Moldark coughed blood and fell to his knees.

The moon shined its pale glow on him, discoloring the blood gushing from his body. How did it come to this? When he roamed the lands in his ram-horned helm and spiked, jagged armor, people cowered. Cried. Begged. Now the Demon King’s armor was broken, dangling by leather straps from his wrecked body. Each breath sent sharp pain throughout his chest. Blood oozed from his orifices and pooled beneath him. His throne room stood as a testament to his fall. Regal splendor reduced to ruins. The ceiling had collapsed. Debris littered the cracked stone floor. Remains of his mightiest minions lay strewn about, entangled amidst the wreckage.

Moldark groaned. “Hargrim... you bastard…”

Steel scraping against stone echoed through the throne room. A knight clad in armor white as snow, with gold and silver trim, limped across the floor. Hargrim panted, gripping his waist as he left a trail of blood with each step. His greatsword, as big as himself, dragged behind him.

“What was it you said to me?” The knight mustered his strength and pointed his sword. “You’d have a feast in my honor… picking your teeth with my bones?”

Moldark spat blood as he tried grabbing the handle of his war ax. Just out of reach. He let out a hoarse chuckle. “Who is to say… I still won’t, Santiago?”

Moldark lunged for the ax, but Santiago sliced off the demon king's right arm. The Demon King slipped on his own blood and fell to the ground, wheezing.

Santiago pointed his blade at Moldark’s neck. “Where is it?”

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“You think I’d keep… my treasure close… knowing you were coming?”

“Where is it?” Santiago yelled.

“Hidden.” Moldark cackled. “Search to the… ends of the earth… you’ll never… find it.”

Santiago growled, then lowered his sword.

“Luck has to run out sometime. Mine did… Now it’s yours.” Moldark groaned, wheezed, and glared back up at the knight. “Uoy naht lufrewop erom dna, rekrad, regnorts, wena egreme ll'I, evarg eht morf!”

Santiago narrowed his eyes and heaved as he raised his sword above his head.

“Dnamed s'htaed fo sniahc eht kaerb dna, nruter yam I taht rewop tneicna eht ekovni I!”

The knight’s blade came down. Moldark's head rolled to the ground.

Santiago dropped his sword and fell to his knees gripping his side.

“My lord!” A squad of Nemract knights, clad in silver armor, came charging into the desolate throne room. They surrounded their leader.

“Are you alright, my lord?” a knight banneret asked.

Santiago raised his head. “Did you find it?”

“No sir.”

“Then it’s not here.” Santiago struggled to his feet. His legs wobbled as he fought to remain standing. Two knights grabbed beneath his arms to assist.

“It has to be sir. Where else could he have hidden it?” asked the banneret.

Santiago stared into Moldark’s glazed, lifeless eyes. “Somewhere. Everything he stole, pillaged, and robbed… we’ll get it back.”

“We must act swiftly, my lord. What is to stop others from finding it first?”

“Common folk are of no concern. If his children find the treasure, we will fight this battle again, and I cannot promise I’ll win a second time.”