The battlefield stretched far and wide, a chaotic symphony of explosions, clashing steel, and agonized roars. The scorched grass crackled underfoot as Ethan Wayne crouched behind a half-destroyed cart, his staff gripped tightly in both hands. Flames flickered at its tip, casting a faint glow on his sweat-slicked face.
Ahead, the hero's party battled with dazzling efficiency. The princess, her golden hair streaked with soot, swung her gleaming sword in an elegant arc, slicing through a demon's thick hide as though it were paper. The hero, towering and clad in immaculate armor, bellowed commands.
"Lyra, take the left flank! Roderick, cover me—Infernal Break Formation!" the hero roared.
His companions moved in perfect sync. Lyra, a swift archer with raven-black hair, loosed a barrage of enchanted arrows that rained down on the snarling demons. Roderick, a hulking warrior, charged forward with his warhammer, smashing through the monsters like they were brittle clay. Ethan couldn't help but admire their coordination. They were like a dance of death—efficient, powerful, unstoppable.
But they weren't the ones holding the rear line.
Ethan's fireball streaked through the air, slamming into a demon's chest and exploding in a burst of heat and ash. The creature stumbled but didn't fall. Its molten-red eyes locked onto Ethan, and it let out a guttural snarl. His heart raced. This was no lower demon.
He raised his staff again, struggling to focus. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision. The words of his incantation tumbled from his lips, but his voice wavered. The flame at the tip of his staff flickered weakly, but it was enough to keep the demon at bay—for now.
In the distance, he heard the princess's voice ring out like a bell. "We're done here! Move to the east side; lower demons are swarming the trenches!"
The hero laughed. "Let them come. They're barely worth the effort."
Ethan's chest tightened at the words. Barely worth the effort.
Another fireball leaped from his staff, landing just shy of the advancing demon. The explosion flung dirt and smoke into the air, buying him a few precious seconds. He glanced toward the hero's group, now moving eastward, their laughter and chatter cutting through the battlefield's chaos. The princess shouted another command, calling for a formation Ethan hadn't even learned about during his rushed training.
He grimaced. They made it look so easy, so effortless, as though they were untouchable gods walking among mortals.
But Ethan didn't have the luxury of arrogance. He gritted his teeth and steadied his staff, muttering the incantation for a third time. This fireball was smaller, but he aimed it with precision, striking the demon in the eye. It howled and collapsed, writhing on the ground before disintegrating into a cloud of ash.
Ethan exhaled sharply, his legs trembling. He didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a piece of kindling tossed into a raging inferno, trying desperately not to burn out.
The clamor of battle grew louder. More demons surged from the treeline, their grotesque forms twisting and shifting in the firelight. Ethan glanced over his shoulder. The hero's party was already far ahead, dealing with another wave of enemies with ease.
For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to fight beside them, to be part of that team, to hear his name called out in one of their seamless maneuvers. But that wasn't his place. He was just a mob mage—a cog in the massive, grinding machine of war.
The fire at his staff's tip reignited. It might not have been much, but it was enough. He wasn't a hero, but he would fight like one, even if no one was watching..
Ethan darted to the side, his boots crunching against charred earth as he sought a better vantage point. The hero and his party were still locked in combat, dispatching the lower demons with precision. Their movements were calculated, their attacks flawless, but it was their voices that caught Ethan's attention.
"Demons like these are barely worth the effort," the hero scoffed, slashing a grotesque creature in two. His blade gleamed even amidst the grime and chaos.
Lyra, her bowstring taut, loosed another arrow. "True. They're predictable. Not like the ones we faced in the eastern region last week."
"Focus," the princess said sharply, her tone cold and commanding. Her sword cleaved through a demon, its black blood staining the ground. "This is just another skirmish. Let's clean this up quickly and move on."
Ethan listened from afar, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Their words were distant, almost surreal, as he struggled to maintain his own attacks. His mana reserves were nearly depleted, his body aching with the strain of casting. Yet he refused to stop.
"I will keep going, no matter what!" Ethan growled through gritted teeth, summoning another fireball. It spiraled through the air, striking a demon squarely in the chest. The creature fell, but Ethan staggered, his vision blurring from exhaustion.
Suddenly, the battlefield grew eerily silent.
The clamor of steel and the roars of demons ceased, replaced by an oppressive stillness. Ethan froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Even the hero's party paused, their weapons still raised, their expressions shifting from focus to unease.
"What... is this?" Ethan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. A cold pressure settled over him, heavy and suffocating. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. His knees buckled slightly, and he clutched his staff for support, his breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts.
A dark aura descended from the sky, a swirling mass of shadows that radiated malice. It hit the ground with a deafening crash, sending a shockwave rippling across the battlefield. The impact threw Ethan off balance, and he fell to one knee, shielding his face from the burst of wind and debris.
