Jareth forced open the towering stone doors with a heavy groan, stepping into the final chamber of the tower. His breath hitched as he took in the sight before him. The room stretched impossibly high, the ceiling lost in darkness, illuminated only by faint, flickering red torches lining the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and old blood.
Rows of armored guardians stood on either side of the chamber, perfectly symmetrical, each holding a massive halberd. Their glowing eyes gleamed with faint malice, and though they remained motionless, Jareth could feel the weight of their gaze as they side-eyed him from their posts. Twenty in total—ten on each side—like silent sentinels awaiting their master's command.
At the far end of the room, seated atop a jagged black throne, was a figure radiating malevolent power. He leaned back lazily, his twin swords resting on the armrests. The weapons burned with an eerie, flickering demonic aura, as though they had minds of their own, craving destruction. His armor was a masterpiece of intimidation—black and crimson with sharp, intricate designs that seemed to pulse with life.
Jareth's grip tightened on his sword as the figure's deep, resonant voice echoed across the chamber.
"Welcome, oh mighty Dragon God. I welcome you to my humble domain. How long has it been since we last clashed? Two thousand years? Three? Or perhaps five thousand?"
The demon's voice was rich with mockery, his piercing crimson eyes locking onto Jareth. A wicked smirk spread across his face, his sharp fangs glinting in the torchlight.
"Zavren Arcanthius Nightfall." The name boomed in Jareth's mind, uttered by Bahamut with a venomous tone. "A General of the Abyss and the right hand of one of the Demon Kings. Be on your guard."
Jareth's lips curled in distaste. "Clashed? That's an interesting choice of words."
Bahamut's voice joined his, audible now through Jareth's mouth, but laced with his divine disgust.
"Clashed? Since when was toying with a child called clashing? Zavren, do not flatter yourself. If the Demon Gods hadn't forged these cursed towers with their combined powers, I could have crushed you with a single claw."
Zavren chuckled, his laughter dripping with contempt. "Ah, yes. The mighty Dragon God, humbled by a mere 'child.' And yet, here you are, unable to face me without a mortal shield." His gaze drifted to Jareth. "Tell me, Dragon God, how does it feel to watch your champions fall, one by one? How many more must you send to their deaths before you realize it's futile?"
Bahamut's tone grew darker, rumbling with suppressed rage. "You speak as though you've won, Zavren. Do not think for a moment that your masters' tricks have diminished my fury. If not for the arrogance of the Gods' Union, we wouldn't be in this situation at all. And you wouldn't still be breathing."
Zavren leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his twin swords glowing brighter. "Ah, the Gods' Union… forever too proud, too divided to act when it mattered most. Tell me, Dragon God, do you regret it? The endless debates, the inaction, the… 'restraint.'" He sneered. "It must eat at you, knowing that your might wasn't enough to stop us. That even now, you're shackled to this mortal."
Jareth stepped forward, his voice steady despite the unease creeping through his veins. "Enough with the speeches. If you're so confident, get off that throne and fight me."
Zavren laughed again, the sound reverberating through the chamber like a sinister melody. "Oh, I like this one. Bold, isn't he? Very well, mortal. Let me see what you're made of."
He rose from his throne, and the air around him seemed to ripple with raw power. The twin swords in his hands ignited fully, the demonic flames casting long, jagged shadows across the room. Zavren's presence was overwhelming, suffocating even, but Jareth didn't waver.
"Jareth," Bahamut warned, "listen carefully. This place will sap my strength if you attempt to transform. You will be on your own against him. Zavren is strong—stronger than you've faced so far. He is slightly weaker than your God Form, but do not underestimate him. One wrong move, and you'll die."
Jareth nodded internally, his mind racing. "So I'm fighting someone who's close to my full power without being able to use it myself. Great."
"I will do what I can to guide you, but this battle is yours to win. Focus, and do not let his taunts distract you."
Zavren slowly descended the steps of his throne, his swords leaving trails of fiery arcs in the air. The guardians lining the hall remained still, their menacing presence a silent reminder of what could happen if Jareth faltered.
Jareth planted his feet firmly, his sword ready. "Bring it on."
Zavren smirked, his voice a low growl. "Let's see if you can survive long enough to make this interesting."
With a sudden burst of speed, Zavren closed the distance between them, his twin swords slashing through the air in a deadly arc. Jareth parried the first strike, the force sending a jolt through his arms, and sidestepped the second, feeling the heat of the demonic flames as they passed dangerously close.
The battle had begun, and the room erupted in a symphony of clashing steel and crackling fire.