Magic clashes overhead. Defender wards meet corrupted power. Ancient runes carved in floor stones flicker, then fade. Their protection dies. Fear replaces discipline in the eyes of those defending.

Marnac's horde flows through broken lines. Imps bite ankles with venom-fangs. Trolls swing clubs that turn armor to pulp. Other monsters and lesser things come forth.

Each death weighs against borrowed purpose, but these bones press forward.

The inner gateway beckons. Defenders retreat deeper, rolling spiked barriers into place. Their eyes show truth, they know their Duke weakens. If we reach his throne room, it ends.

Marnac appears, grinning. "Forward, bone titan! The Duke's heart awaits!"

He believes I share his hunger. Let him dream. The Duke's death serves greater purpose than his ambition.

The corridors narrow.

Defenders use this, forming choke points. Green flames spurt from traps.

Trolls grab imps by their tails, using them as shields. The smaller demons shriek, clawing air as flames wash over twisted forms. Flesh bubbles and melts, but the trolls march forward.

These bones once scorched by demon flames, by these mere flames cannot be scorched.

I press forward.

Ahead, a troll holds imp as shield, but is insufficient, the fires find its eyes and destroy its vision. It begins to rampage, aiming not for defenders but for all those within reach.

A charred imp hurtles through air, its melted flesh still smoking. I sidestep.

Behind the thrown imp, the blinded troll charges. Blood streams from an empty sockets where green flame found purchase. A blinded eye rolls wild unfocused.

The massive club swings in desperate arcs.

Steel meets wood. The club's impact is harsh against bone. A quick crack echoes off stone walls as my shoulder joint separates. No matter. These titan-forged bones know their purpose.

Aeternus flows.

The blade finds the space between the troll's neck and collar. Clean. Precise. The head parts from shoulders in a single sweep, trailing corruption-dark blood.

The headless body takes two more steps before recognition catches up with death. The club slips from lifeless fingers, striking stone with a hollow sound. The massive frame topples, crushing smaller demons beneath its bulk.

More trolls lumber forward, fresh imps writhing in their grasp. Green flames continue to pour from walled traps. The corridor fills with smoke and screaming demons.

"Push through!" Marnac commands from behind. "Let nothing slow our advance!"

My sword moves in patterns.

Limbs scatter. Bodies crumple. Each step brings us closer to the Duke's inner sanctum.

The flames intensify, turning stone white-hot.

I stride through their ranks, Aeternus clearing a path.

Living or dead, flesh proves temporary. Only purpose endures.

These bones advance through fire. A barricade of twisted iron and bonded wood blocks the path. Defenders jab poisoned spears through gaps. Aeternus falls like judgment. Wood splinters. Iron bends. They break.

The fortress trembles. Walls weep ash. Blood paints stone floors black.

My shadow falls across them. They turn as one, axes seeking to pry these bones apart. Sparks fly. Their blades find no purchase.

Aeternus rises. They block together, weapons meeting greater steel. For a moment, balance holds.

Then the blade's runes ignite. Their weapons crack. A backswing takes one defender's head. A kick shatters another against stone. The last tries to flee. A troll's claws end his retreat.

No mercy dwells in these halls. Only war.

The corridor beyond slopes downward.

Smoke swirls. Ash falls.. Battle echoes fade behind us. Ahead, defenders form their final line before great doors carved with infernal runes.

Black stone pulses corruption. The fortress exhales dread.

Our forces crash into their ranks. Gnolls tear plate mail open. Imps fling conjured fire. Defenders fall.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

A Knight-Captain, once human, twisted by demonic gifts, screams command: "Hold! By the Duke's order, hold!"

Doubt trembles in a voice, woman.

I step through chaos. Arrows glance off bone. The Knight-Captain sees me. She rallies scaled brutes in etched armor. They swarm, seeking gaps in my plating.

The Knight-Captain's soldiers, demons all, they attack, each blow seeking to crack and splinter.

As if striking bones was enough to quiet these chosen bones.

My titanic frame towers over their assault. Aeternus moves. The blade thunders in ways I cannot. Black blood sprays stone. Bodies fall.

The Knight-Captain's blade takes my arm at the elbow. The limb crashes to the floor, fingers still gripping sword. No matter. My other hand catches her throat. Clawed gauntlets scratch uselessly against bone as I lift her from the ground.

Her legs kick wildly as my skeletal fingers tighten.

The Knight-Captain's free hand pulls a curved dagger from her belt. Black steel meets bone. The blade chips fragments from my arm, each strike desperate powerful, precise.

Pieces scatter.

Her dagger finds gaps, prying loose smaller fragments. No matter. These titan-forged bones care nothing for pain.

My grip remains absolute.

Her enhanced strength drives the blade deeper.

Hands grip tigther. They squeeze.

Her eyes bulge, blood vessels bursting.

Red spreads.

The dagger strikes grow weaker, less coordinated.

Her boots scrape against chosen bones.

Corruption-touched muscles strain.. Her spine bends backward, vertebrae stretched to breaking. Cartilage tears amid crooked practice r choked gasps.

