“Ah, Hero,” the Demon Lord said from his resting position in the library, seated casually at his small desk. He gently closed the book in front of him before glancing up. “I was wondering if you were going to make it.”
“Who are you?” the Hero asked, struggling to hold back his rage. The halls behind him were lined with bodies and blood, some of it from demons but much more of it from humans.
“Ah, right,” the Demon Lord said before reaching out for a small glass, drinking from it for a moment. “Names are such fluid things, are they not? Titles are so much more important. Hero, Chosen, Guide, pretender, god, queen, noble. A name can be changed, altered. In the end, they mean nothing. But a title? A title holds significance. It tells you so much. So my title is simple. I am the Demon Lord.”
“The what?” the Hero asked.
“Hm,” the Demon Lord said before shaking his head again. “No, that title means nothing to you, does it? Not yet, at least. But then, why would it? You are the Hero. A god amongst men. Every movement you make, every breath you take, every single word you say shifts the world in ways most could never begin to imagine. An unstoppable bastion of purity. Favorite child of the fates, the prized trophy of the gods and the savior of the world. He who cannot fail. Though the world crumble and fall, the Hero alone will stand against the darkness that threatens to envelop it.”
“You mock me with riddles,” the Hero said. He held his blood-soaked sword so tightly his hands were turning white, but he had to be patient. This foul demon would meet his end before long.
“Mmm, yes, I suppose to you they must be riddles,” the Demon Lord said. “Imagine how I must feel, being opposite a force such as yourself? Truly, it is a terrifying, meaningless existence.”
“Then you’re giving up?” the Hero asked. “You surrender, just like that?”
“Hardly,” the Demon Lord said before leaning back and idly fiddling with the amulet around his neck. “That would be quite anti-climatic, would it not? Hardly worthy of the Hero.”
“You’re insane,” the Hero said.
“Being sane is boring and tedious,” the Demon Lord said. “I tried it once, it cost me everything I held dear. Tell me, Hero. Who do you think I am?”
“Just another demon who will meet their end at my sword,” the Hero said. “Just like every other leader of your pathetic little cult.”
“Likely,” the Demon Lord said. “But therein lies the problem. I am the leader of this cult now, aren’t I? So if I were to die now, well… it would hardly mean much. Do you even know what the purpose of this cult is?”
“You worship demons,” the Hero said. “You profane yourself with their essence, altering your--”
To his surprise, the Demon Lord started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” the Hero asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” the Demon Lord said. “I’m just so surprised. I didn’t expect you to be so predictable. ‘The cult worships demons’. Now, I will be the first to admit I have always been a bit of a self worshipper, but no. Not demons. Demon. One in particular, at least.”
“Oh? Which one?” the Hero asked.
“The Inferno God,” the Demon Lord said. “No, I can tell by the look on your face it’s just another hollow, empty name to you. But you will remember it, Hero.”
“It won’t be the first god I’ve slain,” the Hero said.
“By the gods you are arrogant,” the Demon Lord said with a roll of his eyes. “It will be interesting humbling you.”
“You think you’re up to the task?” the Hero asked.
“Me? No,” the Demon Lord said before drinking down the last of the fluid from his glass. He then held the empty glass up into the air and closed one eye, looking through it. “Hm. That’s odd.”
“What’s odd?” the Hero asked. His frustration was only growing, his temper rising and making the room feel so hot and stuffy. He wanted to slay this arrogant demon where he sat, but the idea of finally getting answers was just too appealing. It wasn’t like the demon had anywhere he could run.
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“Titles,” the Demon Lord said. “They can tell you so much about a being. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, no matter how your name changes. A title is the thing that can follow you despite all of that. For example, the envoys. The Ever Devouring is the first. I’d expected with a title like that, it would have been more hungry.”
“What?” the Hero asked.
The Demon Lord then dropped the glass on the desk. Rather than shattering when it hit the wood, instead it kind of collapsed in on itself, as if it was made of melting wax. Behind the Demon Lord, the books and cases were beginning to sink in on themselves as well, as if they were melting as well. “My time is at an end, Hero. Even I can’t survive long in here. I’m sure we’ll meet again. Do try not to die, won’t you? We’ve only just begun. Oh, who am I kidding? You’ll be fine.”
