Fate of the Marked

The Last Demon

"Ah..." His deep, thunderous voice rolled across the battlefield like distant thunder, reverberating through my chest. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, towering above me like a dark colossus. "You must be the reason for all of this."

His burning gaze swept over the ruined battlefield, and with a slow, almost mocking grace, he spread his massive arms wide. The jagged plates of his armor groaned like ancient iron under strain.

"Credit where it's due... You truly are magnificent." His voice dripped with venomous admiration. "No one has ever killed this many of my minions."

He stood still, statuesque, yet coiled with lethal intent—like a predator savoring the hunt. His war-hammer rested heavily in his grip, darkened with blood and ash, the faint glow of cursed runes crawling along its surface.

My heart pounded, but I forced myself to focus. I needed a spell—a powerful one, but not something that would drain me entirely. Supernova was out of the question. I barely had enough mana left to keep breathing.

Ice Spears? No, too predictable. He'd shatter them before they got close.

Lightning Surge? Not enough coverage.

I clenched my staff tighter. I needed something disruptive—something he wouldn't expect.

Before I could act, his voice shattered my concentration.

"But let me say this from the beginning..."

He lifted his war-hammer effortlessly, its enormous weight seeming inconsequential in his massive grip. The earth groaned beneath his feet, fissures spider-webbing outward as dark magic radiated from him like suffocating heat.

"That..."

With a monstrous swing, he slammed the war-hammer into the ground.

The impact exploded outward in a devastating shockwave, tearing through the battlefield with apocalyptic force. The ground cracked and split beneath me, sending jagged rock spires into the air.

"...will only tickle me."

The sheer power of the impact knocked me off my feet, my shield flickering under the brutal assault. The air left my lungs, and for a terrifying second, I thought he'd broken the very ground beneath me.

He took another step forward, his burning gaze locked onto me.

"Entertain me...."

Astoroth raises his war-hammer when he's right in front of me. I just stood there, frozen in place and closed my eyes. In front of the very thing that I swore to destroy, I can't do anything.

But when I opened my eyes, Astoroth let out a guttural growl, his molten eyes blazing with furious disbelief. His war-hammer trembled in his grip as he wrenched his gaze downward.

Protruding from his armored chest was a massive, double-edged battle axe, its jagged steel still dripping with dark ichor. Not just any axe—his axe.

"Who dares—?!" Astoroth bellowed, voice cracking like thunder, but before he could finish, the axe ripped itself free from his chest with a sickening metallic screech, flying back through the air.

I turned just in time to see him.

Roderick.

He caught the returning axe effortlessly, his scarred hand closing around its handle like it was forged into his very being. His other arm hefted a massive iron-forged shield, battered yet unyielding, etched with the sigil of our family—faint but proud.

His thick beard had grown even longer, streaked with harsh silver from countless battles, but his eyes... His eyes were still the fierce, determined flames I remembered. His frame was somehow broader, thicker, muscles like carved granite, radiating sheer, immovable strength.