BANG!
The double doors slammed open with a loud crash, rattling the very walls of the throne room. Dust swirled in the air, swirling as Flynn stepped inside, his boots echoing against the cold marble floor. His breathing was steady, calm, but his eyes—those eyes—blazed with a fire that had burned for centuries.
Across the room, seated on a throne of gold and blood-red jewels, was Arpheus—the 112th Demon King. His black hair fell over his shoulders, framing a face twisted with malice. A dark cloak hung from him, embroidered with symbols of death, as though it was the very shadow of destruction itself. Of the 111 kings before him, none had been as cruel, as monstrous, as Arpheus.
And now, after 1,290 years of war, it all came down to this moment.
Flynn's heart pounded. If he could kill him, if he could end this reign of terror, the world might finally know peace.
But that was no easy task.
Dwarves, humans, elves, and demi-humans—all their magic was elemental. Fire, water, wind, earth—powerful, yes, but familiar. Predictable.
Demon magic? That was something else.
Dark magic. Forbidden magic.
Magic so ancient, so twisted, that using it could tear a person apart from the inside.
Arpheus didn't need to do much to prove it. Blood manipulation was a prime example. To most, blood was nothing but a part of the body. But to a demon? One drop, one cut—and it could turn into something far worse. A curse. An explosion inside your veins. Death too gruesome for even the bravest to face.
And that was only Dark magic.
Arpheus had access to Forbidden magic. The kind of power that didn't just bend the laws of nature, but broke them.
But Flynn?
He had something better.
Something stronger.
Universal magic.
And no matter how powerful Arpheus was, no matter what kind of demon magic he wielded, Flynn wasn't afraid.
Arpheus leaned back in his throne, a slow smirk curling on his lips. His long fingers tapped against the armrest, eyes gleaming like black pits. He didn't even try to hide his amusement.
"Hmh, at last," he chuckled. His voice was deep, dripping with mockery. "Thou hast finally entered thy lord's domain."
Flynn's fists clenched, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. His blood boiled.
"YOU?" His voice cracked like thunder, shaking the room. "YOU would call yourself MY LORD?!"
The chamber grew heavy, filled with the pressure of Arpheus' demonic energy.
Arpheus stood. The air around him seemed to bend, as if recoiling from his very presence. The golden throne darkened, the jewels flashing with a sickly light. His cloak swirled behind him, the darkness within it bleeding into the room.
"YOU MORTAL INSECT," Arpheus roared, his voice booming through the space, "YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?!"
For a heartbeat, the entire room trembled—not from the magic, but from the sheer force of Arpheus' rage.
But Flynn didn't flinch. He'd endured worse. Seen worse.
The Demon King might be powerful, but Flynn had lost everything to this war. His family. His home. His very soul.
Arpheus stepped forward, a cold sneer still on his face. "Your death," he growled, "shall not be swift. I WILL CUT YOU DOWN PIECE. BY. PIECE."
Flynn's lip curled up into a grim smile. He inhaled slowly, the heat of battle settling into his bones. "Try me."
For a moment, Arpheus' smirk faded.
Without warning, he moved.
A flash of steel, no—a flash of flesh.
The Demon King drew a gleaming dagger from within his cloak and, with a single swipe, severed his own hand.
It hit the floor with a sickening thud. Blood gushed from the stump, pooling at his feet—
And then it froze.
The crimson liquid twisted and writhed in mid-air, as if alive. Arpheus didn't flinch, didn't even blink. His severed wrist began to shift, the wound knitting itself into something new.
It wasn't flesh.
It was a sword.
A massive, dark-crimson blade, forged from his own blood, pulsed with an eerie, hunger-filled glow.
Flynn exhaled, steadying his grip on his sword, rolling his shoulders. It was his move now.
The moment Arpheus shifted his weight, barely preparing to counter, Flynn was already there.
A blur of movement. A flash of light. And then—
"AAAAAAGGGGHHH!" Flynn's battle cry shattered the air, raw and furious, shaking the very walls. His sword came down hard, gripped with the force of a thousand battles, aimed directly at Arpheus's skull.
