Back on the main battlefield, the clash between the Knight of the Sun and the demon of fire and flame was reaching its crescendo. The air shimmered and warped from the immense heat, the very ground beginning to melt and fuse into glass.
Gawain stood at the center of a solar furnace, his armor glowing cherry-red, yet he seemed unaffected by the infernal heat. The blessing of the King of the Sun and the innate power of Galatine made him a living embodiment of solar might, a creature of light and heat that was in its element.
Across from him, Thog was a raging inferno, a demon of immense power and cruelty. His skin was like blackened iron, cracked and glowing with molten lava, and his eyes burned with the fires of a thousand consumed stars. He was a being of pure, unadulterated rage, a force of nature in its own right.
"I will tear you limb from limb, little knight!" the demon roared, swinging a clawed hand that was engulfed in hellfire.
Gawain met the attack with his sword, the clash of their two powers creating a blinding flash of light and a shockwave that sent demons and knights alike flying. The two were evenly matched, a stalemate of fire and sun.
But then, Mordred rejoined the fray, her armor still smoking from the demon's earlier attack, but her spirit unbroken. "Don't forget about me!" she yelled, lunging forward, her sword a blur of motion as she aimed for the demon's back.
Thog was forced to divide his attention, a mistake that Gawain was quick to exploit. He swung Galatine in a wide arc, a wave of solar energy that caught the demon off balance, sending him staggering back.
"Now, Mordred!" Gawain yelled, his sword held high, gathering power for another attack.
Mordred didn't need to be told twice. She lunged, her sword a silver streak in the inferno, aiming for the demon's heart.
But even as they pressed their attack, they could feel the battle shifting. The demons, who had been fighting with a mindless ferocity, were now starting to become more organized, more strategic. It was as if a new intelligence was guiding them, a cold, calculating mind that was turning the tide in their favor.
"That would be D'Spayre's work," Sir Lamorak said, his voice grim as he fought alongside the others. "He's not a fighter like the others. He's a corrupter. He'll turn our own strengths against us, feed on our doubts, and turn this battle into a war of attrition that we are destined to lose."
And indeed, it seemed to be working. The knights were still fighting with a valor that was beyond reproach, but the sheer number of demons was simply overwhelming. The holy ground that Galahad had created was still a powerful asset, but the demons were slowly corrupting it.
Bit by bit, their death, their blood, and essence seeped into it and pushed it back bit by bit, slowly taking away the rare advantage we had now that it no longer had the support of Galahad's Noble Phantasm.
But then, a new sound joined the cacophony of battle. It was a sorrowful melody, a tune that seemed to speak of loss and regret, but also of a stubborn, unwavering hope.
It was Tristan, his fingers dancing across the strings of his bow-harp, a new song filling the air. It was not a song of glory or of battle, but of remembrance, of the very things they were fighting for.
The song seemed to have a strange effect on the demons. They faltered, their movements becoming less coordinated, their attacks less ferocious. It was as if the song was reminding them of something they had forgotten, a memory of a life before their eternal servitude, a glimmer of the souls they had once been.
"Keep playing, Tristan!" Lamorak yelled, a renewed fire in his eyes. "Your song is a weapon!"
Tristan didn't respond, his fingers continuing to dance across the strings, the melody weaving its way through the chaos of battle, a beacon of light in the darkness.
Yet, even as the demons faltered, a new presence began to make itself felt. It was not a presence of power, or of rage, or of fear. It was a presence of sorrow, of despair, of a deep, abiding sadness that seemed to seep into the very soul.
Lamorak could feel it, a coldness that had nothing to do with the temperature, a weight on his spirit that seemed to sap the strength from his limbs. He had felt this before, a long, long time ago, a memory he had tried to bury, a pain he had tried to forget.
Yet, no sooner had the feeling started to settle in his bones than his king placed a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, my knight, this is no time to dwell on the past," I said calmly.
He flinched slightly at my touch, but then he seemed to straighten up, the despair that had been creeping into his heart receding. He looked at me, a question in his eyes.
"I know," I said, my gaze fixed on the swirling vortex of the Plains of Despair, the source of the sorrow that was permeating the battlefield. "I know what you feel, what you remember. But we cannot let it break us. We must be strong. For the sake of those who cannot."
Lamorak took a deep breath, the weight of my words settling on him. He nodded, a look of grim determination on his face. "As you command, my King."
I could see the effect of my words, the power that I held over my knights, the trust that they had in me. It was a heavy burden, but one I was willing to bear.
And then, from the swirling vortex of the Plains of Despair, a figure emerged. It was not a creature of shadow or of fire, but of a more subtle, more insidious darkness.
It was a tall, gaunt being, its form draped in tattered robes that seemed to be woven from pure despair. Its face was a mask of sorrow, its eyes hollow voids that seemed to absorb all light, all hope.
