Demon Lord

The Demon Lord’s castle loomed like a wound against the mountains, its jagged towers painted in black and ashen grey. It jutted from the rock as if forced into place, ugly and defiant. The sky above was heavy with low, unbroken cloud, still and windless - as though even the weather dared not stir here. Perhaps that was the point. The sheer hostility of the place, its sinister design and impossible location, was a weapon of its own. A deterrent. But deterrents mattered little against an airborne assault.

Ylfa leaned forward until her lips brushed Jere’s ear. She pointed at the massive hall-like structure dominating the castle’s center.
“In there. The throne room. We’ll go through the window.”

Jere nodded, running calculations instantly. He adjusted his descent into a shallow dive, silent, his body angling toward one of the towering cathedral windows. Their speed built, the castle swelling in his vision until, at the last instant, he pulled his wings tight and crashed through shoulder-first. His skin absorbed the blow, glass shattering in a rain of glittering shards. Ylfa hardly felt the impact until they were inside.

They touched down, separating in a single practiced motion. The hall stretched vast and shadowed around them, pillars rising like stone giants to hold aloft a vaulted roof. A crimson carpet split the gloom, running from a side door to the steps of a raised dais. Upon the dais sat a throne wrought of black stone and cruel spikes. And upon that throne-

A demon rose.

He was enormous, his form a grotesque parody of man and beast: dark red flesh, horns curled high, ears pointed, his body a monstrous imp stretched to obscene size. His eyes burned like coals as he bellowed, froth flying from his lips.
“Who dares to burst into my throne room uninvited?”

He slammed his claw against the arm of his throne, snarling.
“You will pay for that window - or you will die!”

Jere and Ylfa exchanged a glance, unimpressed. But recognition flickered across the demon’s face, twisting his fury into something sharper.
“Ylfa? What are you… Hah, no matter. You die first!”

A fireball flared above his palm and screamed across the hall toward her. Ylfa moved faster - her body snapping aside with dancer’s grace. Jere did not flinch. The orb seared past his wing at half an arm’s length. His sensors drank in its every detail.

It struck the far wall and erupted in a deafening roar, stone shattering, glass vaporizing, half the wall simply gone. Jere’s processors confirmed what instinct already knew: a detonation that close would annihilate him. The blast rivaled nuclear force, though confined to a brutal radius. A radius that included his wings. A single hit and they would melt.

Another fireball was already forming, aimed again at Ylfa.

The opportunity was clear. Jere launched forward with a wingbeat too fast to see, his body a blur of steel and feathers. But the Demon Lord reacted - hand sweeping to intercept, the fireball clinging to it like liquid flame.

Time fractured.

Jere’s processors dropped their limiter, burning white-hot. In less than a millisecond they charted everything: the demon’s impossible reflexes, the fireball’s unstable trajectory, Ylfa’s current velocity. Thousands of potential futures bloomed, each with its own escape, its own death. Hundreds of contingencies accounted for every choice Ylfa might make in the next heartbeat.

And then time snapped back.

Jere’s wings flicked a fraction, just enough to slip past the waiting fireball - but also past his target. He skidded across the floor, feathers gouging sparks, rebounding off a wall with a thunderous crack. The Demon Lord swung again, flame hissing around his claw. But this too had been predicted - scenario eighty-two. Jere let instinct follow the processors’ script. His wings arced wide, blades catching the meager light.

A single sweep.

Steel met flesh.

The edge of his wing sliced through the demon’s wrist in a flash of black and red. The hand thudded to the carpet, the fireball sputtering into smoke.

Jere landed hard, sliding across the marble, stance spread wide, wings unfurled like a raven poised to strike again.

The Demon Lord howled, the sound rattling the pillars. His laughter followed it, low and terrible.

A cyan glow spread across the floor, pulsing like a heartbeat. The very air grew heavy. From the glow, shapes began to rise - bones rattling, shadows solidifying. Summons.

The true battle had only begun.

