Saland completed his arduous journey without facing a single foe. He traversed vast, barren valleys and scaled treacherous, snow-laden peaks until, in the distance, a colossal structure resembling a castle loomed into view. It was then that the rune slipped from his pouch, hung suspended in the air for a fleeting moment, and then shot off with incredible speed towards that imposing fortress. Saland began his long walk, the castle taking several hours to reach.
By the time he drew near, night had already cast its shadow, but the moon bathed the scene in an ethereal glow. From an elevated position, he surveyed the fortress's layout: a circular wall enclosed the entire structure, punctuated by a solitary entrance – a massive iron gate guarded by executors. Beyond the walls stretched a sprawling castle, likely teeming with more executors, perhaps even those on par with Morgar.
Pulling his hood deeper over his head, Saland approached the entrance. An executor's harsh voice cut through the night air, "Who goes there? You are forbidden here. Leave at once, or face immediate execution!" Saland remained silent, the glint of Mountain Cleaver emerging from its sheath. In a single, fluid motion, he cleaved through the enormous iron gate and felled several nearby executors. Another executor's voice, laced with disbelief, cried out, "How did he cut through dwarven iron imbued with mana so cleanly?" Without allowing his enemies a moment to comprehend, Saland eliminated most of the gate's guardians and stepped within the walls.
He broke into a determined run towards the main structure of the fortress, his boots echoing on the stone pathway. Any executors foolish enough to impede his advance were cut down with swift, merciless strokes of Mountain Cleaver, their forms collapsing before they could even register his presence.
Saland soon found himself facing a wide, stagnant moat, a dark barrier encircling the inner keep. Without hesitation, his gaze fixed on the thick ropes supporting the heavy drawbridge, he executed a swift, decisive slash. The air sang with the sharp whine of parting fibers, and the massive wooden structure groaned before crashing down with a resounding thud, bridging the watery chasm and providing him a direct path forward.
Two more executors, clad in their menacing dark armor, foolishly attempted to bar his way before the main castle gate. Saland didn't even break his stride. With a fluid motion that spoke of honed skill, he sliced through the reinforced gate as if it were mere paper, the splintered wood and twisted metal falling inward with a deafening crash.
He stepped into the castle's interior, where a thick, oppressive darkness reigned. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and something ancient, something subtly malevolent. Only the faint, ethereal moonlight filtering through the tall, narrow windows allowed Saland to navigate the gloom. He moved cautiously, his senses on high alert, exploring the sparsely furnished interior. There was no sign of the lavishness one might expect from a ruler's abode; instead, a stark austerity permeated the stone walls and bare floors.
Suddenly, five more executors emerged from the shadows, their forms coalescing from the darkness like nightmarish apparitions. They advanced towards him with silent, menacing intent. Without a moment's hesitation, Saland launched himself forward, a blur of motion in the dim light. Mountain Cleaver danced in his hands, a silver arc of death. In a matter of heartbeats, all five executors lay still, their dark armor rent open, their life force extinguished with minimal effort.
Saland noted the ease with which he had dispatched them. He had improved significantly since his first brutal battles. The numerous encounters, the constant life-or-death struggles, had honed his skills to a razor's edge and granted him considerable experience. He now moved with a confidence and efficiency that spoke of a warrior who had truly come into his own, capable of overcoming even an executor commander without breaking a sweat.
Now, the oppressive silence of the castle weighed heavily around him, broken only by the soft echo of his own footsteps. He could feel the oppressive presence of Sheax somewhere deeper within these stone walls. The next confrontation, he knew, was inevitable. He moved forward, his grip tightening on Mountain Cleaver, his resolve as unyielding as the ancient stone beneath his feet.
He proceeded down a narrow corridor, the stone walls closing in around him, amplifying the soft echo of his steps. The passage opened into a small antechamber, at the far end of which stood a door crafted entirely of gleaming gold, its surface intricately carved with unsettling demonic figures.
The instant Saland came into view, two more executors, their eyes burning with malevolent energy, lunged to intercept him. Their movements were swift and practiced, but Saland's were faster. With two precise, economical slashes of Mountain Cleaver, their attacks were negated, and their forms crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Without pausing, Saland brought his greatsword down in a powerful arc, breaching the golden door with a resounding crash. The ornate metal buckled and tore, creating a jagged opening.
He stepped through the ruined doorway and into the room beyond. The moment his foot crossed the threshold, an immense pressure slammed into him, a tangible weight that stole his breath. It emanated from the sheer presence of an individual wielding boundless mana, a suffocating aura that spoke of power far beyond anything he had encountered before.
Saland's eyes, narrowed against the oppressive force, scanned the dimly lit chamber. Towering columns, impossibly high and carved with grotesque visages, lined the walls, their tops disappearing into the almost invisible ceiling, swallowed by the gloom. The air was thick with a strange, violet-tinged mist that swirled sluggishly near the floor.
