The Last Demon Lord

This is a short story (~25 pages) that I wrote for an anthology.  It'll have to come down when the anthology gets published (probably close to March/April) but I thought that I should post it in the meantime.  It's self contained (not part of any of my other worlds), so if that isn't your jam- no worries.

Anyway, cheers!

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“Hold!” Angela barked over the ring of metal on scales.  Imps lay scattered on the castle floor, their bodies rotting and turning into dark miasma at a visible rate.

She swung her sword, feeling it cut through the very mana in the air as it whipped through the neck of another imp, decapitating the foul creature.  Holy light glowed in a nimbus around her as she ran past the melting bodies to help Lanellwell and Karrak, the elf and dwarf paragons as they struggled with the twenty foot tall bull demon.

Horus and Sarah, the twin heroes from the kingdom of Golbet were backed into a corner.  Sarah’s armor was ripped open, revealing a festering cut along the right side of her ribs, and Horus’ upper thigh had a hole through it that matched the imps’ venomous tails.  Part of Angela wanted to turn back and save them.  After all, the five of them were all that were left of the twelve heroes that had set out from Port Makkus almost two years ago.

A bellow from the bull demon buried that urge.  Lanellwell was distracting the monster with his arrows, and Karrak’s ax was chopping furrows into the thick leather of the monster’s hide.  Between the two of them, they were barely holding the demon back.

Lighting flashed between its horns, and Angela didn’t have much of a choice.  She dipped into her dwindling mana reservoir, and a pair of ethereal glowing wings sprouted from her back.

For a second, the drab firelit castle changed.  The flickering black and white exploded into color and time slowed to a crawl.  Angela felt life filling her.  The exhaustion from their battle through the halls of the demon king’s castle faded in an instant, replaced instead with clarity and energy.  She felt like she could reach through the ceiling itself and pluck the moon from the sky if she truly wanted too.

And ten years ago, maybe she could have.

Angela dismissed the thought.  Her sword darted through the air, intercepting the bolt of lighting launched by the demon toward Lanellwell.  She could have summoned aura to coat her blade, deflecting the attack harmlessly, but instead she suppressed her instincts, biting her lower lip and letting the electricity flow into her through the silver blade.

The muscles of her arm locked and seized, and almost immediately Angela began processing the mana leftover by the demon’s attack.  She ducked under a swing from one of its hand axs while Karrak blocked the other with the Shield of the Earthfather.  His artifact had seen better days, its failing magic insufficient to automatically repair the hundreds of nicks and scrapes that marred the shield’s adamantine surface, but it was still sturdy enough to stop the demon’s ax.

Angela’s silver blade flashed in the torchlight, cutting through the muscles of the monster’s abdomen and spilling hissing purple blood.  The bull dropped its head downward, trying to gore her, but that only gave Karrak a chance to slam his ax into the side of the creature’s neck.

An arrow sprouted from the monster’s eye, the shaft almost invisible behind the off white pegasus feather that had been used to fletch it.  The wound hissed and smoked as the enchanted arrow dumped a trickle of holy energy into the monster, but after barely a second, the magic sputtered to a stop.

Still, an arrow was an arrow, and the demon was missing an eye. Angela slipped to the creature’s side, taking advantage of the sudden blind spot to plunge her sword into its flank.  The entire fight could be over in a second if she were to activate her sword aura.  An image of her blade cutting through the monster’s scale and flesh like butter flashed through her mind.

But that would only earn her a victory in this battle.  The five of them weren’t done with the demon king’s castle yet.

She jumped backward, easily dodging the clumsy ax stroke that the demon launched blindly in her general direction.  There was another clang as Karrak blocked another attack followed a moment later by a dull thunk as his ax bit into the monster’s thigh.

The bull staggered, its remaining eye frantically looking for a wall or pillar it could put its back to as Angela stalked around behind it.  Without imps to support it, the outnumbered demon couldn’t fight three people at once without using its magic.

It seemed to come to the same realization as Angela, and both of its horns began to glow, their black surface flickering with blood red light as it gathered the thin mana in the air to cast a spell.

