The Demon Lord's castle loomed over the underworld, its obsidian spires piercing the crimson sky.
Inside, the throne room was a maelstrom of chaos.
Xelvar Vaal Vorthyx, the Demon Lord, stood at its heart, his black hair matted with sweat, his black eyes blazing with defiance.
His once-impenetrable fortress was under siege by a hero party—six warriors whose enchanted blades and spells had carved a path through his legions.
The air reeked of blood, brimstone, and magical energy.
Xelvar's aides were either dead or locked in futile skirmishes across the castle.
His generals had fallen, their bodies strewn across the marble floors.
The heroes had him pinned, their formation tight and relentless.
A paladin in gleaming armor swung a warhammer, its holy runes flaring as it grazed Xelvar's shoulder, drawing a hiss of pain.
A mage unleashed a torrent of fireballs, forcing him to conjure a shadow barrier that cracked under the assault.
An archer's arrows, tipped with celestial steel, whizzed past his head, embedding in the throne behind him.
The remaining three—a rogue, a cleric, and a swordsman—flanked him, cutting off any escape.
"You're finished, Demon Lord!" the paladin roared, his voice echoing with righteous fury. "Your reign ends today!"
Xelvar sneered, his voice dripping with venom.
"Fools! You think you can topple Xelvar Vaal Vorthyx? I'll feast on your souls!" Dark magic surged from his hands, a wave of shadow that sent the rogue sprawling.
But the heroes were too many, their coordination honed by years of hunting his kind.
The cleric's healing spells kept their wounds at bay, and the swordsman's blade nicked Xelvar's side, drawing black blood.
The throne room's massive doors groaned, splintered by earlier blasts.
Statues of demonic deities lay shattered, and the chandeliers flickered, casting erratic shadows. Xelvar's chest heaved, his magic reserves dwindling.
He couldn't keep this up.
The heroes pressed closer, their attacks relentless. The mage began chanting a spell that made the air hum with power, and Xelvar braced for what might be his end.
Then, from the shadows, two figures emerged, their presence a fleeting spark of hope.
The first was a maid, her black hair pulled into a severe bun, her gothic gown torn at the hem but still clinging to her voluptuous frame.
Her face was a mask of cold determination, her eyes sharp as the daggers she wielded.
She moved like a specter, silent and deadly, her blades flashing as she lunged at the archer.
The second maid was taller, her red hair spilling in wild waves down her back, her gown scandalously low-cut, accentuating her curves.
She flashed a sultry smile at the swordsman before cracking a whip infused with crimson energy, the lash wrapping around his wrist and yanking him off balance.
"Who dares interrupt?!" the cleric snapped, raising her staff to counter the maids.
The black-haired maid didn't respond, her daggers a blur as she parried the archer's arrows and closed the distance, slicing a gash across his arm.
The redhead giggled, her whip dancing through the air, entangling the mage's staff and disrupting her spell.
"Oh, darling, you're far too tense!" she purred, her voice laced with mockery.
Xelvar seized the moment, his magic flaring anew.
He hurled a spear of shadow at the paladin, who grunted as it pierced his armor.
The Demon Lord fought alongside his maids, their synergy born of desperation.
The black-haired maid was a whirlwind of precision, her every strike calculated, while the redhead's chaotic flair threw the heroes off balance.
For a moment, it seemed they might turn the tide.
But the heroes were no amateurs.
The cleric unleashed a radiant burst, blinding the redhead and forcing her back. The swordsman broke free, his blade clashing with the black-haired maid's daggers, driving her to her knees. Xelvar's magic faltered, his body screaming with exhaustion.
The mage completed her spell, a cage of light that trapped the redhead, who cursed colorfully as she struggled.
The black-haired maid took a sword to the shoulder, blood soaking her gown, yet she fought on, her expression unchanging.
Xelvar roared, his voice shaking the room.
"You will not defeat me!" He unleashed a final surge of power, a tempest of darkness that shattered the mage's cage and sent the heroes staggering.
But it wasn't enough.
The paladin charged, his hammer raised, and Xelvar braced for impact.
vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Then, a blinding glow erupted outside the castle.
The stained-glass windows blazed with light, and a low hum vibrated through the stone walls. Xelvar's eyes widened, he could feel the density of magical power in the atmosphere... He was at the center of a Disaster-Class Spell.
The heroes froze, their faces etched with confusion.
The mage whispered, "That's no spell of ours…"
The hum grew deafening, the air crackling with arcane energy.
vzzzzzzzzzzzz
Before anyone could react, a colossal beam of light tore through the castle's roof, obliterating everything in its path.
The throne room dissolved into white-hot oblivion, swallowing Xelvar, the maids, and the heroes alike.