As I looked closer, I could see that the tattered robes were made of screaming souls, countless faces screaming silently in despair. And while the demons from Mephisto and Satannish's hells were hot and burning, causing a haze to rise in the air from their infernal heat,
D'Spayre was cold, cold and damp, sucking light and heat from the very world around him.
As he slowly drifted onto the battlefield, a wave of depression spread out from him; even the other demons seemed affected by his presence, yet they didn't falter for long. No sooner had they slowed from the despair than they accepted it.
Throwing themselves against my army of Enforcement Knights in a suicidal charge, driven by despair to take their enemies with them, focusing fully on offence rather than defence. They wanted to die.
"What is that?" Tristan said, not stopping his song, but now, his tune was slower, more sorrowful.
Gawain, even as he fought a grand battle against the great demon, Thog, spared a glance in the direction of the new arrival, a look of grim recognition on his face. "D'Spayre," he said, the name a curse on his lips. "The corrupter. The demon of despair."
Mordred, on the other hand, seemed to be immune to the demon's influence, her rage and defiance a shield against the sorrow. "Another one?" she yelled, a look of annoyance on her face. "How many of these guys are there? Can't they just send them all at once and get it over with?"
I didn't bother answering Mordred. My gaze was fixed on D'Spayre. I hadn't expected him to act now; I assumed he would sit back, wait while the others took the field, sowing despair back home.
No sooner had the thought passed through my head before my eyes opened wide in realization. "Tristan, Gawain, Lamorak! You three handle D'Spayre, and remember, even the darkest of places will be illuminated by the sun!" I shouted, my voice filled with divine authority.
My words and the power within them broke the spell D'Spayre was trying to weave, though parts of his shadow had managed to sneak past us and out into Earth. I could only hope that what small defences the sorcerers of the Order of the Mystic Arts had put up would be enough to hold them back.
The new mission command was a surprise to all three; the battle between Gawain and the demon general, Thog, had been a grand duel, one that had reached a fever pitch.
To break away now would mean that Gawain's grand duel would be left unfinished, that the great demon could then focus on my army, causing countless deaths. That was a massive problem, especially when Gawain and Mordred were the only two currently able to fight against the demon on somewhat equal footing.
But my command was absolute.
"As you command," Gawain said, a hint of reluctance in his voice.
He disengaged from the fight, a final, blinding flash of light from Galatine forcing the demon lord back, giving him the opening he needed to retreat.
"Hey, where are you going?!" the demon roared, a look of fury on his face. "The battle is not over!"
"It is for me," Gawain said, a smirk on his face. "I have a new target. One that is more deserving of my attention."
He turned and ran, leaving Mordred to face the demon lord alone.
"Hey! Don't leave me to deal with this big oaf alone!" she yelled, a look of annoyance on her face.
First, he had interrupted her duel, butting into the fight, and as soon as a bigger target came, he suddenly wasn't interested anymore? She felt like she was left with the scraps.
That was naturally completely ignoring the fact that it was my order, but Mordred was always good at ignoring orders.
She was not known as the Knight of Rebellion for nothing.
Thog roared angrily as he tried once more to bat Mordred aside so he could fight Gawain. Mordred didn't take well to that, and let out a roar of her own as she stopped playing around, deep red lightning flashing around her body as she activated her Mana Burst.
"Don't fuck with me!" she roared as she swung Clarent hard through the air, the blade tiny compared to the massive body of Thog, but she was fast, and far stronger than her size would suggest.
The sword, crackling with energy, struck the demon's leg, cleaving through the superheated iron-flesh and causing a spray of what looked like magma. The demon lord let out a bellow of pain and fury, stumbling back, his leg now a mangled stump.
"Insolent whelp!" he roared, his anger now palpable, the air around him crackling with energy.
"I will show you what happens to those who dare to defy me!" He lunged forward, his massive form moving with a speed that belied his size, his good leg propelling him forward.
Mordred met the charge, her sword held high, her body a blur of motion as she sidestepped the demon's clumsy attack, her blade finding purchase in the demon's side, once again cutting through the demon's iron-like skin.
She had started to fight with a focused intensity she had not shown before; the duel with the demon was no longer a game, but a battle to the death.
Meanwhile, Gawain had already joined up with Tristan and Lamorak, the three of them moving towards the source of the despair, the demon lord D'Spayre.
"You know, for a demon of despair, he is not very impressive looking," Gawain said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"He is a corrupter, not a warrior," Lamorak said, a grim determination on his face. "He will not face us in a direct confrontation. He will try to turn our own strengths against us, feed on our doubts, and break us from within."
Tristan didn't say anything. He just continued to play, his fingers moving across the strings of his bow-harp, the melody now more upbeat, a defiant, hopeful tune that seemed to push back against the despair that was seeping into the very soul of the battlefield.
(End of chapter)
Support me at patreon.com/unknownfate - for the opportunity to read up to 30 chapters ahead.