Angela didn’t give it a chance, lunging forward and stabbing her silver blade up to its tip in the creature’s lower back.  Reluctantly, she activated the sword’s enchantment, releasing some of her carefully hoarded magic.

The spell coursed through the demon’s body, draining mana from it like a sponge sucked up water.  It stumbled, mouth gaping like a fish on land as it tried and failed to suck in a breath.

Karrak’s ax split open its chest, and the monster’s tainted mana flowed into her.  Angela should have stopped the dark, ravenous energy from entering her body.  It would ravage capillaries of her mana core, burning and damaging it.  In ordinary times, it would take her months to fix the aftermath of absorbing demonic energy.

Now?  It would take years.  But that was only if she planned on fixing it.

Her mouth tasted like iron.  Angela wasn’t sure if she had bit her tongue, or if that was a side effect of absorbing the corrupt mana.  Either way, she clung onto her sword for dear life.  It felt like needles of fire were sprouting from the hilt and worming their way up her arms.  She knew without looking that the veins of her forearms would be dark and bulging, ponderous with the forbidden energy that she was channeling.

The bull collapsed.  Angela held her breath for a second, only relaxing when the tips of its hooves began to smoke, beginning the long process of transforming what had been a mighty demon into nothing more than choking miasma.

Lanellwell pivoted smoothly, drawing back his bow and firing three arrows in short succession at the corner where Horus and Sarah had been making their stand.  Two imps were collapsed on top of the humans, their mouths still filled with the twins’ flesh.  A third was halfway to where they had slain the bull demon, clawing soundlessly at the arrow that was sticking out of its throat.

Angela sighed, the aches and exhaustion of battle reappearing now that the adrenaline was fading.

“Two more dead,” she said, stabbing the tip of her blade into the demon’s corpse.  Foul energy trickled into her.  Not much left.  The demon had been on its last legs and her sword’s enchantment wasn’t what it used to be.

Not much was anymore.

“There’s only three of us left,” Karrak replied, his voice a bass rumble.  “I remember when we started out.  A dozen heroes to save the world from the Demon Lord, just like in the prophecy.  Everyone cheered and threw rice in the air like it was a wedding.”

“Where did it go wrong?” Lanellwell asked mournfully.  “Horus was a bit of a stick in the mud, but I actually thought Sarah was going to make it until the end.  The peasants kept cheering while we were prevailing over goblins and werebeasts, but as soon as we started fighting actual demons, as soon as we started dying, then they weren’t anywhere to be found.”

“Come on now,” Angela said, trying to force some positive energy into the conversation.  “We just slew the Demon Duke of Destruction.  That means that the only enemy between us and the Demon Lord is the Duke of Terror.  There might be only three of us left, but most of the Demon Lord’s army is already dead.”

Karrak sighed, reaching up to take off his helmet.  He ran a gloved hand through his orangish red hair, smearing it with soot and blood.

“I almost feel bad for the demons,” he grumbled.  “This is the fourth Demon Lord, they pop up every two hundred and fifty years like clockwork, and all of the previous generations have tales about magic that can create castles from clouds and weapons from dreams.  I expected to be testing my battle aura against spells that could blast a hole in a mountain.  Instead, we’re throwing our last scraps of magic at each other, barely a step up from a couple drunks fighting outside a pub.”

“Whether our victory is by muscle or magic,” Angela replied, a smile she didn’t feel pasted to her face, “the bards will sing of our victory regardless.”

“Maybe,” Karrak said, unimpressed.  “I’m not questioning that we’re doing the right thing, but the world is changing.  I’m not sure the bards will care about how many of us died to stop the Demon Lord.”

“I’m not sure they’ll even mention a Demon Lord,” Lanellwell agreed, darkly.  “They’re so sure we’re going to win, that half of the townsfolk we talk to don’t even realize that the war is still ongoing.  They’d rather talk about the new trains and oilless lamps that the technology wizards are putting up everywhere.”

