This is it.
The man took a deep breath. His brown eyes narrowed in on his opponent, taking note of every minute movement they made.
Covered in hulking armor blacker than the starless sky, it was hard for him to gleam anything from the being's immediate actions. This had been a recurring problem throughout the entirety of their fight.
The man was observant, the subtle flex of their muscles, the slight pause in their breathing, and the rotations of their hips were all telltale signs of an impending attack. Even trained warriors—including the man himself—struggled to conceal those crucial cues, which were often done without conscious thought.
None of this mattered while facing the behemoth in front of him. Large, bulky armor covered their frame completely, towering over him in height. Due to the armor, it was impossible for the man to determine anything about his opponent. He couldn't discern their appearance and the fact he couldn’t even hear them breathe cast doubt on whether or not they were even alive in there, or human at that.
He guessed he should’ve expected so, as the armored menace in front of him was none other than the dreaded Demon King—a savage monster that sought to end all intelligent life.
And he stood before said monster, determined to prevent that ending from ever coming to fruition.
His rumination wasn’t left unpunished, as the armored beast suddenly leaped at him, swinging its massive halberd. The heavy armor it was wearing seemingly did nothing to impede its inhuman speed.
The man moved just as fast. He couldn’t block the strike, at least not head-on, as the black halberd would undoubtedly snap his sword in two.
A leap backward was all it took to clear him of the danger zone.
The Demon King didn’t remain idle either, as it jumped up into the air. The halberd in its hands visibly wriggled—as if it was a living being—before transforming into something else completely different: a hammer.
What!
The ground erupted around the epicenter of the Demon King’s landing. Though the man managed to avoid being turned into a pile of flesh and guts. His ungraceful attempts at evasion left his footing unstable.
Again the Demon King was unrelenting. In the span of a single breath, the behemoth closed the distance between the two, wielding a black spear that gave off a wicked feeling.
With a tilt of his body, he barely managed to avoid being skewered. Another tumble and another fatal strike was narrowly avoided.
The two quickly settled into a sort of routine. A dance of death, but only truly one of them was in any danger of that.
The man had no time to think. As such he had time to neither plan nor strategize. He could only react. It was all unconscious, the way he swerved and weaved.
He was unable to do anything but dodge. As every attack had a chance to end his life, he couldn’t afford to be lax. It took every part of him just to stay alive and his weary body struggled to keep up even despite that.
In every sense of the word, the Demon King was the better of the two.
Strength, speed, durability, technique—the Demon King had him beat in every facet of combat.
That was when he suddenly came to a realization.
He couldn’t win
With that, his movement became just that much more frantic. The rapid beating of his heart filled his ears. Ironically, he was cherishing the sound more than ever, it was a sign that he was alive, that the last swing didn’t send him to oblivion.
In this situation, every second could be his last.
He needed to retreat.
As long as he lived, he could always fight back. As long as he didn’t fall here, there would always be a chance for payback.
He just needed time. Time to train. Time to strategize. Time to prepare. Time to think.
Then he would defeat this Demon King and—
A chime resounded in his mind.
The man paused, though he wasn’t still for long. His body was still reacting even as his mind ground to a halt.
He glanced at the sword graped tightly in his right hand. It was a beautiful sword, and at first glance that’s all anyone would think it is.
However, he knew that was anything but the case.
You’ve decided, he thought, reproaching his cowardice. I guess that means I only have one job.
He couldn’t retreat.
How many would fall by this behemoth’s hands before he returned? How many will be fed to the ferocious demons it commanded? How many families will be torn apart by the monstrosity standing before him?
How many will die…all because he decided to retreat?
The man wasn’t the altruistic type. He wasn’t fighting this battle for purely selfless reasons. He had people he loved and things he cherished deeply. And he’ll be damned before he lets anything happen to them.
But…
The idea that innocent blood would be on his hands—even indirectly—because he decided to retreat, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He couldn’t flee!
His eyes hardened as he stopped in place, planting both feet into the ground. It wasn’t like stopping for a second would cost him his life, as long as he remained aware he could always evade a fatal blow.
The Demon King was on him in less than a breath. A demonic spear primed to run through him.
He should dodge. He should avoid it, block it even…
…but he was done running.
The man clenched his teeth as an unimaginable amount of pain flooded his nerves. The spear had pierced his chest and the spike protrusions on it tore through his flesh, sending flashes of agony through his head.
But the man didn’t just let that happen. His hand gripped the spear and used all his weight to pull the Demon King towards him—skewering himself even more.
This wouldn’t have been possible, if it wasn't for the fact that by putting all its strength into impaling the man, the Demon King’s footing was unsteady, leaving the man a small window to act.
The man was smart, he knew he couldn’t win in an honest fight. He was weaker, slower, and in the face of the Demon King’s dominating presence, he was nothing but a child facing a fully grown man.
But even a child could topple an adult—if they simply attacked at the right moment and aimed for the right spot.
The man raised his sword with his other hand. It started glowing, radiating with a brilliance that was simply unmatched. A song started playing, a cry for those that will fall on this day—an elegy for all to hear.
The man steeled his mind.
Between him and the Demon King, there was only one area in which he was the superior.
Their weapons.
The Demon King’s black weapon—that could seemingly bend and change to fit its master’s will—was an incredible weapon. It was one of a kind, something that couldn’t be replicated by normal hands.
However, his weapon was the same, something special that could never be recreated—and the glorious, sacred light pouring from it was proof of just how remarkable it was.
They both knew what the sword could do.
There was an idle pause between the two and for the first time, the Demon King spoke.
“What is your name?” The voice that came from that helmet was a distorted, chaotic, jumbled heap of sound. He could hear both man and woman; adult and child in that garbled mess of a voice.
The man grinned, his hand tightening around his sword. His trump card.
“Oscar,” he answered.
“...” Though the Demon King didn’t voice it, Oscar knew it had accepted its loss.
Though it would be a lot more honest to call it a draw.
With a battle cry, he stabbed with all of his might, piercing through the Demon King’s armor with incredible ease and stabbing where the monster’s heart would be.
“Altar!” Oscar called to the sword within his hands, a holy relic gifted to him by a close friend. The sword seemed to vibrate as its radiance grew brighter and brighter by the second until it burst, consuming the two.
It was blinding, the bright light filled his eyes, sending him into a white, hazy void. Even though it hurt to merely even look at it, it was still a dazzling sight.
The gleam of that light served to ease Oscar’s weary soul. It was welcoming him to a brighter future, one that he sadly won’t be able to see.
In a few short seconds, the light was gone. The Demon King fell to its knees and it was then that Oscar realized that nothing inhabited that armor anymore—it was empty.
“Heh,” he chuckled. “Serves you right.” With nothing holding his body up, Oscar too fell to the floor, the black spear still lodged in his chest.
The man passed away on the spot, silently, and quickly. The wounds he had received and the exhaustion he felt all weighed on him. Like a star that had reached its expiration date. As soon as his will to enact his final attack faded away, there was nothing keeping him going.
He was given naught a second to think of his loved ones, those he was leaving behind to head to the next adventure.
Unknown to Oscar, he died a hero…
…though he would never call himself one.
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