Zytra - the land of the brave, a haven for adventurers far and wide. It promised riches and glory, offering plenty to those whom she deemed worthy.
Like many others seeking to mark their names in the lands, a man had arrived in this land many years ago with little more than twenty Syros (currency of Zytra). Fear of poverty did not deter this man, as his lust for battle far outweighed his flesh’s desire for sustenance.
This man’s rage-fueled fierce desire to become the strongest being in the world thrust him neck deep into the hairiest of situations, but he always found a way to beat the odds and emerge the victor.
Some would find it ironic that the happiest moments of this man’s life all came in the midst of battle. From the elder dragons of Skrymdoor to the famous murderers of Zetana. He had seen them all, beat them all, and now there was nothing left he could challenge. Now and then, an adventurer would show up to challenge him. Sadly, none could match him, and the fights never lasted long enough for him to get any real pleasure.
Empty.
That was his sole emotion. He needed something more, something to reawaken his thirst. Unfortunately, this was a wish the land of Zytra could grant no longer.
At the center of Zytra sat a massive, dark forest called the ‘The Forest of Dreiza,’ home to all manner of demons. Patrons in taverns, kings in palaces, and warriors in their strongholds all touted this place as the most dangerous location in all of Zytra.
However, one hidden rule of Zytra was that, wherever danger thrived, there was almost always considerable profit to be made. The Forest of Dreiza was no different. High-Level mana beasts guarded impressive caches and treasures capable of transforming frogs into a Prince overnight.
Despite knowing the risk, greed, lofty ideals, dreams and even love often drove men and women to challenge the forest. They all believed they would be the one to return home with enough riches to completely change their lives. Unfortunately, The Forest of Dreiza was not so generous with its gifts. Only one in every ten people that entered the forest returned, their numbers adding to the horde of undead that forever haunted the land.
Located at the center of the abominable forest was a mountain that peaked past dark clouds that forever blocked Dreiza’s sky. This hill was nicknamed ‘Oni Hill,’ by adventurers because of the several demons that made it their home. It once housed the great Demon King, but he lost his life to the current occupant of the castle, a man feared in all the realms for his cruelty, the ‘Harbinger of Chaos,’ Razznik Y’Terlow.
Deep within Oni Hill, a magnificent throne constructed entirely from bones sat on a cold stage overlooking a dreary, bleak throne room. Floating balls of light called ‘magelights’ illuminated the room, revealing its occupants, two skeleton Death Knights, a skeleton arch-mage, and a red-haired young man who looked to be in his late twenties.
The three skeletons drew a stark contrast to the man who stood in front of the wall behind the throne. One was over 2 meters tall and donned a full set of high-level bronze armor. The hilts and blades of two swords as tall as he was poked out from behind a tattered cape. The second death knight looked to be a hybrid between beast and man. Its four arms were folded across its chest, a four-meters long tail curled around it. The second death knight had a skinny build, and rather than armor, its bones formed a hard, impenetrable shell. The skeleton arch-mage wore a standard mage's robe and held a large staff which used a human skull as its focusing orb.
Silence reigned in the throne room as the skeletons watched the man dip a brush into one of many small pots rotating around him. Satisfied with the color, he proceeded to update the painting on the wall.
“I always thought Lord Razznik hated paintings,” the second death knight, Sephyr the Swift murmured, breaking the silence. It had a shrill voice that slightly echoed its words.
“Lord Razznik does not hate paintings,” the first skeleton, Rozios the True refuted. It had a hoarse voice akin to that of a sixty-year-old man. “He hates the act of painting.”
“Explicitly, he hates painting himself,” the skeleton arch-mage, Khounuit the Damned emphasized.
Sephyr used its tail to scratch its head. “Then why is he painting now? He has been on that thing for two days already.”
Rozios and Khounuit shared a look. A depressed atmosphere descended as both skeleton warriors looked at the naïve Sephyr.
“That is because the time has come.” In the end, Rozios was the one to speak up.
“Time?” Sephyr muttered.
“The time has come for Lord Razznik to leave our side,” Khounuit explained, his voice uncharacteristically hollow. “Thus, The Lord chose to indulge in something he would normally never do.”
Sephyr was even more confused. “Why would Lord Razznik leave us?”
Khounuit tightly gripped his staff to control his tumbling emotions. Once again, Rozios the True provided the answer. “The Lord has a task he must fulfill.”
“Ah, I see,” Sephyr nodded. “You guys scared me for a moment there. When will he return?”
“You dare to question The Lord’s time!?” Flames burst out of Khounuit’s eye sockets as he heavily reprimanded Sephyr.
“Sorry,” Sephyr apologized.
“The Lord will return when he wishes,” Rozios the True stated, promptly reducing the tension. “Sephyr, it is right to miss The Lord’s presence. There is no need for apologies.”
“Okay, so he will return like always. Hehe, you guys should not have gotten me so worried in the first place.”
Rozios and Khounuit once again shared a look between themselves. “Yes. Like always. The Lord will return.”
“They are here,” a deep voice boomed, carrying in it an authority that could not be disputed by any living being. The three undead generals shuddered as the brush in the hands of Razznik Y’Terlow fell to the ground. A series of loud cracking sounds echoed in the hall as the pots fell to the ground and shattered.
The man swiped his hand in the air. The seemingly benign action caused a small screen to appear in front of him. He rapidly clicked on a few options, and a pillar of light surrounded him. Moments later, the light disappeared to reveal a terrifying, black, full-plated armor. The skull motif and dense dark aura effusing from the armor harkened memories of the previous demon king.
Razznik Y’Terlow turned around, his face hidden behind a grotesque helmet that had wrought terror and trauma in countless hearts across the plains. The combination of the mask and armor granted him the nickname, ‘Demon King of Dreiza’ coined by a famous bard.
The Demon King solemnly regarded his constituents. What a joke. Who would believe that the Demon King only had three soldiers at his command? Yet this was the reality. Razznik granted the demons and undead under the previous Demon King their freedom when he slew the former Demon King. Ever since then, the number of beings in Oni Hill drastically reduced over time until there were only three left.
These final three warriors had refused to leave the hill, and Razznik let them do what they want. Who would have thought these three would be the faces he would see at a time like this.
“My Lord, there are over five-hundred warriors on the ground floor,” Khounuit reported. “They have just begun battle with the fodder skeletons.”
“Five Hundred,” Razznik repeated. “Hmph, as I thought. This is not the location.”
“My Lord?”
“Nothing,” Razznik said with a wave of his hand. “Go and welcome the guests. I will be at the peak.” He looked at Rozios and Sephyr. “Rozios the True, Sephyr the Swift; battle to your heart’s content.”
Rozios clasped his hand to his chest and bowed. “As you desire, My Lord,”
“Hehe, your wish is my command,” Sephyr stated, and with a flash, it disappeared from the room.
Rozios the True watched as Razznik made his way over to an exit on the east side of the throne room. As always, the Great Demon King cut a solitary figure, marching towards a future only he could see. Something inside Rozios snapped. “My Lord!”
Razznik paused and turned to look at the general. “What is the matter?”
‘Will you return to us?’ Rozios resisted the temptation to voice his thoughts. Instead, he shook his head and said, “Nothing my lord. See you soon.” Rozios tapped his feet against the earth and a small mandala formed under him. A pillar of light shot up from the mandala and shrouded his figure. Moments later, the teleportation matrix sent him out of the throne room.
“If it is alright with you, I would like to remain here,” requested Khounuit.
“Do what you want,” Razznik replied and turned around. The magelights dimmed, ultimately shutting off as the Demon King made his way out of the throne room. Within seconds, the throne room plunged into dense darkness.
The exit Razznik took led to a stone staircase hewn into the surface of Oni Halls. Razznik looked down at the dark forest with mirth as he ascended the stairs. How long had it been since he laid eyes on anything else? Months? Years? The Demon King could not be certain.