For a split second, it seemed like the Demon King had been sliced clean in half. The blade dug deep, right between his black, abyss-like eyes. Blood sprayed outward, splashing in a violent arc—
But then, everything stopped.
Flynn's sword was stuck, lodged in place, unmoving. Arpheus didn't fall. Didn't stagger. His head, though visibly cleaved apart, didn't split any further.
Because his blood had hardened.
A deep, dark-red substance erupted from the wound, shifting like molten iron before solidifying into unbreakable steel, trapping Flynn's sword right between his eyes.
Flynn yanked at his weapon. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing. The blade was immovable.
His breath hitched.
I'm finished!
Arpheus's lips curled into a wicked grin, his eyes glowing with malice.
"Pathetic." His hand shot forward, faster than lightning, claws extended toward Flynn's chest.
And then—
BOOM!
Flynn's torso exploded.
Flynn's torso exploded.
A sickening, wet sound filled the air. Blood and chunks of flesh splattered across the floor. His ribs—gone. His heart—obliterated. His sword slipped from his fingers. He should've dropped. Should've died.
But he didn't.
"ZRT!"
A sharp hum of energy crackled.
Arpheus's smirk vanished.
"WHAT!?" His voice boomed. His eyes widened.
Flynn was still standing.
His body, which had just been destroyed, was… fine. No wound. No blood. Not even a scratch.
Arpheus barely had time to react—
Flynn's fist slammed into his jaw.
CRACK!
Arpheus shot into the air. His head snapped back. His body lifted before he even realized what was happening.
Flynn wasn't done.
The moment Arpheus began falling—
BRRRRRRTTTTT!
A flurry of punches slammed into his chest.
One after another. Faster. Harder. Each one sent shockwaves through the air.
Arpheus felt his ribs crack. His armor dent. His vision blur.
Five seconds passed.
Flynn kept going.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine—
Arpheus couldn't think. Couldn't react.
Damn it! His mind screamed.
Flynn's fist tightened.
Another uppercut.
BOOM!
Arpheus shot upwards.
Flynn took a step back. Eyes locked.
He calculated.
Then—
He moved.
Before Arpheus could fall—
Flynn was already there.
His leg pulled back—
CRACK!
BOOOOOOM!
The impact sent a shockwave through the room. The walls trembled.
Arpheus lurched forward. Blood burst from his mouth. His body shot toward the far end of the hall—
CRASH!
Stone shattered. Dust filled the air. Rubble collapsed on top of him.
Silence.
Flynn stood in the center. Fists clenched. Breathing steady.
Then—
A sound.
From the rubble, something moved.
Arpheus rose.
Blood dripped from his lips. His black cloak hung in tatters. His glowing red eyes locked onto Flynn.
He let out a breath. Wiped the blood from his mouth.
"…So, we're still going?" His voice was rough, but he smiled.
Flynn didn't react.
"Obviously."
His golden eyes burned.
Then—
They fought.
Again. And again. And again.
Seventeen hours.
Seventeen hours of blood.
Flesh torn. Fists breaking bone. Magic ripping through the air.
The castle—gone. Nothing but ruins.
No words. No hesitation.
Only battle. Only survival.
But the end had already been decided.
As rain fell, soaking the ground, the last embers of resistance faded.
Arpheus no longer stood.
He sat in the rubble. Shoulders slumped. Blood pooling beneath him. His hands shook.
Flynn was still standing.
His sword—sheathed.
The battle was over.
Flynn had won.
Rain slid down his face, washing away the blood. His chest rose and fell, lungs aching.
Silence.
The storm above mourned.
Arpheus exhaled. Tilted his head. Stared at the sky.
"I won, Arpheus," Flynn muttered. His voice was quiet. Final.
A weak chuckle left Arpheus's lips.
His fingers twitched.
Then—
His hands went still.
For one thousand, two hundred and ninety years—he had ruled.
Now—
His eyes shut. His body stopped moving.
Arpheus, the 112th Demon Lord, had fallen.
And Flynn… was the last one standing.