Jere launched himself into the air, wings unfurling with a metallic shriek. In the flickering light he recognized the attackers - skeletal figures wielding crude, curved stone swords.

A sudden blast erupted nearby. Ylfa’s fireball tore into a cluster of skeletons, reducing them to ash as flames curled upward and smoke thickened the hall.

The wail of Jere’s ion engines split the air as he dove through the throng. His sharpened wings cut effortlessly, scattering bones like brittle glass. He swept upward to use the cathedral’s height, then folded into a dive, cutting through another wave. Another fiery detonation flared from Ylfa’s side, shaking the hall.

But before Jere could strike again, something about the demon caught his eye. A glowing cyan halo writhed above its head, disturbingly alive. The sight mirrored the same glow that had birthed the skeletons earlier.

Ylfa’s warning replayed in his mind. He’ll summon skeletons, but if given too much time, he’ll summon a dragon.

His sensors screamed with a surge of magic energy. Instinct tightened his grip - he couldn’t wait.

With a sudden flap, Jere redirected and streaked straight for the demon. Its eyes snapped toward him, and it jerked to dodge - but this was what Jere wanted. Blue particles shimmered across his frame as his capacitors overloaded, reactor thrumming, feathers vibrating with raw power.

Time slowed.

The demon’s eyes widened in panic as Jere became cocooned in blinding blue light. And then - he vanished.

The detonation cracked like thunder. Windows shattered across the castle, stone rattling as if the mountains themselves trembled. A hole had been punched clean through the demon’s abdomen and the wall behind, the wound gushing as it toppled to the ground.

Ylfa didn’t hesitate. Even as the creature fell, she hurled another fireball. Flame consumed its head in a thunderous burst, reducing it to ash.

Jere burst through one of the shattered cathedral windows as Ylfa dispatched the last skeletons, brittle and motionless in their summoning stances. The battle had lasted no more than thirty seconds.

He touched down, wings retracting as Ylfa approached with a bright wave.

“We did it!” she called.

Jere gave a single nod.
“We did indeed.”

Her grin widened.
“How are we going to celebrate?”

He shrugged lightly.
“I suppose when we get back to the city.”

Her eyes sparkled.
“Can I choose what we do?”

He tilted his head.
“You’ve already thought about it, haven’t you?”

She ducked her head sheepishly.
“I had a lot of time to think while we were flying here…”

His face remained impassive, but a rare flicker of emotion carried in his voice.
“Then I look forward to finding out.”

“I’ll tell you when we get back.” She beamed.

He nodded again, then spread his wings. Ylfa wrapped her arms around his neck, and with a powerful thrust they soared out through the broken windows - battle behind them, the future waiting.

When Jere and Ylfa touched down in the camp, the King’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Jere gave a curt nod.
“Mission complete. The Demon Lord has been destroyed beyond repair.”

At the King’s side, his dark-robed advisor leaned close, voice a hushed murmur even Ylfa’s sharp ears couldn’t catch.
“My liege, this was expected. We know his power. With the Formy aiding him, his strength must have grown again. We must tread carefully.”

The King’s expression hardened as he gave a slow, measured nod. Clearing his throat, he straightened his crown and spoke loud enough for all to hear.
“Well done. You may return to the capital and await further orders.”

Jere inclined his head once more, then turned away. Ylfa followed close at his side.

The King watched as they took flight, wings thrumming with a thunderous whump. The blast of air forced him to shield his eyes, yet he could not stop himself from tracking the shrinking speck of the Angel of Death until his vision blurred with strain.

The advisor’s hand touched his shoulder again.
“My liege… this may be the opportunity we’ve waited for. When word spreads that the war is over, their vigilance will falter. That is when we strike.”

The King’s jaw tightened. Hatred seethed within him - hatred for the Angel of Death, and even more so for the Formy girl who clung to him. Neither belonged in the world he intended to build. Not in his kingdom. Not in his empire.

His human empire.

As the sky swallowed the angel’s silhouette, the King stood unmoving, eyes burning, mind racing through plot after plot of how best to tear them both from his empire - when the time came.