In years past, Razznik often ventured into dangerous realms in search of enemies to fight. He would then return to this mountain to rest before leaving for another conquest. Its barren walls used to be home, but then one day he ran out of enemies to fight. One day he returned from a conquest without finding a single foe worthy of fighting. That day turned two. Days soon turned into weeks and weeks into months.
At one point, Razznik finally admitted the horrible truth he had been avoiding. There were just no longer any beings he could challenge. He was officially and unequivocally the strongest being alive in all the realms.
Becoming the strongest should have been a point of celebration for the Demon King, especially as it was a dream millions of adventurers strove toward. Unfortunately, for this Demon King, the goal should have remained just that. His entire existence relied on the journey to become the strongest. Now that he was, where was he supposed to go from there?
Ever since he admitted the truth to himself, Razznik cooped himself in Oni Hill like a good Demon King, listlessly wasting away his time. The occasional challenger did pop up now and then; Destined heroes with their magic swords or famous mercenaries looking for a quick buck. Unfortunately, none managed to excite the Demon King. He dispatched the few that made it past the Death Knights with ease.
The walls of Oni Hill that once felt like home now closed in on him, wallowing in his solitude.
Luckily, Oni’s walls were not all there was to the mountain. Razznik finally ascended to the peak and was greeted with a stunning sight, despite the lack of sunlight. A small garden with an assortment of flowers, most of which were planted by him, decorated the path he followed from the mountainside to a glass marble throne that sparkled ever so magnificently when the sun rose.
A small lake glistened under the moonlight with the most beautiful fish living freely in it. Unbeknownst to most this lake’s water was made entirely from the Rebirth Elixir. A small bottle of this Elixir could pass for millions of Syros. Yet, it was being used to raise fish by the wasteful Demon King.
Indeed, it was a spot for the king of the land.
But, it would not be his after today. After today, none of these would matter.
Razznik sighed as he walked past the pond and arrived at his throne. Resting on the side of the throne was a buster sword so large, many had asked how he managed to wield it, let alone swing it the way he did.
Razznik handcrafted the sword himself, much like every weapon in his infamous ‘twelve series.’ He had used metals from the depths of Groknir, land of the savage dwarves, and flames of the elder dragons, pouring all his desires for greatness and power into every strike of the hammer.
The black masterpiece had been born from the embers of the dying flames. Razznik personally picked the skull that adorned the hilt from the King of Dragons’ feeding grounds.
Razznik picked up the sword and sat on the throne. He balanced the blade on his legs and leaned into the throne. He shut his eyes, reveling in the silence that followed. The night wind brought with it memories of the past. His time training at Level 0. He had spent over two years learning proper combat techniques from every martial school in all the major cities he could find.
Razznik often wondered how people would react if they knew he didn’t pass level 1 for over six months while was in the first city. He had spent that whole time training in combat schools, his only source of income the pittance he earned from helping the artisans in the town.
It had been a long, dull and arduous period, but it served as the foundation for the legends that would later rise. People often envied the finished work, but rarely considered the blood, sweat, and tears needed to get to that point.
Crunch!
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted Razznik’s journey into memory lane. The Demon King opened his eyes and saw a lock of brown hair slowly rising at the end of the path. As it rose, it revealed its owner to be a young mage in his late teens. He was dressed as the traditional mages in a blue gown and held a staff whose power even the demon king respected.
Razznik’s mind traveled to the three skeleton knights who always awaited his return. So, they fell.
“Impressive,” the Demon King acknowledged. “It must not have been easy to defeat the Guardians. You must be proud of yourself.”
The man did not reply.
“From your appearance, I presume the rest of your party died in the mountains.” This taunt, the mage did react to in the form of a wince. Over five hundred of his companions perished against three skeletons. It was a miracle he wasn’t traumatized.
Seemingly oblivious to the mage’s troubles, Razznik said with a solemn gaze, in the depths of which smoldering embers silently burned, “A small price to pay.”
Razznik cleared his thoughts and stood up. He balanced the buster sword on his shoulder and strolled towards the mage. “Now then, your party lays dead behind you, and you cannot possibly hope to beat me on your own. So, what is it you desire? Gold? Power? Fame? I will grant to you that which is your desire as your reward for making it this far.”
“...ake,” the mage replied, barely above a whisper.
“Pardon?”
“A handshake!” the mage repeated with an embarrassed yell.
“Ho? A fan then?” Razznik sighed with a tinge of disgust in his voice. “Fine then,” he replied and stretched out his hand.
“It is an honor,” the mage acknowledged with a bow and grasped Razznik’s armored hand with his. Right then, a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, followed closely by a grin just as, if not more grotesque than the Demon King’s.
Realization dawned upon the king, but before he could react, the mage screamed, “[Long-Distance Teleportation!]”.
Long-Distance Teleportation was one of the most useful skills in Zytra, but a mage could typically only use it on themselves. To use on an ally or friend required either a high-level transmutation skill or an appropriate item. To use on an enemy, however, required a mastery of the conjuration field of magic.
Adventurers rarely used Long-Distance Teleportation outside of transportation because of its many restrictions. Some of these restrictions included: body contact; teleportation takes both you and your target, and worst of all the lengthy spell required to cast it on an enemy.
Razznik had seen it used a few times for suicide missions. Users would transport an enemy into the skies with them. They would then both plunge to their deaths. However, ff this mage thought he could kill the Demon King like this, he had severely underestimated Razznik’s abilities.
Razznik watched a rotating blue light envelop his body and braced himself for the journey. With a flash, nothing remained where they once stood. The clearing fell into a deathly silence as the last embers of the sinking sun disappeared, drowning the mountain in still darkness.
Below the peak, individual magelights occasionally blinked, shedding the tiniest of light on a massive painting that spanned the throne room’s four walls. Three different colored will-o-wisp lights appeared in the darkness and floated to the back of the throne where they would burn eternal.
Several miles away, a small, soft blue light appeared on a large field bearing, terrible scars of a battle once fought here. The field never recovered from the harsh treatment, and the only vestiges of the once beautiful land were pockets of grasses scattered around the scorched earth.
At the center of this field, the blue light pulsated like a heartbeat, then rapidly expanded, taking on the form of two men. It softly dissipated, revealing the demon king and his captor, their hands still clasped still tightly clasped.
The mage fell to his knees, exhaustion evident on his sweat-drenched face. The fatigue was yet another drawback of the ‘teleport’ skill; it rendered its user incapable of further movement for a few minutes. It also drained all the mana from whoever cast it no matter how large his/her mana might be.
It was for all intents and purposes, a suicide option to use it, which was why it mildly surprised the king to see he was not up in the sky or above some volcano.
“Where are...?” Razznik started to ask, but the question died in his throat. He recognized the field in which they had landed. Nostalgia flooded him like a wave, as he recalled the epic fight he participated in on this field.
Yes, this was where it all began. It was only fitting that this be the final battlefield.
“Child, Your life shall cease now,” Razzznik said to the young mage whose hand he still held tightly. “But as a just reward for your bravery, I grant thee this staff,” he said with a smile as a white oak staff materialized in his left hand. “Wield it well. The staff of Eid has a monstrous power even I found hard to control, but I am sure it will not prove too difficult for one such as you.”
The mage weakly reached out and accepted the weapon, immediately feeling his body grow stronger once his hand made contact. He did not have time to relish his new staff because a black mass immediately blocked his vision.
“To the circle, he returns,” whispered Razznik as the mage’s body dissipated into to petals of light, which softly flowed upwards towards the blackened sky.
They both knew, however, that this was not actual death. Those marked by the goddess - as he once was - had the gift of immortality. When killed, they would be reborn in one of her temples. Razznik lost that gift when he rebelled against her, which in turn turned him into the most wanted man in the land.
“What do you have planned for me?” the Demon King mused as he surveyed the field known as the ‘Valley of K’iol.’
