“This time, no other weaklings could help you,” the demon sneered, his voice echoing through the arena with a menacing growl. His red eyes glowed, fixed on Roger Blake, who remained silent and steady, undeterred by the demon’s taunts.

As tension rose, a hush fell over the crowd. They watched, enraptured, as Roger Blake and the demon faced off at the arena’s center. Roger stood tall, his polished armor gleaming under the fiery lights above, his massive sword resting confidently in his grip. Across from him, the demon radiated fury, his crimson skin pulsing with dark energy, eyes blazing with unquenchable rage. His entire form seemed to shimmer with the heat of barely contained fire.

Without warning, the demon lunged forward, and his hands ignited with furious flames. Fire roots burst from his fingertips, snaking across the arena floor towards Roger. The roots scorched everything they touched, leaving trails of blackened earth and thick plumes of smoke in their wake. The acrid scent filled the air, and spectators recoiled, shielding their faces from the blistering heat.

Roger, unfazed, raised his sword and met the first wave of the demon’s attack with a precise, fluid movement, slicing through the searing roots as though they were mere wisps of smoke. His motions were swift and graceful, the result of years of practice and instinct honed in countless battles. For every fire root that reached him, Roger was ready, his blade flashing as he cut each one down with effortless skill.

The demon roared in frustration, his rage intensifying. With a howl, he slammed his fists into the ground, and more fire roots erupted, this time encircling Roger from all sides, their radiant heat warping the air around him. The arena itself seemed to tremble, cracks forming in the ground as flames licked upward, casting everything in a lurid, otherworldly light. The air grew thick with smoke and heat, stifling even the murmurs of the crowd. But Roger remained calm, a steady presence amid the inferno. He parried each attack with practiced precision, his armor reflecting the flames harmlessly away as he held his ground.

With each strike, Roger advanced, slicing through the demon’s fiery onslaught like a knife through butter. His stance and movements carried the confidence of a seasoned warrior, his armor absorbing the brunt of the demon’s attacks without even a scratch. The demon, now visibly desperate, drew upon every ounce of his power, summoning an immense surge of fire roots that erupted from the ground and converged on Roger all at once.

Roger’s grip tightened, his eyes narrowing in determination as he assessed the chaos surging toward him. He took a steady breath, focusing all his energy. With a powerful swing, he cleaved through the massive attack, sending a shockwave through the arena that rippled outward, forcing the demon to stagger back, panting, weakened by his own efforts.

Seeing his opponent falter, Roger seized the opportunity. He charged forward, his sword a blur of motion as he closed the distance between them. The demon scrambled to summon more fire roots, but Roger was too fast. In a flash, Roger was upon him, his sword crashing down with a force that reverberated through the arena like a thunderclap.

The demon crumpled to the ground, his fire roots flickering and sputtering out, reduced to embers. The arena, now a smoldering wreck of scorched earth and broken stone, fell silent. Roger stood over his fallen foe, his armor unscathed, his gaze unwavering.

“That was for all the damage you’ve done,” Roger said quietly, his voice firm but edged with a rare touch of respect. He lowered his sword, turning to face the exit in quiet triumph.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

But just as he took his first step away, a chilling laugh echoed through the arena, sending a shiver through the crowd. Roger halted, instantly alert. He turned, his eyes widening as he saw the demon rising slowly to his feet, his eyes blazing with an intense, unnatural light.

“I’m not done yet,” the demon hissed, his voice dripping with venom and desperation. His body shook with strain, every muscle taut as he poured the last remnants of his power into a final, desperate effort.

The ground beneath the demon began to tremble, rumbling as his powers spiraled out of control. Fire roots erupted once more, but this time they were fused with tendrils of stone and earth, creating a chaotic fusion of molten rock and flame. The roots twisted, writhing like living creatures as they formed rivers of molten lava, coursing toward Roger with terrifying speed.

Roger’s eyes narrowed, his grip on his sword tightening as he assessed the approaching storm of fire and stone. He could see the strain in the demon’s face, the barely contained chaos of his attack. The demon was unraveling, losing control with each desperate surge of energy.

Taking a slow, steady breath, Roger made his decision. He stood his ground, calm and resolute, as the fiery wave surged closer. The arena was filled with the cacophony of sizzling heat, cracking stone, and roaring flames, but Roger’s focus was unbreakable.

The demon screamed, pouring everything he had into his attack. The lava surged forward like a tidal wave, a mass of destruction bearing down on Roger. But just as it reached him, the demon’s power faltered, his control slipping. The chaotic energy of the attack turned inward, spiraling wildly out of control. The lava twisted into a vortex, forming a swirling maelstrom of fiery destruction.

Roger took a single step back, his gaze never leaving the demon, watching as the vortex grew larger and larger, its heat and intensity swelling to a fever pitch. Then, with a final deafening roar, the vortex exploded, sending a shockwave through the arena that rattled the stands and whipped dust and ash into the air.

When the dust settled, Roger stood alone in the center of the crater, his armor gleaming, untouched by the demon’s final assault. Across from him, the demon lay motionless, his body broken, his energy spent.

Roger approached his defeated opponent cautiously, his sword lowered but still at the ready. He gazed down at the demon, who lay weakened and fading, the last remnants of his rage dimming in his eyes.

“You fought well,” Roger murmured, a hint of respect softening his tone. “But your anger was your downfall.”

The demon’s lips curled into a snarl, even as he struggled to lift himself. “Shut up,” he spat, his voice barely a whisper.

Roger tilted his head, unphased. “Not enough, huh?” he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of finality.

The demon, unable to contain his fury, snarled, his eyes blazing with the last flickers of his failing power. “Even my lava…not enough?!” His voice trembled with despair as he muttered, “This is it, mortal! Feel the wrath of the Spear of a Dying Demon!”

With the last of his strength, the demon thrust his hands into the earth. His fire roots coiled and twisted, merging with jagged stone to form a massive spear. Molten lava ran down its length, and arcs of crackling lightning pulsed along its surface, surrounding it with an aura of furious heat and power.

Roger watched, his heart pounding as sweat formed on his brow. For a brief moment, doubt flickered in his mind. Could even his defenses withstand such a formidable weapon? But he steeled himself, gripping his shield tightly, feeling the comforting weight of its light and wind enchantments. This shield was his only hope.

With a guttural scream, the demon hurled the spear. The air sizzled, and time seemed to slow as it hurtled towards Roger, leaving a trail of searing heat in its wake. In that heartbeat, Roger bellowed, “Light Root, Wind Shield—activate!”

At the final moment, Roger’s shield erupted with a radiant burst of light and swirling wind. The spear collided with the shield, locking them in a fierce, blinding struggle of raw power. Roger gritted his teeth, summoning every ounce of his will as he pushed against the unstoppable force.