Suddenly, a voice echoed through the vast space, resonating from the shadows like the growl of a predator. "You have shown considerable skill in dispatching the executors within my castle. I must commend you." The words were laced with a chilling amusement. Slow, deliberate applause followed, the sound strangely hollow in the immense chamber.
"You must be curious as to my identity," the voice continued, drawing closer, the source still obscured by the gloom. "I am the king of this realm, my name is Sheax, and I am a mid-ranking noble demon."
As the final words were spoken, violet flames erupted with a sudden, intense heat against the far wall, illuminating a colossal throne carved from what appeared to be obsidian. Upon it sat a figure of terrifying presence. His body was entirely black, a stark void against the flickering violet light, save for his piercing blood-red eyes that burned with an ancient, malevolent intelligence. His skin resembled a suit of intricately detailed black armor, adorned with sharp, thorn-like protrusions that jutted out from his head to his very feet, giving him a nightmarish, regal appearance. In his hands, he held a small, dark object, the rune gifted to him by Egar. As Saland watched, the rune crumbled to dust in an instant, the last vestige of Egar's influence vanishing into nothingness.
Mountain Cleaver remained stained with the dark blood of his fallen foes, a silent testament to the bloody path that had led him to this final confrontation. The air crackled with anticipation, the clash between the determined human and the powerful demon king about to commence.
Sheax rose from his imposing throne, the movement fluid and regal. His left arm extended, as if beckoning darkness, and a formidable black sword materialized in his grasp. Pulsating red veins throbbed within its dark metal, lending it an unsettlingly organic appearance. "Before I end your insignificant life," Sheax stated, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the vast chamber, "tell me the reason for your brazen intrusion."
Saland met his gaze, his own unwavering despite the palpable power emanating from the demon lord. "I am here to change this realm for the better," Saland declared, his voice firm and resolute, "and to achieve that, I must eliminate you. Also," a flicker of pain crossed his features, quickly replaced by steely determination, "to avenge a dear friend."
Sheax scoffed, a sound devoid of amusement. "Do you truly believe you, a mere speck, can reshape this realm to your liking? And even if, by some improbable chance, you succeed in killing me, know this: there will always be someone stronger, stronger than both you and I. Should they learn of my demise, this realm, no, all realms would be in jeopardy. Your idealistic crusade is nothing but foolishness."
Saland's gaze remained unflinching, locked onto Sheax's crimson eyes. "No matter the strength of my opponent," he stated with conviction, "I will always fight with all my being for my ideals."
A moment of tense silence hung heavy in the air, the unspoken threat of violence coiling between them like a venomous serpent. Then, the stillness shattered as their swords clashed. The impact reverberated through the chamber, a deafening clang of steel on dark metal. In that initial exchange, Sheax's black blade momentarily fractured under the force of Saland's strike, cracks spider-webbing across its surface. But an instant later, fueled by the potent mana that coursed through Sheax, the shattered pieces knit themselves back together, the sword reforming as if the damage had never occurred.
The two warriors engaged in a rapid, brutal exchange of blows, their movements a blur of steel and shadow. Sparks flew with each deafening impact, the air thick with the scent of ozone and the raw power of their colliding mana. Suddenly, Sheax leaped backward, a predatory glint in his red eyes. With a flick of his wrist, he lashed his sword like a whip. The segmented blade extended, individual sections detaching and hurtling towards Saland like deadly projectiles.
Saland moved with surprising agility, weaving and dodging through the airborne segments, his eyes fixed on closing the distance between himself and Sheax. However, with a swift, serpentine maneuver, Sheax manipulated the remaining connected portion of his blade, ensnaring Saland in its flexible length. But before Sheax could capitalize on his advantage, Saland's body erupted with a brilliant white light as he activated his Rekkai. The raw power unleashed shattered Sheax's weapon into countless razor-sharp pieces that rained down upon the stone floor.
Saland lunged forward, seizing the opportunity, but Sheax reacted with astonishing speed. The scattered fragments of his sword instantly obeyed his will, flying back towards him and recomposing themselves in mid-air, forming a solid, black shield just in time to deflect Saland's attack.
Forced to retreat by the sudden defense, Saland landed gracefully, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He began to gather mana in his legs, the energy coiling and building like compressed springs. Utilizing the vast expanse of the throne room, he prepared to use the very architecture as a springboard, aiming to accelerate his movements to an even greater, more devastating speed.