The ‘Valley of K’iol’ was once the battleground or more correctly, a coliseum for the Perians. The Perians were a nation of giants which when not waging war with itself, terrorized its neighboring towns. The giants loved to watch the battles fought in the valley from the towering cliffs that bordered the valley.
Years past, a decree had been sent out for all adventurers to find a way to stop the tyranny of the giants. The current Demon King was but a young adventurer back then. In his first real conquest, he challenged Roth, overlord of the giants to a duel. After a long and terrible battle, Razznik emerged victorious, shocking the world. Razznik then used his privilege as the new overlord of the giants to order them across the ocean to a different land where they could rampage to their hearts’ content.
The battle put his name on the ears of every adventurer, noble and even gods. Most of them sought him out to further their agendas, unwittingly granting him even more power, until eventually, he became far too powerful.
Such is the fate of the strong
A sudden change in the atmosphere snapped the Demon King out of his reverie. Fog began to rise from the mountains around him. It coiled its way around the field with a sinister hiss, increasing in height and thickness as it did so.
The fog formed a circle around him, blocking his view of the surrounding mountains. The formless beast rose even higher and arced over him, eventually cutting off his view of the clouds. As if, recognizing its prey was captured, it abruptly plunged towards down, and rapidly engulfed him.
A silhouette formed in the mist, as Razznik, unfazed by the strange fog, drove his sword into the earth.
“Demon King Razznik Y’Terlow,” the silhouette called with the voice of a mature lady. “You have been charged with treason against the Zytraen Empire. What say you in your defense?”
“Ha... Hahahahaha!” Razznik bellowed with exaggerated amusement. His helmet warped the sound of his voice into a deep, sinister laugh akin to a thousand demons.
“What amuses you so?” the silhouette asked.
“Treason? Against the Zytraen Empire?” Razznik challenged with a chuckle. “Surely you jest?” he asked, disgust and anger evident in his voice.
“You were tasked with destroying the demon clan. Instead, you chose to not only side with them but also deigned to attack your fellow adventurers. What is that if not treason?”
“What gives you the right to decide if an entire race lives or dies?”
“The goddess, Aethir giver of life, ordered it so.”
“What consequence does that hold? Are you saying the gods cannot be wrong? Or perhaps you believe Aethir may take a life because she offered it?” The woman in the fog seemed not to have an answer to his question. Razznik continued in a lighter tone. “It matters not does it. Our words, thoughts, and methods are completely different. Nothing I say will get through to you, nor will anything you say get through to me. There is only one way for people like us to communicate truly.” Razznik brandished his sword with apparent enthusiasm.
“It is regrettable. I had hoped we could resolve this peacefully. I suppose this is a fitting end for ‘Razznik the Destroyer’” the silhouette wistfully said.
“How about we begin?” Razznik declared as he swung his sword in an arc. A massive shockwave instantly scattered the fog. “Ho. This is quite the reception,” Razznik stated as he surveyed the once empty field.
Adventurers of all races had already surrounded him, their approach masked by the fog that had settled in earlier. Their numbers easily ranged in the millions, and most of them looked strong enough to give him trouble.
“This is not a reception Demon King,” the silhouette voice called from one of the surrounding cliffs. The voice was revealed to belong a lady who looked to be in her late twenties. Hair, the color of snow fluttered in the night breeze, underneath which a pair of cold blue eyes glared at the Demon King. Adorned in a white robe and matching headgear, this woman was a true figure of matchless beauty. “This is your funeral,” she corrected, as she raised her left arm.
“For one such as I to be sent off by so many? This is truly an honor,” Razznik smugly replied. His sword dematerialized, and a pair of blood red swords with chains that wrapped around his arm took its place.
“Do not flatter yourself,” she scolded and brought down her arm.
Like a bolt of lightning running through metal, a frenzy arose in the warriors around Razznik. The intensity of the excitement increased the closer they were to the Demon King.
A flurry of arrows, spears, balls of fire, ice (basically every projectile in the nine realms) tore through the air, their target the lone warrior in the middle.
“Ha! So it begins,” Razznik laughed as he whirled his swords around him. With a cry of defiance, he slammed his swords onto the earth. Cracks instantaneously appeared in the ground around him, out of which pillars of flames erupted. These flame pillars destroyed or blew away every last projectile.
The sight of Razznik’s black armor amid the pillars of flames, strolling ever so slightly towards them, sent a chill up the signs of everyone.
“Monster,” was the word on the lips of every one present as the Demon King lunged at them.
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Terror seized the valley of K’iol as the Demon King jumped into the army’s center. This action was not one made out of blind pride, but a calculated move to prevent ranged attacks. The blood swords chained to his arms were perfect for ambush situations as they extended for several meters ahead of him with each strike. This wide range allowed him to sweep away scores of approaching enemies before they could get close.
“He seems to be doing well, Aileera,” Freya, an old mage remarked from his vantage point on an overlooking cliff. Five famous guild masters flanked him on either side, their respective gazes trained on the battle in the valley.
“It is of no consequence,” Aileera, the mage who had confronted Razznik in the mist replied. “Those blades, while powerful, possess a fatal flaw.”
“And what, pray tell is this consequence?”
“It shall present itself soon enough,” she calmly replied.
Contrary to her words, several minutes passed, and the weakness refused to present itself. Razznik continued to slaughter his way through the armies with ease. Chaotic wildfires burned around the Demon King as his swords unleashed his burning wrath on the masses. Despite the Demon King’s seemingly inevitable victory, the military did not waver in the slightest, for they had numbers and glory on their side.
Razznik had not expected the haphazardly combined army to retain their morale for so long. He examined the combatants before him with a heavy gaze. To his surprise, he recognized the enthusiasm in the adventurers’ eyes. It was one that had shone in his eyes for the longest time.
Yes, the look in the warriors’ eyes was one that could only be brought on by a seemingly insurmountable wall. It was not so much the final vault that was so exciting, but the journey needed to reach a level where you could break down that wall with your strength. It was a journey that usually required a person to throw everything they had at the wall. It was a mission that oozed blood, sweat, and tears. Despite all this, it was an enticing journey precisely because of the promise that just beyond that wall laid your greatest desire.
Those with that look were able to keep you the fight because they knew that while it may take a long time, eventually a crack will appear on that wall. And when it did, it was only a matter of time before it came crashing down.
A pugilist dodged to the side as the swords smashed into the earth. He signaled a mage close by, who cast a spell on him that significantly increased his speed. The pugilist kept his body low and dashed forward, shamelessly using his fellow adventurers as cover whenever the swords swung down.
Soon, the pugilist arrived under the Demon King’s nose, and before Razznik could retract his swords, the young pugilist launched an uppercut. Mana exploded underneath Razznik’s feet and sent him sliding backward, barely dodging the attack.
“Impressive,” Razznik praised as he came to a stop. The short respite caused by that blow granted the adventurers enough time to close the gaps Razznik had open. The Demon King decided to change his weapon. The swords vanished in a flash of light, and a black staff took their place. The staff was another one of his favorite creations.
Just as the excited warriors lunged at him, he stomped the butt of the staff on the ground, creating a shockwave that repelled them. His wielded the staff with his right hand which he placed behind his back and motioned for the warriors to charge at him with his left.
Enraged by the Razznik’s taunts, the adventurers did just that and soon regretted it.
“His swordsmanship is truly impeccable,” Freya remarked as Razznik cleared subsequent waves of adventurers. The Demon King’s lightning-fast reflexes were in full display as he repeatedly dodged attacks at the last second before unleashing a devastating counter-attack to dispatch scores of warriors.
“That’s not all,” Borg, a lycan warrior stated. His brown fur ruffled with impatience, itching to join the battle. “He isn’t defending any of the attacks from his back.”
