The battle erupted in an instant.
The guild leader charged at the forefront, agile as a cat, graceful as a deer. He leaped over fiery columns erupting from the earth, rolled to dodge the demon's savage swings, and remained steadfast against the terrifying chorus of the demon's song and the screams of his dancing thralls. With powerful hands and fierce thrusts, his sword streaked through the darkness like lightning, poised and venomous. Seizing his chance, the guild leader lunged and plunged his sword deep into the demon's chest, right where the heart should be.
In that moment, the demon's song ceased, and the dance behind him halted. The ghastly wails faded, and the warriors cheered as though the curtain of a nightmarish opera had fallen.
The guild leader allowed himself a smile at the sight of the demon falling to his blade. But when the demon's eyes snapped open and he returned the gaze with a grin, it was clear that both could not share the moment of triumph.
Only one would have the last laugh.
In panic, the guild leader tried to withdraw his sword and leap away, only to be ensnared by the demon, who embraced him as one would a lover. The demon cradled the mighty human close to his body while his other hand, still gripping the great sword, lifted the guild leader's arm as if preparing for a dance.
They appeared ready to tango.
"Welcome, it is delightful to have this dance with you tonight," the demon said, his smile unwavering as the guild leader's face turned ghostly pale.
"Ah, how lovely your complexion is tonight. Shall we begin? Music, please. Here comes the passionate moment, the tango!"
The dance of death resumed as the demon's puppets scattered. They danced with clumsy steps while delivering death to one another, tears streaming, mouths shrieking, driving their blades into their companions' flesh.
Tango, tango, kin slayed without care,
Tango, tango, homes burn in despair.
Tango, tango, blood spattering wide,
Tango, tango, hell on earth preside.
Burd held the guild leader close, chest to chest, twirling and spinning without end.
Then a pause,
A tilt of the head.
Tango, tango. Silhouettes severed and bled.
They were like a meat grinder, each twirl slashing a circle with the sword, flesh and blood taking flight. Burd burst into song again.
In the blood-red moonlight, cool is the night's breath,
Red blood upon me, anointing me in death,
The mournful screams play just for me,
The strong now join in my deadly spree.
Spin, spin, spin,
The world spins, blood takes wing,
On such a night, what more could I wish to bring?
This wondrous night, forever cherished within.
As the warriors fell in waves, the guild leader's eyes blazed with fury, his soul in torment. Though his sword had fallen, he still had his fists. His fists useless, he had his nails—trimmed just yesterday. He still had his teeth.
The guild leader fiercely bit into the demon's neck, wild as a tiger.
Burd frowned at the indignity: "Now cradled in my arms like a woman, you fight with your mouth, like a woman as well." He shook his head: "Utterly unbecoming."
The demon's ribs jutted out like blades, piercing through the guild leader's chest, breaking through the finest armor without effort.
Blood gushed from the guild leader's mouth. He could no longer bite and merely hung limply against the demon, occasionally twitching like a rag doll.
The song went on, the dance never stopped.
Casually, the demon tore through the warriors and their armor, the sharp swords now left unclenched by brave, steady hands. The courage and fearlessness of the warriors were reduced to tatters, dangling ornaments upon the demon's chest.
Just when retreat seemed inevitable, reinforcements arrived.
The Knights and Clerics of the Holy Temple arrived late, but their zeal blazed at the sight of the demon. These fervent believers knew not retreat nor compromise when facing evil. Excited for the rare chance to purge wickedness, they left their Clerics behind, rallying the name of the Holy Light, spurring their horses into a charge against the demon.
The Knights' arrival gave the warriors a moment to breathe. Unlike the swordsmen, the mounted Knights possessed a more terrifying force. Even the mightiest creatures of the Abyss would not willingly face a Paladin's charge.
The Guardian Knights were not Paladins, but their demon adversary was no Abyssal Fiend.
The rhythmic thundering of hooves seemed to accompany the night's song. The Knights leveled their lances, glinting with deadly intent as they vowed to rend the demon asunder.
Then misfortune struck.
The demon didn't dodge or charge head-on. He stood tall, unflinching, and let out a heaven-piercing roar.
The roar rippled through the air, creating a sonic blast centered on the demon.
The Knights' steeds could run no more; they skidded to a halt, legs trembling, collapsing to the ground. Terrorized by the demon's bellow, the once noble horses were now revealed as cowards, unable to face the demon's cry.
Now the mounted Knights truly suffered. Propelled by inertia, they were catapulted from their saddles, crashing before the demon.
"Damn it, I always said we should have been provided with better steeds! These nags have no spirit!" That was a Knight's last lamentation as he lay beside his comrades, struck down before the demon. Even their rigorous training was for naught as they couldn't rise quickly enough. The demon, like popping balloons, compassionately crushed their skulls beneath his foot, sparing them further pain and the effort of standing.
The Clerics' divine magic sought to banish the demon back to Hell, but lacked the necessary power. The divine light was but a spotlight on the stage for the lead dancer, the demon Burd. He sang louder, danced wilder, as they tore the Clerics apart.
When the Mages joined the fray, the situation was already out of control. The Ninth Holy Temple lay in ruins, the town engulfed in flames. Even the timely arrival of the Mages made little difference. The battle was at night, and without adequate sleep, the bleary-eyed Mages struggled to focus their spells.
The survivors, along with the Mages, sought refuge in the high towers, fortresses of magic ideal against brutish foes, often overwhelming the enemy before they reached the Mages' sanctuary.
But this time was different. The town had but one tower, housing only two magicians and three apprentices, one of whom had just risen from bed.
"Yawn," the bear-pajama-clad Mage stretched, bothered by the stares at his favorite nightwear, feeling both proud and irritated, "So sleepy, what's all the racket? Don't you know a Mage needs quality sleep? And who are you, anyway?"
Before anyone could answer, the Mage felt the tower sway beneath him.
"What's going on? Why is the ground shaking? Is it an earthquake? And again, who are you people in my home?"
The tower collapsed before there was an answer. Burd figured it easier to bring them down than to climb up himself. He let the decorations on his chest do some work, pulling the guild leader's corpse from his breast and hurling it at the tower's foundation, causing an explosion that made the tower wobble precariously.
Burd spun and struck his sword down at the explosion's epicenter.
The tower fell.
The demon sang on:
The horses scare easy, Knights to the ground.
Mighty Mages, their slumber profound.
Tall spires that skyward bound,
Now come crashing down, crashing down.
On this bloody night, all is delight,
In my heart, joy takes flight.
As the town's last defenses crumbled to Burd's song, only the sky, now reddened by flames, and the high-pitched screams within the town remained.
The demon raised his hands like an orchestra conductor, and the wails and sobs followed his arms' motion, rising and falling, composing a symphony.
With the red moon climbing high and the night deepening, the music soared, the slaughter merry.