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The telltale sounds of armor rattling echoed down the corridor. The halls were empty at this hour, save for the young girl sitting on the stairs by the throne. Broken from her vigil, she looked up with a dull stare.
The blue light of the icelands was broken by his telltale green glare. A set of iron armor, pierced through with countless weapons and warped into unmanageable heaps, stumbled down the hallway. It moved slowly, clumsily, dragging a massive blade of green fire in its tow. The stone archways overhead began to bubble as it passed underneath, melting and reshaping as the demon’s presence tainted the air.
The girl remained sitting for a while, eyes hardening into a stare at the demonlord. Her sword, laying sheathed in her lap, began to quiver as if to escape. She placed a hand on it warily, and muttered a quick blessing. With a strange sigh it settled back into her grasp, ignoring the call of the fire sword in the distance.
The demonlord set foot in the throne room and stopped, green flame now engulfing his form. He stared down the girl before turning his gaze to search the room. His anger was palpable far before he opened his mouth:
“Where are they?”
The girl gave a slight shrug, not taking her eyes off the demon nor her hand off the sword. “Gone.”
“Gone where?” it hissed.
“Beats me. Probably drinking, or something. They left me in charge.”
“The Snowdog and I have unfinished business regarding my spawn.” The demonlord slunk forwards, removing his helmet. Beneath the twisted metal lay nothing but glowing green gas, reshaping itself into flesh and bone as it pleased. The viseage was unclear, as always. “But if your dear mother won’t answer for him, then I’ll find him myself. It’s about time we caught up again.”
“You been busy?” the girl asked, cocking her head. “Haven’t seen you around much anymore.”
“Busy.” The demon confirmed. “But I’ll make time to disembowl that dog first thing tomorrow morn. He’ll pay for not having the balls to guard his own throne room.”
With a huff, the creature turned its back, clamoring back down the cathedral’s length. Its iron feet scraped against the shallow carpet of the throneroom, tearing new holes into the already worn floor. He made it to the final archway before the girl’s crystal laughter cut through the air.
“Excuse me! I said that I was left in charge of the city. I am the guard my father left behind. Face me like a man before I’m tempted to throw my blade at your back as you slink away.”
The demonlord let out a growl that turned into a chuckle. “Would you like to die in your father’s stead, Lady Parhelion?”
“I would like to fight in his stead, if you don’t mind dear Bytor,” Parhelion laughed, popping up from her perch in an instant. Magical auras of fear pulsed from both as they squared off, sending rivets of anxiety into both the contenders. But with that anxiety came a sort of anticipation, and from that anticipation, perhaps a bit of joy.
Bytor’s armor clacked as it settled, his gaseous head flickering between bone and gore and neon gas. Smirks and teeth began unfolding from the plume, and he stood at the ready. Lady Parhelion pranced forwards, sword unsheathed and poised down at her side as she skipped down the steps. As she walked down the aisle, she swung her blade in a crisp arc, taking down the metal candelabras that stood in a line down the hallway.
“You enter the domain of Lord Snowdog, my father, and expect to be welcomed?”
A massive crash resounded as the steel of her blade sliced through the next candelabra with a suffocating hiss.
“You enter the sanctuary of the Scholars of the Northern Lights, and stain our halls with your hatred?”
Another swing brought another metal pole crashing down. The demonlord hoisted his own fire sword in retaliation, standing his ground now.
“You hunt MY demons in THIS sacred land? Threaten your own children out of pettiness?”
The demonlord spared a look backwards into the darkness of the cathedral. As he’d expected, three demons sat poised, blocking the exit, each at the ready.
“Hello boys,” he cackled, putting his helmet back on. “Ready to see your old man behead your pretty savior?”
The demons exchanged looks among themselves, but said nothing. Whereas Lady Parhelion and Lord Bytor appeared to be longing for this fight, and an intense sense of dread and fear hung over the demons as they blocked the passageway.
Finally, Lady Parhelion stood directly beneath Lord Bytor. Her small bony frame was overshadowed by the might of the demonlord, towering above her in his plate mail. They stood for a moment, and Lady Parhelion gave him a quick smirk.
“Go on then.”
