The war culminated in the Battle at Qhenha Plains, on the border of the Great Empire of Ker'uva and the Ennian Kingdom, three weeks ago. It raged on for four days during which time hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions, lay dead. Men of all realms and demons of all forms.

During the twilight of the fourth day of battle all seemed lost for humanity. The Seven Heroes could not break through the Demon Generals' defences while the remaining demon forces threatened to shatter the coalition lines.

It was at this point that Hoccer, one of the Seven Heroes, called out across the carnage, his thick Korkish accent muffling his words.

"Agathor! Gatmore! We're doomed if this continues!"

He stopped for a moment, defending an attack from one of the Demon Generals before continuing.

"I am going to use what strength I have left to blow a hole through these defences and leave a passage to that bastard. You two have the strongest single strike and have the best chance of ending this hell. It must be you two."

Agathor and Gatmore, despite knowing how risky this was in that it exposed Hoccer and left the entire coalition vulnerable, understood this was the only choice left available.

They replied in unison.

"Understood."

"Understood."

This was not the time or place for sentimentalities.

Hoccer turned his blade toward the direction of the Demon King and breathed in deeply before performing the ultimate Ninth Form of the Tetin Sword Art. Soon a blinding force shot out from his blade, scorching everything it came into contact with.

As Hoccer fell in exhaustion, Agathor and Gatmore burst through the newly created hole in the Host's defences. Agathor deflected any and all attacks from the demons with his Marezen technique as Gatmore charged ahead.

And before long the two had reached their destination. The Demon King, Nathuh, had easily dispersed the strike from Hoccer with his palm, though there were now burns marks.

Gatmore immediately struck out with the Seventh Form of the Thorn technique. It involved a single, thin line flowing from the tip of the Thorn Sword and striking its target like a fierce dragon.

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Nathuh defended against the blow with his greatsword and began to mutter words under his breath with imperceptive haste. As he did so, his greatsword lit up with mystic symbols that seemed to move around like a frenzied flame.

All the while Agathor struck with a combination of strikes from the Hatalian and Marezan techniques, and defended against the attacks of other surrounding demons.

The unified attack of Agathor and Gatmore was proving effective as the Demon King began to bleed.

But soon, the tides turned as Gatmore was raised into the air by some invisible force. Agathor's eyes darted to Nathuh and saw that the demon had stopped chanting and had raised his hands above his monstrous head and was poised to clench his fists.

He also saw behind him that the Demon Generals he and Gatmore had previously being fighting had caught up and now, along with thousands of other demons, surrounded him.

It was at this point, the point of deepest desperation, that a great strength surged from within the Marezen Sword and flowed into Agathor. His muscles pulsed with power and his sight gained extra clarity.

In his mind, the movements that constituted the Six Forms of the Hatalian technique and the complete Nine Forms of the Marezen technique coalesced into one strike.

Time seemed to stop as Agathor took his stance and angled his sword to strike.

He swung out.

An unstoppable force was emitted from his blade and it was directed straight at Nathuh's neck.

Fear possessed the Demon King as he saw the Marezen Sword moving towards him. Then he saw the sky above as his head flew from his shoulders. Then he saw death.

After finishing off Nathuh and the lesser demons that surrounded him, Agathor and Gatmore rushed back to Hoccer. WIth their comrade's life on the line, they had no time to waste looting a corpse.

By this time, the remaining demons, including the Demon Generals, had already began to flee from the battlefield deep into the nearby forests.

Unfortunately, by the time they reached Hoccer, what greeted them was their friend's bloodied corpse. Indeed, after clearing a path for the two of them, he no longer had the strength to defend himself.

Agathor bit lip his tight to stop tears from falling. He felt regret. He felt rage.

He had experienced this loss far too many times this year. But it never got easier.

Agathor and Gatmore lifted Hoccer's body and carried him from the battlefield back to the camp, all the while the coalition warriors chased after the routed demons, slaughtering them with no mercy.

At the camp, the remaining heroes gathered.

Of the seven, only Hoccer had fallen in battle.

Sybil caressed Hoccer's face with her hand as tears trickled down her face.

She spoke softly.

"At least the plan worked, sweet Hoccer."

Indeed, by taking into account the strengths of each hero, it was planned that Agathor, Gatmore and Hoccer would try to break through to the Demon King while the others would hold the line against most of the Demon Generals.

And the plan had worked. But the victory did not taste sweet. The coalition had entered this battle with over a million men. It left with under twenty thousand. That only Hoccer had died out of the seven spoke to the heroes' strength, and that the remaining soldiers had not shattered sooner spoke to the spirit and fight of humanity in the face of annihilation.