“They call themselves engineers,” Karrak replied, “some of them don’t even believe magic is real.  Never mind that the world has been ruled by magic for thousands of years with sorcerers creating wonders and shaping the very landscape.  Suddenly, if they haven’t seen something with their own eyes, it never existed.  It’s just ‘superstition.”

Angela felt uncertainty flare in her chest.  As a sorceress, she had lived for almost three hundred years, and there was no denying the way the world was shifting.  At first, mana grew thinner.  It took longer to regain your energy after casting a powerful spell.  That was easy to brush off as natural or cyclical.  Then, the great magical beasts began to grow rarer and rarer.

Now, dragons were a bedtime story, the elves were confined to one forest, and the dwarves lived under only one mountain range.  Meanwhile cities grew, powered by soot, steel and steam.  Everywhere, new towns and factories were popping up, all of them focused on their own lives rather than the old prophecies that used to dictate the ebb and flow of the world.  Only when the Demon Lord had arisen in the far north, sending rampaging armies of monsters into the human realms, had anyone even paused long enough to acknowledge the world that used to be.

“Come on now,” she said, shaking her head to clear it.  “The two of you have recuperated your stamina right?  We can talk more once the quest is done.  For now, the Duke of Terror awaits.”

Karrak and Lanellwell shared a long look.  Angela didn’t say anything because there wasn’t really anything for her to say.  The dwarf and elf weren’t wrong.  The world was changing, and not for the better.  Dwelling on that fact wouldn’t help anything, and the two remaining battles were critical.  They couldn’t afford to have their attention divided as they fought the last duke and then the lord himself.

Instead, she pulled her sword out of the disappearing corpse of Duke of Destruction.  There wasn’t any more corrosive mana flowing up its length, so there was no reason to delay the next battle further.  Angela marched to the next door.  Runes covered the frame, lining a marble square with the faint imprint of a hand on it.

She didn’t hesitate, placing her left hand on the magical panel.  The runes around the door began to glow.  One sparked and went dark, sulfurous smoke pouring out of the fizzling enchantment.  Under Angela’s hand the panel grew warm, almost scorchingly hot.  There should have been magic to stop the heat buildup, but evidently that was one of the aspects that had failed.

Just as Angela was prepared to pull her hand away, the door groaned, jerking open a foot before continuing at a more measured pace.  The heat disappeared, replaced by the tortured creak of the door as it rattled and shook its way into the wall.

The three heroes continued on into the next room.  A large demon sat on a slightly raised table.  It looked like a large man with the head and scythe arms of a mantis.  The creature’s arms were crossed and its eyes were closed, as if it were sleeping or meditating peacefully.

Around the walls of the shabby stone brick room were dozens if not a hundred crystals, each carved into the shape of a face screaming in terror and glowing with its own light.  A quick glance confirmed that the designs etched into the gems were unique.  Each showing a slightly different horrified expression.

Karrak stepped past Angela, taking the front of their formation.  The bottom of his shield thumped against the ground, its point biting into the stone bricks and anchoring itself. Angela fanned to the right, sword at the ready in a one handed grip as she started side-stepping around the demon to flank it.

Lanellwel fired an arrow over the top of Karrak’s head.  It crackled through the air, shreds of magic, the last vestiges of the elven arcane archer’s power, spitting and hissing off of it.

Just before the missile hit the demon, its left arm slashed upward, almost too fast to see, and the arrow fell harmlessly to the ground in two pieces.  The mantis’ eyes opened.  They burned with an unnatural purple light, taking in and cataloging everyone in the room with cold precision.

It stood up, human legs in a slight crouch and chainmail jingling.  The demon spread its arms to either side.  The blades of the scythes began to glow a dark red as aura coated them.

Another arrow zipped through the air, shattering on a field of energy that hovered a couple inches off of the demon’s skin.  Angela pursed her lips.  It was using magic.  A lot of magic.  They didn’t have much left, and what they had they were saving for the Demon Lord himself.  Still, all of their saved mana would be pointless if the Duke of Terror killed them here and now.