My grip tightens one final time.

A sharp crack.

Her head lolls at an unnatural angle. The dagger clatters to the floor from limp fingers.

I release the corpse. Like discarded cloth.

Her warriors hesitate, weapons wavering. Their discipline breaks. Some flee toward the great doors. Others throw down arms, backing away from death.

My severed arm drags itself across stone, climbing my leg. The elbow joint clicks home.

Fingers flex, testing the connection.

Whole once more, I advance.

Marnac's forces surge past fallen defenders. Ram the final gate with iron-bound logs. Pry at hinges. Wood cracks. Runes flicker, die.

Survivors huddle in corners. Buy seconds, not salvation.

These are demons, monsters, not humans. Once the duke is done, I'll be back.

The gate breaks inward.

The corridor opens to an antechamber. Heavy doors sealed with metal bands guard the throne room. Defenders wait. Ready. Runes pulse warning across the floor.

Marnac's forces gather for the final push. The ground trembles.

The floor splits. Hidden seams appear. Stone slabs pivot downward. Demons screech. Scramble for purchase. My claws find a crack in the wall. Below, lava bathes the chamber in crimson light. The fortress bleeds fire.

Marnac's minions fall. Their screams fade to silence in molten rock. Defenders tumble mid-attack, dragged down by their prey. I hang above destruction. My feet find narrow purchase. Aeternus remains ready.

Across the gap, surviving defenders watch from stable ground. Marnac hovers, gripped by a straining winged horror. Curses flow from his lips. He urges remaining troops to find another path. Some try to leap the divide.

A central platform stands untouched. Upon it waits the Duke's elite guard, twisted things with blade-arms gleaming. Behind them towers their master. The Demon Duke stands wrapped in ruined armor. One arm gone. One eye weeping black ichor. A twisted spear supports his weight. Old wounds speak of battles with his own kind.

[Encountered: The Demon Duke (Level 63)]

[Warning: Enemy exceeds current level]\

[Status Effects: Healing (Demon Regeneration), Injured (Previous Combat), Crippled (Missing Limb)]

[Level Penalty Applied]

[Threat Assessment: Extreme]

His laugh scrapes stone. "You bring filth to my halls, Marnac?" The words echo. Then he turns to me. "And you, bone titan, what do you hope to gain?"

He sees truth. Knows these bones serve no demon's will.

The Duke's remaining eye narrows, studying newer frame. "I remember you. Three years past, when you dared stand against me."

His spear rises, pointing. "Those bones I scorched to ash. Yet here you tower, wearing different dead."

He speaks truth without knowing it. These are not the same bones he burned defending Joist's refugees. The Field of Broken Banners rebuilt this form with ancient warriors, dragon parts, and deeper magic.

His corrupted spear trembles. Black blood from his wounds .

"You were smaller then," he continues. "A mere skeleton playing at knighthood. I scattered your borrowed bones across scorched earth."

He studies my titanic frame. Recognition dawns on face.

"No," the Duke growls, stepping back. "Impossible. You are not him. That guardian I destroyed outside Haven's walls? Those bones scattered to dust."

I advance across the narrow ledge. Each step precise. These borrowed bones know their path.

His spear trembles. "That skeleton could barely stand against my power. You, you are something else. Some champion of the grave perhaps? Or another of Marnac's deceptions?"

The platform edge draws near. Twenty paces remain. The Duke's elite guard tighten their formation.

"You wear similar armor, yes." His voice rises, uncertainty bleeding through. "But you are not that broken thing I cast down. You cannot be. I destroyed it utterly."

Fifteen paces. The guard's blade-arms extend, ready to strike.

"Show yourself, pretender! What manner of bone-titan dares wear that guardian's aspect?"

Ten paces. Heat from the lava below warps the air.

The Duke's remaining eye widens as I continue my advance. "Stop! I command you to stop!"

His spear rises. Dark energy crackles along its length. The weapon shakes in his grip.

Five paces remain between these bones and his platform. His elite guard bunch together, preparing to meet my charge.

"You cannot be him," the Duke mutters mostly to himself. "I destroyed that skeleton myself."

The platform between us holds steady while lava churns below. His elite guard shifts stance. Behind them, their master's armor shows fresh cracks, signs of recent battles with his own kind.

My claws dig deeper into stone. Titan-forged bones know their task. The sword Aeternus shares certainty.

Marnac's gives a command, "The Duke, kill him now!"

The command falls empty. Most of his forces feed the lava below. Those few surviving demons cling to walls, more focused on survival than assault.

The Duke's laugh holds pain beneath mockery. "Still barking orders, little defiler? Your army melts while you flutter above on borrowed wings."

His eye returns to my form. "But you, bone titan, you're no demon's puppet. What drives these dead bones to my door if you are not him?"

I remain silent. Let him wonder. Purpose needs no voice.

The gap means nothing. Duty calls from across the flames, and then comes the compulsion. '=

The Duke laughs. "Come then, bone titan. Let us see what manner of dead thing dares my throne."

These bones know no hesitation. The gap beckons. Beyond it waits purpose.

I leap.