in which the saintess and demon king fight

Topaz’s one-man graveyard had been a muddy, bleak place. Many such places existed; many such would always exist. Not everyone had the luxury to die the way these people had. Ordinary as he might’ve been, Stormy had one thing on his side: luck.

A few graves lay naked save for grass covering them and a plate that had begun to fade off. Quite a few had decorations. Some had withering flowers placed over their hearts. Stormy’s grave, as did most veterans’, had his weapon planted upon it.

As usual, Stormy’s grave was so full of junk that Pebble had to claw her way through it to get to his divine blade.

“Seriously…” Topaz said, though his mind and eyes were elsewhere.

So many flowers and blades and dreams. And for what? From what? A foot soldier? Or someone who taught others to dream?

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Not only is that illegal (rich coming from Topaz), but I’m pretty sure that taking someone else’s divine weapon will kill you. Why do you think people don’t steal them?”

“Help me pull it out.”

“No? Die?”

“Topaz.”

He groaned. “Seriously…”

“Once this is over, we’ll plant flowers around your house.”

“You know he spelled ‘bar’ because—” He stopped. Topaz raised his eyebrows at her. As usual, a gentle breeze blew along the graveyard, taking petals along with it. “...there’s another divine weapon there. I think? It makes sense, no?”

“Hurry up.”

“Why this one?”

“Because—because I need it. I need it.” Pebble closed her eyes. “I need your strength, Stormy.”

His relentless optimism.

His ability to say ridiculous things.

His delusional, beautiful hope.

Topaz placed his hands above hers. Together, they pulled.

As Stormy’s divine sword burst from the ground, Pebble stumbled, though Topaz shoved her back in place. What a gentleman. “Hurts,” he hissed, shaking his hands. “Ow.”

“It does,” Pebble noted. Her hands burned. Regardless, she held onto the hilt. “It’s not as bad as I thought. If I finish this quickly, it should be fine.”

“Ah, yes, fighting that god. I’m sure you will.”

“Me too.” And she was not kidding. With a bit of difficulty, Pebble raised the divine sword to the sky. Petals sizzled, catching fire as they touched it. “These things get power from magic and stuff, but most of it comes from the wielder. I’ll just think really hard about how much I want to smash Frell’s face against the floor.”

Topaz smiled. “Do you like him?”

“Yeah?”

“Romantically?”

Her hand was really beginning to burn, so Pebble stabbed the ground next to Stormy’s tomb. While her skin cooled off, she replied, “Not really.”

“So you’re just… friends?”

“I think.”

“So I have a chance?”

“Of what?”

“...not dying, obviously. Should we head back now? I’m worried about Alpherson.”

“Wait.” Pebble stood before Stormy’s tomb. With her foot, she covered the suspicious hole with petals while Topaz said, ‘Incredible’, in the background. “Wait… I just…”

“Want space?”

“No.”

“Want something to say?”

“Can you sing?” she asked, then hummed a fanfare under her breath. As a veteran, he had to know it—and he did, based on the way his mouth hung open.

Still, he complied.

Tone-deaf as she was, Pebble sang along, letting the wind take away their voices. Please, she told Stormy. If you’re in there somewhere…

He wasn’t.

Tell me how to do this. I’m only good at hitting things. How can you—how could you be like that to the end?

I don’t want to kill the stupid Demon King.

But how am I supposed to defeat Frell? How?

Topaz stopped. So did Pebble. “Did that help?” he asked.

“No.”

“Well, that sucks, and I’m not trying to be like, tactless, but…”

“I know,” she said. Pebble took the sword. “We need to hurry. I’ll just see what I can do. I guess.”

“Ready?”

“No.”

As she took the teleporting stone with one hand and the sword with the other, Topaz told her, “I think that you’ll save him. I’m not a god or anything, but, you know. I’m here.”

And with that, they went back to the woods.

Not only was Frell flying around, but so were several other gods. Several. On both sides. Flares and gusts and beams of all colors painted the sunny morning sky. “Finally,” said the Primordial Saintess as she landed beside them. “Take my spear. I’ll act as a decoy. Behead him.”

Pebble showed her Stormy’s sword. If the Primordial Saintess was—or had been—in cahoots with Frell, then the divine weapon at the bar had probably been hers. She’d probably been waiting for Pebble to take it. Oops…

“What—where did—never mind. Let’s move. Wood boy, go help the family. I sent a few Saints to protect them. Do not leave that place.”

To be fair, he wouldn’t do much while surrounded by gods. Based on the way Topaz smiled, he knew it. “Good luck,” he told Pebble, patted her back, then left. If she squinted enough, as Topaz became a swirl amidst swirls, she could see Alpherson and Alphyn defending their home. Against the threat of losing loved ones, what was revenge, if not a luxury?

Pebble winced. Her hands had begun to burn again. Still, she told the Primordial Saintess, “I don’t need your help.”

“You do.”

“...fine, I do, but I don’t need your help to behead him. Because I won’t.”

Where she expected a fight, she got a smile. “He knew you’d say that,” the Primordial Saintess said. “Have fun. If he kills anyone, you’re both dead.”

With the power from Stormy’s sword, one jump sent Pebble flying into the air—too high, too much—but swinging the blade against the ground worked to propel her. When she had to parry a lightning bolt and almost lost her footing, an ice platform formed and vanished beneath her feet.