Karrak charged, and Angela ran after him.  She dipped into her reserves, summoning just enough mana to coat her silver blade in pearly light.  Almost immediately she could feel the difference.  Her steps came lighter and the ache in her arms faded.  The sword itself seemed to sing as it whistled through the air.

When the demon’s scythe arm whipped toward her, it felt like it was moving much slower.  The monster was still a formidable opponent, but it no longer felt like she was an apprentice fighting someone far above her level.

Angelas’s sword flashed, pulsing light as she deflected the monster’s arm.  Across from her, Karrak took the other scythe on his shield.  The weight of the blow knocked him backward, metal clad boots skidding against the floor, but the sturdy dwarf never lost his balance.

Her left hand slipped through the demon’s wide spread arms, slamming a palm into the aura covering the creature’s chest.  A flash of light bit deeply into her mana reserves, but it shattered the defensive field just in time for Lanellwell’s arrow to punch through the chain armor covering its left shoulder.

The arrow’s fletching flickered with power, and Angela could almost see the bags under the sallow elf’s deepening as he poured his dwindling mana into the attack.

Around the room, the glowing crystals flared and shattered, spraying everyone with translucent shards.  Angela didn’t dodge.  There were too many to avoid all of them, and flinching would only mean exposing herself to a potential demonic counter attack.  One of the chunks cut open her cheek, drawing a single line of blood while a dozen others bounced off of her chain armor.

Mana and light filled the room.  For a brief moment, Angela felt like she was back in her prime.  Energy flowed into her, topping off her reserves and filling up cores that had been empty for years.  It felt like snapping awake on a lazy afternoon.

Her senses were sharper, she moved quicker, the world seemed more alive.  Then, the mana flowed past her, a river of light that poured into the demon.  The room seemed to dull slightly, and then the Duke of Terror exploded with aura.

For a second, the bug chimera was no longer clutching the last crumbling vestiges of its glory days, hoarding magic to dole out in dribs and drabs.  Battle aura coated its limbs like armor, runes burning across its body as one ability after another flashed into being, quicker than Angela could identify them.

Haste.  Might of the Underworld.  Regalia of the Forsaken.  Blade of Terror.  Skills and powers that she thought she would never see again filled the room with the oily taste of mana burn.

Angela didn’t think, there wasn’t any time for that.  Her own mana ignited in response, a pale echo compared with the nova of power coming off of the demon, and translucent wings sprouted from her back, cradling Angela even as she threw herself face first onto the ground.

Wind blew past her, whipping her auburn hair.  A second later the explosive ‘crack’ of the demon’s attack echoed through the room, followed a moment later by two more bangs.

She had the power to boost her perception and reflexes.  To block the aura blade that passed over her back faster than sound itself.  The stolen mana burned in her veins, eating at her flesh as it begged to be released, but Angela managed to keep herself calm.

The oppressive wave of power was gone as soon as it came, and Angela bounced back to her feet.  Three horizontal slashes were carved in the wall, each almost four feet long and one deep.

Lanellwell fell bonelessly to the ground, his head rolling away from his still body, a look of surprise and terror etched permanently on his lifeless face.  Karrak faired better.  He was too heavy to dodge, but between his thick armor and enchanted shield, the aura blade didn’t manage to saw him completely in half.

The Shield of the Earthfather, one of the three great artifacts of stone kings, clattered as the bottom fell to the castle floor, shorn in half by the demon’s attack.  Karrak stumbled backward, blood bubbling up between his lips as the mana from the aura blade rampaged through his system.

In front of him, the Duke of Terror swayed unsteadily.  The demon took a halting step toward Karrak lifting its right scythe arm into the air.

The dwarf fumbled for his ax, hefting the broken shards of his shield with his free hand in a vain attempt to meet the demon’s blow.

Angela jumped to her feet, sprinting toward the two of them, but it was already too late.

The scythe arm fell, shattering the damaged remains of Karrak’s shield and tearing a deep hole in the dwarf’s armor, but Karrak didn’t let the monster walk away unscathed.  His ax hit the side of the demon’s knee, tearing through the last remaining whispers of battle aura as it drew blood.