“You noticed,” Aileera said. “That cape he bears once belonged to the previous demon king. It is said he never sustained an injury at his back until the day of his defeat.”
“Then it is charmed,” Frena remarked with a low chuckle. “He truly is a frightening fellow.”
“Aye,” Rono, a pirate from the Eursian seas, said. Unlike the other people on the hill, he was not a guild master. However, he ran the greatest pirate crew in all the seas. No one else among them had the same amount of experience facing large monsters, so they enlisted his help. “He faced off the worst of Jone’s locker alone. That man is no ordinary chap.”
Aileera rummaged through her pockets and pulled out a small clear sphere the size of a marble. It was called a Rink, and it was their primary source of communication in the land.
“Focus on the cape,” she said into the pearl, and she soon got a shaky ‘yes!’ from her contact in the valley.
“Hm?” Razz said when he noticed a group of people hacking away at his back without care whether it was futile or not. “They have a good commander...” he mused, as he spun the staff above his head, “... but her strategies cannot overturn my might!” he roared and struck the staff again on the ground.
The adventurers braced themselves for the shockwave, but when none came, they snickered at Razz, who they thought had finally weakened. However, he exuded a chilling calm as he pointed at the sky.
The warriors looked to the sky, instantly turning pale as they gazed upon a frightening sight. Unnaturally dark clouds blanketed the night sky, heralding the chaos to come. Terrifying peals of lightning tore through the clouds and illuminated the battlefield.
“I suppose it is safe to assume that is his doing?” Freya asked.
“Hey, hey. Just how much has that guy mastered anyway?” Rono asked as he balked at the size of the approaching storm.
“This is where his advantage lies,” Aileera said calmly. If the approaching storm had any effect on her, she surely was not showing. “We cannot afford to use any Area spells because we might hit our allies, but he may fire off as many as he wants.”
“He’s gotta run out some time right?” Miles, the youngest in the group, spoke up. He was the best archer in the realm. Rumors claimed he could strike down a fly several miles away, hence his nickname.
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“He surely will,” Aileera affirmed. “Send in the summoners once the storm is past,” she said to the rink.
On the valley, Razz continued his one-man battle against the army, as the rain began to pour down. It started with a light drizzle but soon turned into a terrible storm, with thick curtains that robbed the warriors of their sights.
Well, most.
The pugilists and archers had been trained to fight with terrible sight, and they surrounded Razz, and at the same time notched their bows. The archers fired off their arrows using the rain to mask the whistling sound as it flew through the air.
Razznik answered the challenge by switching out his staff for a pair of black gloves. The arrows whistled as they rained down upon him. Razznik remained unfazed despite being faced with these bolts he could neither see nor hear. Instead, he slammed his hands against each other. A shockwave exploded out of his closed palms and shattered the incoming arrows.
“He appears to be well versed in area attacks,” Freya observed, impressed by Razz’s continuous counters.
“It’s only natural,” Aileera said, unimpressed. “He fought a lot of his battles alone and needed to prevent himself from being surrounded.”
“Missy, you’ve got a mighty beef against the lad don’t ya?” Rono said with a laugh.
In reply, she gave him a cold glare that froze the laughter in his throat.
Almost instantly, a bolt of lightning struck the valley, burning everything around its landing spot.
“The true horror of the thunderstorm spell begins,” Freya remarked just as a translucent barrier formed around the group, protecting them.
Freya’s remark proved to be true. Pandemonium descended into the valley as hundreds of random lightning bolts repeatedly struck its inhabitants.
Most of the warriors present were not seasoned veterans. Some had never even experienced a tense situation in all their battling years. It came as no surprise then that, the motley band who were already on knife’s edge during the rainstorm, completely fell apart during the thunderstorm.
Panicked mages quickly set up their barriers without any strategy. As a result of this, they ended only protecting those who were lucky enough to be close to them. Unfortunately, most of the shoddily casted barriers were unable to resist the Demon King’s lightning judgment.
“Tis scary ‘n’ all, but won’t the lad be struck down by his spell at this rate?” Rono asked. It was a valid point too. The random, lightning strikes had a high chance of potentially hitting their caster.,
“I doubt it will hit him,” Freya confidently declared.
“How’s that?”
“He cast it,” Freya answered simply.
“Aye,” Rono acknowledged as he watched Razz, “He’s a fearsome one, he is.”
The king plowed through the disorganized army dodging at the last second every time a bolt crashed down close to him. The gloves he wore imbued him with the strength of a hundred men as he broke through armor, shields and some low-level barriers.
This advantage did not last long though as Aileera rapidly sent out a series of orders. The warriors below collectively cheered as they finally had a direction to follow. The embattled military swiftly carried out their commander’s orders.
The spear-bearers amongst the army stabbed the tail end of the longest weapons in their inventory into the earth, so the blades pointed at the raging sky. These extended weapons acted as conductors. The lightning bolts struck the edges and traveled down the shafts into the soil. The adventurer’s cheered their commander’s brilliant. With only a few words, she rendered the great threat completely harmless.
Aileera’s second order saw a regiment of mages gather at the back and begin casting a spell to counter Razz’s storm. Her third and final order, however, was the most effective.
Troops consisted of knights and marauders surrounded the Demon King with the intention of holding him at bay. While they held him off, the remaining adventurers merged into small parties of five to seven.
“This is a tactic used in major battles against numerous foes. To think we would be forced to employ it against a single man,” Freya said with a chuckle.
“He is by no means an ordinary man,” Miles said, and unconsciously tightened his fist around his bow. This action did not go unnoticed by the others, but they could not say anything because they all felt the same way.
Razznik noticed the change in the atmosphere around the adventurers and was doubly impressed by their commander. Their relentless attacks had managed to crack his armor in several places. The legendary Demon King’s cape was also no more, reduced to tatters by desperate warriors.
Despite this, Razznik remained unnervingly calm, almost detached even from his dire situation. This confidence, based on results both he and the world were aware of, struck fear into the hearts of his opponents.
At this point, a sudden change occurred on the battlefield. A ray of moonlight pierced through the dark clouds and descended on the silent Demon King. To the warriors, it was like the goddess Aethir, had shot down an arrow of light to rescue them from the perpetual darkness.
Razznik looked up at the clouds, a bemused look in his gaze. He turned to look at the people standing on the overlooking hill. Honestly, to think a commander could make this much difference in a war. Razznik was someone who almost always fought his battles solo. He had never experienced what is what like to be led by a competent commander.
Contrary to the fascinated imaginations of the warriors, it was the mages gathered at the back of the army who had finally broken the spell. The excited mages did not forget to cheer for the marauders and knights who had not hesitated to put their lives on the line to buy their comrades enough time to complete their missions. It did not matter that they had lost over half of their numbers in that brief period.
Razznik watched the survivors return to their respective parties where they received quick healing and praises from their friends. The Demon King could not help but wonder if he had missed something in his quest to become the strongest. Were the sacrifices he made worth the result?
Unfortunately, time was one thing he would never be able to control. Even if someone granted him that ability, Razznik was not entirely sure he would change anything. He did not hate who he had become.
The army, oblivious to the Demon King’s musings, readied itself for the second round of combat. This time, however, the military would function as a cohesive unit. A frightening prospect made even worse by the sounds of howling coming from the rear.
“Damn,” Razznik cursed. The howls came from a tribe called beast-tamers. Their attacks primarily stemmed from the beasts they defeated and tamed. These beasts could range anywhere from dire-wolves to griffins and in some sporadic cases, Dragons!
Flying beasts, however, were of no use in a one-vs-many battle. In this kind of fighting, it was nigh impossible to target a single person within a sea of people accurately. There was a much higher chance they would only end up striking their allies. Flying beasts could only be used either in large-scale army battles, one-v-one battles and a battle against a colossal or flying monster like an ogre or dragon.
That left only a few choices and sure enough, the howls, accompanied by roars, and hisses rushed closer through the mass.
