The Demon King

The troll pulled open the doors. A cold chamber lay before them.

“He is expecting you,” he repeated.

“You the one who sculpted everything outside?” Tamarin asked.

The troll shook his head.

“No,” he said. “The king will see you now. You will understand.”

The troll returned to his seat and lowered his head to signal that he was not interested in taking further questions. Faye grumbled that Tamarin had a crack at the troll and not her. With no other choice, the party pressed forward into the darkened chamber.

There were only two lights inside. The first came from the faint spill from the open doors behind them. The second lay at the far end of the chamber. From Lavenza’s vantage point, it appeared only a faint glow hovering in the darkness.

“Venz,” Deme muttered.

“There’s nothing to be scared about,” Lavenza pulled the child close. “I’ll be here. Demonkind are no scarier than human folk.”

“They said he’s the Demon King.”

“These days, a king has little power, Deme,” Lavenza explained. “I’d say you and I have a lot more power than he does.”

“You’re just saying that,” Deme laughed.

“Let’s see then.”

The features of the room became visible as their eyes adjusted. Thick, alabaster columns buttressed the dome above. Banners hung from the walls. Lavenza recognized some sigils, like a hand clenched over a patch of wildflowers, but not others, like a bird constricted by the head of three snakes.

As they approached the second light on the far end of the room, Lavenza realized that it was just another skylight flooding in from outside. The glow they had seen from the entrance to the chamber came from the sparkling of marbles that richly populated the frame of an old throne.

There, sitting upon the marble throne was the alleged Demon King.

At first glance, his complexion seemed no different from the color of weathered limestone beneath his throne. For protection, the king wore a sturdy breastplate and dark steel leggings, but his face remained unblemished by helmet or mask. Beneath the tangled locks of stone gray hair, narrow cerulean eyes and a familiar pair of pointed ears peeked through.

Faye was the first one to notice and shout.

“You’re an elf,” she gasped.

"Holy shit," Tamarin breathed.

“Indeed,” the Demon King’s presence flooded his chamber. "What gave it away, I wonder?”

Richard raised his sword towards the elf.

“Are you the one they refer to as the Demon King?” he asked.

“Indeed again,” the king nodded. “My name is Antigonus, and you must be the Hero’s Party, sent by Her Royal Highness of the Crystal Throne. I have heard of you. I welcome you to what’s left of my domain.”

“Then I’ll get straight to the point,” Richard said. “Do—”

“Richard, stop!” Faye snapped. “We’ve rushed all the way here, as you wanted, but now that I’ve seen him, I don’t intend to keep going until I’ve gotten some answers.”

“But—” Richard started.

“I’m with Faye,” Tamarin shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting an elf on the throne. I think you owe us some explanations before we trust anything you have to say.”

The elf smiled, the kind of smile mother offers their inquisitive children.

“I have nothing to hide,” he said. “Ask away.”

“You two are forgetting the whole point of the quest,” Richard growled. “Can’t this wait until we figure out if there’s a cure for the petrification? Isn’t that more important?”

“Not this time, Richard,” Faye replied. “Please stand down.”

"Kindly fuck off, hero," Tamarin added.

Flanked by both goblin and elf, Richard sheathed his sword and retreated.

“First things first,” Faye started. “Why is an elf, instead of demonkind, acting as the Demon King?”

“Demonkind is human nomenclature,” replied Antigonus. “Humans invented the word to describe the legions that first invaded the eastern lands. Elves were among them. We have always been a part of demonkind.”

“But what about the expulsion?” Faye asked. “The statues outside this building…”

“The elves were expelled from the Abyss, yes,” nodded the Demon King, “for a plethora of legitimate and illegitimate reasons. But goblins, like your shaman here, have wandered outside the Abyss for hundreds of years. There is no question to humans that she is demonkind. Why is that?”

“You think it’s a matter of appearance,” Tamarin muttered.

“It absolutely is,” Antigonus said. “There is a unique barbarity associated with demonkind, but the murals in the City of Stone should be evidence enough. We are, much like our counterparts amongst the humans, fond of both love and war.”

“And where are the king’s men then?” it was Tamarin’s turn to ask questions. “Demonkind retreated to the Abyss to withstand the petrification. I served with the legion for years. Where are they now?"

