And they were the best
The Daemon's might had wracked many a realm before.
It's black laughter enough to curdle the blood of an unborn child
It's face was misery, it's body a sea of stolen souls.
It had come to Ancaria...and the heroes of this world had come to defend it.
MIghty Rooster, the most powerful Gladiator in the land and with a warcry that shattered the earth leapt for the daemon's throat while raising his sword high.
The first strike against the invader was one that rent the daemon in half, it's dark ichor spraying Rooster and causing him to cry out in pain as the outlander's blood burned holes and blinded the champion's eyes.
He fell forward into the cavernous maw that his sword had rent within the daemon's body...a small stumble actually.
And at that moment the monster choose to heal itself.
It's two halves were now rejoined
And rooster was nowhere to be seen.
The Dark Elf Tharkane whirled into the midst of the fray, his duel blades spinning madly and sending rays of light into the daemon's eyes whilst blinding him to the direction of where the dark elf hero's seemlingly endless rain of piercing stabs and slashings were coming from.
Tharkane, long time ally of Rooster, was consumed by such grief and frenzy that surely this would be enough to end the battle.
Pevil, the horsed mistress of the woods chose at this time to unleash a torrent of magical arrows.
The spiders quickly began to consume the flesh of the invader.
The blinded daemon now spun about madly trying to rip off all the arachnids that were feasting on it's skin, while trying to evade the spinning whirlwind that Tharkane had become.
The spiders though were a mistake.
For while the Elves had wrought a relationship of enthrallment with their eight legged servitors...that relationship was one that had grown tired.
Summoned creatures grow tired quickly.
And so the Daemon began to sing.
In a language born of pain and suffering it sang to the many thousands of arachnids that crawled over it's body.
It sang of warm meat, sylvan-blood and the terrified, helpless cries of a young Wood elf and it's horse.
The others now screamed and turned away...the sheer horror of the sight almost too much to bear.
For pevil's screams, so chilling in their pain were terrifying as well as terrible.
And it was at that moment when the daemon which could once again begin to see through a swollen, blood-encrusted eye...
...Cast it's Ring of Rift.
And it did not matter where Tharkane danced with his blades from.
Tharkane just fell through the ring, his screams echoing back from the realm of fire into which he had fallen.
The Rift closed.
Our heroes now surged forward with cries of vengeance and justice.
All for Ancaria.
The Daemon was like nothing they had ever encountered.
It had shattered planets and driven races to madness.
It had snuffed the might of stars
It had killed their friends.
This was why it was called Matesh Urdu in the old Language of the Angels...
The battle raged with Drel Trezor now in the vanguard firing mighty cannon blasts.
The Thunderous detonations echoing with the magical damage that Tetrol's Flame skin had added to his attacks.
The Cannonade again came raining down on the daemon, as it attempted to leap out of the way of the mighty dwarf's weapon.
Tetrol...his eyes aglow with a red concentration was elsewhere at that moment.
His eyes were on the asteroid belt that circled the realm, calling out to the deadly islands that circled in endless orbit.
The rocks answered.
The meteors were bent from their path and new found new direction in a stream that thundered against the Ancarian plains. They found as target the daemon's body upon which the rocks exploded with one blast after another that sent the daemon tumbling while tearing holes across the devil's smoking body. They left behind a pocked wasteland that this time birthed a myriad of worms with sharp teeth that leaped forth from their father's wounds and went for the eyes of every hero seen.
Tetro quickly broke a tablet that he had been holding in his hand. The release of the crafted spells within that tablet swept down upon the daemon with a wind of destructive energies.
The wizard's Gust of Wind shredded all the hell-born worms, while blowing a fiery wind across the deamon's flank causing it to howl and scream in pain.
Tetrol's meteor strikes were taking their toll upon the daemon...but the mage now chanced upon a solution.
A weakness to the Daemon's plan.
Tetrol switched to ice shards and ice ring.
The effect was immediete.
The Daemon's body now had a hardenning shell of ice crystals forming over it wherever tetrol's freezing blasts hit.
This combined with the huge concussive force of Drel's cannon was starting to make it's effect apparent.
The Daemon was coming apart.
One particularly large blast tore off a huge, frozen chunk of daemon's tail, where it flew past the heroes.
The daemon strangely enough now began to have the glowing appearance of a cherry.
Tetrol noticed the increase in heat, but continued on with the frostt, bone-chilling barrage of icy bolts and winds.
Drel, now emboldened by the success of the duo's last efforts shouted his family's warcry...for friends lost in battle and the souls of loved ones. He leapt upwards on to the daemon, managing to retain a grip upon it's fiery sulphur-clouded head. He aimed his cannon downwards, while beaming Tetrol a smile of triumph from his new perch atop the daemon's head.