“A magnificent display,” Razznik complimented the adventurers, “I shall usher my respects by going at full strength from here on out.” As he said so, his armor cracked to pieces and fell to the ground. Instantaneously, a bright light enveloped his body. It soon disappeared, revealing the Demon King in his new attire.
Gone was the full-plate armor, replaced by a sleek, black trench coat on a similarly colored pair of leather pants and combat boots. Faintly glowing runes lit up the jacket, trousers, and boots, a subtle hint to the real power within. A pair of slim, twin swords Razznik twirled like kitchen knives replaced his gloves. Even his mask had changed to a pure white mask, with claw marks that ran from the bottom left to the top right.
If compared in painting, most would claim the Demon King’s heavy armor was far more intimidating. But to those who stood there in front of him, Razznik had never appeared scarier than he did right then.
“Prepare yourselves,” Aileera said to the masters, “Our role shall soon be upon us.”
“Indeed,” Freya confirmed. Even he could not stop the feeling of goosebumps which should be impossible for one such as he.
An assortment of dire-wolves, spirit-wolves, chimeras, giant cats of all species and a rhino(!?) burst through gaps in the formation. The beasts quickly surrounded Razznik then lunged at him.
In response to the threat, Razznik snorted and dashed towards the rhino. He grabbed the beast’s horn and instantly brought its charge to a sharp halt. A loud crack rang out as the rhino’s neck snapped under strain. Razznik paid no attention to the rhino’s death throes. He grunted and swung the corpse around himself, knocking over several monsters like dominoes.
Razznik released the beast mid-swing, and it crashed into a group of adventurers. The rest of the creatures, undaunted by his display of strength continued their attack.
Razznik red eyes blazed within the mask as he placed the hilts of his swords together. The swords merged into one at their grips and formed a double-ended sword. Razznik swung the weapon around himself as the monsters arrived. Blood once again poured like a fountain as he repeated tore through flesh like paper.
Whoosh!
Razznik’s one-sided massacre was interrupted by an arrow that whizzed by him just as he dodged a lunge from a wolf. A couple of bolts and spells launched at him at the most promising moments alerted the Demon King to their intentions. The army used the animals as bait and aimed for those moments when he was in the middle of dodging an attack. These moments were the best time to aim at him as it would be challenging to execute a follow-up dodge. Indeed, with over one hundred projectiles aiming for that one moment, some were bound to hit.
Clever. Very clever. The commander was truly one of a kind.
The ranged attacks increased in intensity as Razznik slaughtered the beast. He soon decided it was about time he evened the odds.
Still occupied by the beasts, he started a chant, that increased in pitch and intensity with each word that passed. “Servi Domini, Meisque invocant . Ego te in certamine vinci...” he started.
“Impossible!” Freya screamed when the chant started; his relaxed demeanor shattered by the new revelation. His reaction was shared by everyone else, as they realized a daunting truth.
“...formatum est ex sanguinibus convenant usque in finem dierum. Circumdederunt undique hostes, Et quaerunt animam meam...” the chant continued, uninterrupted by the beasts lunging at Razz.
“He is a summoner too,” Miles muttered.
“Runemaster, Master crafter, Sword-master, Sage, healer, battle king, Knight, marauder, rogue, assassin-,” Rono counted.
“And those are just the ones we know of,” Miles continued, “What kind of monster is he?”
“That is not all,” Aileera said calmly.
“What do you mean?!” Blorg growled. His furs stood on end, and his eyes had gone dark yellow, a sign he was already preparing for combat.
“As planned, he has been forced to use his trump card,” she replied, “You shall witness his power soon, and also, the reason why I requested you all wait behind.”
“Nunc impleret pactum quod fecimus, percutiat inimícos meos. ” Razz continued as his pitch and voice rose higher and carried through the crowd.
“Whaddaya reckon the beast will summon?” Rono asked.
“Something we have yet to witness,” was Aileera’s terse reply.
“Ut Quod Reatus Sanguinis Pretio Ut Possit Dissolvi In Sanguine, Ubi Facta Fuerit!” Razznik yelled as his sword pierced through the final Chimera’s mouth and ripped its jaw off. Purple mandalas suddenly appeared randomly all over the field.
A host of demons and undead rose from this portal. These were the army of the Demon King, their allegiance forever tied to the Demon King. Razznik had never summoned the entire army to battle. He praised the adventurers for forcing him to use this move.
The immediate repercussion of the spell was that the adventurers could no longer solely focus on Razznik. However, this reality did not break their spirit. Since they were already in small groups, they treated the demon horde as a regular raid squad would.
“These are not as bad as we thought,” Freya sighed with relief. Overestimation was always a part of battle. They just never thought that word could be used in tandem with Razznik.
“No. it is not over,” Aileera refuted with a frown. “The true threat just arrived.”
A roar like a thousand thunderclaps accompanied by the unmistakable beating of wings tore through the land and could be heard quite clearly several leagues away. A shadow larger than anything ever seen blocked the moonlight, and everyone trembled in fear as Skyrm, the lord of all dragons, descended upon one of the mountains overlooking the valley.
Skyrm was the epitome of what it meant to be colossal! His wings, when unfurled, could block the sun over most cities. Dirty gold scales tougher than the highest-level steed gleamed menacingly under the moonlight.
The King of Dragons roughly balanced on the mountain and a pair of bright yellow eyes burned with flames as they scanned the battlefield. Those eyes finally rested on Razznik, towards whom they showed equal parts contempt and respect.
“I see,” Skyrm boomed. “I shall end everything,” he declared, and mana began taking a physical form of fire in his mouth, increasing in size every second.
Cries of ‘what now’ and ‘it’s over’ could be heard among the adventurer’s ranks as they fell to their knees in despair. But once again, Aileera spoke, not through her linkshell, but out loud, using magic to project her voice around the battlefield.
“Stand up!” she yelled, “You are all gathered here for different reasons. For honor, for power, for glory, for fame! Whatever your reasons, I implore you. Forget about them for a second and look at yourselves. You are all still alive. Not by your power, but through the sacrifices of those before you. Now look to your side. To the mage or warrior by your side, who fights with you. Indeed, the foe is powerful. True his power is immense. But there is one thing that sets you apart from him! One strong power you possess that he does not! That is the strength of a party. Those you have banded with to raid, rob, and drink. Those who agonized with you when you lost something precious. That is your strength. So when next you feel like you can’t go on, look to your partner and realize one thing. You are not alone. So fight! Abandon fear and fight! Protect your partners and fight! And at the end of the day, if you fall, you shall fall with a smile. We stand with you; you stand with us. Together nothing can defeat us,” she finished softly.
“A sword in one hand and a beer in the other!” Rono yelled, following Aileera’s lead.
“A sword in one hand and a beer in the other,” someone repeated in the valley.
“A sword in one hand and a girl in the other,” another shouted causing laughter to erupt around him.
“A sword in one hand and gold in the other,” a third shouted and soon various chants rose echoed all over the valley. The warriors’ spirits rose to a fever pitch as their collective roars surpassed even Skyrm’s roar. The wind carried the armies’ fierce desire to the neighboring countries.
Citizens of various nations all around the world knelt on the ground wherever they were and offered their prayers to the goddess Aerith. “Watch over our children. Grant them the strength to conquer the Demon King.”
The prayers of a united world could not be looked down upon. Pillars of light burst from the ground and enveloped all the warriors in the valley. The adventurers cheered as they felt their strength double, no triple. Filled with vigor, they charged at the warrior.
Razznik gazed at the pillars of light with a complicated expression. He gazed up at the skies and muttered. “Do you hate me that much?” The Demon King let out a wry chuckle as he looked down at the charging adventurers. No matter how one looked at it, wasn’t he the bad guy in this scenario.
Not that it mattered, but their camaraderie opened a wound in Razznik’s heart he did not know existed.
It angered him.