Karrak and the Duke of Terror both pulled away from each other, the dwarf falling to the ground as blood began gushing out of the wound in his shoulder, and the demon swaying, as if it barely had the energy to remain standing.

Angela’s sword flashed, and the mantis creature tried to block her, but its movements were dull and clumsy.  There wasn’t any fear on its alien face, just resignation.

Its right arm flew into the air, a trail of ichor following it.  A flicker of aura traveled down Angela’s arm, strengthening it, and the tip of her blade raced downward, slashing a three inch deep line down the demon’s test.

She whipped her sword upward in time to block a wide, horizontal swing from the monster’s remaining scythe, and the moment the demon pulled the attack back she twisted to the side, kicking it in its injured knee with the heel of her metal clad boot.

Bone snapped and the demon fell sideways, no longer able to support its own weight.  Angela’s body felt slow and heavy, weakened by mana starvation, as she lunged forward, but however exhausted she was, the Duke of Terror was in worse shape.

It flailed with its left arm, missing her by almost a foot as Angela jumped past its guard, stabbing her sword deep into the monster’s throat.  The demon shuddered once and collapsed entirely.

Angela didn’t withdraw her weapon, instead sinking to one knee next to the monster’s corpse, gasping for breath.  Once again, the adrenaline faded, leaving nothing but aches and exhaustion in its wake.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken an hour to rest, let alone closed her eyes for a nap.  Ever since they’d gotten to the Demon Lord’s castle it had been one battle after another.  Any time they had stopped for a second, a patrol would force them into another fight, often when their group wasn’t ready for it.  That was how Reginald the Arcane Swashbuckler and Mary the Ice Sorceress had died.

Mana began to flow up her arm.  It burned, demonic energy searing her flesh.  Angela could feel her hands starting to tingle and go numb as one by one the nerves were snuffed out by the unnatural taint,

Behind her, Karrak gurgled.  Angela twisted slightly, keeping her grip on the hilt of her weapon as she looked at her companion.

He smiled at her.  Blood stained the dwarf’s beard, but there wasn’t any fear in his eyes.  There wasn’t even any fire or defiance.  More than anything Karrak just looked tired.  Ready to lay down his burden and rest.

“I think this is it for me Angela,” he said, voice tight with pain.  “The big guy used all of his mana in one burst.  I couldn’t activate my shield’s enchantment in time.”

Karrak’s armor groaned as he turned his head, looking at Lanellwell’s decapitated body.

“Shame about the elf though.  My job was supposed to be to take a blow for the two of you, but even there I managed to fail.”

He sighed, more blood leaking out of his mouth to dye his beard.  “When you tell our story to the bards, can you leave that part out?  Maybe have me die first?  At least that way we can pretend that I went out with a little bit of honor.”

Angela pulled her sword out of the demon with a gasp.  The burning stream of mana had dried to a trickle before fading entirely.  She set the blade down, reaching down the collar of her armor to pull out a necklace.  Three gems sat on the platinum chain, one dull and lifeless, a second glowing dimly, and the third shining with the brightness of the noon sun.

“You can tell the story to the bards yourself,” she replied, touching the thumb of her left hand to the stone while she reached down to place her right atop the dwarf’s head.  “I’m not going to fight the Demon Lord alone.  You’re going to be right by my side when I-”

“Sorry lass,” Karrak said with a wet cough, brushing her hand away.  “I can feel how deep that gash was.  You might be able to heal me, but it’ll cost you most of your mana.”

“-but,” Angela began, only for the dwarf to shake his head again.

“No.  We both know that you’re the stronger of the two of us.  Without a lot of battle aura I’m just going to slow you down and there just isn’t enough mana in the air to recharge me.  Even if you drained every artifact and mana battery on your body dry, I’d barely be able to fight shoulder to shoulder with you.  That same magic would go five times as far in your hands.”

