Prologue: The Hero and the Demon

“You DARE STAND HERE SOBBING!? UNDER WITNESS OF THE GODS!” The man shouted. His veins threatened to burst through his head and his eyes creeped out of his skull, as if attempting to flee the unprecedented vehemence contained within his mind.

The very air around the area seemed rigid, and the scent of decay was strong enough to mask the overwhelming aura he had flared out in his anger. The winds danced around, picking up flakes of dried blood and ashes. The sunlight could no longer reach this place where even animals dare not stray.

No birds, no plants, no animals. The only things that remained here were the two individuals- the young . . . creature, and the enraged . . . hero. The howls of the wind sounded like the wailing of the dead corpses that littered the ash-ladened village.

The hero cursed under his breath, shouting all manners of obscenity at the idiotic child. His rage finally diminished as he withdrew his sheath. “I’d asked a question, boy.”

On the other end, covered in soot, and blood was the child he was speaking to. Curled into a ball, sobbing as if the world would forgive him and all of his troubles would disappear. In his mind, he had tuned out everything. The smell, the sound, the corpses, the hero . . . and yes, even the world itself. The only thing that remained was his overwhelming guilt and denial of his actions.

His anger flaring up yet again, as he arrived at the sobbing entity, culminated in the form of a shout. “I ASKED YOU A DAMN QUESTION YOU FOUL SPAWN!” His boot quickly rose from the ground, kicking dust up from around him and landing square into the creature’s side. So forceful was the kick, that the kid’s body could do naught but tumble through the dust, gasping for air and coughing upon the ash he inhaled. The sound of shattered bones could be heard, piercing his solitude. His ribs cracking and puncturing into his lungs caused him to hyperventilate. Ash and dust, and all manners of decay filled his respiratory system.

“You… dare sit here sobbing. AS IF YOU’RE THE VICTIM IN ALL OF THIS!? LOOK AROUND YOU. YOU LAY UPON THE ASHES OF ALL YOUR TRANSGRESSIONS!”

He watched the demonic entity, coughing and crying, attempting to catch a grasp of the world around him. “Such a pitiful creature.” He couldn’t help but feel disdain for it. “A child born of disgusting trash and filth, a mother who’s rotten core could only be pleased by that of another tainted soul. Excrement could only begat excrement. How you were not realized immediately, I have no idea!”

His feet sank into the scorched terrain below him. For now, the thoughts of how to dispatch this creature in the most fitting way raced through his mind, perhaps scorching him like his victims, or breaking his bones piece by piece. He was not truly a sadist, and there was an inkling of reluctance in his body– resisting to cause harm to someone with the form of a child. But, it was heavily overshadowed by the constant reminder of what the entity was. The reminder was all around him, in the form of viscera, charred flesh, and disembodied bones. This senseless creature was perhaps the only thing in this world that deserved no empathy. No matter how many times it tried to mimic human behavior.

“It-...w..asn’t my …f-a”

“Ah to HELL with your EXCUSES!” He had asked for a response from the entity, but now he realized how much he didn't’ even want to hear it speak. “You sit here on the graveyard of your consequences, and have the gull to try and deny it . . . and those tears… Hah… I’ve heard it before… crocodiles weep for their food.”

He picked up the creature and held it up by his collar. All 80 pounds of him. If one could see the image that laid bare to the world, they would surely paint it for all the ages; The tale of how the 22nd hero dispatched the Demon King and prevented the 2nd calamity.

The sun shone perfectly, as if in agreement with his thoughts. The ray of light pierced through the dark smog, striking his silver armor. Unlike the fur cloak around his collar, the armor remained unblemished– Not even a single spec of dust stuck to it. The long silver sword at his side clanged against the shield encompassing it.

The demon’s eyes finally opened, tears obscuring his vision as he gasped in pain. His eyes met with the hero’s, looking into his hate-filled glare. It was as if time had stopped. He could feel death nearing at any moment. It was as if he could hear the intent behind his silence. This must have been how a rabbit felt before the jaws of a lion. The difference in their strength was already monumental. Surprisingly there wasn’t a feeling of fear, just numbness and remorse. “I-...it’s not my-”

He was immediately thrown, tumbling against the barren earth.

“You intend to deny until the very end.” Befitting of such existence. “The entire world knows of you. Your foul miasma still remains adrift upon this land … the scent of demons is one that cannot be mistaken. To human’s like us, your aura is abhorrent. There’s no hiding your identity now.”

“That’s n-not…what …I me-hnt.” He tried hard to get the words out in between his tears and gasps. At this point, the pain was way too great, his vision was blurry and he had resigned himself to death. The only thing he wished for was for someone to absolve him. “I didn-t cho–se th—...s”

The hero stood there. Dumbfounded by the things' response. He spat on the ground and withdrew his blade. The holy blade of Estarga– One of the 13 relics of the first hero. The air within a kilometre’s radius grew hot, as if they stood upon the dunes of the Arihk desert. “That’s not right…. The fault lies with you - and solely with you.”