Annoying.
Frustrating.
Why did they get to be so happy? Razznik refused to accept that his choice was wrong. He became the strongest in a world where the powerful ruled. What gave them the right to smile like that!?
“RaaaaaAAAAAAWWWWRRRRR!!!!” Razznik let out a rage-filled roar filled with defiance. The whites of his eyes turned red as he descended into berserk mode. As if sensing their master’s rage, the infamous twelve series appeared around him.
“Let’s go!” Aileera ordered, and the masters were launched towards Skyrm by her magic.
A host of fighters who had been waiting on the hillside by her orders also jumped into the valley and made a beeline for Razznik.
“No more mercy,” Razznik growled as a black aura emanated around him, and suddenly he was gone. Half a second later, a cry was heard on the other end of the battlefield as Razznik’s hand pierced through his chest.
Razznik threw away the already dissipating body and disappeared. He appeared for a brief second in front of a young female mage and made to impale her, but two men stopped his strike, and a third ran a sword through his stomach.
“You’ve had enough fun,” one of them said.
In the end, it did not matter who spoke because he had already marked them all for death. Razznik spun his hand around, launching one of the men into the sky and the other head first into the ground. Before they could recover, he drew out the sword in his stomach, twisted around and decapitated the one that had stabbed him. Without wasting a breath, he finished his spin and beheaded the one on the ground before the weapon dissipated. He grabbed his black bow from the twelve arms circling him and shot an arrow that pierced through the skull of the warrior in the air, instantly claiming his life.
The corpse dissipated before it reached the ground.
“I said no mercy,” Razznik coldly stated, but the adventurers no longer balked at him. Spurred by their commander’s voice, they jointly rushed him with everything they had. “Truly an annoying commander,” he said through gritted teeth as he rushed to greet them.
----------------------------------------
The battle unfolding in the valley of K’iol was unlike the land of Zytra had ever witnessed. Several races, professions, and classes from all over the continent had banded together to fight a common enemy. Greater yet, the teamwork displayed by the cheering warriors was one rarely seen even in smaller units. Adventures all believed they were the best. Getting these inflated egos to work together in harmony was a gargantuan task very few could accomplish. It either required a commander of considerable skill or a foe so great, they would stand no chance if they did not work together.
Both conditions were fulfilled within the valley that night. Before the Demon King, the warriors proved the belief that before an even larger foe, all enemies unite. Minutes ago, Razznik might have gloated at being such a fearsome man, but now, he was just irritated. The adventurer’s attacks had become synchronized, and they moved with strategy rather than force. The commander had obviously instructed these warriors to no longer blindly engage the Demon King directly.
Razznik did not care if they organized themselves or not. It would all be meaningless before his might.
Razznik shot an arrow of light into the sky. The light arrows split into dozens of bolts at the apex of its flight and rained down on the enemies surrounding the Demon King. The mages swiftly reacted to this threat by setting up barriers to protect their units.
Razznik glanced at the mages, but their comrades refused to give Razznik the chance to attack them. Two swordsmen lunged at the Demon King’s back, but Razznik blocked the combined strikes with a staff. The Demon King spun around without pause and bashed in another warrior’s skull. He dropped to the ground as arrows whizzed over him, then extended his staff while he was on the ground. He spun around again, upsetting several warriors around him.
A set of nimble assassins jumped over the staff and struck at the exposed Demon King. Razznik’s eyes flashed as a black shield appeared on his left arm. He raised the shield over his head and successfully blocked the attack. The collective blow of the assassins’ weapons did not gain any purchase, and the Demon King instantly retaliated.
Razznik’s shield arm shot upwards, and the blow forced the assassin’s weapon arms upward. The Demon King sent the fools to the Circle with a swipe of a sword that appeared in his left arm.
Razznik stabbed the warriors on the ground before they could return to their feet. There was no time for respite as ten more came in their place. Razznik snorted as they approached. He had figured out the enemy’s tactic.
When Razznik attacked, a knight would shield, giving others an opportunity to attack him. This was the tactic most groups used, but it proved largely ineffective against the Demon King’s incredible strength. Razznik tore through shields like a knife through butter.
Even more reprehensible was his ‘quick switch’ ability.
Most masters could change their weapons while in the middle of a battle and even actions. These allowed for excess combos by the truly skilled. The problem was that it seemed Razznik had been born with weapons in his tiny hands and legs. He seamlessly cycled through his twelve creations at the most opportune times. Furthermore, his method of switching renders counters futile.
Razznik’s switched to his gloves as a knight charged at him with a lance. He lifted the weapon and the knight who was still holding on and flung them both into the skies above. A ranger capitalized on the opportunity and shot Razznik with arrows charmed with ice and fire. The ranger’s excitement instantly died as a shield appeared in Razznik’s free hand which he then used to block the bolts.
Razznik smashed his shield against an onrushing warrior, then switched to his twin blades and parried blows from several adventurers. Once an opening appeared, he changed to his broadsword and cleaved right through them.
No one could land any sort of significant hit on the Demon King, but that did not stop the frenzied warriors. They kept throwing themselves at him, with the consolation that eventually he would run out of both mana and stamina.
Meanwhile, Aileera and the masters approached Skyrm who stopped his attack out of curiosity.
“What is your name child?” Skyrm politely inquired.
“I am called Aileera great one,” Aileera answered with a bow. Behind her back, she made signals to Frena who nodded with understanding.
“You desire to battle with me?”
“No, my lord. My quarrel is with Razznik alone,” Aileera said, but the look in her eyes made Skyrm chuckle.
“You say you do not wish for battle, yet you make preparations for one. You, humans, are ever so interesting,” Skyrm said and brought his head down to take a close look at the gutsy human.
He is impossibly large. This was Aileera's thought when he brought his head down to her level. His forehead alone was more than twice her size, and he could easily carry a village on his back if need be. Were the creators mad when they made something this large? No one could hope to match it in combat!
“Why do you aid the traitor?” Aileera asked with a steely gaze. Skyrm had to admit he was impressed by her bravado. It was no wonder she was appointed as the commander of the coalition.
“He bested me in combat.” Skyrm flatly admitted.
“What?!” everyone except Aileera screamed. They had all assumed Razznik earned some favors by helping the dragons with some problems, but to defeat Skyrm?! That was something even an army would fail to accomplish!
“You already knew that, did you not, child?” Skyrm said to Aileera as he rose to his full height and took to the air with a great push of his wings. “Now you seek to raise the morale of your army even further by doing the very same.”
“Forgive my impertinence,” Aileera apologized, “but I need you to fall here.” She signaled Freya who finished the long chant and erected a dome barrier over the valley. The old man felt a pain in his heart as he looked at the scores of manastones that had crumbled to dust. Who knew how much money he had just burned?
“If you wish to end this painlessly, you will do well to turn away now,” Aileera advised Skyrm, with a confidence that did not match the situation.
“Hahaha!” Skyrm laughed loudly, but then his expression turned grim, followed by a snarl that would terrify even the bravest of men. “You would do well not to underestimate me,” he growled as bright balls of light appeared around him. The lights shot down, the ensuing explosions blasting building-sized craters in the earth.
“No. Whether it’s you or Razznik. You’re the ones taking me far too lightly,” Aileera declared and stomped her staff on the ground. A barrier formed over the Guildleaders and shielded them from the bombardment.
Aileera quickly cast several spells, and her companions experienced an unprecedented surge in power. “My apologies, but I do not have the time to have a proper duel with you,” she said to Skyrm as she began to cast another spell.
The King of Dragons was not so conceited that he would let her finish her chant. Skyrm dove down to personally end her. Her shields might protect her from mana based weapons, but his physical strength would easily shatter it to pieces.
A flurry of arrows forcefully halted the Dragon King’s advance. Skyrm irritatedly turned to look at the arrows’ source.