The sword Morthrinlaw swung past her face so quickly she practically heard the shing of its sharp edge. Lady Parhelion’s head whipped back as she narrowly avoided decapitation, and her right hand twisted her own blade up and at the ready, pointed at Bytor’s stomach. As he returned the Mothrinlaw in its original arc, Lady Parhelion lunged forward, attempting to bury her blade between his armor. The counter came too quickly, however, and she pulled back at the last minute. ducking and casting her blade back to deflect the fire sword on its return.
Her foot slipped out, eager to trip the demon up, but even as the hit landed true it did nothing. What appeared to be gas and smoke within the confines of the armor had solidified into a hulking mass of pale orange scales and rot. He weighed far more than before, and as Lady Parhelion turned this over in her mind he kicked out at her. The demon’s knee bashed into her whole being, and with a huff she skidded back.
“I will kill you, little one,” Lord Bytor laughed. “I will gut you and hang your entrails on-“
“Yes, yes. I’ve heard that one.”
Lady Parhelion rushed in, head ducked, and skidded on her bracers as she held out her blade. Her sword hung back as she slid, and once her position was near the demon’s legs, she pulled it forward as if to cut the leg in twain. The blade cut through the demon’s armor with a hiss and made its way through the tough hide and flesh, but despite her momentum it lodged itself in the bone. In a deft manuever, Lady Parhelion swung her herself pivoted on the leg and grabbed the point of the blade. With a brutish pull, she forced the blade through the leg, and stumbled back as it came free.
Lord Bytor kept a surprisingly calm demeanor for someone who had just suffered a debilitating injury. With a sigh, he smashed the stump of his leg onto the severed portion. The sickening stench of rotting flesh engulfed the room as tendrils of teeth began to bite into the severed piece, holding it in place.
“How about that?” he huffed, stomping his newly attached leg. “Can you do that yet? Can your old man?”
Lady Parhelion shot him a glare as she cradled her hand. The demon’s blood coated her side, but the grip she’d held on her own blade had sliced open three of her fingers. She shook the hand and a splash of healing magic washed away the wound. With a yell, she leapt up to the full height of the demon and brought her blade down, both hands pushing the hilt down. The sword found its place in the collar of Lord Bytor, and with that niche position it began to fight with a life of its own. Sparks of blue magic flew from its tips and Lady Parhelion’s magic drove the sword through the demon. It zigzagged along his torso, cutting a jagged vertical line cleaving the demon in two. When the sword finally finished its work, Lady Parhelion paused to check her handiwork.
A poor decision, given that Lord Bytor was not a patient man. As the girl had jumped, the demon had brought down his blade in an arc of fire. As Lady Parhelion spared her glance upwards, she was met with a heavy blade all but cutting into her skull. With a splitsecond of spellwork, a shining blue ward absorbed the shock. The blue shell of magic cracked like glass and shattered, but not before Lady Parhelion had thrown herself back.
The two halves of the demon stumbled apart, wreched teeth curling out from the wounds. They knit themselves together, like separate pieces of a jaw, melding rotten flesh and bone with warped metal armor. Bytor cracked his neck as he pulled up his sword again.
“Ow,” he said plainly.
Lady Parhelion, picking herself off from the floor, jumped back into a forward stance with her blade.
“Is this the part where you leave?” she asked.
“I won’t be chased away by a welp such as yourself,” Bytor hissed. A stormdrain of energy began to pull at the room, swiping the fire from the candles and pulling it into a magic circle. “I have been fighting far longer than you, and I have fought things far bigger and badder than yourself. Tonight I shall acquaint you with Hel.”
But Lady Parhelion drew from her own magic reserves, fighting for control over the swaying forces of nature that encompassed the room. In a blitz of light, her own magic circle took hold, and a chilling wind emanated from the runes that etched their way around her.
“This should be fun,” she laughed.
“Back, and I’ve got reports from the trailways.”
Preston slipped back into the guard by the doorway with ease, despite the growing crowd. The other two demons gave him little mind as they continued watching the battle. As he settled back in, Preston too found himself watching the fighters continue their spat.
“Jeez, this has gone on for far too long,” he complained. “How can she still be standing after three days?”
