Alex glared at the Daemon standing in the center of the glade. Moonlight shone down through the tops of the trees and illuminated the small clearing with its radiance.
He had intentionally made his presence known, though he was sure that the warlord had been aware Alex was chasing after him the whole time.
To say that the Daemon was intimidating was an understatement. Glowing eyes of orange peered at Alex with an intensity that made him uneasy. A pale face with sharp angular features contrasted sharply with the beauty that Alex remembered Yvesse having. Could they really be from the same race?
He had expected Daemons to have fairer features that were meant to be pleasing to look at, but this guy? His face was kinda ugly. If anything though, that added on to the intimidating presence of the warlord.
The Daemon's robes had been discarded, revealing a well muscled figure underneath. Ishrak was bare chested, showing off his toned body. Much like his face, the rest of the warlord's body was pale-skinned, as if he hadn't seen the light of day in years.
The only clothing the Daemon wore were two dark red bracers and a pair of leather pants that looked like they were made from an amalgamation of different types of skin.
Two prominent scars marred the Daemon's pale chest. One was a hideous gash that ran along the left side of his stomach; it looked like it was a wound that hadn't healed properly.
The other was a shallow graze mark that zigzagged vertically down the middle of his chest and intersected with the other scar. It was clear that this was an older wound, and one that hadn't been nearly as painful as the other.
Alex was forced to revisit his theory that the warlord was a magically inclined being and not a warrior who excelled in martial prowess. This guy looked like he had been training and working out every single day of his life, preparing for this moment.
Alex was in for the fight of his life, and the two weapons in the Daemon's hands only reinforced that idea.
In one hand was a scythe that looked like it had been forged out of black steel. Wherever it moved it seemed to swallow up the light around it, and looking at it for too long hurt Alex's eyes.
But that didn't mean he failed to notice the slight red aura that surrounded the curved blade. It was similar to the weapon that Ishrak held in his other hand. The weapon that caused Alex's calf to flare up in pain just by being in the presence of.
The Hellfire sword.
Made from a silver-like metal, the thick blade of the sword extended from a hilt and crossguard that looked like the bones of some type of creature. Running along the edge of the blade were various glowing red symbols that had been etched into the metalwork. If anything, the sword looked rather crudely made. There was no luster to the blade, and deep grooves had been notched into the metal, like it hadn't been sharpened in a long time.
Even so, there was a certain feeling he got when he looked at the sword that he couldn't quite place. Alex had already felt the sting of the blade before, and he didn't need to feel it again to know that the sword could cleave him in two.
Unlike the scythe, Alex felt far more wary of the sword. It looked heavy enough that it should have required both hands to wield and yet this warlord held it with practiced ease. The aura around the sword also felt more sinister somehow, it was as if the blade itself was aware of the situation and was excited for the fight to come.
How was that possible? How could a blade crave a fight? Maybe he was just overthinking things, but then why couldn't he shake the sensation that the sword thirsted for more than just a taste of his blood this time? Pain once more shot through his calf and Alex was forced to rethink his approach to this fight as a chilling thought ran through his mind. Was this sword sentient?
It was then that it dawned on him what the feeling he got from looking at the sword was. Despair.
***
Ishrak had been studying his opponent, taking in everything from the way he carried himself to the battle stance he took. He was aware that the human was likely doing the same thing and getting the measure of just who he was up against.
Now that the weakling was standing in the open, the warlord could hardly believe that this was who he had been running from.
Even with an intense and clearly powerful aura, the human's stance was shoddy. His footwork was sloppy and unbalanced, all while the two daggers in his grip were held by shaky hands. It was clear to Ishrak that his opponent had powerful tools at his disposal, but there was a clear gap in the skill level between the two of them.
This human was about to learn a very painful lesson in the difference between having power, and being able to use that power to its full effectiveness.
It didn't matter if you had talent and crazy powers at your beck and call if you didn't know how to use them. The human was definitely unique in that regard, he very obviously had power that he was unaware of.
It was in this way that the universe kept things balanced. Someone could be born with wildly powerful abilities, or be given an immense amount of resources, but it didn't matter if they didn't put in the time and effort to master their gifts. If they didn't train relentlessly and practice to hone themselves, then their talent would go to waste.
Likewise, someone born without any talent or skills could train their whole life and eventually become a match, and perhaps even beat the person who was more powerful.
Sure, quality of gear and other factors had to be taken into account for such matters, but the universe itself greatly rewarded those who took an effort to improve themselves.
That was how Ishrak had risen up to the station he now held. He was born as a nobody, a pit fighter destined to die at the hands and wills of the crowds who craved bloodshed. Time and time again though, he survived the fights meant to end his life. Time and time again he improved his skills.
Through perseverance, and a lot of willpower, he had earned his freedom and continuously proved himself in trial after trial. Years of training had paid off when he had been granted the title of Warlord, and from there his influence and power had only grown. He had gone from a lowly pit fighter to a mighty warrior and leader.