Angela bit her lower lip.  Karrak was right.  She didn’t like to face the fact, but she had always been the strongest in the party of heroes.  Ordinarily, it would be a simple matter to use her holy magic to heal the injured dwarf, but now Angela felt like she was little more than a village witch doctor.

She could give the ailing dwarf some willow bark and poppy oil for the pain and to ease his passing, but beyond that, he was beyond her care.

“Plus,” Karrak rumbled.  “Even if I survived the final battle, I wouldn’t have long anyway.  My heart was replaced with a mithril mana core two hundred years ago.  It made me into the warrior I am today, but every morning I can feel its reserves emptying a little more.  One day, I’m going to run out of power and my blood is going to stop pumping.”

“There are worse ways to go I suppose,” Karrak mused.  “The sun will rise and I just won’t wake up.  Probably would have picked that over bleeding out on a dirty stone floor, but I’m not going to let you use any of your precious mana to buy me another month or year of life.  This is it for me.”

“Karrak,” Angela said slowly.

“Just remember, Angela” Karrak, replied winking theatrically, “lie to the bards.  Make sure they sing something heroic about me.”

The dwarf slumped back, using the last of his strength to lift a hand and wave her away.

“Go on now girl,” Karrak continued.  “I’m as much at peace as I’m going to be, but I don’t want you to see me like this.  If you want to do me a final favor, save the world for me.”

She nodded, clenching her jaw as she picked up her sword and stood up.  For a second she looked down on her companion.  Then, she turned on a heel and stomped toward the final door.

Angela put her hand on the marble panel beside the doorway.  The magic sparked before shorting out.  Sulfurous black smoke began to pour out of the runes, threatening to choke her.

Without waiting for the enchantment to fail any further, she put her shoulder into the door, pushing against the stone slab.  Slowly, with a tortured groan, it scraped against the floor, sliding open inch by inch to reveal a cavernous baroque throne room.

She turned her body sideways, slipping through the cracked open door.  Everything was made from flowing marble.  It looked like the columns and arches had been poured rather than formed, a sure sign that the entire building was created in a magical ritual.  On the right wall, everything above fifteen feet was stained glass, commemorating dozens of great feats.

At the far end of the hall sat a large throne carved from mithril.  As Angela walked closer she could see the runes carved into its arms and back glowed dimly, enough that she could feel their magical presence, but clearly a shadow of their intended glory.

He sat upon the throne.  The demon looked like a crimson shirtless man, twice as large as any human with six horns growing from his scalp like a crown.  Behind him, leathery black wings were draped across the silver metal.  Horizontal across his lap was a scepter carved from obsidian, a gently glowing ruby sitting atop

“Angela,” his voice was just as deep as she remembered.

“Devin,” she said evenly, her boots clanking as she crossed the vast gulf of stone that separated her from the throne itself.  “Your sense of style has slipped.  You knew company was coming.  At the very minimum you could have put on a shirt.”

The demon stood up, every inch of his muscular body radiating power and menace as he stepped down from the dias that the mithril throne stood upon.

“I thought it fit the aesthetics of the moment better,” he continued, extending his left arm so he could admire the way his sculpted muscles reflected the rainbow of lights coming through the stained glass window.  “If we’re truly going to fight, it’s important that we get all of the details right.  I wouldn’t want us to engage in a battle for the ages while wearing burlap sacks.  We are agents of prophecy, playing our part in the cycle of legends, the least we could do is look the part.”

Angela clenched her jaw, eyes glinting dangerously for a second before she forced herself to answer.

“What do you mean ‘if we’re truly going to fight?’  I’ve spent more than a year of my life pursuing you.  I’ve bled to bring you down.  I’ve lost friends, watched them sacrifice themselves so that I could end your reign of terror.  Devin, for the sake of our mistress, if you surrender now I’ll make it as painless and clean as possible, but this ends today.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?”  The demon asked mockingly before letting the barest hint of anger into his voice.  “You’ve lost people you care about?  The blood of my most promising apprentice hasn’t even dried on your blade and you dare to stand before me and talk about my reign of terror.  As if you’re the one on the side of righteousness and justice.”