Kida, bleary eyed from lack of sleep, kept his hands poised for magic alongside Logan. There were runes burned into the air from his constant healing magic, phantom images of spells cast far too many times. With a huff, the eldest demon decided to acknowledge Preston.
“She’s hungry, exhausted, and we’re both nearly out of mana. She’s been covering the cost of most of the healing herself, but whenever she takes damage in the midst of casting a spell-“
In the distance, Lady Parhelion lashed out with a wild whip of wind magic, sending sheets of cutting air at Lord Bytor’s everchanging body. The demon weathered the attack, partially dissolving in the process, and thrust Mothrinlaw forward to clip Lady Parhelion’s side. Kida swore and sent a healing rune flying past before settling back into position.
“It’s tough when she switches to offensive magic,” he sighed. “I’m not going to last much longer at this state.”
“Well you’d better,” Preston said. “After I slept I took the long way ‘round to check in with the dragons. They were talking about how Lord Bytor’s minions slaughtered about fifty vagrants along the trailways. And- there’s more hellhounds flooding in.”
“Lady better hurry it up then-“ Kida grumbled, already signing another healing glyph.
Preston sat for a while, acutely aware of a band of children making their way to sit beside him and watch the fight. Though the battle had been long, it was difficult to see any real wear on either of the fighters. At least, not to those who were just arriving.
Both Lady Parhelion and Bytor looked spotless. The heir had traded out her typical white robes for a crimson and blue dress. It was difficult to spot the blood at this distance, and she’d repaired most of the torn stitching as a means to preserve the armor. In many ways, however, she looked the same as she had at the start of the battle.
Bytor, on the other hand, was difficult to place a number on. He had reverted back into a more primal state. He now resembled less of a man and more a chaotic swirl of gas and gore. It was impossible to tell whether he was weakened or empowered from the change.
A small boy climbed his way into Preston’s lap. Preston tried to shove the child off, but another took his place quickly. The demon sulked for a bit, but leaned his crossbow aside and resided to watching the rest of the fight play out.
Lady Parhelion sat down on the steps, the first break she’d had in three full days. Kida made his way over without regard for the procession of soldiers around them.
“You ought to come with me to the infirmary,” he said, offering a hand.
Lady Parhelion shot him a glance, then took his hand. With a deft leap, she sprung up from the step and a cloud of misty runes enveloped them both. Kida felt another set of old scars vanish from beneath his skin as her powerful healing magic worked its way into his system, and Lady Parhelion herself was near flawless once again. The strain of the fight was still present in her eyes, but her stance was poised and at the ready.
“Let’s head out!” the Snowdog barked. “Daughter! With me to the pit of the beasts. We have a demon to seal… again.”
Lady Parhelion nodded, already brushing past Kida. He gave her a pointed look before following behind.
Kida’s brothers trailed behind, preparing to follow. As the Scholars of the Northern Lights began their cheer, the demons followed quietly behind the Snowdog and his daughter.
The boy who had been watching the battle from Preston’s lap followed alongside them for a few paces, small stubbly legs struggling to match Kida’s large strides. When it became clear he would not keep up, the boy stopped. Kida paused as well to see the child give a small, curt bow. Kida stood there for a moment, curious, but the familiar arm of Lady Parhelion pulled him forward into the chaos ahead.
“What a strange power you possess,” Kida murmured, falling back in pace.
Lady Parhelion raised an eyebrow, but continued with a jaunt forward. “The healing magic? It’s just a different type than yours, I’m sure you’ll outpace me soon now that I dropped my studies-“
“These people of yours, they know no fear,” Kida clarified. “They watch you cut down demons, then turn and treat us with respect because you said to.”
“My people know fear,” Lady Parhelion argued. “They just fear my word more than they fear your ugly mug.”
Kida’s face quirked up into a smirk for a moment before he remembered that the fight was not yet over, and that Lady Parhelion had been fighting for too long. As the Snowdog transformed into a monstrous white elk, Lady Parhelion and the band of warriors rushed forward, following their liege to the end of the battle.
“Do you know fear, Lady Parhelion?”
“I know it well. However, I have many enemies. Fear shall not become one of them.”