With Svekor, the very first weapon ever given to him, and a thousand warriors under his command, he waged war against a rival Warlord and conquered his territories. That had been the first of his triumphs.
The next came when a mighty beast known as Zartosis began to rampage through the realm. Many nobles sat inside their keeps, scared to earn the beast's ire and have their lands ravaged. Ishrak had ignored his advisors and led a force to slay the creature. Thousands of loyal soldiers had perished, but in the end Ishrak was victorious.
His reward for ending the threat had been a visit to the nearby Arch-Lord's city, where a great feast was held in Ishrak's honor. It was at this feast that he had been given the Hellfire sword. A weapon usually only given to Greater Daemons had been granted to him.
His third, and perhaps his greatest, triumph came years later when that same Arch-Lord had invited him out to take the test of the Pit. A test used to determine someone's true potential, and often only taken by those who were worthy enough to take it. Ishrak descended into the Pit's depths and it was here where his resolve was tested the most.
Two weeks later he emerged from the Pit with a blessing from one of the Devils. Such a feat had only ever been achieved three times before in the realm's history, and Greater Daemons were the only ones to have achieved it. For a Lesser Daemon like him to gain a Devil's blessing? It shook the realm to its core.
There were many who cheered and lauded his success. There were many who despised him and what he represented. Many even tried to have him assassinated, but Ishrak had the Arch-Lord's protection and was nearly untouchable.
All of this led to Ishrak becoming a symbol of hope for the Lesser Daemons of his realm.
His story was veritable proof that anyone could rise to great heights, so long as they put in the dedication. His life was a testament to just what was possible with sheer willpower and a lot of hard work.
Ending up here, running from a human, and being forced to fight for his life for an audience of trees? It was just like his days in the fighting pit. It was just like the days where the universe was testing him and his resolve, and he would not fail. He would not falter. He would not die.
The tense moment stretched on, neither fighter making a move or speaking to each other. It was simply the calm before the storm, the moment before all hell broke loose.
The human's eyes were locked on to the sword in Ishrak's clawed hand, and the Daemon couldn't tell if the fleshling was awestruck or afraid of the blade.
"So you feel it too then, human? You can sense how She hungers for your blood?" Ishrak decided to break the silence. There were very few people he had encountered that could divine the true essence of Valkista.
Then again, there were very few who managed to survive more than one strike from the blade, but still, this human was indeed impressive if he took notice of how powerful the Hellfire sword was.
A Hellfire sword was a rare weapon to begin with, and one that contained the essence of a Fiend was even more so. Normally a Hellfire weapon would simply destroy the soul of whatever life it took, but Valkista was different. She absorbed the souls, imbuing the blade with more power; which in turn made Ishrak stronger.
Even so, She was a picky Fiend, not just any soul would do. Valkista hungered for powerful souls from powerful beings, and this human…
He certainly exceeded expectations. Arburnok had chosen his vessel wisely. Killing the human here would provide the Greater Daemon with a powerful body, at least until Ishrak sealed him again.
When no response was forthcoming, Ishrak simply continued on. "You should feel proud, little human. No being has ever made Her quite this voracious." Even if his opponent couldn't understand him, Ishrak felt obligated to let the human know that he should be honored. Only the most powerful beings were worthy of Her attention.
Never before had Valkista wanted to feed more than She did right now. Whoever this human was, he was powerful and was clearly backed by some powerful entities given the nature of his aura. However, Ishrak had faced down powerful opponents before; their souls were now trapped in his sword and fuelled his power.
Unfortunately for Ishrak, this was to be a one-sided conversation. The human was either willingly ignoring Ishrak's words, or he couldn't understand the Infernal language. A shame, he truly wanted to have a conversation with the his foe.
Not getting a response was a clear signal to the Daemon, the time for words was over.
Ishrak closed his eyes, gripped his two weapons a little tighter, and sent a prayer to the Devils so that they would see him through this ordeal. He would have to once more prove himself worthy of their favor. This was just another trial that he would have to overcome. They had chosen him, and he would not disappoint.
There was only one way for this battle to end. There would be no middle ground to be found, no raising of the white flag, no quarter given. This was a fight to the bitter end. Neither warrior would give up until their opponent stopped breathing and light in their eyes faded. This wouldn't be over until one of their hearts stopped beating.
The glade went deathly still as both fighters finished their mental studies of their opponents, as if the very forest itself was holding its breath for the fight to come.
The stars and moon shone brightly down on them, like witnesses to the dance that was about to begin. This was it, the moment the storm broke and chaos invited itself into the clearing.
Ishrak steadied his breathing and opened his eyes, surging forward with a burst of speed at the same time his opponent did. With resounding force, the two fighters collided with each other, their weapons meeting in a ferocious battle of willpower and strength.
This was a clash of two great destinies, one of a reborn Hero trying to just survive in a universe determined to kill him, and the other of a Lesser Daemon who had risen above and beyond what was expected of him.
In the end however, only one would be left standing. Only one could leave this glade alive.