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Chapter 9 - Brimestoneblaster

The buildings of this city were cruel and twisted, much like the imp he had just broken the neck of. Dark grey stone houses stood tall with odd golden detailing that shimmered when you tried to look at them. I advise avoiding the potential discomfort of the attempt. In seeing the utter destruction Goreblaster had been waging through his jaunt towards the hinted-at palace, most of the smaller flying demons had made the decision to remain behind closed doors - or to find a door worthy of getting behind.

Goreblaster cared not for these wimpy broods, not only was there no glory in cutting down the soft red-bellied minions, but his sword arm was getting a cramp from the effort. It was by no means the first horde he had chewed through like a hunger-starved corn-eating world champion back at the top of his game, but perhaps he had just landed on his shoulder funny when he portalled through.

In any event, finding a way back home was his main priority, as he was not winning any prizes for being that guy who got stuck in hell and killed demons until he keeled over. Even though he imagined that the prize would probably be a really neat statue (showing off his impressive height) or some literary tales to inspire the youth of the world. Neither of those things made him feel good right now though, and unless hell happened to have some prestigious ale bars and mixed harems, then it didn’t even appeal as a temporary vacation spot either.

A gust of hot wind blew down one way of a crossroads, and he looked along the dark cobbled street to see bigger demons on fast approach - easily taller than he (not an easy feat, honest!) with the same dark red skin, but much better equipped. If the tough bad guys are coming from that way, then the palace could be that way too, he reasoned to himself - promptly knocking the remaining brave imp away and charging forth to meet the advancing demons.

Pain flared down his upper right arm, as the blade of a bright red sword caught him. They were faster than he anticipated, and he caught himself having to actually weigh his attacks and angles of approach properly versus this foe. And then a second, with a third almost at the fray - the melee turned into a whirr of arcs of flashing blue and red as parries and blocks were made, neither party gaining any advantage, only the bites of sharp edges due to momentary lax defence.

Small rivulets of crimson ran down the arms and immaculately swole chest of Goreblaster as he struggled for breath. Why had they never considered the heat down here? Noise up ahead drew his attention, as two more of these warrior-demons were approaching from the same direction. Time was running out, so he had to rely on the other two of the three fighting tenets Percy kept drumming into him: Strength and Smarts. Three of these monsters were definitely on par with him for strength; a further two would not fare well.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

He rolled to the side and hopped back against the rough brimstone wall of one of the local buildings - some kind of imp veterinarian - putting him to the side of the three that had been assailing him. As they turned to reposition, this gave him a brief one vs one advantage - using his brain to leverage his strength. Percy would be proud, wherever he may be. Before the demons could get into a better formation, Goreblaster leapt at the solo one, grabbing the arm to prevent a slash from the red-hot blade and instead cutting through the side of the neck of the oddly shocked yet still definitely very demonic face of his attacker.

Black blood spewed forth, and the barbarian used the momentum to push forward, setting the second warrior to be flat-footed, allowing Goreblaster to have a better roll against their defences. A disarming strike, followed by an arc embedding into the demon’s chest - he wasn’t sure if they had hearts, but this was where humanoids kept (most of ;)) their important meaty bits. The demon apparently agreed with this synopsis and was considerate enough to fall over dead. Demon number three apparently failed his leadership check almost asking for the beheading that was promptly delivered, priority shipping.

A blue glow surrounded Goreblaster as the fear from the Demons gave him power, confidence, and further glory to gain. It was not as succulent as the worship and hopes of those he sought to save and impress, but in the hell, all by himself with no witness - he was Goreblaster, and there was gore to be blasted.

The demonic adds never saw what hit them, which was not to say that they were blind, only that the speed in which- oh you probably knew what I meant. Like a spinning wheel of blue light, Pureheart, wielded by the barbarian carved up the two opposition like a traditional holiday duck (or goose/chicken/turkey/foulbrek depending on culture). Despite almost slipping over and twisting his manly ankle, he managed to keep his poise and ran off up the now slightly inclined road.

Sparse imps and occasional warriors fell to his blade as reinforcements didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to gather a consolidated attempt to put the rampaging barbarian in his place. As the streets grew darker with the slain, Goreblaster looked upon his desired quarry - the foretold palace, a building grander and more twisted than those before it. To call it opulent would be to curse the normality of the good and the living; just gazing upon the foul machinations of the construction would turn any lesser man mad, or at least really discomforted.

Two demonic guards stood at the large double doors - until they didn’t. On account of not having enough limbs to perform that function any more. Goreblaster wedged Pureheart into the gap between the two doors, like a last desperate attempt to open that jar that has that one last pickled egg you are really craving, and twisted it, splintering the door along the foul black wood - the burst of hot at as it collapsed almost scorching the finely sculpted eyebrows straight off his face.

There, sitting atop the most evilest of twisted thrones, a blackened crown sat atop the head of a foul creature.

The Demon Prince bared his fangs and laughed at the tiny mortal (who was above average height).