Nail in the Coffin

The Ssarok stepped fully into the shop, glass crunching under its heavy feet. Morning light spilled around its unnatural frame, casting a long, distorted shadow across the scattered weapons and armor.

“Revorgressss’s chosssen…”

Shiro forced himself up onto one elbow, his entire back screaming in pain. The destroyed light rail cannon was still gripped tightly in his hand, rails and frame peeled open like a banana.

“I hate to break it to you, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

The demon’s slit pupils narrowed.

“In the visionssss of High Oracle Ssalune… a falssse hero of the humansss. Chosssen by the Demon God of Ssstrife. Weak on your own… yet a crafter of weaponsss beyond reasssson…”

Its gaze dropped to the broken cannon in Shiro’s grip. The strange weapon that had punched clean holes through the hard shells of two of its kind.

I’ve only been here a few days… and that bastard already sent visions about me to a demon Oracle?

The Ssarok advanced. It stowed one twinned talon blade, then reached out with its massive, scaled lizard hand to seize him.

Meanwhile, Shiro’s eyes darted across the floor. Swords and spears, shields and breastplates. A heavy two handed blacksmith’s hammer lay near a toppled rack.

Anything. Just give me one second to find something!

A sharp crack of thunder split the air.

Geraltavin stood in the shattered storefront, bloodied and swaying. In his thick fingers he gripped a long aluminum bolt. One of the spares from the light rail cannon’s ammunition.

“Don’t ya go countin’ me out too quick, I may not understand the fundamentals…”

Lightning crawled across his arms and into the metal. Dwarven muscles strained as he squeezed tighter and tighter, fighting the Lorentz force trying to shoot the bolt free.

“…but I’ve watched the weapon enough to understand the PRINCIPLES! AAAAAGGHH!”

With a final roar, the dwarf became the rails.

Lightning erupted. The aluminum bolt launched from his grip in a deafening thunder, trailing a blinding white arc of electricity. It slammed into the Ssarok’s chest and punched halfway through the thick turtle shell.

The bolt embedded had itself, and was stabbing deep in the flesh beneath. The demon staggered, dropping to one knee as dark blood dripped around the metal arrow.

Look at that. The old dog still has a few tricks left to teach.

“…Get…er...done.”

His eyes rolled back. The last of his strength left him. He collapsed backward, only for Johnaquil to appear behind him and catch his fall.

Shiro pulled himself upright, ignoring the pain across his back.

“Rest easy, it's time for me to finish this."

His eyes locked onto the bolt half buried in the demon’s chest. He reached for the heavy two handed blacksmith’s hammer resting against the toppled rack.

The ssarok's head snapped toward him. Its serpentine eyes followed Shiro’s gaze, then flicked to the protruding bolt.

Both of them understood Shiro win condition: Drive the bolt the rest of the way through.

"You're resilient, I'll give you that."

The demon rose from its knee with grinding effort, one claw braced against the side of a ruined display case for balance.

Meanwhile, Shiro moved toward the demon in a slow, heavy advance. His fingers gripping tightly around the hammer’s shaft.

"AAAAAGGHH!"

Shiro lifted the hammer above head. His back protested the weight, but he bought the hammer down in a brutal arc.

The Ssarok swung its talon blade and caught the blow on the hammer’s head. The force of the impact traveled straight through Shiro’s arms.

For a moment, the two stood there, weapons locked together.

Then, the demon shoved him backward before taking a step in retreat.

"Didn't you just call me weak!?"

Shiro stepped forward and brought down another strike against the demon.

Once again, the Ssarok raised its blade to block the attack.

Not really fair for me to say, considering that I'm only able to hold my own since you have a metal arrow in your chest. But Still!

Shiro pressed forward. Attack after attack against the demon. The two injured fighters exchanged slow, sluggish blows.

Each swing cost him. Each block costs the Ssarok.

Their weapons met with dull, exhausted crashes rather than quick rings. Neither had the strength left for anything flashy. Technique was gone, just painfully slow strikes, grinding away at the injured demon.

"AAAAAGGHH!"

After the countless slow strikes, this swing of the heavy hammer finally broke through the demon's guard. The Ssarok was knocked to the floor.

It breathed slowly and heavy as Shiro looked down at it. He could leave it here to die on its own, Geraltavin's attack had already doomed its fate. But, Shiro had seen the blood on their talon blades and knew better than to hesitate.

He raised the hammer above his head and brought down the final strike directly on the aluminum bolt half embedded in its shell.

"Alright...good game."

Shiro went to put the hammer down, but not before he spun it in his hands once more.

A pile bunker hammer... Lightning runes to electrically charge the spike... It'd be a good gift for Geraltavin.

Shiro went and collected the destroyed rail cannon and bag of supplies.

Or would it be offensive since he's a Drawf... Eh, it would still be cool. I'll add it to the list.

Shiro made his way to the outside of the store. Johnaquil was doing his best, despite the height difference to help the Dwarf stand.

"You're still kicking."

"Aye, just barely."

"Good job, finish off the demon."

"Geraltavin did most of the work. The demon probably would have died on its own after a while."

Shiro stepped to the other side of Geraltavin. Helping Johnaquil assist the dwarf with walking.

"Now then, we should get out of here before reinforcements.... arrive...."

Why do I even talk?

Shadows loomed over them from the rooftop around the intersection. The rest of Ssarok had all gathered.

They had taken too long fighting the 3 demons and now reinforcements had arrived.