot even from across the cathedral.

"I'll admit to being surprised. Even the old Hero struggled against my abominations, and yet here you stand, nary a hair out of place. Why, it's almost as if—"

That was as much as he got out before a ball of holy fire nearly the width of the whole Cathedral bore down on him, consuming the Lich with an explosion of light.

For a moment nobody spoke, the three of them wondering if it really could have been that easy, but none of them having the courage to voice such thoughts aloud.

"How rude!" the voice of the Lich boomed suddenly, and with a wave of power the lingering dust from the explosion was cast aside, revealing the Lich standing at the center surrounded by flickering purple barriers. With a wave of his hand they dispelled, and the Lich sighed, placing his hand on his cheek. "I was in the middle of my pre-fight monologue, too! I mean really, what has this world come to, where adventurers refuse to even let me—"

Another holy fireball slammed into him.

"Fine," the Lich snarled, "If you want to play it that way."

Sinbad blinked.

And suddenly the Lich was right there, a wicked dagger in his hand that he jammed into his helmet, bending metal with ease before—

Sinbad screamed in agony as his right eye was carved out, one hand reaching up to grasp at his helmet while the other—the one holding his sword—thrust forward on instinct, forcing the Lich away with a clumsy swing.

The Lich barely made it a step away before being blasted by briny saltwater, the pressurized blast knocking him back several feet, far enough for Rosalina to slam him with another holy fireball, though this one was much smaller than the last two. The Lich knocked it aside as the two flanked him, hitting him with holy fire from one side and salty seaspray from the other.

It gave Sinbad enough time to regain his bearings, lunging with his sword at the unprotected Lich's back only to be parried by a skeletal arm coming from under the Lich's skirt, knocking his sword away before a second arm—this one still rotting—appeared and shoved a second dagger at his waist, forcing him to back away or risk losing a leg.

Grimacing, the Paladin changed tracks, focusing instead on cutting off the many (many) undead limbs hiding beneath the Lich's skirt while Rosalina and David held his attention at range.

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And eventually, after what felt like hours of strained combat, Sinbad's good eye widened as he saw his opportunity, and with a leaping thrust that shattered the ground behind his feet, Sinbad roared forward, slamming his sword into the Lich-King's elbow. The blade sliced through bone and flesh like a hot knife through butter, cutting off his arm and leaving just a bloody stump in its place.

Sinbad had only a moment of vindication, before his eyes widened as a deluge of maggots, flies, and other insects he didn't care to name erupted from the Lich's new stump, flying towards him like a cloud of horrible death before a blast of holy fire from Rosalina incinerated them.

The Lich-King stumbled back, and was further pushed back by a blast of seawater from David, forcing him even further off balance. He raised his head, only having time to widen his eyes as Rosalina raised her stave high, another prayer on lips and flames burning on her fingers.

With a wave of her stave holy flames barreled down on the Lich-King, but just before it reached him something crashed through the roof, landing between them and blocking the attack before the holy sacrament could turn him to ash.

Sinbad swore, as the skeleton of an ancient Drake unfurled its wings between them, the holy flames cast aside with a single flap of its rotting wings. Then, without wasting a second, the Lich-King slipped into the ribcage of the undead beast which then took off, exploding out of the altar through the same hole it had entered through.

"He's escaping!" Rosalina yelped, raising her stave.

"Like Hell he is!" the Paladin roared, chasing after the two of them. Kicking off the ground with a dull boom he leaped several stories into the air, following the drake through the hole it'd left in the roof.

Landing on top of the old cathedral he snapped his head around looking for the Drake, only to swear again as he saw it already halfway across the city, flying far over the undead hordes beneath them. Raising his sword up Sinbad prepared to throw the weapon, aware that even if he hit it likely wouldn't do any real damage, before something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Not giving it a second thought he burst across the molding tiles of the ruined Cathedral, slamming to a stop in front of the old bell tower. The erect spire had once stood proudly at the crown of the holy site, but was now a ruined, crumbling mess, with only a rusted chain as evidence it had ever housed a bell at all.

But none of that mattered for what he was about to do. Reaching down to the crumbling base of the cathedral's spire he dug his fingers in, and with a single grunt of exertion tore it straight off its foundations. Not sparing another second he used the momentum of his heave to twist around and, with a roar of defiance, launched the old cathedral's spire like a javelin after the fleeing Drake.

