–—- ??? -–—

  *WHAM!*

  Jonathan slid back, magical sparks hissing as they rained onto the floor. His hand holding his heater shield quivered, and he clenched it tighter. He held his gleaming gold broadsword ready, quickly scanning the room.

  This had been a hard fight.

  They knew that coming into this. But still, it had been harder than anything they had ever imagined. At least there hadn’t been any casualties.

  "Selva, another buff, please," Jonathan yelled, charging forward.

  To his front, the towering demon lord loomed. His mocking, haughty laughter bounced off the ornate walls of the imperial throne room.

  “YOU STILL THINK YOU MORTALS HAVE A CHANCE?”

  Jonathan grumbled to himself. This cocky, overgrown excuse for a being. Since the very beginning of the fight, the demon lord had mocked them. It was infuriating.

  And it made fear creep into Jonathan’s heart.

  This resurrection had been unlike anything recorded in the legends. Armies had fallen, and the heroes' party had already failed once before the demon lord. Even worse, the demons had taken the capital of the Redoustan Empire and were primed to flood the continent.

  This had to stop today. They had to stop him.

  But it wasn’t working. Despite having an elementalist of every major element, they were unable to get past his defenses. That was unheard of. Normally, there was always at least one elemental weakness. But this demon lord was using some new form of magic that allowed him to summon impenetrable barriers.

  Jonathan dove in, swinging his golden, inscribed broadsword. The demon lord flicked his left claw out and deflected the blow effortlessly.

  “I grow tired of toying with you. It is time for you mortals to know true fear.” He boomed.

  With a casual glance, the demon lord flicked its fingers. A spark of arcane shot out. Jonathan moved his shield to intercept. But then it flew around him. With dawning horror, he realised too late what the demon lord had planned.

  Behind him, Catherine screamed as the arcane bolt hit. Her own magical barrier had failed to appear in time. The bolt of magic seared into her chest. And then, with one last pitiful wail, she slumped to the floor.

  "No!" Jonathan roared.

  But his distraction cost him. Searing pain coursed through his side as the claw of the demon scraped it. He brought his attention back to his enemy and focused. Who would he target next?

  As the hardiest of their party, it was his job to intercept the blows and absorb them with his abilities.

  “Did you think it would be easy? That you had any chance before me?" The demon lord laughed as he met Jonathan’s eyes. “You really think you can stop what’s going to happen? Let me show you just how wrong you are.”

  The demon lord held up a hand. His clawed fingers snapped. Jonathan moved.

  Seven bolts materialised, then shot out. Jonathan blocked three.

  Four people screamed as their lives ended.

  The paladin stared, his body numb as he saw the remains of his friends. Catherine. Timothy. Selva. Algorax. Garven.

  All dead.

  Now the seven heroes had become two. Smouldering remains were all that was left of five of the greatest heroes of this generation. Whispers of ash rose from the piles, the last testament to their memory.

  "Jonathan, pay attention," Darcy, the rogue, hissed as she whipped past him. "I have a plan."

  The last words came through his mind as the rogue connected telepathically.

  “They're all dead. Darcy, they're all dead.”

  “Get a grip!” Darcy hissed in his mind. “That blast must have taken most of his power right now. He's going to have to recharge. This is the time."

  As if to prove her point, the demon lord lashed out. Jonathan raised his shield, catching the blow on it. He slid backwards across the imperial chamber, his metal-covered boots sparking.

  Darcy was right. This wasn’t the time.

  Jonathan set his jaw. “What’s the plan?”

  The rogue danced with the demon, her short daggers sparking as she traded blow after blow. “I want you to charge him on my signal. I'm going to get behind him, and I'm going to use…the blade.”

  "Got it," Jonathan replied, his broadsword whipping up to catch another blow.

  Darcy had to be right, Jonathan reassured himself.

  The cocky demonlord hadn’t used any magic since those seven bolts. Sweat poured down his face, and he seemed frustrated that he couldn’t break past Jonathan’s guard. Yet, no magic came from him; his only attacks were the long sweeps of his clawed hands.