Miles, hidden within the trees, locked on to his target and let loose another hail. He used a technique similar to Razznik’s splitting arrows to divide his arrows into hundreds per shot. His objectives were Skyrm’s massive wings. Though they were intimidating to look at, as an archer, they made for very easy targets.
Skyrm was familiar with adventurers going after his wings. He easily dodged the predictable arrow paths by twisting in mid-air and folding his wings. He fired off a volley of his balls of light, but Miles was already gone from that spot. Another hail of arrows came at Skyrm from much farther away, and like the first, he easily avoided them.
The difference with these arrows was that they turned around in mid-air and pierced his wings. This attack barely left a strike, but it greatly insulted Skyrm’s pride! In his rage, he opted to fly low over the surrounding forests and soon spotted the bowman running through the thickets.
Skyrm swooped down till he was barely over the trees and prepared to roast Miles, but a blue form right in front of him gave him pause.
Blorg jumped out of a tree, ax drawn to cut down the beast, but Skyrm merely climbed above him and sprayed both him and Miles with his flames. Freya who erected a shield over both men in the nick of time, saving them from a fate of becoming human bacon.
Skyrm made a sharp U-turn when he saw they were unscathed and prepared a stronger fireball.
“Not while I live ‘n’ breathe!”
Skyrim heard a shout coming from his back. Before he could wonder who it was, he roared in startled pain as the voice’s owner drove a sword in-between his scales. Rono pulled out his scimitar and stabbed again. He had jumped onto the Dragon King’s back when Skyrm flew low with his grappling hook.
Skyrm sharply climbed into the sky in an attempt to toss the pirate off his back, but Rono was accustomed to the stormiest of seas. He calmly stabbed two large poles into the Dragon King’s backside, tied himself to them, and held on for his life.
“In all the seas have I not found myself a more worthy game,” Rono cheered as he continuously drove his blade into the beast’s back. His weapon's effects were not as simple as a simple stab. His scimitar had several enchantments on it that wreaked havoc in the monster's body.
Skyrm performed several stunts, including barrel rolls to get the pest of his back, but Rono refused to budge. Desperate, Skyrm crashed his back into a mountain, hoping the force would knock the pirate off his back.
Instead, two extra passengers got on. Their names were Troy and Else, two assassins so deadly silent and inconspicuous, they most likely would not have been mentioned in any records including this, were it not for the feat they performed.
The assassins, whose genders were impossible to tell, split up and jumped onto the wings of Skyrm. Before the Dragon King could react, they drove their daggers into its wings, and sped towards each other, ripping the wings apart in the process.
Skyrm cried out in pain as he struggled to keep his balance, but Miles, who never missed a chance fired off two arrows that grew in size as they flew. By the time they tore through Skyrms wings, they were as thick as cathedral pillars.
Left with no means to hold himself up, Skyrm helplessly plummeted to the earth. The Dragon King righted himself mid-crash and landed roughly on his feet. Enraged beyond reason, Skyrm randomly shot fireballs into the surrounding forest. Smoke and fire chocked the air, and the earth trembled under the Dragon King’s rage.
A sharp tug on his tail interrupted Skyrm’s rampage. He looked over his shoulder and saw the blasted lycan grabbing onto his tail. Blorg was ranked first in the land regarding raw physical strength. He proved why, as, imbued with Aileera’s buffs, he managed to drag Skyrm off his feet. He did not possess enough power to lift the Dragon King, but this much was more than enough.
With the underbelly exposed, the assassins rushed in to stab its heart, but right as their blades were about to break the skin, they instinctively retreated as a deadly glow burst out of Skyrm. The light shrunk in size and Razznik with it.
It took the shape of a man and then dissipated leaving an injured draconian in its wake. Skyrm’s humanoid form took the form of a red-scaled middle-aged man with long red hair that reached his waist. He was dressed in nothing but red pants, as he had no need for armor.
“To think I would be forced to use this form twice in one generation,” Skyrm mused and stretched to see if there were any complications with his body. None, it worked perfectly, and in this form, his wounds would heal faster. Skyrm’s gaze hardened as he glared at the Guild Leaders. “Come!”
Blorg led the attack under Miles’ covering fire.
Skyrm looked at the arrows with disgust and countered with mana bolts. Fireworks erupted as the projectiles clashed, but Skyrm’s mana-bolts won out in the end. Countless mana-bolts shot into the woods and flushed out the archer from his hiding place.
An explosion sent Miles flying, and blood poured out of deep injuries as he fell to the ground, unmoving.
Blorg took advantage of Skyrm’s preoccupation with Miles to quickly swing at the Dragon King. Unfortunately, Skyrm’s battle instinct was not something the young lycan could ever estimate.
Skyrm’s right foot blurred and kicked the weapon out of Blorg’s hands. Undaunted by the loss of his ax, Blorg attempted to grapple Skyrm, but the Dragon King gamely locked hands with the lycan in a contest of strength.
“I do believe I owe you,” Skyrm reminded Blorg. He pushed down, and Blorg’s back bent under the Dragon King’s superior strength. Skyrm snorted, kicked the lycan’s feet out from under him, then punched the suspended body. Blorg crashed to the earth with the force of a boulder and struggled to catch his breath.
Determined to complete his payback, Skyrm grabbed the lycan by his tail, swung him over his head and tossed Blorg far off into the woods. At that moment, the twin assassins seemed to appear from nowhere and stabbed at Skyrm, but he easily parried their blows. He then sent the twins flying with a punch and kick to their stomachs.
“Time to end this,” Skyrm stated as he grabbed Rono who had chosen that moment to launch a sneak attack at his back. Skyrm squeezed hard and almost cracked Rono’s neck, but instinct drove him to let the pirate go and dive back.
Boom!
Skyrm’s eyes narrowed as he examined a set of long white chains that had smashed into the ground at his previous location.
“What?!” Skyrm exclaimed as the snake-like chains sprung to life and slithered through the air toward him. He barely dodged the follow-up attack, but he could not rest as the damned chains doggedly hunted him down. Suddenly, a large pillar of light caught the Dragon King’s, and he was forced to stop as a giant arrow flashed by his back.
This stop proved to be fatal.
One of the chains tore through Skyrm’s left arm and pinned itself to the ground, followed soon by the remaining chains which pierced through his arms and legs. Skyrm attempted to break free, but a blinding light consumed him, and he felt all the power drain out of his body.
“Seal complete.” Someone confirmed.
Skyrm turned to see Aileera walking up to him. “This was your true aim?” He said through gritted teeth.
“I warned you not to underestimate me. Razznik is next,” Aileera said and turned away from the Dragon King. Sealing him was one thing. Killing him was another. They could fight for the better part of a day, and the Dragon King would remain standing. Furthermore, this seal only allowed for one attack before it shattered. Aileera was not confident she could end Skyrm in one strike, so it was better to keep the Dragon King sealed and away from the fight.
“Take him out? You do not understand that man’s true terror yet,” Skyrm laughed as the last of his strength ebbed. He looked up at the sky with a forlorn gaze. “I suppose time is up.”
BOOM!
Aileera’s expression warped with shock as a terrible earthquake shook the earth to its core. She turned to look at the valley and was greeted with the sight of a gargantuan pillar of black light that shot to the skies. Aileera paled as she realized that pillar had easily torn through a barrier made to withstand Skyrm’s greatest attack.
The commander barely got her wits about her when a shadow sped past her and smashed the chains that bound Skyrm.
“Many thanks,” Skyrm said to his savior and accepted the flask held out to him. He drank its contents and soon felt his power return. Skyrm looked at Razznik with hazy eyes. “So, this is it?”
Razznik released a wry smile and shook his head. “We both knew this would eventually come.”
“That may be so,” Skyrm muttered as wings sprouted from his back. With a powerful flap, he suspended a few feet off the ground. “But it does not change the unpleasantness of it all.”