It rocketed across the city, far faster than it had any right to, crumbling bricks and mortar falling in its wake. It gained on the Drake in an instant, the undead beast and its master barely having time to turn before the spire slammed into them, exploding on impact and shattering the Drake in two.

Then Sinbad, who had never let go of the spire in the first place, leaped over the shattering bell tower to the Drake, grabbing onto the massive ribs of the beast as it fell from the sky.

The Lich-King had barely the time to widen his eyes before the Paladin swung his sword, barely missing his heart but cutting a deep gash through his gut.

Then the three of them crashed into the city below, plowing through an abandoned house before skidding to a stop in an overgrown plaza. The skeletal Drake let out a soundless wail as it slammed into an old fountain, sending shattered bone in every direction and dropping its passengers onto the overgrown cobblestones.

The two warriors wasted no time, both leaping to their feet and attacking in tandem. The Lich snapped his good hand forward, a bolt of inverted lightning crackling forth from his fingers while the Paladin let out a roar and thrust his blessed sword towards the Lich's heart, determined not to miss this time.

Unfortunately, in their zeal to off each other they had both forgotten about the undead Drake that had fallen with them. The two halves of the Drake squirmed frantically, a soundless roar loosed from its cracked jaw as shattered bones flew forth from its undying body.

Sinbad only had enough time to bring his sword protectively in front of him before the leg of the back half kicked him, launching his body away, while the Lich got hit in the head with a flying shoulder-bone, knocking his aim off and causing him to fire the lightning bolt into the sky instead.

Sinbad slammed back first into another building, rolling to his feet just in time to dodge a follow-up lighting bolt from the Lich. He ducked down, keeping his body low as he charged again, using the time the Lich had to waste dodging his flailing construct to gain ground—

It was warm. And it was bright.

That was all the warning Sinbad got. It was all the warning he needed. He broke his charge immediately, slamming a foot on the ground and launching himself back as fast as he could.

The Lich-King, unfortunately, was not so lucky. He had just enough time to look up in the sky and stare his death in the eyes before it descended.

A second sun blazed above the rotting city, a ball of pure white flames so large it blotted out the sky, radiating heat and light and holy miasma enough to wipe a city off the map.

Which it was going to do. Right on top of him.

Sinbad had only a second to be grateful he was a paladin before his world was consumed by white.

--

Sinbad kicked open the doors of the ruined cathedral, noting at some point the roof had caved in. Probably after he used it as a launch pad, now that he thought of it.

"Hey, Rosy!" He coughed, wincing as the burns along his neck tore further at the action. "I need healing! Before I end up like this sorry chap!"

With that said he chucked the corpse he'd dragged all this way back before him, the charred corpse of the Lich-King rolling twice before slumping to a stop before the altar.

"Oh, Sinbad!" Rosalina yelped, running up to him. "I'm so, so sorry, but I saw the opportunity and I just—it might have been our only chance and—"

"Hey, hey," he coughed painfully again. "Healing first, apologies second."

"Right," she nodded sharply. Bringing her stave to bear she recited a short prayer, and Sinbad sighed in relief as he felt his burn scars start to fade away. "I'm sorry, again. Truly."

"You did what you had to," he told her, rolling his healing muscles experimentally. You had to keep moving while healing, lest your body heal too far and turn you into an invalid. "Killing the Demon General was more important than any of our lives, and the fact we succeeded is all the victory we need. That said. Please never do that again."

"Of course," she nodded firmly, before glancing down at the corpse he'd dragged along with him. Her face soured at the sight. "How is that still here, though?"

"What do you mean?"

"That should have turned it to ash, not simply killed it. Every other undead I used it on simply ceased to exist afterwards."

"Well," Sinbad hacked, coughing more ash from his lungs, "It certainly got the Drake."

She frowned at him.

"Look," he sighed, "I brought him back here to make sure either way, see? Just burn him again if you're so worried. Regardless, where'd David go? Please tell me you didn't let him start looting the cursed treasury of the Lich-King alone, did you?"

She scowled at him. "What do I look like, his mother? I told him to wait until you got back to go down there, but no~ he had to be the first to the loot every time. I'd think him avaricious if I didn't already know it."

