The land lay dry and lifeless.
Black clouds hung heavy overhead, and a scorching wind swept across the plain, rustling the skeletons of trees long stripped of their leaves.
The lakes and rivers were clear as glass—yet faintly stained with the color of blood.
At the heart of this forsaken world stood the Demon King’s Castle.
Deep within its throne room, the Hero and the Demon Lord clashed in a desperate, final battle.
……
Only one strike remained.
The Hero knew it. Everything would be decided by the next blow.
His body was already a map of wounds—cuts, burns, bruises. Each throb of pain threatened to steal what little strength he had left. He could not afford another moment’s hesitation.
He gathered every last shred of power into his blade.
The sword began to shine with a pale blue light that shimmered and pulsed, growing ever brighter as his will poured into it.
Steadying his breath, he fixed his eyes on the Demon Lord.
She too was battered and bleeding.
Their powers were nearly equal.
And yet, he had never imagined that the one fated to be his ultimate enemy—the Demon Lord—would be a woman.
He had expected a towering monster, not a slender figure who looked no older than a young human woman in her twenties.
Her skin carried a faint purple tint, but aside from that, she could almost have passed for human.
That first moment of hesitation had been his mistake.
Once their battle began, her ferocity erased any doubt.
Behind that delicate form lay strength and magic that dwarfed his own.
This was no fragile maiden—this was the Demon Lord.
He tightened his grip and poured even more energy into his sword.
Realizing that the Hero was ready to wager everything on his final attack, the Demon Lord raised her obsidian blade, flooding it with power until it shone with an ominous black radiance.
The clash of their opposing energies sent tremors through the castle, rattling the very air.
The Hero glanced back.
His four companions lay collapsed upon the floor, alongside two of the Demon Lord’s fallen lieutenants.
They had somehow managed to defeat the lieutenants, but at a heavy price—they could no longer move.
He owed them everything. Without their help, he would never have made it this far.
Their sacrifice had given him this one chance to face the Demon Lord alone.
But if he released his next attack, her counterstrike could easily reach his wounded friends.
It might even take their lives.
He clenched his teeth.
Should he still strike?
“…Don’t… hold back because of us.”
The mage, forcing his battered body upright, spoke through ragged breaths.
“I’ll throw up a barrier… to protect everyone.”
Trowas—their rough-tongued, sharp-minded mage. Always grumbling, always complaining, yet when the moment came, he was the most dependable of them all.
If Trowas said he’d protect them, then he would.
The Hero’s hesitation melted away.
“Alright then! Demon Lord—this ends now!”
With a roar, he charged.
The Demon Lord surged forward to meet him.
“Uoooooo!!”
Their swords met in a thunderous explosion of sound—blue light and black darkness colliding.
Then, from the space between them, a small black sphere appeared—barely the size of a fist.
In an instant, it began to expand.
“What—!? My body’s being pulled in! Is this… your doing?”
The Hero struggled against the pull, muscles straining, but the gravitational force only grew.
The Demon Lord’s expression hardened.
“This isn’t my magic, Hero… We have to leave, now!”
They both tried to break free, but the sphere’s pull was relentless—dragging them closer, faster, stronger.
“I… can’t resist… anymore!”
Before either could escape, the darkness consumed them both.
And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the sphere vanished—leaving the throne room silent once more.
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