Razz laughed and shook his head. “This is goodbye old friend.”
Skyrm looked like he wanted to say something, but he changed his mind, and with a large flap of his wings, he disappeared into the skies.
Razznik turned to look at Aileera, black sword imposingly balanced on his shoulder. “Enough games. Your army has been decimated. I have used up my summons. We are all low on mana and health. Let’s finish this.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Aileera agreed as she composed herself. The Guildmasters swallowed elixirs to heal the injuries from their fight with Skyrm then joined her side to surround the Demon King Razz.
Razznik looked at the Guildmasters with mirth in his eyes. In the end, it still came down to this. The Demon King against the world. Razznik let out a sardonic chuckle behind the mask. Wasn’t this the story of his life? Did he ever expect to have a different ending? “Dawn breaks in thirty minutes,” Razznik suddenly announced, causing the Guildmasters to tense up. “A winner will be decided by then.”
A drop of rain fell to from its birthplace in the sky and landed on Razznik’s sword. Stubbornly, it egged on, rolling down the blade, until it reached the edge, then fell off. It completed its journey, and its life came to an end as it moisturized the earth.
The adventurers rushed the Demon King for one final showdown.
As always Blorg led the attack from the front.
Razznik placed his sword in front of him and used his free hand to provide support as he blocked a direct blow from the lycan. The force forced the Demon King off the ground and tossed him a few yards away while Blorg’s arm recoiled sharply, leaving him defenseless.
Razznik stabbed his sword into the earth in mid-air and used it as a pivot to swing himself back the way he came. The sword dematerialized once the swing was complete and rematerialized in his hand as he lunged at the yet-to-recover lycan.
Two figures charged out from under Blorg and attacked the approaching Razznik, who responded by switching to his twin swords. The Demon King parried the assassin’s simultaneous attack, then forced them back with a powerful push, just as Rono lunged at his exposed back. Razznik instantly switched to his staff and smashed down at the pirate.
Rono anticipated the attack and danced around the staff, then launched a quick thrust at Razznik’s chest. The Demon King snorted and whacked Rono’s ribs with the staff. He then proceeded to hit one of the assassins with the butt end then whacked the other, who barely blocked with his dagger. However, the smash sent him careening through the air like a tossed bottle.
A hail of arrows raced towards Razznik, but he paid them no heed and instead charged to their source, effortlessly swatting away all that fell close to him with his sword.
Archers were weak at close range. That was the general conception about his kind in general, but Miles was one of the very few exceptions to that rule. He parried Rex’s swing with his bow, drew an arrow and made to stab the king’s midriff, but the Demon King switched to a shield and blocked it.
With a confident grin, Miles buried the arrow in the shield and jumped back. Boom! The enchanted arrow exploded, and Razznik was engulfed in the blast. This was not enough to slow down, Razznik, but that was never the archer’s aim.
Razznik cleared the smoke from the blast with a swing of his sword and was rewarded for his effort with an arrow the size of a hundred spears. With no time to spare, Razznik switched to his shield to protect himself, but the force launched him right out of the forest, to Freya who was waiting in midair.
The old mage’s body glowed with several enchantments which he took advantage of to kick down with the force of a mad Behemoth. Razznik blocked the kick with his shield, then grinned as a rope wrapped itself around the mage’s legs. Razznik pulled the raging Freya down to the earth with him
The black cord was another of Razznik’s creation. When he inserted his mana, he could control like a snake. He did not really like the whip, but it had its uses and moments.
Aileera who had been out of the picture till then suddenly appeared from nowhere and lunged at him, clad in a knights regalia, shield and all.
“I thought you were a mage?” Razznik blurted out in disbelief as he engaged her in a sword battle. The commander proved to be well versed in the art of sword-play. Not only did she keep up with him, but she also found the space to launch a good number of counter-attacks.
“You are not the only one who mastered several fields,” Aileera cooly replied. She kept up her barrage of attacks, apparently intending to buy time for her teammates to recover.
“Interesting,” Razznik said with a sadistic grin. “In that case...” He suddenly forced Aileera a few steps back with a powerful kick to her shield, then switched to a white oak staff with a massive manastone at its head. White chains similar to the one the commander had cast on Skyrm burst out from the earth and danced hungrily as they awaited their target.
“Those won’t work on me,” Aileera confidently stated with a little smirk.
“They are not meant for you,” Razznik snapped back and enjoyed the pale look on her face as she realized what he meant. The snakes slithered past her and pinned each of her companions to the ground.
“Fifteen minutes left,” Razznik announced as he switched to his signature broadsword. He pointed his sword at Aileera and challenged, “Prove your worth.”
The final two survivors of the Battle of Ki’ol rushed at each other in a flurry of swords. One used a beautiful blend of attacks, blocks and agile dodges and the other was a savage beast who swung with wild abandon and cared not for the little injuries caused by the opponent’s swings.
“Do you truly enjoy it?” Aileera questioned when their swords clashed, and their heads came within inches of other.
“Yes, I do!” Razz replied enthusiastically. “There is no greater joy than that you can find on the battlefield.”
“I mean is it so much fun fighting alone,” she asked, and Razz faltered for a second. Her swing cut through his mask, ripping it off, and he responded in kind with a deep cut across her stomach. She fell to the ground together with the mask and looked up at the man hailed as the Demon King.
The face underneath was not one the world would have expected. The man, Razznik Y’Terlow was no demon, yet he seemed to have abandoned his humanity. A scar ran across his face from the left of his lower lip, up through his right eye.
Razznik’s eyes, however, held the truth to his life. They were empty, yet laden with a heavy sorrow only a few in the world could ever understand. It was the eyes of a man who had rejected the world after realizing the emptiness of his dream. Razznik’s eyes remained fixated on Aileera as she rushed up and ran her sword through his chest. “Fun serves no purpose. I only live to get stronger than I was yesterday.”
“Stop lying!” Aileera shouted as she punched Razznik’s chest. “Do you dare to claim you never had fun outside fighting!? Do you dare!?”
Razznik stared at the commander as memories began flooding in. However, with a shake of his head, he muttered, “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. It doesn’t matter now,. I have accomplished my mission. I am the strongest man alive, the Demon King even. I successfully built my own empire in the most feared land of all. I terrified the world so much, they were willing to put aside the hatred for each other to raise an army for the sole purpose of killing me.”
“No matter how great the empire you build,.” Aileera weakly said as she stared into Razznik’s empty eyes. “It is nothing if you are alone in it.”
In that second where Razznik’s guard was down, a thousand arrows simultaneously pierced through his chest, legs, and arms, but he kept his focus on Aileera. The remaining masters broke free of their chains which had weakened along with Razznik and ran him through with their weapons.
Still, the Demon King refused to fall and kept his gaze on the woman in front of him.
“You know, this world could have been wonderful to you if you did not have so much hate,” Aileera said as she looked at him with pity.
Razznik took a step towards her, but then stopped when a flood of red light appeared on the horizon and slowly drowned everything. The commander of the army stood with her back to the rising sun and a smile on her face that drained the remaining energy from Razznik.
The Demon King leaked out a weak smile. “Hey, do you think they will remember me?”
“Baka,” Aileera playfully admonished as tears began to streak down her face. “No one will ever forget you.”
“And you? Will you forget me?”
“Idiot! Like I could ever forget you!”
“I see.” For the first time in his entire life, Razznik revealed a bright, happy grin. “Then that is enough.”
Truly Beautiful... Razznik thought as darkness enveloped, then transported him to the world beyond. A white cloud appeared in the distance and floated towards him, expanding into letters as it got closer. When in full view, it said the words that let the King know his end had indeed arrived.
GAME OVER!
Seventeen years old Suzuki Mato swallowed a deep breath as he took off his helmet. He sighed and pushed his hair out of his eyes as he looked up at the ceiling.
“Truly... It’s all over...”
Stay tuned for Chapter 1