"It is clear you have faced Morgar," Sheax observed, "your agility is comparable to his, but I possess greater strength." In response, Sheax began to leap with incredible speed throughout the room. Saland focused his energy, and Mountain Cleaver pulsed with a violet light. They met in the center of the room, and Saland unleashed a powerful strike that cleanly sliced through the entire roof, revealing the first light of dawn. They moved onto the collapsing rooftop, which was plummeting towards the courtyard below. Saland attempted to strike Sheax, who, however, charged his fist with mana, causing crimson cracks to appear across its surface. With a swift dash, he struck Saland squarely in the chest, the shockwave of the blow shattering the remaining roof before it hit the ground.
Saland staggered to his feet, his body protesting with every strained movement. The force of Sheax's blow had sent him hurtling through the air, and he now found himself on a flat, rocky outcrop jutting out from one of the jagged mountains that encircled the imposing fortress in the distance.
Before he could fully regain his bearings, Sheax materialized before him with an unsettlingly swift teleportation. "I, Sheax," he declared, his voice resonating with a newfound gravitas, "recognize you as a formidable warrior. No one has ever survived such a blow, and now I shall reveal my true power, Demon Soul!"
With those words, Sheax's form underwent another dramatic and unsettling transformation. His once entirely black skin now shifted to a pallid grayish hue. His eyes remained the same vibrant, blood-red, but now they were framed by hair of pure, stark white. Two vivid red lines emerged from his cheekbones, arcing upwards and passing directly over his eyes to converge on his forehead, forming a strange, crimson sigil. His attire had also shifted. Sheax now sported a refined blue coat with intricate gold trim, fastened with six gleaming silver buttons on each side. A neatly tied blue bow tie sat at his neck, above a crisp white shirt and tailored black trousers. With a flick of his wrist, he extended his left arm, and his segmented sword, Sidebat, flew into his grasp, the multiple blades clicking softly as they locked into place.
Saland, despite his exhaustion, knew he couldn't afford to give Sheax the initiative. He lunged forward, Mountain Cleaver crackling with his remaining energy, attempting to strike first. But Sheax reacted instantly, Sidebat flashing out to meet the blow with a resounding clang of metal. The force of the parry was immense, sending Saland crashing backward onto the unforgiving stone.
Yet, Saland's resolve remained unbroken. He pushed himself back to his feet, ignoring the aches that screamed through his body, and unleashed a desperate flurry of slashes. Sheax parried each strike with an almost casual ease, the segmented blades of Sidebat moving with uncanny precision. He attempted to counter, his own attacks swift and deadly, but Saland, fueled by adrenaline, managed to dodge each one, weaving through the deadly dance of blades.
Seizing a momentary opening, Saland feinted an attack to the front, then twisted, attempting to strike from behind. But Sheax seemed to anticipate his every move. With a fluid motion, he released his grip on Sidebat. The elongated blades detached from the hilt, swirling around him like a menacing, metallic halo, forming a protective shield that pushed Saland away with an invisible force.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on Saland, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but his unwavering determination, the burning need to survive, kept him standing.
Sheax, confident in his superior power, prepared to deliver the final blow. He shifted his stance, Sidebat held low, the segmented blades twitching slightly. Saland knew this was it, his last chance. He channeled every last ounce of his remaining energy, focusing it into Mountain Cleaver. The greatsword pulsed with a faint, inner light.
With a desperate roar, Saland dashed forward, aiming the full force of his attack at Sheax, who raised Sidebat to act as a shield. But Saland's attack, fueled by sheer willpower, pierced through the barrier of segmented blades, the tip of Mountain Cleaver tearing through Sheax's defenses, drawing a thin line of crimson across his chest.
A grim smile stretched across Sheax's grayish face, a chilling contrast to the blood trickling down his coat. "Did you truly believe that final, desperate attack would be fatal?" he scoffed, his voice laced with disdain. "I pity you, for my sword, Sidebat, managed to deflect a significant portion of your pathetic strike…"
He raised his right hand, and a malevolent purple mana began to coalesce around it, crackling with destructive energy. "Farewell," Sheax uttered, his eyes gleaming with cold triumph. He thrust his mana-imbued hand forward, striking Saland with such devastating force that it erupted in a blinding flash, leaving behind a massive, smoking crater where Saland had stood moments before.
Sheax glanced down at Saland's seemingly lifeless form lying amidst the rubble, a flicker of something akin to satisfaction crossing his features. He turned his back on the devastation and began to walk back towards his imposing castle, the setting sun casting long, ominous shadows behind him.
But suddenly, Sheax heard a voice and spun around abruptly. "Rekkai… Awakened!" Saland stood, taking a fighting stance. A chilling smile spread across his face as he moved with such incredible speed that even Sheax couldn't follow his movements. In an instant, Sheax was struck by a barrage of unseen slashes, leaving him riddled with wounds. He stared into Saland's eyes, which held an unsettling grin. Saland's body was now enveloped in an even more potent violet mana, radiating visibly. He seemed to be fighting purely on instinct, his immense power now rivaling or even surpassing his opponent's.