When the dust settled, the aura dissipated, revealing a towering figure. The demon had jet-black hair, glowing purple eyes, and horns that curled like a crown of darkness. Two whip-like tails lashed the air behind him, exuding an aura of power that made the air itself feel heavy. He surveyed the battlefield with a chilling smirk.
"I am the commander of the demon army," the figure declared, his voice deep and resonant. "Servant to the Demon Lord."
Ethan's body began to tremble uncontrollably. It wasn't just fear—it was an instinctive, primal reaction to the overwhelming presence before him. His blood felt like ice in his veins, his breath hitching as he whispered, "This… this is a monster."
The hero stepped forward, his expression hardened. "Another demon commander," he said, his voice steady, though there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. "We'll stop him like we've stopped the others."
The princess raised her chin, her tone dripping with disdain. "A servant to the Demon Lord? How pathetic. You'll fall just like the rest."
The demon commander chuckled darkly. "Such arrogance. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Malvyr, Shadow of Despair. Remember my name, for it will be the last you hear before your pitiful lives are extinguished."
The hero ignored him, gripping his sword tighter. "Enough talk. This world doesn't have room for monsters like you."
Ethan, still trembling, couldn't tear his eyes away from the demon commander. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs wouldn't move. For the first time, he felt utterly powerless. The fire in his staff flickered weakly, barely a spark against the overwhelming darkness.
And yet, somewhere deep within him, a faint determination stirred. He might have been afraid—terrified, even—but he was still here. His shaking hands tightened around his staff as the battle began again.
The hero and the princess continued their desperate fight against the demon commander, their movements slowing with exhaustion. Their once-flawless coordination faltered, their armor battered, their bodies bloodied. Scars and fatigue etched themselves into every swing of the hero's sword and every spell the princess cast. Malvyr's relentless onslaught showed no sign of slowing.Ethan and the other adventurers, fighting the lesser demons, were faring no better. Their exhaustion had caught up with them, their attacks growing weaker with every passing second. The demons sensed their faltering strength and pressed harder. Ethan's staff, his lifeline in the chaos, shattered under a demon's strike. He was knocked to the ground, joining the other adventurers who lay battered and restrained by the advancing demons.
The restraints tightened, and the adventurers' protests filled the air. "Let us go!" they cried, their voices raw with desperation. The demons' laughter rose in unison, a chilling sound that echoed across the battlefield.
"Watch," one of the demons sneered, its twisted face inches from Ethan's. "Watch as your precious heroes and princess fall before the might of our commander. He is the most powerful demon alive, second only to the Demon Lord himself."
The laughter swelled, and Ethan struggled against his bonds, but his strength had left him. He was drained, his body refusing to respond. His chest heaved with labored breaths as despair began to creep in. He clenched his fists, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't voice aloud.
"This can't be it," he thought, his vision blurring. "I've come too far to die here. But… what can I even do? I can't move, I can't fight. I'm nothing compared to them."
Malvyr stood tall in the center of the battlefield, his presence an oppressive weight on everyone present. The hero and princess, though battered and bloodied, still faced him with defiance. But even they were tiring, their movements sluggish, their breaths labored. The demon commander's confidence was unshaken.
"Is this the best humanity has to offer?" Malvyr mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Your resistance is futile. Your struggles are meaningless."
Ethan's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of fear and frustration clawing at his insides. He wanted to scream, to rise, to fight, but his body refused to obey. His fellow adventurers were in the same state, some unconscious, others struggling weakly against their bindings. The demons' jeering filled the air, their collective laughter like nails on glass.
The hero raised his sword again, his voice steady despite his visible exhaustion. "Even if we're battered, even if we're broken, we will fight. We will never give up."
The princess stood beside him, her eyes blazing with determination. "Your arrogance will be your downfall, demon. We've faced worse than you."
Malvyr's smirk widened, and he raised a hand. A surge of dark energy crackled at his fingertips, the ground trembling beneath its power. "Then face the despair of true power," he said, his voice a chilling whisper that carried across the battlefield.
Ethan's eyes widened as he watched the swirling mass of dark energy forming in Malvyr's hand. It grew larger and more menacing, a vortex of shadow aimed directly at the hero party and the princess. His breathing quickened, panic surging through him as he struggled against his restraints.
"No," he thought desperately, his mind racing. "What can I do? I can't just sit here and watch. They're going to die! I need to help them. I need… I need more power!"
His thoughts screamed within him as he pulled at the restraints with everything he had. The fire that had flickered within him began to grow, stoked by sheer determination and desperation. Somewhere deep within, he felt a spark—small, but stubborn—refusing to be extinguished.
Malvyr unleashed the dark energy, the vortex tearing through the air with a deafening roar. The battlefield seemed to freeze in that moment, all eyes fixed on the impending devastation. Ethan's heart thundered in his chest as he summoned every ounce of willpower he had left.
"I can't let them die. I have to do something… anything."
And as the battlefield braced for the next devastating blow, Ethan's spark began to grow.