Azazel's eyes narrowed as Garmond lunged, the blade of his greatsword gleaming with a deadly intent that sent a shiver through the air. The ferocity in the human's eyes was unlike anything Azazel had ever seen in a mere mortal.
"Is he truly human?" Azazel wondered, his thoughts racing. For a man with no magic, Garmond possessed an alarming level of power. It was as though his very blood hummed with a hidden force. Still, it didn't matter. Azazel moved with supernatural grace, his body a blur as he effortlessly dodged the attack, shifting several meters back with a single movement.
"You have more power than any mortal deserves," Azazel mocked, his voice laced with both amusement and disdain.
But Garmond wasn't listening. His mind was singular in focus, consumed by one overwhelming thought: **He's too dangerous. I have to kill him.**
It wasn't just rage that drove him. It was pure, unyielding survival. His muscles moved on instinct, each swing of his sword fueled by the deep need to obliterate the enemy before him. And again, Garmond charged.
Azazel responded with a flick of his wrist, summoning a barrage of fireballs. They roared through the air, burning bright like miniature suns. The heat was oppressive, scorching the earth as they hurtled towards Garmond. But he didn't flinch. He couldn't afford to.
With a growl, he sliced through the flames, his sword moving faster than it should. Sparks and embers exploded around him, but still he pressed on. His skin blistered under the heat, his armor sizzling with the unbearable warmth. He felt as if he were running through hellfire itself, and the realization hit him: **I won't make it at this rate.**
Azazel's laughter rang out, cold and hollow. "You'll burn long before you reach me," he sneered. "And when you do, I'll burn your kingdom with you."
But Garmond didn't hear him. His world had shrunk to the narrow tunnel of his own fury and pain, his body moving on the edge of its limits. The next blow landed like a thunderclap, Garmond's sword crashing into Azazel's gut with such force that the demon coughed blood, the air around them vibrating from the impact. Azazel was flung backward, his body skidding across the ground, leaving a trail of dirt and blood.
For a brief moment, Azazel felt something he hadn't in eons: fear.
But it was fleeting. He grinned, blood staining his perfect teeth. "I, Azazel, fear? Impossible." His laughter broke the tension in the air, a manic, unsettling sound that made the gathered onlookers tremble. His dark aura exploded outward, warping the air around him, and for the first time, the crowd could see the true depth of his power.
Garmond's sword descended again, the weight of it poised to cleave Azazel's head from his shoulders. Time seemed to slow, the blade falling inch by inch, every heartbeat a thunderous echo in the silence.
But before it could strike, the air around Azazel shimmered, and spectral hands formed from thin air, grasping the sword and holding it just long enough for Azazel to leap away. He stood, his body battered and bruised, but his grin never faltered.
"You truly believe this man can defeat me?" Azazel taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "Fools." He could see the despair on their faces. The hope they had pinned on Garmond was crumbling.
But Garmond wasn't done. He staggered to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his body, the heat of Azazel's flames licking at his skin. "I can't stop," he muttered under his breath. "Not now."
"Lord Garmond!" A voice called out from the crowd—Xavier, his loyal knight. "Let us help you!"
"No," Garmond spat, barely turning his head. "This is my fight." He couldn't allow anyone else to die for his cause.
He pushed forward, his sword gleaming, but Azazel was ready. Runes began to glow around him, and with a guttural chant, the sky darkened. Lightning crackled in the clouds above, the atmosphere thick with raw magic. Flames burst into existence around Garmond, not aimed at him but enclosing him in a deadly ring. He swung his sword, trying to cut through, but the fire was relentless.
And then, a scream shattered the air.
"Dad!"
Garmond's heart lurched as he saw Gary, his son, running toward him. A ball of flame shot from Azazel's hand, faster than Garmond could react. It hit Gary square in the chest, knocking him to the ground, his body burning.
"Gary!" Garmond's voice broke as he rushed to his son's side, but it was too late. His boy's eyes glazed over, the life extinguished from them.
A primal roar tore from Garmond's throat. His vision blurred, and then, something inside him snapped. His black hair, streaked with red, flared with unnatural energy. His sword began to hum, vibrating in his grip. The air around him crackled with an ancient power.
From the horizon, a gleaming golden chest plate flew toward him, slamming into his body with a resounding **clang**. Piece by piece, the rest of the armor followed, assembling itself onto him like a second skin. Garmond, now fully armored in gold, was no longer the man who had struggled before.
Azazel barely had time to register the change before Garmond vanished. One moment he was there, the next he was a blur, faster than the eye could follow. The ground trembled as Garmond struck, his blows so powerful that they sent Azazel flying. Each hit was accompanied by the sickening crunch of breaking bone.
Azazel, reeling from the onslaught, barely managed to complete his spell. "Zeus's Lightning!" he screamed, and the sky opened up, a bolt of pure energy shooting down at Garmond. It struck with a deafening boom, but Garmond stood tall, his sword absorbing most of the blow, though his body trembled under the strain.
Azazel panted, struggling to maintain his composure. "He's… he's still standing?" he muttered, disbelief washing over him. The mortal should've been ash by now.
"This… this isn't possible," Azazel whispered, his voice shaking for the first time. But then, his eyes gleamed. He could sense Garmond's weakening resolve.
"Fighting for these people, Garmond? They will betray you," Azazel taunted, glancing at the terrified crowd.
Garmond, lost in a haze of rage and grief, growled in response.
Then, from the depths of his fading consciousness, a voice pierced through.
"Garmond, my love," it whispered. It was her voice—Theresa. Her figure appeared before him, beautiful and serene, her eyes locking with his. For a moment, the world seemed to slow, his anger subsiding.
But then, pain bloomed in his chest. Garmond looked down, seeing blood pouring from a wound that shouldn't have been there.
"Theresa?" he whispered in disbelief. Her hand had driven a dagger into his gut, her expression cold and unfeeling.
"You deserve death," she said, her voice devoid of warmth. "To think you'd throw your life away for these people."
The light faded from Garmond's eyes as his strength finally left him. Azazel stood over him, triumphant.