  This was their chance.

  Jonathan stilled his mind. It was time to use his trump card.

  “Oh, great mistress of wind, mistress of the sun, hear my call.” He started his chant. “Grant unto me a moment of glory. A flash of radiance. Fill my body with your power so I may lay low my foes.”

  It took months for this to come off cool down, but if there was ever a moment to use it, it was now.

  Radiant light burned through the paladin as the first part of the blessing descended. The gods he worshipped granted him power through their divine grace.

  It was time.

  Darcy stepped away from the demon lord, vanishing into the shadows. Jonathan grimaced as the image of what she held burned into his mind.

  It was something they hadn’t dared to use. A dagger of the occult, one taken from demon worshipers months ago.

  Their party had heard whispers of an item that those working to prepare the world for the demon lord were searching for. Not to use, but to destroy.

  Even the heroes feared it since acquiring it after crashing a ritual they uncovered deep underground.

  It was a vicious, awful weapon that was filled to the brim with curses. They had thought they could use it, but after having it magically inspected, they decided against it. Even sealed, Darcy had struggled with it week after week. The safest place for it was simply with their party.

  Jonathan knew Darcy. Her will was stronger than that of any other hero. Yet she could barely keep watch over the cursed blade.

  And now.

  She had unsealed it.

  If they won the day, who knew what would happen to the rogue? Jonathan would do everything in his power to help alleviate the curses that would stream into her. The radiant energy in Jonathan finished reinforcing his body. The glowing light now filled the empirical hall. He was ready to intone the final verse of his ability.

  “I ask that you show this sinner the way,” Jonathan said, his voice absolute. “My body stands sanctified, prepared for your power. Grant it so that I may punish those who threaten your world.”

  The radiance changed from a golden hue to that of orange fire. His blade shone as the exchange of blows with the Demonlord changed. Now he pushed the evil creature back, each slash hissing as it contacted the claws of the beast.

  But he held the power back, containing it in his body and sword. He would wait for Darcy. He would hold it. The power burned his flesh; he felt his skin crackle and dry. The radiance burned his bones, the ache almost unbearable.

  Come on, Darcy.

  Everyone in the party knew the others' abilities. They knew their limits. After fighting for almost a year, they moved as one.

  A full minute passed as Jonathan’s body burned. The Demonlord hissed in rage as his style changed to defensive.

  The creature was no idiot. It also knew Jonathan couldn’t keep the ability going for long.

  Then he heard the whispering voice of Darcy in his mind. Jonathan recoiled at the tone, his mind assaulted by the curse energy contained in the telepathic communication.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  “A few seconds… more. Pull away.”

  Jonathan steadied himself and pulled back. He breathed, orange sparking vapour expelled with every exhale.

  “Now.”

  Jonathan charged forward, his sword pulled to his side, both hands bulging as his eyes glowed. He directed the divine energy down his arms and to the blade. It burst into dancing flame.

  The Demonlord snarled, and his hands pulsed as dark shadows swirled around them. The massive demon tensed as it prepared to accept Jonathan’s charge. The shadows gained a dark red hue as flames of darkness licked through them.

  Radiance vs the dark.

  A member of the radiant races, vs a creature of the shadows.

  Jonathan’s metal-clad boots clanged as he closed the distance. He pulled close and swung, the flames on his broadsword flaring with light.

  The claws of the demon lord met his blade, and a mighty CLANG! filled the hall as they stopped Jonathan’s blade cold.

  The paladin grunted, his muscles bulging as he pushed against the Demonlord’s strength. He gained an inch, then their contest froze.

  "Did you really think it was enough?” The Demonlord laughed. “That some false god's blessing was all you needed?"

  Jonathan smirked. He hissed through strained teeth. “Maybe.”

  “Foolish mortal.” The Demonlord jeered, flexing his arms. Jonathan’s blade was pushed slowly back. “It isn’t enough.”

  Jonathan’s eyes were glowing orange as he continued to smile. He saw the flicker of movement behind the Demonlord.

