Gary continued to dance. Even as he saw his last teammate... his last friend, fall to the ground. No shout or exclamation came from him, but screams echoed inside his head.
Screams full of sorrow, fear, and pure regret. With each step, jump, and awkward spin, his mind kept going back to how much he wished he had never stepped foot in this godforsaken castle.
It was the type of regret that one would feel when faced with the heavy consequences of an action they thought nothing of. Wishing their past self had made a different choice. Dreaming of what could have been.
It was a natural desire, though Gary doubted anyone had felt it as acutely as he in this moment. It was like an adventure awakening a village-torching dragon, except his sin was far greater.
'I'm going to hell for this, aren't I?' He pondered, eyeing up the Demon King before reaching his conclusion:
'Yep. I'm gonna burn for this one.'
First-class ticket, if he had any say about it.
He wouldn't mind a few refreshments on his way down.
He didn't even know it yet, but a sense of acceptance began to ebb its way into his head with his musings of the afterlife.
With that acceptance, came a bit of boldness.
After all, if he was gonna die, he might as well go out with a bang.
Once dancing along to someone's tune, his limber feet planted deep into the ground and launched his body towards the demon. His reckless decision left two deep gashes on his chest and thigh as a couple of spikes slashed at him. Gary ignored the pain and marched forward as he used the last of his reserves to dodge the still-coming spikes.
The demon's growing sneer didn't faze him as he ran, closing the gap to begin close-quarters combat.
It was a terrible idea. He had no mana to fuel the augmenting spells he often relied on, and was planning on fighting a superior foe.
Yet, no idea was truly good. Not when all of them led to eventual death.
Besides. He really wanted to get at least one more whack in.
The greatsword met the flat of his blade and ground along its length, before the weapons met once more in a shower of glowing sparks.
One strike fell, and another flew over his ducked head. Black flames leaped from the floor surrounding them as they fought and soared around like devilish snacks about to swallow them whole, swirling the hot air that blew across his face.
And in the chaos, Gary danced through the fire to his own beat.
It was a display of skill that did not belong to someone like him. Adventurers were rarely masters of their weapons, and Gary was no exception. It was a talent that had always eluded him. The complexity of more effective styles never did click in all the years of practice and battle. Instead, simplicity and speed had been his motto, along with a decent arsenal of spells to cover his weakness.
But something was different. The quick and simple moves now smoothly flowed with each other, accompanied by a mind that had never been clearer.
It was said that masters of the blade can hone their minds to the peak, entering a different state of mind when they drew their swords.
Gary had heard -- and dismissed -- those stories. Marking them as over-exaggeration. He had never seen such a thing, nor had anyone he knew. Yet now, everything seemed to click. Moves that once held a bit of indecision no came naturally, as if it was obvious what he had to do. Even the cumbersome bindings were not enough to stop him as he compensated the burden with his own skill.
In simpler terms: Gary was in the zone.
The art of his moves showed in the brushes of his sword, leaving a vast number of wounds across the demon's charred and bleeding body.
In tandem, each of his steps carried him through the brutal onslaught of countering strikes from the greatsword. The tangible pressure emanating from their collisions was unable to keep either party at bay.
Gary's new blade slithered through the air, its point piercing the aura that had grown thick on their battlefield.
A mark of singed black was created as it found its target, quickly retreating as the demon sent both sword and magic to punish the transgression.
Unwilling to take an unnecessary blow, Gary darted around the attacks while ignoring the sound of air being split around him. He circled his foe with grace and speed, before plunging himself into battle yet again.
His weapon stabbed forward once more, hungry for the flesh of the demon.
But this time, a greatsword intercepted the blade's trajectory.
The blades met, echoing the sound of screeching metal as the demon wrapped his blade around the body of Gary's weapon. The greatsword-- ignoring its unwieldy size and shape -- seemed to turn soft as it latched around the fuller. And like a snake constricting its prey, it tightened and pulled, before sending it flying from Gary's now-empty palms.
Yet, the demon took no time to enjoy his victory. Such a celebration would only come after he had freed that annoying bastard's head from his neck.
His eyes widened with the blaring of his instincts, barely rolling away from the swip with an improvised tumble.
Yet, despite the timely dodge, his hair still stood on end. Losing your weapon was considered a loss in a duel for a reason. In real life, it meant that the battle had turned into a competition of who ran the fastest.
Gary scrambled across the floor as he ran, ignoring how foolish it was to turn his back to the enemy.
His matted black hair flew wildly about as he swung his head in search of a weapon. For anything.
A spell careened overhead as he dove to the ground, fumbling about on the floor for something to use.
And as luck would have it, there was.
Feeling something cylindrical nestle in his hands, he leaped back up to face his enemy with whatever he had found.
'Fight's not over yet.' He smirked, until he saw what exactly he was holding.
A golden staff inlaid with a matching gem on its crown met his befuddled face. One of the weapons they had found. That Shasa had found.
Not the best match for him, but it was better than nothing. He consoled.
The fight began once more.
A magic staff was a valuable tool, treasured for its ability to augment spells. One of this nature should be equally cherished, if not put behind glass in a museum.
Instead, his hands wielded the staff as if it was a mace. Barbarically heaving the staff to cave in the demon's skull. He was lucky no mage was here to see this travesty, or else he would also have a horde of wrathful spellcasters to contend with.
Sword met staff, the edge digging into the side of the reflective metal. Another flurry of blows began, with Gary on the receiving side.
Yet, Gary felt something off about the blows sent his way. He should have been at a greater disadvantage, but that was not the case. Something had changed. The storm of blades was less tyrannical and more passive.
It took several more exchanges before it hit him: they were less aggressive in countering his own hits.
That did not mean that the demon didn't parry. Plenty of his attacks had been. But all of them were aimed at the lower portions of the staff, even when it was less beneficial to do so.
A hint of curiosity was lit in his eyes, and the adventurer decided to put it to the test.
When the next strike came streaking from the side, Gary stretched out the staff to meet it with the top of the staff. He braced his arms for the collision, waiting to feel the rebound from the heavy blow...
Only for the blade to be unceremoniously pulled back, eliciting a sound of confusion:
"Huh?"
'Let's try that again.'
The same result followed.
'He is avoiding it. No, he is avoiding the gem?' He wondered, continuing to mindlessly harass the frustrated opponent.
His face reflected his churning thoughts, alternating his gaze between the demon and the gem.
Gary had assumed that it was nothing more than a catalyst, but that could not be the case. A mere catalyst shouldn't cause any caution.
Analyzing the glowing hunk of jewel, he leaped back from the fight and held the staff pointed directly in front of him.
A brief showdown ensued, with unknown emotions swirling inside the demon as it understood that Gary had caught on to something.