A lull formed after the demon's final statement, leaving the team awkwardly silent and unsure of how to proceed.
Gary was no exception, rattling his sword against his shoulder as he frowned at the unmoving demon.
It wasn't that he didn't know what do: killing the Demon King was -- after all -- a rather key step in all of this. Hell, dicing the bastard and torching whatever remained was still on the table. When it came to threats like this, no precaution was overkill in his book.
It was just... it didn't feel right.
Maybe it was due to him having to make the call, instead of ending the demon in the midst of battle. Or that he had turned soft after sharing a conversation, however short.
Or it was the dull, sunken, violet eyes that met his own, their depths holding no emotion towards the would-be executioner.
It was a bearing that one would expect of those who took solace in a greater power, sure that a god would ferry their soul once the mortal coil was shed. Yet, the one who held themselves with apathy was no priest, nor martyr, but one whose race only existed in the material world. For them, not even the fires of hell awaited their demise. Condemned to nothingness once their time has passed.
Such was the price the demonic race had to pay for their existence.
And to claim that price, stood Gary.
'...No use in putting this off.'
Heavy footsteps echoed out as he stepped forward, bringing his newly-acquired weapon aloft. Fingers curled tightly around the unfamiliar blade, its resplendent metal the only thing separating him from his kneeling foe.
"I would offer a prayer for you," Gary stated in the brief moment before he brought the weapon down, "But I don't think you'd appreciate that."
Nor would it do any good, though he left that sentence unsaid as he swung downward.
The blade met the crown of the skull, cleaving through the thick layer of bone before sinking into the soft gray tissue, splattering the ground with checkers of black and white liquid as he ended the millennia-old calamity.
No, that is what should have happened.
Instead of rending flesh and bone, his sword was stopped fully. Like a bat when struck against metal.
Underneath the glowing sword, a black hand clasped it tightly. A hand that glowed not unlike the weapons infused with mana, even if it held a more sinister air than the former.
And as that same glow appeared, Gary could feel something begin to pull at his limbs, as if they had been wrapped with strings. It was not enough to halt his movement, but it did enough to weigh his already-worn body and hinder his movements.
This phenomenon was not limited to him either, judging by the sound of grunts and cries let out by his team... mixed in with something else.
Laughter also greeted his ears, delighting in the confusion oh so apparent in his eyes.
"I thank you for your consideration," The demon growled, slowly rising up amongst the midst of the shocked cohort. "But that is better spent elsewhere: I would hate to rob dead men of their last words." A flick of his fingers accentuated his last sentence, sending sparks dancing across the room as he rid his palm of the blade.
Unable to handle even the strength of the flick, the stunned adventurer was jolted to the side. He weakly stumbled a few steps before regaining his balance, yet his mind failed to do the same.
The upending of the situation was too great. Too ridiculous.
Hadn't they won? Of course they won! They had him kneeling, surrounded by weapons forged specifically to kill him!
But, even so... how did this beast stop the blade? Why did he radiate confidence? Why did he act like he had won?
More importantly: why did Gary believe him?
The smoldering laugh of the demon began to fade away from his ears, replaced by the heavy silence of a beast- no, a warrior... ready to begin combat anew.
Greatsword in hand, the Demon King stood tall with his weapon once more. A weapon that absorbed even more of the already dim light in the room as its wielder surveyed Gary and the rest. His unbridled form a grim comparison to the meek and unreadied adventurers.
"Get ready..." Gary shouted as hard as he could, although what came out of his parched throat only amounted to a loud whisper. "He can't have much steam left."
That should be the case, at least. But his words felt more like an empty hope to them all, rather than an observation, as they looked at their energetic foe.
/
Now, how could this demon be able to keep fighting after everything he had been put through?
As the second round of fighting began, Gary couldn't help but question that very conundrum.
A racial trait? An enchantment? The power of undistilled hatred?
The answer was more simple, but equally distressing: magic.
The truth was...
'This bastard isn't a pure warrior!'
The realization entered his mind at the same time the demon sent a wave of consuming black flame at him and immediately vanished after, merging his body with the myriad of shadows that lurked in the confines around them.
His body spun around on instinct the moment the demon left his vision. Spells that allowed for speed or teleportation existed, and their users had a tendency to go for the back.
But to his surprise, his line of sight was not greeted by an incoming strike. Gary's burning lungs took in a deep breath as a bit of tension vanished.
Thankfully, he wasn't the target.
Wait! He wasn't th--
A shrill cry from his side answered his question, followed by the sound of something soft hitting the floor.
He frantically turned towards the source of the noise, only to be met with the tragic sight of their mage.
Shasa... she lay collapsed on the ground, her golden staff rolling out from her limp hands as a pool of dark red began to fill the stone cracks beneath her.
"Shasa!"
A sound so pathetic, Gary would have never believed that it came from his lips, came out. It was akin to the hurt whimper of a pup, rather than a man in his late twenties.
Yet, he felt no shame in his utterance. Rather, the shame of fear, or sorrow could exist in this godforsaken room. Not when his teammate's body lies pale and limp on the cold stone floor.
"She's fine, Gary! She is fine! Now get in position." Brandus yelled, maneuvering himself in front of Gabriel.
"You call that fine?"
"She put up a mana shield before it connected. She should... she should be alive."
'Should.'
Gary couldn't help but scoff at the word.
He would have a hard time believing that even if he ignored the alarming amount of blood.
A mage was a powerful being. Yet they were weak. No fully fledged magic wielder had the same constitution of a warrior, choosing instead to rely on magic and teammates to avoid damage.
As for the magic shield she used, he didn't see what kind.
But he could guess.
[Mana Shield].
A simple, attributeless barrier that even apprentices could use. The only real bonus to it was its fast casting speed. It was best used for small projectiles that slip through, a far cry from what was needed.
But still, he decided to believe it. He had to.
And in the middle of this battle, he needed something to cling on to. At least, something other than the cords of mist that had begun to bind him; their chilly tendrils growing tighter and more cumbersome with each swing of his sword.