“At last!” Frell said, extending his arms like an idiot. “We meet again, my sworn enemy!”

Oh, to have wings… if she gave so much as a misstep, she’d plunge.

How was she supposed to fight if she had to use the sword as a propulsor?

Why flying enemies? Why? Why?

“Don’t think I’ll show any mercy because we used to be friends.”

Just staring at the ground made her dizzy.

Her hand stung.

“However, I’ll give you this: you can attack me first.”

If flying was the issue… then she’d get rid of those wings.

Frell was making a heart with his fingers when Pebble swung at his right side. Reflexively, he dodged, then remembered his appendages.

Blood and feathers flew everywhere.

Then his left side.

“Ow—Pebble—stop—!”

He plunged.

“FRELL IS DOWN!” cried out one of the gods. Cheers took over the forest. “Quick, finish him!”

As Pebble landed next to him, Frell sat up, panting, grimacing. “Don’t…”

Gods and Saints alike surrounded him.

He began to laugh. “Frell down, he says. One woman did what hundreds of you couldn’t, you useless, ignorant—” He batted a sacred arrow as though it were a fly. “—scram. Fight yourselves.”

The fallen feathers turned into blades, flying across the forest, slicing and cutting and rotting everything they touched. Forced by their own divinity, gods above and around them fought each other instead of their enemy.

As he stood, Frell adjusted his crown. Blood oozed down his wounds. Pebble refused to feel bad. He’d earned it. “I did not expect you to have that thing, but that’s fine. That’s fine. It’s too bad that the other venerable heroes won’t get to fight me.”

“Why are all these people here?” Pebble asked.

“Make me bleed again and I’ll tell you.”

With one hand on his back and another waving his finger like a conductor, Frell parried strike after strike from her, his knife floating on its own. “That’s nice,” she said. “I hadn’t seen that one in a while.”

“Right? Did I tell you it shoots fire?”

And shoot fire it did—as Pebble batted it back, it landed on the goddess of flowers, who screamed. She’d be fine.

Come to think of it, she’d never asked what Stormy’s sword did aside from cutting. Nothing, maybe. At this rate, it’d be impossible to get past Frell’s defenses without hurting him again. She might as well be hitting his knife with a straw. “Frell, what’s the point? Do any of these people even know about the legend?”

“Exactly,” he said, trying and failing to disarm her. “We never thought about that part of the plan. You see, I’m a traitor to gods and a monster to humans. That’s it. No matter how hard we tried, they would’ve never seen a Demon King. I don’t even need to act like one. I can just be myself and be everyone’s enemy.”

“Not mine.”

“Yet.”

“Never,” she said. He kept trying to swirl the sword out of her hands. Why? Because he’d noticed her blisters. “If you’d stop being so stupid, you’d see that not everyone hates you.”

“Yet.”

“Topaz doesn’t. Alpherson doesn’t. I don’t.”

“Yet!” A swing of his arm sent her stumbling. Of course—the strength of an arm far exceeded that of a finger. “Peb, dear, come on now. I’m not even trying.”

“Me neither.”

That seemed to catch him off-guard. Unconsciously, Frell glanced at her hands. “Then you should, because I’m about to go all out.”

If so, so would Pebble. The Primordial Saintess lurked behind them, hiding behind a tree. If she attacked, Pebble would block it. If Frell’s control over the gods broke, Pebble would face them. She was tired. Her bones ached. So did her heart. She was tired of a world built on sacrifice.

It was true, then, that the legend of the Demon King was doomed from the start; it was built on it, too.

Frell’s divine blade flashed from gold to green to red and then all of them at once. Above them, clouds began to swirl. Gods screamed. They scrambled.

“Run!”

“He’ll kill us!”

“Someone help!”

He grinned. “Ready, Saintesses?”

If Frell managed to cleave her in half, Pebble would endure it, and she would survive.

Was that how it worked?

Was that what Stormy believed before falling in battle?

When there was nothing else to do, nothing to cling to, nothing to believe in, there was hope. Stormy must’ve thought that, then died anyway.

Frell’s divine blade extended until it blocked the sun.

In the end, hope wasn’t good or bad. It just was. Without merit, it meant nothing. Without proof, it was empty. Perhaps an extraordinary person could use it to break through overwhelming odds, but what was Pebble, if not average?

With her useless scrap of metal, Pebble readied herself, then struck.

Dodged.

Jumped.

With his free hand, Frell reached for something within his robes—a second blade, probably. Because of this, he let Pebble close in. She pretended to fall for it. He pretended like he’d stab her. He pretended, she pretended. Whether he let her disarm him by twisting his hand or was genuinely caught off guard didn’t matter. The end result was the same: his second blade hit the ground.

So did Pebble’s. She hugged him.

Tight.

Ignored his feeble attempts to break free.

“Peb!? You shouldn’t… this wasn’t…”

“Don’t care,” Pebble mumbled.

“Peb—”

“Don’t care, I said! I don’t care. I don’t. Drop it.”

“No, you don’t—you don’t get it. Pebble. Please. Before anyone sees this. They call you a traitor, you absolute—”

“Good! Let them! They all suck. Besides, I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m defeating the Demon King right now.”

Nervously, he laughed. “How?”

“By hugging the evil away.”

“...that’s not…” Frell shook his head. “...that’s so…” then his arms wrapped around her. “...so you.”