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Chapter 10 - Better the Devil

The Demon Prince stood, easily a dozen feet in height and as muscular as Goreblaster was… uh, also muscular. There was a crackle of foul-smelling magic as a black longsword, etched with burning runes tore its way into reality and into the clawed hand of the creature.

“Do what do I owe the pleasure, mortal?” The voice was a low hiss that seemed to come from several locations at once, almost as uncomfortable to the barbarian’s ears as the small stone in his boot was to his foot.

“I am the human hero, Goreblaster, and I am here to kill you until you are dead,” the response came jilted, as he tried not to cough on the smouldering smoke snaking its way through the chamber.

“But why?”

“I’m… under contract? Honestly, it’s been a bit of a botched operation so far.” He shrugged, knowing full well that Percy would have some stern words for him if he returned home having accosted a Demon Prince but not vanquished the monster. If he returned, he reminded himself.

“That’s fair. Say, you don’t want to make a deal with me, perhaps? A contract of our own?”

“What could you offer?” No harm in hearing the Prince out; it was only polite.

At first, the response was nothing but a wide grin - two rows of perfectly white fangs that seemed to stretch on for far too long before reaching a reasonable limit. The dentistry was more impressive than it was intimidating, although the insurance must be hell. Haha.

The Prince rested the longsword across his shoulder and rubbed his chin. “Pretty much anything you could desire. Wealth, fame, and undue adoration of the masses. Validation? I’m kind of getting that vibe from you.”

“Hey, I am pretty secure in all facets of my personality and being, thank you.”

“Ooh,” the Demon wiggled his fingers in mock surprise, “Big words for such a short man.”

Goreblaster closed his eyes, the knuckles on his hand holding Pureheart whiter than the sunbleached skeleton of an albino snowman. “Say that again,” he seethed through clenched teeth.

“Ohhh no! Seems I hit a nerve there, Mr Insecureblaster,” the Prince mocked, much to the delight of the gathered crowd at the palace entrance behind the barbarian.

Pureheart was levelled at the evil creature, a flickering flame of blue beginning to build on the runed shortsword. Despite having an impressive vocal range, Goreblaster chose to let his actions have a little limelight for a change, and speak louder than his words. Which was impressive because his next words were “DIE DEMON.” And he said them really loudly, like wow even the imps turned a paler shade of red at the outburst.

But then he was moving, the thirty or so feet between the two of them covered almost in an instant as a thick blue afterglow streaked in his wake - Pureheart now lit as if in mimicry of the hellscape they found themselves in. The Demon Prince did not disappoint and proved to be even quicker than his smaller brethren - which made sense as it was doubtful he was elected democratically for his intellectual progressiveness - the clue is in the name Prince, right?

Stolen story; please report.

Goreblaster blurred across the smooth black tiles of the palace floor, the Demon responding in kind as they both avoided each other until weapons connected - power surging forth from the impact and blowing unswept dust across the room, slightly embarrassing the Prince for the shoddy housekeeping. A second blow as each weapon weaved through the air expertly - where ever one struck, the other was there to block.

Flurries of furious blows came out left and right, sometimes in other directions too. The crowd of gathered gawkers unable to keep up with the action as each fighter became a haze of movement, minor cuts spraying thin slivers of black or red blood across the room in a very misguided attempt to redecorate the already red and black chamber. Then almost suddenly, there was a moment of impasse, as both fighters stood still to regain their breath and size each other up.

A continuous thudding noise rose over the din of the battle - at first hard to hear due to the pounding of his own heartbeats, but soon the crowd turned with murmured confusion to face back to the street. Their cries of panic and surprise came too late as a large figure barrelled through them, knocking them down and crushing some under large feet. The bog troll bellowed out in rage into the palace - seemingly throwing a challenge to someone.

Goreblaster took this brief moment of distraction to stab the Prince in the foot, as the demon yelled out in pain, eyes ablaze as he admonished the barbarian.

“Why you cheap little son of a-”

Whatever insult (answers on a postcard!) the Demon had begun to levy against Goreblaster was cut short, as the troll barged into the both of them, knocking them into a big pile on the floor.

Goreblaster glared at the troll, the putid breath of the monster almost suffocating him as they writhed around and tried to each find their footing and advantage over the other two - but then, the troll looked uglier than usual, what was… The colour drained from his face as his adrenaline surged - the troll had the Gateway stone embedded into their forehead! He reached out and grabbed at the stuck magic item, the troll growling and threatening to bite his arm, as the Demon beneath them tried to squirm away.

With a small pop, the stone came out, and the bellowing rage of the troll subsided - an almost relieved expression washing over the bulbous face. The troll then shifted their weight, instead fully putting pressure on the Prince, who hissed as his legs became further trapped. However, Goreblaster was now free to roll away from the melee.

The barbarian stood and whipped Pureheart down in an attack without hesitation, spitting the head of the Demon Prince before the creature could writhe any further word from his evil, but well-taken-care-of, mouth. Black blood and brain matter slid out in perhaps one of the least fun ways, and the crowd grew silent, suddenly wanting to be somewhere else right now.

The bog troll stood, and placed the blackened crown on his head - a goofy but now very intimidating grin spreading across his face, glaring at the gathered imps and lesser demons.

“Welp, my job here is done; I’m sure there are no repercussions for this.” Goreblaster rubbed the stone against one of his fresh wounds and the sigil flared up, a familiar portal appearing and enveloping him as his world turned dark.

Perhaps the second worst tongue he had ever felt, lapped at his ear.

“Ayy Fernando,” he groaned, face down in some light dirt that was remarkably cooling to his scorched skin. “You there too, Percy?”

“Yup,” the frank reply came.

“I killed a Dream Eater, two trolls, countless demons, and a Demon Prince - all for nothing, right?”

“Yup.” The sound of shuffling paperwork could be heard from above him. “Wait, two trolls?”

“Next question,” Goreblaster dismissed, not wanting to leave his uncomfortable, yet soothing position.

“Town a couple of miles from here is about to be attacked by Werehippos - you up for it?”

“Will there be people to watch?”

“Most definitely.”

Goreblaster blew the dirt away from his mouth and sighed, lifting himself up from the ground to embark on another adventure.