What remained of the team put every ounce of their remaining will and effort into the fight.
This time, however, there was no turning point. Only an enemy whose advantage grew with each passing second.
The next to be struck down was Edwin. while Gary and Brandus did their best to protect the healer, the ranger was left to fend for himself, choosing to trust in his [Camouflage] spell.
A poor choice, it would seem. Though he may have just been unlucky. It wasn't a blade or spell that left him incapacitated, but the collapse of a pillar caught in the crossfire.
Gabriel soon followed. Despite their best efforts, teleportation was the natural enemy of every healer. He eventually succumbed to a glancing blow, courtesy of a giant angry demon and his nasty backhand that sent him face-first into a pile of gravel.
Now, only two remained.
In the room filled with rubble, painted in a tapestry of fetid black and red blood, Gary and Brandus still held on. For how long, neither knew. But still, they stood.
Both panted with ragged breaths, worn from the long fight. A fight that, in Gary's opinion, was complete bullshit.
Standing back-to-back, Gary dodged a blackened spike that stabbed out from the shadows in front of him. Another quickly followed, nearly piercing his shoulder as he shifted his feet and body to the side.
The dark spears that shot out did not look to be made of anything tangible, yet the damage was plenty real. A form of shadow magic, he deduced. He had seen such magic used by one bony fellow before, though never at this level of finesse.
With each hurried dodge, another followed suit. Each one stopping them short or forcing an awkward step. It left them both to dance to an inaudible beat. How fitting it was, to scurry about according to the whims of the one who controlled the strings that wrapped around them.
Neither was it a coincidence.
'He's toying with us...' He bemoaned as the demon playfully swung his fingers along with each spear, like a conductor leading his orchestra.
The scene of them shifting about in this morbid interpretive dance had been going on for far longer than Gary would have liked to admit. It had started directly after the slappening of their healer.
A sickening mix of shame and frustration had built up inside Gary throughout the fight. It was as if he was a cornered mouse, tortured by a cat as it took pleasure in the last moments of the hunt.
And all he could do was play along. Until he resigned himself to death, or the demon finished its game.
Fortunately... or unfortunately, Gary was lightfooted enough to play along. His focus on mobility had given him the ability to hold on just a bit longer. So long as the magical shackles did not grow too strong.
It was a game that favored agility. One that left one of the players at a disadvantage...
Brandus too tried to keep up with the quickening pace, but all it took was one mistake. A single misstep.
On the backfoot from a prior attack, Brandus pivoted his torso as he regained some semblance of balance. The chance to adjust himself was rudely interrupted by yet another black spike that materialized close to the heel of his foot. Close enough that he could almost feel the phantom pain of his foot being impaled.
The suddenness and low target robbed him once more of his balance. Beginning yet another round of movement. Of course, it did. It always did.
That was the truth Brandus had discovered once the sick game had begun. That being... he kinda sucked at nimble movement.
Of course, one couldn't truly blame a heavy fighter for that. Between the heavy armor and larger weaponry, you would be a fool to expect them to be fleet-footed. It was the equivalent of cutting off someone's legs and demanding they jump.
But, that was what the demon was demanding.
Brandus' arms deftly held his blade to his side as he deflected a spike, using its momentum to stumble backward away from another attack. He dragged the tip of his blade across the ground while trying to stop himself, blocking a low attack in the process. An excellent recovery, he thought. If not a bit ugly.
Yet, even the brief moment of satisfaction was not allowed, as a feeling of pure, unadulterated pain swept through from his heel to the upper thigh, accompanied by the sound of shattering bone and pierced flesh.
Brandus blacked out from the pain for the briefest second before he collected his wits and looked down toward the source of his agony.
A gruesome sight met his still-bewildered face, with a black spear coated in his own red flesh and shattered bits of bones jutting out from his leg.
Even then -- with all the pain that such a wound and sight would bring -- he was still confused.
How did this happen? Did he fail to see the attack? No, he couldn't have. While all the attacks had been sudden, he had always felt the danger at the very least.
But this one had no warning. Pain had been his only indicator.
Sure, it had been a low attack, but plenty had come his way. All of them avoided. The only way it could have happened was if there was no time between the spell forming and it hitting him.
The only way that could have happened was if it had been cast directly under his feet. Something that shouldn't be possible, as shadow magic needed, well... a shadow.
Pinned by the spear, Brandus turned his confusion to the demon still entranced by his own play, answering his unspoken question with a cold grin.
And then, another flick.
"Urk.."
Brandus' back curled backward, stabbed by a matching spear through his gut.
He shuddered as he felt his innards get pierced, the burning from its vile form only allowing a groan to escape his lungs before the demon contracted both spears back into the ground.
His hands reached to his gut, staining them as tainted blood poured out from the wound and filled his calloused palms. The wound and incorporeal restraints brought him to his knees... and then his stomach as he collapsed to the ground.
His sight turned to its side, Brandus continued to stare at the foe as he made sense of what had just happened. 'So he can kill us... the bastard, he... he can materialize the spell without a shadow.' Even while delirious from the pain and blood loss, he still sought for the answer.
They had been under the wrong impression it seems. He had known that this last part was but a game. A game before the final blow. But he had been wrong on just how screwed they actually were.
The demon did not have to summon the spell from the shadows in the room. Just from some surface. Any surface, even if something already stood on top of it.
Like a foot on solid ground.
But that was as far as his mind could think of the matter. Coldness began to take root in his body as he grew weak. It was so cold. Colder than he thought dying would be.
People said that those destined for paradise would feel a gentle warmth. A guiding light that comforted them in their final moments. And that warmth was eluding him.
Or... maybe he was fated to enter something else.
It was a terrible thought, one that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Along with the iron.
Brandus was aware that he was not in any way devout. He was not what you called an active member of the holy church, nor did he follow much of their teachings.
Yet, a part of him had still hoped that his actions in life would earn him a ticket.
Was the career of an adventurer one of good? Probably not. Nor was the company he kept... unless you counted Gabriel... no, he didn't count either.
Still. He had helped people.
And he had put up with Gary.
That had to count for something.
Then again, releasing the Demon King from its bonds probably erased any good karma he had.
Even in death, Gary managed to screw him over.
His eyes in his final moments of lucidity drifted towards his fallen friends... and Gary. Who was in the midst of slipping through the smallest gaps between the shadow magic.
'Good luck, my friend.'
'May we never meet again in the next life.'
If they did, it could only be in hell: That was the only place that could house such a greedy fiend.
He wanted to let out a chuckle, but only a faint gurgling managed to eke out.
Darkness slowly overtook his vision and submerged him in its murky depths. Leaving his body still on the ground.
Unmoving, yet limbs still wrapped by the thin layer of gray mist.
And then there was one.