  “But I have something you don’t.” Jonathan snarled as he put everything he had into pushing back. Their contest froze again.

  “And that is?” The Demonlord raised an eyebrow.

  “Friends.”

  The glowing dagger plunged into the Demonlord's back, Darcy appearing from the shadows. Her skin had glowing, wriggling tattoos on its surface, her eyes dark. She looked monstrous.

  But she had done it.

  The Demonlord grunted as the dagger dug deep.

  Jonathan smiled, his chest filling with happiness. They had landed a fatal blow. This would be the Demonlord’s end. Everything they had gone through, everything they had sacrificed. It had all been worth it.

  Darcy hung on the blade, her booted feet planted in the ribs of the Demonlord. Curses pulsed from the blade and poured into their enemy. She glanced up and shared a grin with Jonathan.

  The paladin glanced to the face of their enemy.

  He froze.

  The shocked expression the Demonlord had worn had changed to smugness.

  Cold despair reared its head in Jonathan’s mind. Had the blow missed? Had it not been deep enough?

  “So, Foolish.” The Demonlord said, his voice rumbling like a purring cat. “Although it was polite of you to bring such a delectable snack. Don’t worry, I won’t waste it.”

  Jonathan’s eyes went wide as he watched the Demonlord inhale. The dagger in his back vanished into vapour and was sucked past his sharp teeth. In a quick motion, a clawed hand pulled away from their contest, yet Jonathan gained no ground.

  The Demonlord snapped the clawed fingers of his free hand.

  Darcy, who was falling backwards, didn’t even have time to scream.

  Her head exploded into red mist. A moment later, her unmoving body thumped to the floor.

  In the same moment, the Demonlord formed a fist with his free hand and slammed it into Jonathan’s armored chest.

  He flew backwards, the last bits of divine energy leaving a trail in the air.

  He skidded across the floor, then came to a stop.

  Where had they gone wrong? What just happened? How?! HOW?!

  Jonathan grunted, rolling to his side. His heavy armour slowed him as he got to his knees.

  He looked up into the grinning face of the Demonlord staring down at him.

  “Did you really think that would work?” The Demonlord sneered. Jonathan tried to bring up his blade, but a clawed hand swiped out and batted it from his grip. It spun away, clanging as it bounced along the floor.

  Jonathan hissed in pain as a clawed hand gripped his shoulder. Sharp points tore through metal and into his flesh.

  “That you had found some magical blade that my followers just happened to have? The key to slaying me?” The Demonlord laughed as his claws dug deeper into Jonathan.

  “You just happened to discover the plot? Found where they were channeling the ritual? I can’t believe you fell for that.”

  Jonathan clenched his teeth against the searing pain in his shoulder. He tried to rise, but was shoved to his knees as the creature’s laughter boomed across the hall.

  “Oh, the look on your face when her head exploded.” The Demonlord licked his lips. “Priceless.”

  His eyes shone as he looked down on Jonathan. “I will treasure that memory for a millennium.”

  Jonathan met his eyes, his mind blank. Despair overtook him.

  They had failed.

  “Ahhhhh… another wonderful expression. The final hero has realized their fate…” The Demonlord cocked his head. “Now, the only question is… what shall I do with you, little paladin of the gods?”

  He stroked his chin with a clawed hand.

  “I will say, I’m going to miss having you heroes to toy with. I wonder if the radiant races will be able to muster up another batch of you before I conquer this world.”

  The Demonlord glanced around the room. “Perhaps I made a mistake. I should have kept some of the pretty ones instead.”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Oh well. Its not like I don’t already have my pick of playthings.”

  Tears rolled down Jonathan’s face unbidden. He had never told her how he felt. Now he never would.

  “Look at you.” The Demonlord spat. “Breaking down in tears in your final moments. Disgraceful.”

  He shook his head.

  Jonathan steeled his jaw and then looked up at the jeering face. “So kill me then, you disgust– Gah!”

  He screamed as the claws dug in deeper.

