Friedrich and Pheston stood in the torture chamber beneath the castle as Pheston used scraps of cloth from the bodies of the dead prisoners to bind his wounds while Friedrich discarded the demon driver’s armour. It was disheartening to see so many intelligent beings from their home plane of Terna, but Friedrich was just glad that Pheston wasn’t among the dead when he had arrived here.
“You said we’ll see if we cand draw him out,” said Friedrich to the smith. “How do we do that? Where does he stay?”
“Did you not come through the courtyard?” asked Pheston.
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll have seen it.”
“I didn’t see much of anything,” admitted Friedrich. “I was marching straight across it while pretending to be a demon. I didn’t look up or to either side even once.”
Pheston guffawed. “You’re a funny one, lad, but I can’t complain. It worked and you got me out of this bind.”
“The Lord of Horns?”
“Yes, him,” said Pheston. “He stays in his tower above the courtyard. You didn’t even notice the shadow that it cast over everything?”
Friedrich thought about it and he did seem to recall something like that. “Maybe,” he said. “In any case, let’s get moving and see this mission through. With any luck, it’ll make this land safer for us.”
“That’s optimistic of you, but I hope you’re right. Let’s go.”
Friedrich and Pheston walked up the staircase with their weapons in hand, only to be accosted by a group of demons who were surveying the corpses of their brethren at the top of the stairs. The same ones that Friedrich had killed no more than ten minutes ago.
“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” said Pheston.
The two engaged the demons, piercing and crushing their skulls. Pheston used his impressive might to hurl them down the corridor to thin the numbers while he fought and Friedrich slipped in and out of his fox form to dodge and used his shield to block the heavy swings from their swords. As the last of the demons fell, the two marched along and headed for the courtyard.
They walked along, taking it in turns to slaughter any demon that dared accost them. So expert were they at killing their foes in Keldracht that it had become second nature; even to Friedrich, who had been here considerably less time than Pheston.
The two threw open the doors and strolled into the courtyard as the demons here stood to attention. Much to Friedrich’s surprise, they did not make any moves for them, but Pheston had a knowing look on his face.
“It seems like we’ve already caught his attention,” he said, looking up.
Floating in the sky above them was a metal tower that looked as though it had been snapped off from somewhere else in the castle. It had splintered metal edges all along it and Friedrich could see the underside of the spiral staircase leading upwards within the tower.
Sitting on the edge of the tower’s battlements and looking down upon the courtyard was a giant wyvern with scales as black as night and jagged protrusions coming from its body that went beyond mere horns—of which there were four streaming out from the back of its head. Its thick tail swayed as it stared at Friedrich and Pheston, rubbing against the metal outer wall of the floating tower.
Atop the wyvern, sat its rider. Even from the distance, Friedrich could see two large horns erupting from the side of his head. He felt a pang in his soul as the minotaur looked on through Friedrich’s eyes in fury and fear as the Lord of Horns watched the two humans.
The beating of black wings in the sky came and the wyvern caried its master through the air, swirling around the tower as it did so before landing on the ground with a heavy thud and sending a wave of dust across the courtyard.
The Lord of Horns himself was a demon clad in much more intricate armour than his kin, but he wore no helmet, for none would easily fit upon his head with the footlong horns that protruded from him. He had deep orange eyes that looked like swirling lava and bore a wide smile that showed off his jagged fangs.
He let out a deep laugh and spoke to the humans in his rough, booming voice. “You are bold to have dared walked into my domain, boy. All to rescue this consistent thorn in my side? For what purpose? All it will mean is your death.”
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“Humans care about friendship and loyalty, Lord of Horns,” said Friedrich, standing tall. “You may consider that a weakness, but to me, it’s a strength.”
“Perhaps it can be, but it is certainly not today. Especially once I extract your souls and add you both to my demonic army. I hope you have taken to the land of Keldracht, because it will be your home for eternity.”
Friedrich felt his arm moving towards the minotaur mask and the Lord of Horns was very much aware of this, but rather than stop him, he allowed the young man to place the mask upon his face and take on the hulking form of the minotaur.
“I know that hideously hair face,” said the Lord of Horns, laughing once more. “Could it possibly be Darkan?”
The minotaur snorted and muttered. “Horns…”
“You cannot speak anymore? I remember a time when you could not shut up. Especially as my army slaughtered your kin and wiped out your entire clan, Darkan. What a pathetic excuse for a warlord you were, you stupid bull. And to think, your fate is even more pitiful, is it not?”
Darkan’s chest heaved up and down as Friedrich tried to restrain the minotaur from taking over.
