On the battlefield
Malakor smirked as King Baldrick struggled to rise, blood staining the shattered ground beneath him. Despite killing more demons, the knightly army was being pushed back, their formation breaking under endless pressure.
One of Baldrick's generals rushed forward to shield him. Malakor barely looked. A single burst of hellfire erupted, hurling the general away like ash scattered by the wind.
Baldrick forced himself upright. His cloak and knightly armor shimmered with worn enchantments, his long hair and beard flowing violently in the heated air. He stared straight into Malakor's burning eyes as the demon lord hovered above, wings stretched wide.
Malakor laughed.
"Join me, Baldrick. You are one hundred and twenty years old. Victories of the past mean nothing now. I am not like the demon lords you defeated before. I am different. Vastyrion will belong to me. I will rewrite reality itself and divide this realm as I desire."
Baldrick tightened his grip on his sword.
"Malakor, I may not be the one to defeat you. But something will."
Their blades met. Fire and steel collided as both descended to the ground, shockwaves ripping through the battlefield. Slash after slash echoed across the plains. Baldrick unleashed stored magic from his fusion and potions, releasing a violent blast.
Malakor absorbed it effortlessly. His burning sword answered with overwhelming force.
The clash ended with a devastating strike. Baldrick was sent flying, his body crashing across the fractured realm surface. Still breathing, but broken, he lay unmoving.
"Retreat," Baldrick shouted with the last of his strength.
His soldiers hesitated, some charging in desperation. Malakor raised a single finger. A massive fire blast erupted, killing many instantly and scattering the rest in terror.
Baldrick rose one final time, clashing with Malakor four times in rapid succession. On the fifth exchange, Malakor's blade cut deep. A brutal kick sent Baldrick flying again, this time unconscious.
Malakor walked forward, wings burning brighter, eyes glowing with madness. His demons laughed in triumph, believing their lord had saved them from annihilation.
"We will conquer this realm slowly," Malakor declared. "I want them to suffer."
Then everything changed.
Screams erupted.
Demons were sent flying in all directions, bodies shredded, blood painting the air. The laughter died instantly.
From the dust and splintered realm ground emerged a tall figure.
Messy dark blond hair, not long, not short. Dark blue eyes without fear. Lean, powerful, and dressed like a wandering outcast. He did not look like a child.
It was Michael.
The sword in his hand glowed softly, star-like lights drifting around it.
Demons rushed him.
Michael moved.
One slash
Forty-four demons fell.
Another
Hundreds more collapsed.
Nine precise slashes
Over two thousand demons were erased.
He leapt high, then drove the sword into the ground.
The impact shattered the battlefield. Over eight thousand demons were annihilated in an instant. The realm itself split, a massive abyss tearing open beneath them.
Malakor smiled.
His burning sword trembled with excitement.
Michael advanced, gripping the long handle firmly. Flying mantis demons screamed as they were cut down. Bat demons fell from the sky. Spider demons larger than humans were cleaved apart in single motions.
Death followed every step.
Michael stood atop countless fallen demons and lifted his gaze.
Only two remained.
A demon lord with burning wings and a burning sword, eyes filled with madness.
And a young man holding a calm, glowing blade.
Malakor spoke, his voice filled with anticipation.
"This is your last day, kid."
Michael said nothing.