The sword began to glow red hot, illuminating the darkened atmosphere. It was as if a second sun had appeared before him. “You had a choice in all this. When you found out what your existence meant, why did you not throw yourself upon a sword?”

Looking back at the hero, the demon’s face could only be contorted in pain. ‘It’s not my fault… it’s not me.. I didn’t want thi-”

The question finally pierced his soliloquy. Self-perception, shattered. “GAAHHH!!!! AUGH-AH.. AHHAAAAA-” Snot and tears trailed down his face as he looked up at the sky and wailed. The old hero could only grit his teeth at such a display. “It is precisely because you did not do so that you have to die here and now.”

‘Al-Gash; The wayward light.’ It could purify everything and anything to non-existence. It was an attack that made sure even souls do not reincarnate, for it obliterates all into nothingness. As a rule of thumb, energy could not be created out of nowhere, nor destroyed. Simply transferred to a different state. However, when it comes to this weapon, it transcends even that rule. Slashing down his sword, the light completely illuminated everything in front of him, blinding even his own vision.

In its waning, neither the dust, nor the ashes, nor the corpses, nor the ground that it had touched remained. It cleaned everything in its path indiscriminately.

Barao sighed, before placing his sword onto the ground, and closing his eyes for a prayer.

“Oh God of Mercy,

I pray you welcome these poor souls into your divine unity.

Save naught but rest for your believers.

Save naught but forgiveness for your lost.

Invite all who seek comfort-”

“–Preposterous. To think a descendant of the Hero could become blinded by his own sword? Could you not see my actions?”

A sharp pain pierced through Barao’s upper shoulder, ignoring the steel armor he had donned on, and ripping into his shoulder. He attempted to move immediately upon feeling the intrusion, but the claws of the assailant had dug deep into his shoulder and held onto his deltoids. He could do nothing but move his head to visualize who it was.

He attempted to flare his aura, but it was as if he was locked in place. Nothing was working. Barao realized he couldn’t even speak. His eyes looked behind his body and stared at the man who had just arrived.

His breath was caught in his throat. A tall and slender man with 6 eyes glared down at him. The blood red hair rested shortly atop the man’s head. The auburn horns pointed at him just inches away from his face. Cloaked in shadows, there was only one demon who fit this description.

Upon realizing who it was, Barao began to feel fear. Fear and denial was all that encompassed his body. “H-how… how are you here? The Demon King… he’s dead– oh god– No… you shouldn’t even be existing in the first place. He hasn’t even awakened yet.. - This.”

He finally managed to force his words.

“I’m absolutely be~~lighted that my existence is still known. How many years must have passed? Oh how wonderful.” His voice did not match his words. Unlike the gleefulness in the words he spoke, his voice only held in them a sense of dread.”

He dangled the unconscious Demon King before the front of Barao’s face. As if to answer his question regarding the death of the Demon King. The way he held him was like holding a piece of laundry that you intend to air out to dry. “I’m in quite the good mood since I’ve made it in time. But this does present a dilemma in and of itself. It seems you’ve put our dear King through a great amount of stress. If it was Hoss or Fetnas, you would surely be dead here and now.” He went on about his thoughts openly, as if reading a book to an apprentice. “But I’m sure he would rather kill you later himself.-- But I can’t just let you leave like this can I? After-all you harmed our King.”

‘Fetnas? Hoss?’ Barao’s panic could only get worse. Were those two alive as well? Now he could not even stop his trembling.

“Pitiful Hero. To think the meaning of that name used to instill fear in even myself. But I suppose I did come to my conclusion.”

Barao looked as if to ask him to elaborate. His speech had been silenced again. It seemed as if he was only allowed to talk earlier because the Demon had allowed it.

“I’ll just be taking your blade instead.” His arm that had been holding the holy blade was promptly torn off as easily as paper. And even through all that, he was still not allowed to scream. “This was the only way to do it unfortunately. After-all, you are the only one who can touch such a relic, aye?”

“Ah– I forgot to ask you. . . What is the year this time around?”

Barao could do naught but stare in agony. No sound would leave his mouth.

“Bahh. forget it. If I unbind your speech now, you’ll only scream. But no worries, I will not let you bleed out here. Once I leave, your faculties will return to you. Make sure you do not die until then **Oh Hero**” The mocking tone in his voice was the last thing he heard before the demon was entirely gone from the premises.

At that moment, Barao’s screams could be heard from even a kilometre away, echoing into the desolate distance.

Not only had he failed to subjugate the Demon King, he allowed Sehnsek to steal one of the holy weaponry, and lastly, he achieved nothing. These thoughts flooded his very being. He became a candle battered by storms of fear.