Unlike some, this Daemo appears human but is bald as an egg, with skin a sickly yellow color and its body squat, reminding me of a toad wearing black armor made up of its dried secretions molded into connecting pieces. 

The outside of the armored plates are covered in spikes and cruel barbs with jagged edges, while the sword in its hand resembles a three point triangle that sharply narrows, with a hilt and hand guards molded into the matrix at the narrow end, leaving the narrow point a spike. It grins with a mouth of ragged teeth and holds its sword out towards the Ogra-Ki in challenge.

The Ogra-Ki doesn’t know the danger he’s in, for he hefts the great axe like it was a cudgel and charges forward. The Daemo laughs as it raises its sword…and I pull back Apprentice like she was a throwing axe as the hair upon my head tingles. The air before me turns grey like a doorway and I step through.

The land remains as it was but all the colors bleed away until nothing’s left except grey, the trees around me skeletal shadows as I lift Apprentice as if she was a throwing knife, and sight on the squat specter, now creeping forward in a moment of almost frozen time, down the slope. The distance is too far for me to make the throw, but in the Shadowlands time and distance are shadows themselves, and I fling the weapon towards the Daemo. 

Straight as a spear she flies towards the creature, and I leap off the rock at the doorway forming mid-air in front of me. Color returns to the world as I pass through; my bare feet dig into the leaf covered dirt as I land on the ground, with time and distance back to normal as I take off down the slope.

Glancing at Apprentice, who is spinning as momentum keeps her flying through the air, I notice my aim was slightly off and realize she will miss the Daemo. But she realizes it as well and twists slightly as the Daemo parries the Ogra-Ki’s wild swing and raises its own sword to strike. 

Apprentice pierces its armor and buries her blade down to the square guard into its flesh. The Daemo staggers about as it shrieks like a madman, desperately trying to pull the short sword out of its back while the Ogra-Ki recovers his balance and swings the great-axe like he’s supposed to. I’ve done what I can for the leather clad warrior and now concentrate on the Young Lord and his two archers, who’ve finally realized the danger to their rear.

Blood-archer shoots and I swerve right, putting a tree between us, the arrow hissing as it flies past. I pull Master from his sheathe as Fire-Archer draws, the arrow in his bow shooting sparks as I call the Grey and step through the doorway the moment he releases the arrow. 

It slows to the barest crawl as I race through the Shadowlands towards my three foes, the eyes in the Fire-Archer’s pale face wide as I race past the arrow, frozen sparks of flame like fireflies all around it. Above me, I sense movement and glance up; a winged creature of the Shadowlands is changing course and heading in my direction. I call to the real world and step through.

Color returns to the world and I race towards the three with my katana out as the white-haired Young Lord flings an icy blast at a dead tree in my path. My momentum is still beyond normal so I bound into the air towards the tree’s lower branch, my bare foot propelling me off the dead wood a moment before the wintry blast hits the tree. Shards of ice and wood fly in every direction as I put myself into a spinning ball, the pieces stinging like a dozen hornet barbs as they find gaps in my armor or pierce weak spots in the leather. I sense the ground approaching and straighten out to land in a crouch.

An arrow digs deep into the dirt beside my foot. Rising up, I shift Master to my right hand as I whisper, “Revertere.” Apprentice’s hilt slaps my palm as she returns and my left hand closes over her, my arm rearing back as I sight on Blood Archer and throw. He gives a cry as the short sword swoops towards him, his arrow flying over my head as he uses his bow to knock the weapon coming towards him aside. The wood cracks as he strikes the sword and the bowstring snaps with a whine, but Apprentice buries herself in the dirt behind him without touching his skin as I turn my attention towards the other archer.

Phantom flames are lighting up Fire-Archer’s hair as the man draws back with an arrow in his bow, and I see blisters forming on the skin of his forearms as sparks begin flying off the arrow. I leap upon the rock he stands on as I swing my katana at his face. Instead of firing he instinctively tries to block the blade, but Master shears through the wood and slices open his throat, the phantom flames in his hair becoming real as his magic begins consuming him. His skin blackens as the blood gushing from his throat catches fire.