Sinbad sighed, rolling his newly healed shoulders. "Whatever. At least he'd get himself cursed now instead of before the fight."

Rosalina scoffed, before glaring down at the Lich-King's charred corpse. She slammed the butt of her stave as hard as she could into its gut, and instantly it lit up in holy flames again.

Sinbad frowned at the uncharacteristic sight. "Hey, are you okay? You're not usually this… grumpy. Did David say something?"

"It's nothing," she shook her head. "Or rather, it just… it doesn't feel real. I mean, I know killing the Lich-King is what we came here to do, but…"

"…Yeah, I get it," Sinbad grasped her shoulder in solidarity. "A decade of planning, and we succeed at only what the Hero ever managed to do—killing a Demon Lord."

"…Yes. We did."

Sinbad gave her a relieved smile, before clapping her shoulder once again. "I'll go find David before he actually gets himself cursed, if you're fine up here?"

At her reluctant nod, he gave her one more reassuring smile before descending down into the former Lich-King's sanctum after their friend.

Rosalina stayed behind, staring at the holy flames, snapping and crackling and roaring as they purged the unholy creature before her. Glancing back at the defiled altar behind them, she worried her bottom lip, something ugly building up within her heart.

"Yes. We did," she whispered. "And yet, even after he died, the Goddess had yet to reclaim her old home. Almost as if it has been abandoned."

She glanced back at the corpse before her, burning merrily at the foot of the altar.

"Or, perhaps, because even in death the mere memory of the Demon King holds our hearts far tighter than the Goddess ever could."

--

"David!" Sinbad shouted as he descended further into the crypts of the Lich-King. "David! If you aren't dead, shout back already!"

"Oi, Sinbad! You're still alive!" David's cheery voice echoed from around the corner. "Come check this out! I think I found something!"

With a roll of his eyes and a sigh, the Paladin marched around the corner and, as he expected, found his friend half-buried in a chest, gold and silver trinkets scattered around his feet.

The Drowned-Man pulled himself out of the chest, grinning at him with his too-sharp teeth. "I think I found the bastard's treasury!"

Sinbad didn't respond, simply marching up to the Drowned-Man and slapping him upside the head.

"Ouch! Hey, what was that for?!"

"That was for being a greedy idiot!" Sinbad shot back. "What is the first rule of adventuring!? Don't loot obviously cursed objects by yourself! Especially not the Lich-King's cursed objects."

David huffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah yeah, I know. I'm not that dumb," he raised his hands, covered in thick dragon-hide gloves and engraved with holy scripture. "See? I'm not touching any of this stuff until we get it appraised."

"…Fine," Sinbad sighed, rubbing his forehead only to wince as the new flesh tore slightly. "What did you find in this thing?"

David shrugged, moving out of the way to let him look in the chest himself. "Eh, nothing much, I don't think. Just that thing."

Sinbad raised an eyebrow, glancing in the chest. 'That' was a necromancer's staff, a long stick of decorated wood with a human skull attached to the top. It looked well-made, but unused, if the thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering it was anything to go by.

"Think it's important?"

Sinbad grimaced, looking at the rest of the chest, covered in dust and filled with broken weapons and shattered artifacts. It didn't look like anything in there had been touched in an age.

"I think you found the demon's junk drawer," Sinbad told him dryly, rolling his eyes.

"Damn, and here I thought I'd struck gold."

"Well, we might be able to sell it for gold if we find a buyer gullible enough. More likely, though, we'll just chuck it at the guild and hope for a finder's fee."

David groaned. "So we kill one of the most dangerous demons known to man, and yet we only get paid enough to afford dry pasta? Something about that doesn't add up, boss."

"That sounds like a problem for future us," Sinbad told him, grabbing the Drowned-Man's arm and dragging him back to the surface. "Current us, however, should make sure Rosy hasn't burned down the rest of the city without us. You can loot to your heart's content later, got it?"

"Ugh, fine."

And as they turned their backs, unseen by any of the adventurers, the skull's eyes began to glow faintly, the powers of the cosmos swirling in their depths.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the glow faded, once more becoming nothing more than an inert skull.

It wasn't time.

Not yet.