The oppressive weight of mana radiating from Saland pressed down on Sheax like a physical burden. How has he become so powerful with just his Awakening? Sheax marveled, a knot of unease tightening in his gut. This one possesses immense latent power.
With a burst of speed that blurred the edges of his vision, Sheax channeled his mana and lunged, aiming a powerful blow at Saland's chest. To his utter astonishment, his fist slammed to a halt, meeting an invisible resistance that didn't even leave a scratch on his opponent's skin. Their eyes locked – Sheax's wide with disbelief and a dawning fear, Saland's fixed with his usual unsettling smile.
Sheax disengaged in a swift backward leap, attempting to exploit distance. He slashed with his sword, a silver arc biting at the air, but Saland sidestepped it with a movement that seemed to leave an afterimage flickering in its wake. In the same breath, Saland launched his own assault, a relentless flurry of slashes that Sheax could barely track, the clang of steel on steel echoing in the tense air.
A seemingly light blow connected with Sheax's guard, yet a shockwave of force reverberated through his arms, forcing him down to one knee. The seemingly innocuous attacks were devastating. A hollow laugh escaped his lips, a sound devoid of mirth. "Haha hahahah," he gasped, his voice strained. "I never imagined anyone could bring me, a mid-ranking demon, to my knees, but enough is enough. I will get serious…"
A palpable shift occurred in the atmosphere, the very air crackling with dark energy. "Demon Soul Awakened!" Sheax roared, his transformation a terrifying spectacle. His hair lengthened in an instant, a black cascade tumbling down his back. A third eye, its sclera a stark black and its pupil a burning red, snapped open on his forehead, fixing Saland with an intense gaze. But the most striking change was the grotesque fusion of his sword with his very being. Several new blades, identical to the original in their segmented design and connected by a central iron piece, erupted from his back like grotesque, metallic tentacles.
Sheax was now a terrifying figure, his full power unleashed. "Now," he growled, his voice distorted, "the true battle for the throne commences!"
Saland moved with astonishing speed, a blur circling Sheax, who reacted instantly, his four blades lashing out like serpentine limbs, forming a defensive perimeter against the imminent attack. Saland's assault was relentless, his speed overwhelming, forcing Sheax into a desperate dance of parries and deflections. Seizing a momentary opening, Sheax used his blades to propel himself into the air, gaining a brief respite.
But Saland was relentless in his pursuit, his attacks continuing unabated. Sheax defended, landed with a thud, and immediately launched his own counter-attack, the four blades arcing towards Saland. With a clean, swift strike, Saland severed one of the blades, sending it clattering to the ground. The loss unbalanced Sheax, forcing him to retreat.
Saland pressed his advantage, his attacks growing fiercer. Desperation fueled Sheax. Using his remaining three blades, he struck with surprising accuracy, the tips slamming squarely into Saland's chest, sending him crashing backward. Without hesitation, Sheax imbued his remaining blades with crackling magical energy and unleashed a barrage of crimson projectiles. Saland moved with uncanny agility, dodging most of the assault, but one energy bolt grazed Sheax's face, leaving a searing line of pain.
Enraged by the minor wound, Sheax channeled more power into his blades, the segmented metal glowing with an ominous red light. He unleashed a wave of pure energy, a destructive tide aimed at Saland, who merely deflected it with a casual flick of his wrist.
Sheax charged head-on, his mana-infused blades leading the assault. Saland parried most of the attacks with effortless grace, the clash of metal echoing like thunder. But then, with a sickeningly swift movement, the severed fourth blade, seemingly reanimated by Sheax's will, snaked around from behind and pierced Saland's side.
Saland rose slowly, a disturbingly serene smile playing on his lips despite the fresh wound. Sheax pressed his attack, sensing an opening, but Saland unleashed an immense surge of mana, a wave of pure power that washed over the battlefield. Instinctively, Sheax threw up a barrier of crackling magical energy, reinforcing it with his remaining blades.
With a lightning-fast dash that defied perception, Saland moved. He sliced through the magical barrier as if it were paper, shattered the remaining blades into fragments that rained down like metallic tears, and with a final, brutal strike, cleaved Sheax in two.
Sheax's body hit the ground with a sickening thud, his lifeblood staining the earth crimson. Steam emanated from Saland's body as the Rekkai deactivated, the otherworldly glow fading from his eyes.
"I cannot endure this humiliation!!!" Sheax gasped, his voice a ragged whisper, his life force ebbing away. "When HE learns of your actions, he will kill you and exterminate all magical creatures and humans in his rage!"
With that final, desperate warning, Sheax exhaled his last breath, his body falling silent. The weight of his demise settled heavily in the air, a grim testament to the brutal power of the victor.