  “How dare you try to speak, you worthless speck!” The Demonlord hissed. “I’ve changed my mind. I won’t kill you. Instead, I’ll simply make you watch.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Let's see, Jonathan the Brave, right? I’m sure that's you. What do you think about visiting the small town of Maplegrove with me?”

  Jonathan’s eyes widened in horror.

  “Oh, yes. You do know the name. Hahaha! Wouldn’t it be great to see your friends and family after so many months spent abroad? I’ll be sure to make the reunion…” The Demonlord licked his lips. “A momentous occasion.”

  “No!” Jonathan yelled, grunting as he tried to move. “No, you can’t!”

  “OH, but I can!” The Demonlord laughed. “I can’t wait to reunite you with your town! Just think of how happy everyone will be to see you!”

  “Please… Just kill me!” Jonathan begged, his eyes falling to the floor.

  The Demonlord tsked, an evil smile creeping across his face. “Now now, don’t be like that. I think your bravery needs to be rewarded, don’t you? Guards! Get in here! I ne…”

  His deep words trailed off for a moment.

  “Who are you?!” The Demonlord bellowed.

  Jonathan, tears streaming down his face, despair gripping his heart, paused at the change in tone from his tormentor. He slowly looked up and saw the Demonlord staring behind him.

  Slowly, he turned his head and looked in the same direction.

  In the back of the room, a man sat in a comfortable brown chair. He was tall, thin and was frowning. His eyes peered at them through large, round glasses. Short brown stubble formed a thin beard and moustache. On his head, a floppy, conical blue hat with a leather strap at its base rested. The oddest thing was his clothes. Tie-dye, multicoloured robes covered his body, cut in the middle by a worn leather belt with a brass buckle.

  The man rose from his chair, his face still covered in a frown. A red cloak trailed behind him as he took a step forward, then stopped. He scratched his short stubble as he continued to stare.

  “Who is this?!” The Demonlord snapped, his eyes moving to Jonathan. The pain in his shoulder increased as the clawed hand squeezed further. “Is this some hidden member of your party?!”

  Stunned by the change in events, Jonathan could only reply. “Uh… no… I don’t know him.” The paladin and Demonlord turned their eyes back to the stranger.

  “Who are you?” Jonathan asked. The absurdity of the man's outfit against the crimson black of the room and the corpses of his friends was jarring.

  The man cocked an eyebrow. “I’m Wilbur.”

  Jonathan frowned. “Wilbur?” he replied, feeling the word in his mouth.

  “That’s right.”

  Silence filled the hall.

  Wilbur scratched his beard, his eyes scanning the room.

  The Demonlord recovered first. “Just who are you?!” He screamed.

  The man turned his eyes back to them. “I told you. I’m Wilbur.”

  “But.. what…” The Demonlord’s eyes sparked in rage. “Enough of this!”

  The demon’s hand raised, and his clawed fingers snapped. A spark of magic coursed from his core and grew as it raced to his fingers.

  Jonathan struggled to move. He couldn’t watch another person die in front of him. But the claw in his shoulder clamped down harder, and his vision went white with pain.

  The arcane bolt whizzed off the demon lord's fingers and shot across the room.

  Jonathan moaned in pain and despair, flinching as he waited for the scream.

  Then it came.

  But not from the man.

  “What?! HOW?!” screamed the Demonlord.

  Jonathan craned his neck and saw the stranger completely unharmed.

  Energy surged from his tormentor, and countless bolts filled the air and shot towards the man.

  Jonathan watched in disbelief as each one fizzled away as they splashed against something surrounding the man.

  Silence filled the hall once again.

  “That’s a pretty weak arcane bolt,” Wilbur muttered as he strode forward. His eyes turned to the paladin. “How exactly did you guys lose to this?”

  Magical energy surged as bolt after bolt fired off and splashed against the man’s barrier. Wilbur kept walking towards them, his expression relaxed.

  Jonathan looked up into the bespectacled face of the stranger, his mouth agape.

