The sky wept fire.
Red clouds boiled and twisted, birthing storms that hurled crackling black lightning across the horizon. The air smelled of sulfur and burnt stone. Every heartbeat sounded like a drum of war.
Ryle, Thea, Tobin, and Kessia stood at the edge of a shattered cliff, staring down at the demon king's castle—a jagged, monstrous spire rising from the wasteland, wrapped in chains of shadow.
"This is it," Tobin muttered, adjusting his heavy gauntlets.
"No turning back now," Kessia said, her golden hair whipping in the violent wind.
Ryle simply nodded, his dragon wings spreading wide, catching the burning updrafts. His eyes glowed faintly, molten gold in the darkness. Power pulsed from him with every breath.
Then without a word—
They descended.
As they approached the castle gates, the earth trembled.
An army of demons spilled out of the fortress—thousands strong, armored in bone and ash, wielding jagged obsidian weapons. Their faces twisted with rage and hunger.
Tobin and Kessia immediately took point.
Kessia slammed her staff into the ground, and a barrier of shimmering light erupted around the group, repelling the first volley of obsidian spears.
"Now!" she shouted.
Tobin roared, hurling himself into the fray. His sword became a blur of destruction, each swing crushing demons like insects. Every strike shattered bone armor and left craters in the stone.
Above them, Ryle became a comet of fury.
He dived straight into the horde, his sword a blazing crescent, decapitating dozens in a single second. Their bodies burned to ash before they hit the ground.
Thea moved through the battlefield like a phantom.
The Twinlights sang in her hands. She slashed through the air—and space itself tore apart, sucking demons into miniature voids before exploding outward, scattering corpses like dust.
A demon general—a massive beast with six arms and a crown of knives—lunged at her.
Thea crossed her blades in a perfect X and stepped through him.
He fell apart, sliced into perfect cubes.
Kessia use her dagger, smiting ranks of demons before they could even reach her. Tobin laughed, a booming sound, as he bulldozed through elite guards.
Above it all, Ryle's dragon power raged—unstable but utterly overwhelming.
Waves of burning golden energy rolled off him, carving swaths through the demon army.
They fought without hesitation.
Each blow carved history into the broken earth.
Minutes—or was it hours?—later, the battlefield fell silent.
Thousands of demons lay dead.
The black gates of the castle groaned open, welcoming them.
Beyond it, only silence.
The throne room was a vast, hollow space of obsidian and crimson marble. Pillars of twisted bone reached for the ceiling like the grasping hands of the damned. Blood pooled in the cracks of the floor, forming rivers that reflected the stormy light.
At the far end sat a black throne—empty.
Then—
Laughter.
A slow, mocking chuckle that echoed off the cold stone.
"You finally made it," a voice said, dripping with condescension. "Welcome."
From the shadows stepped a man.
Young. Beautiful. Terrible.
His skin was flawless marble, his eyes an endless void. Spiraled horns jutted from his head like obsidian crowns, and behind him, enormous black angelic wings spread, brushing the throne.
He smiled, and the air grew colder.
"I am Azazhel," he said casually. "The 8th Demon King."
He looked them over like a teacher examining unruly students.
"Lucky, aren't I?" he continued, mock-pity in his voice. "Born into a world without its Hero. How sad... for you."
In a blink—
He moved.
One moment he was lounging lazily.
The next, he was in front of Ryle.
Ryle barely raised his guard before Azazhel's fist crashed into him, sending him flying backward. He smashed through the throne like it was paper, skidding across the marble floor.
The ground cracked from the impact.
"Ryle!" Thea shouted, rage flashing in her eyes.
Azazhel turned toward her, lazily amused.
He didn't even react as she sprinted forward, Twinlights gleaming.
Until she was inside his guard.
With a cry, Thea slashed across his chest, severing one of his arms at the elbow.
For the first time, Azazhel's smug expression faltered.
He stared at the stump in disbelief, black ichor pouring from the wound.
"You're not untouchable," Thea said coldly.
Behind her, Ryle stood, wiping blood from his mouth.
He grinned, fangs showing.
"Now you've pissed us off."
In an instant, they attacked as one.
Thea struck low, carving deep into Azazhel's legs. Ryle unleashed a burst of dragon energy, slamming into Azazhel's chest and sending him staggering.
Twinlights flashed. Dragon breath roared.
Azazhel dropped to one knee, teeth bared.
His wings flared out, creating a shockwave, but the two pressed in mercilessly.
Ryle's fist drove into Azazhel's ribs, cracking them like twigs. Thea's blades danced, slashing again and again.
The demon king snarled, fury and disbelief in his gaze.
"You dare—!"
But their blades met him again and again, driving him deeper into the floor.
At the edge of defeat, Azazhel's eyes glowed with a terrible light.
And in the depths of the throne room…
Something awoke.