“You don’t think I’m going to just let you go, do you?” the Hero asked. “After all of the death you’ve caused? All of the lives you’ve wasted?”
“Wasted? Never,” the Demon Lord said. “A sacrifice’s life is never wasted. So long as what they’ve done has been achieved. I--” He then began to cough, a hand moving up to his mouth. “Damn it. Can you truly not feel it?”
The Hero’s eyes narrowed. “All I feel is the righteous fury that--”
“Oh by the divine you are so tedious,” the Demon Lord said before he gripped his amulet. It glowed for a moment before the Demon Lord just vanished.
The Hero stared for a moment, his mouth falling open. How? He was right here, the Demon Lord couldn’t escape. There was no possible way for him to--
An unearthly cry tore through the air, a sound so strange and foreign that he couldn’t imagine any creature of their world could have ever made it. He shoved any thoughts of the so-called ‘Demon Lord’ away to focus on later. He was certain the demon was just another loud, arrogant fool.
How could he have known how wrong he would be?
------
The Hero could barely breath now, everything hurt. The town was little more than a pile of melted wood, stone and bodies, all melted together into an oozing, horrific lake that they had to slog through. Hardwin, Neia and Andreas weren’t fairing much better than he was, judging by the way they were panting for air.
Yet each breath made his lungs ache. His clothing had partially melted to his body. Their weapons were the only part of them that seemed unphased by the strange, mystical flames of this monster, this Ever Devouring. How could such a small, tiny thing be so deadly? Was this truly just the first of the Inferno God’s minions?
The Hero looked around at the flames that surrounded them, trapping them in with this foul monster. How such flames could exist he didn’t know. They didn’t burn, didn’t singe. Yet every time they touched him he felt as if more and more of his body was being wiped away. Their assaults on it had proven, somewhat, effective. It was nearly a third of the size it had been when this fight began.
Yet he didn’t even need to look to know that all those who had survived up to this point had perished. Their screams, their pleading for him to save them still echoing through his mind. Damn it. DAMN IT!
How could he allow this to happen? If he’d just been faster. Stronger. If he’d spent less time messing around. Wasted less time on pointless pursuits.
He ran at the monster once more, his sword held high. Flames enveloped him, sending waves of agony through him as he felt himself slowly beginning to melt under the heat. It hurt. By the gods it hurt more than he’d ever thought something could. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn back, to escape before he was torn apart.
The Hero pushed on regardless, finally bursting through the flames. His vision was blurry, he couldn’t hear anything except the roaring flames. But he could see the creature just well enough. He slashed once more, throwing all of his might into the strike.
With one last pained, anguished cry the monster fell, its body exploding in a flurry of fiery destruction that sent him hurtling back. He landed in the slurry, falling beneath the heated mess.
Everything hurt, but he’d done it. He’d managed to fight off that foul abomination. It had taken everything he had, but he’d succeeded. Because he was the Hero. It was what he had to do.
He was so tired, though. He tried to pull himself back up and out of the burning slurry, but his body refused to listen. He’d pushed himself too hard. He wondered for a few moments if this was how he’d truly meet his end. Drowning in the melted remains of the town he’d failed to rescue.
Then a hand gripped the Hero’s arm, pulling him out from under the slurry’s depths and into the open air. Why was it still so hot?
“By the gods,” Hardwin’s voice could be heard, though he couldn’t see it. “Neia? Do something!”
“That’s not bone, is it? Please tell me that’s not bone,” Neia’s voice this time.
“It is,” Hardwin said. “Can you hear us? Hero? Hero! Listen to me! Neia?”
“I’m trying,” Neia said. “It’s not working! The wounds are resisting my magic. I don’t know how, but it’s being blocked.”
“Do something!” Hardwin yelled. “Hero, come on. Stay with me. Don’t close your eyes.”
“I don’t think he could open them if he wanted,” Andreas said. “I don’t even know if he has eyes.”
“We need to get him out of here. Help me,” Neia said.
The Hero didn’t fight as he was dragged away from the carnage. It was still so incredibly hot, it still hurt so much. What was this? Why did it happen?
For the first time in his life, sadly not the last, the Hero wondered if all of this was truly worth it.