  “No, seriously.” Wilbur continued. “Jonathan. Didn’t your party have mages to stop these things?”

  "How? How? HOW?” the demon lord roared in frustration as bolts continued to splash harmlessly off Wilbur.

  “... Who are you?” Jonathan whispered in amazement.

  “I told you. I’m Wilbur.” Wilbur said with a frown. “Why do you keep asking?”

  "That doesn't explain an–agrh!." Jonathan replied, but screamed as the Demonlord wrenched his shoulder.

  “Do you mind?!” Wilbur said, his eyes snapping to the Demonlord. “Trying to have a conversation here.”

  The stranger raised his hands. Then clapped.

  Clap Clap

  The bellow of rage from the Demonlord cut off. Jonathan felt the pressure in his shoulder vanish. He looked towards his tormentor and stared. The being of chaos, the harbinger of doom, murderer of his friends, had completely frozen. His mouth still open.

  The weight of the clawed hand vanished. Jonathan’s eyes snapped to it to see it slowly floating up, a glow with magic.

  Slowly, the paladin turned to face the stranger. The man known as Wilbur.

  “Alright, now that he’s shut up,” Wilbur said, nodding to himself. He looked towards Jonathan. “Care to explain how something like that defeated you guys?”

  “What?” Jonathan said in disbelief. Just who was this man?! “You mean the Demonlord’s magic?”

  “Yup.” Wilbur nodded. “I just don’t get it. You just use a barrier and block it.” His eyes turned back to the paladin. “Instead, all of you just let them hit you. Then everyone just died.” Wilbur scratched his chin. “Seems like a horrible plan. Seriously, what’s going on with your mages? Did they just not think to block?”

  Rage overtook Jonathan at Wilbur’s flippant words. “You… You… HOW DARE you tarnish their legacy,” A frown crossed Wilbur’s face. Jonathan took a breath, then continued, “I thank you for stopping our enemy, but I will not let you speak ill of those beyond the grave.”

  Wilbur's eyes met those of the enraged paladin.

  His hand moved to his chin as he rubbed in thought. “I guess that’s fair.”

  Jonathan felt his anger deflate. This man was strange.

  “It is a bit rude to speak badly behind someone’s back ” Wilbur nodded, then raised his hands.

  “I’ll just tell them directly.”

  Clap Clap

  Jonathan froze, and so did the world. He had the strangest feeling as the Demonlord’s claws hooked back into him, then unhooked. He and everything in the chamber blurred. He felt himself moving. He felt himself on his back, then in the air.

  Then, somehow, he was standing in front of the Demonlord, his body glowing with radiant light again.

  The world was muted as if he were underwater. He heard strange echoes of words, he felt his mouth move and the Demonlord’s laughter.

  Time moved faster as all of his actions that he had done in the chamber played backwards.

  Then the world unfroze.

  Jonathan stood near the entrance of the hall, blinking.

  He glanced to his side.

  Darcy was alive. Catherine was alive. Everyone was alive.

  The other members of the hero's party all stared in shock. The demon lord stared in shock.

  Slowly, all eyes moved to stare at the strange man, sitting back in his comfortable chair.

  Everyone watched as a large vessel appeared floating in the air. The stranger grabbed it, then poured a steaming brown liquid into a large white mug that had appeared in his hand.

  On the mug, a pickle appeared with the words: “Kind of a big dill.”

  The vessel vanished, and the man brought the steaming mug to his lips.

  He smiled as he took a sip. “Ahhh, that’s the stuff.”

  Then he looked out toward the shellshocked heroes.

  “Do you want a cup?”

  “What the hell?!” Darcy yelled, touching her face.” How am I… What the… Huh?!” She whirled on the stranger. “Who are you?”

  “Oh my god.” The man groaned, then looked toward the rogue. “For the last time.. I’m Wilbur.”

  He glanced around the room, his expression annoyed.

  “Wilbur the Wizard, and I have so many questions.”

  –—- ??? -–—

  –—- Authors Note -–—

  Greetings!

  ~TheBusyBard

  –—- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -–—