“Petrified,” Antigonus answered. “All of them. The troll that guards this entranceway, Castorp is his name, and I are the last two demonkind that remain in the City of Stone. Well, aside from the arrival of you two lovely ladies of course.”

A chill swept through the chamber. Tamarin, Faye, and Richard exchanged fearful looks.

“Petrified?” Deme whispered. “What does he mean, Venz? The petrification hasn’t arrived yet.”

“I think he means that we’ve all misunderstood the intentions of demonkind,” Lavenza replied.

“But there's time before the Endire fades,” Tamarin said. “Nobody should have petrified yet.”

“Indeed,” Antigonus agreed, “but petrification is but a feature of the Endire’s last gasps. The sun does not hold exclusive the powers of petrification. Like the Endire, the Abyss is ancient. It can perform many of the same feats as the Endire can.”

“Including petrification,” Tamarin scowled.

“Indeed.”

“If that’s the case, then why even…” Faye’s thoughts slowed to a crawl, “come…here…”

Faye’s head swiveled back to the entranceway. She could not see them, but Lavenza imagined the short elf was recalling the unique faces of the statues who had arranged themselves in the opening hall, the varied expressions of the stone carvings just outside, the legions of stone figurines assembled at every street corner and every intersection.

“The exhibits,” Faye’s face crumbled into despair. “The elves, all of demonkind…”

“Be careful how you answer the next question, Demon King,” Tamarin snarled. “Did you petrify them? Petrify all of them?”

Demon King Antigonus shook his head.

With visible and painful effort, the elf raised his arm into the skylight. The color of his arm hadn’t changed; it retained that metallic gray shade. But it was obvious now beneath the light that the hue was not the Demon King’s complexion. His arm had already turned to stone, and the charcoal tint of his legs and feet and the encroaching silver shadow beneath his neck were all not natural pigments but rather the inevitable petrification that had invaded his body.

“I have little time left,” Antigonus explained. “Soon, it will only be Castorp, and then he too will find a place in the City of Stone to display himself at the end.”

“I don’t understand,” Richard stepped forward. “You did this? To yourselves?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” the Demon King asked. “Demonkind was born in the Abyss. This is our home. That we return here to lay ourselves to rest is only a natural impulse. What do humans do? Do you attempt to flee to mysterious new lands? Why abandon the fields that fed you, the homes that housed you? Is there no love at all for Aparthia?”

“And we did not come here to die,” he continued. “We came here to lay the seeds for those who follow us. I have never been prouder of my legions, of my people, who arranged and allowed themselves to be petrified into the cruelest and happiest moments of our histories. For those who discover the Abyss, for future kin who may awaken after the death of both the Endire and the powers of the Abyss, may they come to learn about us and be better than we could have ever dared to dream.”

“But the petrification!” Richard cried. “The cure for petrification. Surely, you have it! You have not been petrified yet. I can see that you can resist it. How are you doing this?”

“You’re mistaken,” Antigonus sighed. “There is no cure for petrification. I’ve merely chosen one death over another. I refuse to be finished by the Endire. The Abyss may take my life and do what it must.”

Richard flashed his gaze at Lavenza.

“How?” he roared. Deme recoiled and fled behind the apostate. “What am I missing? You need something from him, yes, Lavenza? But there’s nothing here! There’s nothing that will save you, Aparthia, or any of us! What is left for any of us to do but wait and despair?”

The hero fell to his knees. He hurled away his sword and pummeled the stone floor with his bare hands. Each bash bruised his fingers, but Richard did not care. He needed to feel the stone, for its density, its toughness, its unyielding disposition. This was his future.

“Come on,” Lavenza whispered to Deme. “It’s our turn.”

“Our turn?” Deme asked.

“Hold my hand. He isn’t scary. Trust me.”

Deme cautiously took Lavenza’s hand in hers. The two of them crossed the audience chamber to stand before Demon King Antigonus. The elf glanced at Deme and saw all he needed to see, a young child. He turned next to Lavenza and studied her for a while longer.

“What do you want Menuan?” he asked.

Lavenza held out her hands.

“Demon King Antigonus,” she bowed. “I humbly ask that you relinquish your stone heart to me.”