Tetrol looked upwards at his friend waiting to share with his ally their soon to be victorious moment...
And Drel screamed in horror as tetrol's mouth gushed out a fountain of blood... a long snakey tail waggling out from between his teeth in a grotesquely and obscene parody of a wave.
The Daemon's tail which Drel had blown off earlier and which had seperated so easily had thawn out you see.
And the tail just wanted to use the shortest path possible to get back to it's father,.
Good mage Tetrol's head just happenned to be in the way.
And Drel, awash with the terrors of the sight he'd just seen...slipped on a patch of melting ice on top of the daemon's head.
Falling fifteen stories, and instantly breaking his neck.
Dear reader are some deaths unfair?
Tell me reader...are they?
Or...do deaths because they're sufferred by a hero make them that much more dramatic?
Perhaps, a long, long time from now...Drel's death will be more excitingly re-told.
Or maybe...they will just leave it as it is.
For Drel's actions and deeds through life were legendary.
And isn't that what history is about?
I do not think any fanciful re-telling of this story will make his reputation any better.
He was a hero, and fought for our realm.
As the remaining heroes fought now.
Sdraken the daemon stepped forward.
Brought up by an angel.
A cast-off daemon that had found family..
She stepped forward because she had learned honor.
And because she had come to call her new realm home.
She raised her hand to cast the first spell against the being who now threatened her world, never once thinking that because the Daemon was her kind, that any other option existed.
She knew, as well...that it was also her time to die.
And that gesture...that hand raised towards the deamon, was Sdraken's last instance of a belief in choice rather than destiny.
The Daemon, called Matesh Urdu in the language of Angels...then smote his daughter.
And she died.
Lady P, the most powerful vamp in the realm, and high mystress of the arts had taken Sdraken as a sister, and therefore family.
Her wrath was great.
Her anger unbridled.
The vampire is one of the greatest of all the heroes of Ancaria.
It's strength is legendary.
And it's ability to win any battle while cloaked in darkness was an almost absolute guarantee of success.
Lady P gathered up her spells.
Careful not to call forth anything that a daemon's song could coerce to it's will.
For she remembered Pevil.
From the ends of the lady's fingerips flew bolts of corruscating power so intensely blue that they were blindingly difficult to even look at.
Their passage burnt the very air they flew through and scored the daemon's body with innumberable bleeding wounds.
And this time...it bled blood
The Daemon then smiled, a toothsome grin.
Licked it's lips.
For it had known that the vampire would be a challenge.
It therefore gathered up almost all of it's fell essence...
And pointed at the sun...which was not up in the sky...but on the other side of Ancaria.
With his dark laugher he hissed at the vampire:
"let there be light!"
And there was light.
But it was a sun that was green, mutated and sick with disease.
A sun bloated and twisted by the daemon's power and wrenched out of it's path and arrested in it's journey through the heavens.
Made to bow down to the daemon's call and shine it's now tainted light upon the heroine.
Lady P screamed.
She couldn't stop screaming.
For that light, that green sickly light that bore down on her with dark intent, was anathema to her very bones.
Dear reader does a hero care when screaming out in pain?
Does she care to maintain some sort of control?
Knowing that her last words (oh please let them be heroic words, please!) will be remembered?
Did I mention the Daemon's sword?
Long it is.
Well honed on the bones of heroes.
Made sharp upon the necks of it's victims..
For I...as observer and with tear-filled eyes of anguish and heartwrenching pain saw no words upon lady p's lips as I saw the vampire-hero's severed, burning head fly away from me and into the distance...her face spinning off into the air while mouthing nothing but pain, pain and more pain.
The Daemon looked about it now.
It had expected more from the immortal.
In fact...more from all the heroes of this realm.
It began calling in it's power...it's wounds were many and it needed to heal.
That battle had not been without cost.
And then, upon the the plains which it had thought empty before, it saw a girl.
Wait no, this girl...this girl had wings!
And in that moment the Daemon knew what it beheld.
A being borne of the very firmament it was.
A being of vast power and unbelievable capacity.
The daemon bowed to the seraphim, and when the seraphim nodded back, the dark destroyer choose that moment to send forth a stream of fireballs hoping to take the battle angel off guard.
The daemon was to be dissapointed.
For the angel's eye was as quick as it's own, and an effortless Combat Jump to behind a mountain allowed the seraphim to evade the daemon's fiery thrust. The pieces of rock now flying about because of the daemon's strike however, were another thing.
The seraphim quickly utterred the words for Light Shield, and a light blue glow phosphored about her.
Protecting her from the hailstrom of dangerous rocks and any other thing the daemon may choose to fling at her.
From the deepest recesses of her mind she brought forth something that her dear friend Pevil had taught her.