“You were the last survivor and yet, somehow, your soul ends up bound to a plank of wood. Now, you’re the lapdog of a human? Oh, how the not-so-mighty have fallen.”
Unable to take the goading any longer, Darkan overwhelmed Friedrich’s control and charged towards the Lord of Horns. Rather than aim for the demon lord himself, the minotaur directed himself to the ash wyvern. The beast lunged for him, but Friedrich grabbed its upper and lower jaw from within and wrenched it apart, snapping the bone and letting the lower jaw fall limp.
The wyvern whipped its tail around and Friedrich caught it. He gave into Darkan’s instinct and sank his teeth into it, tearing a large chunk from it and spitting scales, flesh and green blood onto the courtyard. No longer content to let his pet do all of the work—especially as it was losing—the Lord of Horns leapt from his minion’s back and held up his right hand, conjuring a whip of flames into it.
As Friedrich battled the master and his mount, Pheston had darted for the surrounding demons and was in the process of obliterating their skulls one by one. Needing the extra reach as his foes swarmed him, he held up his hammer and the shaft tripled in length. He twirled it around, smashing it into demon after demon, keeping them busy while Friedrich dealt with their wicked lord.
“Lie down like the beast you are,” spat the Lord of Horns as he whipped Friedrich with his fiery whip.
The young man tried to grab it, but his hand passed right through the flames which burned his hairy palms. The wyvern whipped him in the legs with its mutilated tail and knocked him to the ground, but that was something Friedrich could grab.
From the soil, he yanked the wyvern’s tail with great force, pulling it to him and knocking the Lord of Horns aside. As the demon rushed to his feet, his face bore a look of fury at being struck and he drew back his arm to whip Friedrich once more, but Friedrich had already stood up.
Using his tremendous might, he swung the wyvern around and took the searing strikes to the back before launching the scaled ash beast into its master and pinning down the Lord of Horns. As the disoriented creature struggled, Friedrich climbed on its back and jammed his fingers into its eyes, blinding it before hopping down and giving the creature berth as its master arose from beneath.
“When I turn you into one of us,” said the Lord of Horns with scorn in his voice, “I will leave just a little piece of you alive so that you can see everything that I make you do. Every atrocity will tear into your soul and you will be powerless to stop it. I will make you rue the day you picked up that mask, and I will make you rue the day that you stepped foot into Keldracht. Into my territory.”
As Friedrich charged the Lord of Horns with his fists raised, he felt himself painfully shrink as he resumed human form. The Lord of Horns snarled at him and unleashed his whip, but Friedrich was astute enough to dive towards his enemy and out of the way of the attack.
He swung his sword upwards and struck the Lord of Horn’s chin, cutting a deep gash into him. Unwilling to be beaten by a human, the demon raised his other hand and launched a fireball that struck Friedrich in the neck and he threw himself backwards as he smelled the burning of his flesh. He transformed into a fox and then back into a human to rid himself of the wound.
“Your parlour tricks do not matter here,” said the Lord of Horns as he discarded his whip and sent a wave of intense flame at Friedrich.
Meanwhile, Pheston found himself surrounded by a dozen demons, many of whom were grabbing at his limbs with their sharp nails and cutting into him. Pushing through the pain, the smith ducked low and ran forward, charging into his foes and tackling six of them down at once before brutalising them with his hammer, even as he was struck by his other opponents. He would thing this herd as much as he could before he died.
There was suddenly a loud stomping and cries from the demons as three of them went flying overhead. Pheston turned to see what had happened and saw the demonic ash wyvern going into a frenzy, so pained and blinded was the beast. It let out a blood-curdling roar, almost screech-like in pitch as it flailed. Pheston stood up and backed away from the demons, ensuring that the wyvern was close by enough to deliver a chunk of collateral damage to those that were on its side.
Friedrich fought hard against the Lord of Horns, using his shield and fox form to block and dodge as best as he could. The enraged master of the castle was not letting up and Friedrich was unable to get close enough to land another strike.
As he assumed Kitt’s form once more, the Lord of Horns conjured a flaming sword into his hand and swung it down, cutting into the fox’s tail and almost severing it. Friedrich hurriedly turned back into a human, but the Lord of Horns was quick off the mark and grabbed him by the throat before shoving his elemental blade through Friedrich’s gut.
The young man let out a howl of pain and could not focus his mind enough to turn back into a fox to heal himself. The Lord of Horns plunged the sword deeper and it emerged from Friedrich’s back, burning him from the inside as he screamed. His head flopped down and he saw a twinkling blue light resting upon his chest. The minotaur mask had recharged.