“Angela,” Devin continued insistently, “everything I’ve done has been for the sake of our mistress.  She died trying to preserve the wonder and power of magic.  When the common folk began to spread their technology and mana began to thin, she was the first one to notice what was happening.  Without her sacrifice, the humans never would have managed to pry open the polar gate.  Eventually, that only bought us a couple more decades of mana before mundane humans spread across the world like a plague.  Now here we are.  Exactly where we were when she opened the gate.”

“There’s only one answer Angela.  The world needs to be reset so that magic can be restored.”

“That would kill millions,” she replied, shaking her head sharply.  “I can’t let you do that Devin.”

“You see!” The Demon Lord threw his left hand up in the air, waving his scepter in Angela’s general direction.  “That’s the problem.  There shouldn’t be millions of humans to kill.  Mana is the energy that animates people and their creations.  Human cities weren’t meant to grow so large, so choked with steam and soot.”

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t feel it Angela,” he pushed.  “With every mile of rails they laid down, with every factory they built, with every industrial farm they planted, the magic died.  Bit by bit until here we are, clutching scraps to our chest and standing in a castle that is little more than a monument to the glory of the former ages.”

“And what of it?” she hissed, tears burning the corner of her eyes.  “Do you think I liked to fade like this?  To diminish down until I’m nothing but a tired old woman?  I miss the thrill and the power, the mystery and the legends as much as the next person, but sorcery was never meant to guide the fate of mankind.  This is their choice to make.  If they want to embrace coal boilers and electric lamps and turn their backs on faeries and spirits, we are bound to respect their decision.”

Devin stopped, his easy smile and smooth demeanor slipping slightly.

“Bound?  Come now Angela, I am bound by nothing.  Demonkind is defined by our spirit of rebellion, by our willingness to forge our own path.  That’s what the humans need right now.  The two of us working together and finishing my spell of remaking.  Then, when the world is born anew, fresh with mana and myth for us to explore, the two of us can guide them onto the correct path.”

“Remember our mistresses' words,” Angela pled, eyes still stinging.  “Sorcerers exist to help humans.  The minute we take power from them we become tyrants.  Even if a cause seems just at first, the minute we put ourselves above the humans, it can only lead to ruin.  You may save magic today, but the cost to humanity and yourself will be too great.  I can’t let you do it Devin.”

“They are killing us,” Devin hissed.  Both of his hands were on the scepter now, and it was beginning to crackle with ominous red energy.  “As surely as they are killing themselves.  You can hardly call what the humans do living.  Choking on coal smoke while they work fifteen hour days in their textile mills.  Death would be a mercy.  Only once the world is reborn can they return to an existence of magic and poetry, of art and struggle where their lives would actually mean something.”

Angela didn’t reply.  There wasn’t any point really.  The two of them might have studied under Lady Annister together, but since their graduation, they had grown apart.

Two different views of the world, so different that reconciliation was impossible.  Discussion and debate were never truly an option.

Her sword sang as she brought it up into a guard.  Mana danced around Angela, strengthening her and honing her reactions to a razor’s edge.

Her reserves were already low, but that didn’t really matter.  This was the last battle.  Win or lose, there would be no need for her magic once the fight was over.

Devin unleashed a blast of crackling red energy from his scepter.  Angela’s sword met the bolt in a flash of blinding white light that sent the crimson energy deflecting off to her right where it gouged a hole in one of the huge marble pillars.

The demon took to the air, and Angela’s wings appeared behind her, glittering and partially transparent feathers of silver that sang as she launched after her former companion.

Another blast of ruby lightning jolted toward her, and one of her wings snapped up absorbing the attack even as Angela extended her sword.  Another four illusory blades appeared in the air, two on either side of her weapon, before they rushed soundlessly toward Devin.

He raised his scepter.  A hemisphere of red light appeared in front of him, and all four glowing swords shattered against it in a flash of light that consumed the forcefield.