Pevil had a knack for finding new ways of doing things and this shining example of the wood-lady's craft in action brought a smile to the angel's lips.
The angel started to sing what Pevil had taught her.
The seraphim's voice was the choir of angels. Her voice so sweet and glorious as it sang of places lit by hope and the promise of tommorow.
This spell called Conversion should have made the daemon forgot who he was, as well as the battle being fought.
Instead...the DAemon had other plans.
And birthed forth noxious fumes from his mouth along with gobs of billous matter. They jetted forth upon the angel's face gagging and almost choking her.
The choir was silenced.
The daemon ripped off some of it's many fingers.
Cast them upon the ground.
And waited for the summonings to grow.
The birthed beasts were hard to look at and indeed focus upon. The depth of their evil blurred their very appearance, making them look wrong in our world.
Full of tooth and claw, and the promise of pain, they descended upon the little seraphim, smelling her blood and craving all of it.
The Battle angel called into place a shield of twinkling, rotating lights, whose passage through the air burned to a crisp every summoning that the daemon brought forth. Over and over it sent it's minions at her, where they smoked against her divine power.
Her fury became a terrible sight. She brought forth the powerf of her Attack, a fury of blows landing against the daemon and causing it to duck when it could.
And when the seraphim could gather enough power, it would use a devasting Hard hit, so that when it smashed against the Daemon the power of that blow would lay waste to the landscape behind the invader's back when it flew back against something with devastating force.
Back and forth the battle ensued.
"Enough!" cried the seraphim.
She looked up to the sun, the one that the daemon had wrenched out of it's orbit, and transformed into a mottled thing of evil.
The seraphim prayed to it for it's forgiveness and aid.
The Sun, still filled with the mighty essence of the Daemon bent it's will to the angel's needs.
A roaring, white beam of light, beautifully bright and a joy to behold smashed down upon the daemon with the force of star.
A mighty star.
For this was the sun of Ancaria, being held by the love of an angel, and focusing all of what was left of it's fiery strength upon the daemon...this dark invader.
The Daemon screamed and screamed...
for it had never before felt anything like this.
The light was washing through the dark recesses of it's soul, bathing everything it touched with the powerful clarity of it's path. The Daemon was the prince of lies and deception...it detested truth.
But this was the Celestial Light..and one of the seraphim's greatest weapons. And against it, the Daemon could do almost nothing.
Indeed, the devil cried out for fear...fear of it's own imminent death...unless...
The Daemon called upon it's last card.
And across the Daemon's chest a fissure appeared. Throbbing with a sickly red glow, it grew and grew.
Finally what looked like a womb split open.
And Rooster...poor Rooster...stepped forth.
The mightiest champion in ancaria had not died, but instead been enslaved. And now, the warrior was tasked to help the daemon on it's path of destruction.
To kill the seraphim.
The battle was one which scarred the heavens themselves.
Where the angel and barbarian's blows caught each other the sonic boom would render the trees from their roots, turning the air itself into a deadly hurricane.
Great Canyons were formed from where the heroes threw each other. And oceans were emptied while deserts flooded.
The stars themselves were flung as weapons. Such was the might of these heroes, and such was the intensity of the combattants.
And after what seemed like an eternity of battling, after uncounted blows and magical spells...
The seraphim was dying.
The daemon laughed as he saw this...urging his new pet to quickly end it...for they had other worlds to rob of futures.
The angel was sure that all of her ribs were broken. She was lying on her back, facing the barbarian who was standing over her with his sword held high.
Every breath of hers was laboured, and she knew that there was little time.
But perhaps in weakness...she could find a strength?
So from tattered lips and pierced lungs she sang her last song. She sang to Rooster of a world of light, one filled with promise and laughter. She sang of color, love and the beauty of faith.
And the vision that the seraphim sang to the warrior allowed him to briefly wipe the cloud of deception from his eyes...and see the truth...
"My lady, my angel...I have no control of my actions...and once your song has faded from my heart...then the daemon's dark will will once again control my destiny!"
" But it is not my own future I care for Lady Angel...but for the future of this realm..and Ancaria!"
The Seraphim, with her last breath asked the Warrior:
"Do you have faith? Will you place trust in my actions? "
" Warrior, will you give to me your last act of will?"
And Rooster did.
The Daemon knew now that at this point...something was afoot.
The Daemon doubled the force of will he had bent upon the will of Rooster.
The Geas placed upon the hero must not fail.
But it did fail.
And Rooster gave his last act of will to the angel. He trusted her. And in that trust was love.
Rooster fell upon his sword and then fell dead upon the dying angel.
And the angel, with her last breath, recited her last spell.. One that she prayed would be enough...
For the future.