The demons that were rushing to bite and claw him to death were imps. These small and ugly creatures with tails and horns are one of the lowest demonic forms that exist. They are usually used as a workforce during sieges, during which they carry stuff around and operate war machines. Although they are not very good fighters and are usually more of a nuisance than a real threat, they can be quite deadly in large numbers against an outnumbered enemy, which was the situation he was currently in.
Seeing how numerous they are, he realized that there was no way he could possibly fight them all at once. While he would strike at one of them, multiples would attack him from all directions. Even if he killed three or four of them with one hit, there was still nothing he could do against the rest of them. They would simply overwhelm him, no matter what he did. He needed to adjust the situation to himself and do this fast, or he was already as good as dead. But, how?
Watching his dangerously fast-approaching enemies, he noticed that some of them were holding one of their hands above their eyes as if to hide them from something. He glanced towards the sky. The light he sent towards the sky was still there. Of course it was; otherwise, he wouldn't see a thing.
"So... You really don't like the light, eh?" he thought to himself.
The imps were now so close to him that it was only a only a matter of seconds before they got close enough to hurl themselves at him. Just in the moment when they were ready to do so, a very bright flash of light came from his lightsword and forced every single imp to cover his eyes and cry out of frustration.
Cries of frustration were soon joined by cries of pain and dying, for he didn't waste any time when he saw his enemies incapacitated, and soon his lightsword began to sow death among imps, and dark demonic blood began to splatter around, covering both him and his enemies, as well as drenching the ash on which they walked.
He was now the one leading the attack, slicing through the horde of imps like they were made out of paper, while imps helplessly tried to attack him, blinded or half-blinded by the sudden surge of light that came out of his lightsword. He was so efficient in his attack that he managed to cut himself a way through the horde in less than half a minute and was now hunting the imps that were blindly running around trying to save their lives or attack him.
He kept his composure and was greatly rewarded for it. He managed to significantly thinn out the number of his enemies. The remaining imps slowly began to regain their eyesight and tried to encircle him again, but he wouldn't let them. Whenever they tried to form a line, he appeared there faster than they could react, and he simply cut them down.
Their numbers were decreasing by the second, and he wasn't showing any sign of slowing down with his slaughter. If anything, he became faster and more efficient with each passing moment, like an unstoppable machine of death, maximally utilising the advantage he gained.
Realising that they wouldn't be able to encircle him again, the imps decided to simply try and overwhelm him with their reduced but still decent numbers. This also proved worthless. He entered the unstoppable rhythm of making strikes with his lightsword, and any imp that came near him faced quick and painful dismemberment, followed by cries of agonising pain and limbs flying around.
Thus failed the imp's last effort to defeat their enemy, because seeing their comrades getting cut to pieces in front of their very eyes made them despair, and fear grasped their black hearts. They resorted to cowardice and started running away, each in his own direction.
When he realized that the imps were trying to run away, he doubled his efforts and started running after them to cut them down, because he really didn't want to spend hours running after them and looking for them in this big field full of rocks behind which they could, as little as they were, easily hide and wait for the danger to pass.
Luckily for him, he was quicker than them, and their retreat proved to be futile. About a dozen imps that survived the fury of his lightsword up to this point quickly joined their brethren in death, and with the last imp killed, his first fight was finally over.
He looked at his hands. These hands ably served death to dozens upon dozens of demons who were now all lying dead all over the field. He was both proud and thankful, for he knew that he owed this skill that allowed him to survive this encounter to his master, who taught him how to fight with the lightsword through the countless sparings he had with him.
Still, he couldn't help himself not to think how all of this was very strange. Sure, had he frozen with fear upon sight of imps rushing at him, he would have probably been dead right now, but his appropriate reaction allowed him to surprise them and do the job with ease. That was bothering him. It felt too easy. It was almost as if this was just a prelude to the real fight. He was still sensing the demonic presence here, even though he killed all of the imps. That's at least what he thought. Has he missed one or a few of them? Or was there a bigger and stronger one waiting for his turn or for him to drop his guard?
A loud bellow behind his back gave him the answer to his question. He turned around and saw his new opponent.
"Now, this will be interesting!" he said with a smile on his face, eager to prove to himself that he's capable of much more than he just showed.