Angela darted in, air rushing past her as she entered the dazzling wake of the magical struggle.  She swung her sword, a quick simple sideways strike that was deflected by the obsidian scepter, followed by a jab.

Devin twisted aside, clutching his weapon in both hands.  His wings flared out behind him and his eyes glowed briefly with malevolent light, and a shockwave of dark energy rushed out from him.

There was nowhere to dodge.  Angela wrapped her wings around herself, letting them absorb most of the attack as she was thrown from the air.

Her wings shattered, and the blow sent her flying.  A pillar struck her in the back like a warhammer, knocking the breath from her lungs and breaking a rib or two despite the glimmering chainmail covering her body.

Devin swooped toward her, his eyes still glowing and the scepter sputtering with fell power as he raised it to deliver a finishing blow.

Angela clenched her jaw, releasing the demonic mana that she had been absorbing and storing in her sword arm.  Pain erupted as the power surged, twisting her delicate flesh.  Tendrils of pulsing meat and muscle erupted from her skin, twisting together to create unholy tentacles that lashed themselves around Devin’s arms and legs, jerking him toward her.

The only part of her right arm that remained untouched was her hand.  Despite everything, she kept a firm grip on her sword, holding it steady while the tendrils that had once been her body yanked the Demon Lord onto her blade.

It pierced through his torso, a full six inches poking free from his back as Devin blinked in surprise.  He looked down at the sword in his chest and the still bloody tentacles that were holding on to his limbs.  The last of Angela’s demonic mana faded, turning writhing ropes of muscle and flesh into nothing more than limp strips of meat.

He coughed.

“To think you’d go so far as to defile your own body to defeat me.  Still, this isn’t enough.”  A trickle of blood worked its way down the corner of Devin’s mouth.

“I know.”  Angela’s voice came out in a rasp.  She had done her best to focus the dominic mana in her arm, but it had started to trickle through the rest of her body.  Now that she had used it up, the damage it had caused was more apparent.

“I still have enough mana” Devin continued, a half sneer on his face.  “It will set my efforts to cast the spell of remaking back ten years to heal this much damage, but you are going to die here and I will regenerate.  With your passing, how will your precious humans fight back?  You were the last sorceress.  The elves and the dwarves are spent.  The mana they need to live is so thin that they are about to fade from memory.  All they will have is their swords and their new technology.  When I return, there will be no one to stop me.”

She smiled serenely, reaching up to pull the necklace of glowing beads out from her armor with her left hand.

“There won’t be a next time,” Angela said with a serene smile.  “This place will be both of our graves.”

“The tears of Altrodil,” Devin’s voice was a disbelieving whisper, his eyes widening.  He tried to jerk back, but even bereft of mana the flesh bindings that held him in place were enough to halt him for a fraction of a second.

The gems flared with light.  Mana poured through Angela, the last dying gasps of an age filled with myth and wonder.  Her wounds, opened by the corrosive touch of the demonic mana that she had been absorbing, oozed blood and ichor.  Agony filled her as holy energy clashed with shadow.

But her sword.  For a brief moment, she reached the heights of her power and surpassed them.  It shone brighter than the sun, its rays melting the Demon Lord from the inside.

His flesh bubbled, dripping and collapsing inward like a candle that had been lit one too many times.  Devin opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get the words out, the light left his eyes.

He collapsed, still bound to her by the horrific remains of Angela’s right arm.

She took a breath.  There wasn’t much mana in the air.  Far from enough to heal her wounds.  Even if she were to try and draw energy from Devin’s corpse, it would only exacerbate the damage she had already suffered.

Angela coughed, not bothering to check for the blood she already knew was there.  The journey and the battle had cost her so much, and the chances that the humans would even care were minimal.  They were too preoccupied by electricity and industry to worry about the dreams and whispers of the myths and legends that had come before.

Still, as he closed her eyes, there was a smile on her face.  Devin would be the last Demon Lord.  There wasn’t enough mana to spawn another.  Finally, the chains of prophecy that bound humanity to the cycle of heroes and cataclysms was broken.  Humanity would be free to chart its own future.