Blood danced in the air as Burd reveled in the unbridled harvest of souls. As a so-called "prince" of the Abyss, young Burd's life was not an easy one. Despite his princely title, he lacked the power befitting a prince of the Abyss. By the standards of abyssal royalty, Burd was still weak.
Life in the Abyss was joyless for Burd; he had to grow stronger, and as he did, he had to be even more cautious with both friends and foes. For a demon who revered chaos, feigning humility and patience was not easy—they preferred to unleash slaughter at the slightest provocation. Yet Burd managed to do just that.
But not here, not on this marvelous prime material plane teeming with humans, offering a bounty of delicious souls and the pleasure of slaughter.
The small town was taken by surprise by the demon's sudden onslaught, with the drunks in the tavern being the first to notice—the inn's first floor was a tavern, and the second served as lodgings.
The anomaly was first spotted by a dwarf warrior, who was staring lovingly at his last glass of brandy when he heard a thunderous crash, quickly followed by another.
He stared out the window, frozen in place.
Beside the dwarf sat a bearded human warrior, who followed the dwarf's gaze into the faint red moonlight that failed to pierce the night's darkness, seeing nothing.
"Hey! What do you see?" the bearded man nudged the dwarf. Due to their infravision, dwarves could see almost as well in the moonlit night as during the day.
"Buy me a drink, and I'll tell you," the dwarf said, licking his lips.
"Oh, come off it!" The bearded man laughed heartily, slapping the dwarf's shoulder, but the dwarf remained unmoved. Reluctantly, the human surrendered. "Damn it! May the devils take you! Bartender, another brandy."
After downing his own drink with a satisfied smirk, the dwarf belched and said, "If my eyes aren't deceiving me, I saw the roof of this tavern."
"The roof, where?" mumbled the human, slightly pickled by the alcohol.
"Just out there," the dwarf pointed into the darkness.
The human shook his head incredulously, "Dwarf, that's not right. You shouldn't deceive me. If you think I'm drunk enough to be fooled easily, you're sorely mistaken," he grabbed the bartender's freshly poured drink.
The dwarf's eyes, already flushed from drink, darkened with anger. "Damn you! I'm not lying. A dwarf never lies. Give me that drink."
Evading the dwarf's grasping hands, the human taunted, "Ha, still claiming you didn't deceive me? There's a flaw in your 'perfect' lie, easily spotted."
Curious, the dwarf asked, "What flaw?"
With a smug smile, the human pointed into the darkness, "Heh, how do you know that's our tavern's roof and not some other tavern's? There lies your biggest blunder."
Visibly agitated, the dwarf slammed the table and shouted, "Bullshit! I know it's our tavern's roof because I saw the sign on it. It said, er, I can't read, but it's definitely ours and not another's."
"Really?" the human hesitated, eyeing his full cup of brandy.
"Yes!" the dwarf insisted.
"You're not tricking me?" the human's eyes betrayed growing doubt.
The dwarf saw his chance and seized it with glee. "Damn right, that drink is mine. The drink should have been mine all along. I swear, I'm not deceiving you."
The human looked at the dwarf earnestly and said, "Alright, then consider it me who's tricked you." With that, he downed the drink in one gulp.
The dwarf's face turned deathly pale. After standing motionless, he leaped up and bellowed with all his might, "You bloody cheat, may you be taken by the devils!"
"Are demons acceptable in place of devils?" a voice inquired.
"Damn it, they're the same!" the dwarf waved his hand dismissively.
"No, no, they are not. But it doesn't matter, you'll understand once you get there," the voice said as a massive sword cleaved through the wall, shattering tables and chairs, and sliced the two drinkers in half.
As the sword withdrew from the wall, the upper halves of the drinkers were flung into the air while their lower halves remained seated, motionless.
The dwarf, still alive as his torso hit the floor, intestines spilling from the gash, laughed as he crawled towards the brandy. "Lucky, not a drop spilled."
"You have no time left," Demon Burd warned, the evil eye on his sword focusing on the dwarf.
The dwarf spat out defiantly, "Damn you, this is my last drink!" With his final breath, he collapsed, unable to savor that last sip as the sword's evil gaze claimed his soul.
Burd roared with laughter under the red moon, singing and dancing.
In the tavern, the warriors stumbled out, only truly fearing the end of their drink supply. They roared unintelligibly, brandishing their swords as they charged at the demon.
Burd spun gracefully, summoning walls of flame from the Abyss.
The flames pierced the darkness, illuminating the sky, incinerating everything—armor, hair, nails, bodies, and souls—turning these drunken brutes into human torches. They rolled on the ground in agony, but the flames were unquenchable.
Burd frowned at the disarray; such chaos was bad for the dance. With a snap of his fingers, the drunks stood up in an orderly fashion.
Another snap.
The drunks stopped their wails, mouths shut tight, forming orderly lines, their flames burning in synchrony.
With rhythmic snaps, the people burned and danced in formation behind the demon.
"Perfect! Now for the music."
The poor humans began to emit discordant screams in unison.
To the beat of snapping fingers, the demon sang once more:
Under the blood-red moon, in the crisp night air,
I dance, for a maiden fair.
Pure as snow, hot as flame,
Her soul a beauty to proclaim.
But alas, her heart is no more, alas, no heart to adore.
Through the night, horrific songs mingled with artistic screams, tearing the silence, rousing the Warrior's Guild. The demon's nefarious visage loomed horribly in the firelight.
The warriors feared not even the most ferocious enemies, even those crawling from the Abyss. They quickly donned their armor, but by then, only half remained. The other half, trailing limbs and blood, joined the demon's dreadful dance.
Burd twirled and swung his sword, his wind-like dance showing the warriors that they had armored up swiftly, but not swiftly enough.
The warriors clenched their teeth, their eyes still resolute. Though only half remained, this half was elite. Superb swordsmen in sturdy armor, with sharp blades and fearless hearts.
At the forefront stood their guild leader, a towering figure of muscle and strength, the mightiest among them, clad in the toughest armor, wielding the sharpest sword, embodying the courage of his fellows.
The guild leader was stunned by the infernal scene before him, a spectacle so vile and terrifying, it surpassed even the most dreadful nightmares. Now it was enacted before his very eyes, fueling his rage.
"Kill him! Kill that demon! Cut him to pieces!" The leader's words, though not particularly inspiring, reflected his imminent action.
"By Ares' grace!" he raised his sword, invoking the patron of warriors, and charged at the demon.
"By Ares' grace!" echoed hundreds of voices behind him, as hundreds of swords were lifted high.