The futile heroics of the Templar cavalry met the bone-crunching snap of the Serpent Dragon’s scaly tail, scattering a dismembered wave of white across the battlefield. Airborne shrapnel rained chaos upon Sir Bradfrey’s retreating soldiers, while those too slow to flee were caught and crushed, discarded like chaff in the wind.


    The Serpent Dragon consumed and destroyed with impunity. Even Anneliese’s magical projectiles couldn’t halt the beast’s rampage. Her implosive attacks left only fleeting wounds on its massive form, which healed instantly, birthing new serpentine creatures in their place.


    “Id is a transient creature, belonging to all realms. Our magic is useless against it,” Lascivious said, his ethereal projection drifting across the battlefield—a second pair of eyes watching Anneliese’s back.


    The blind monks unleashed kinetic waves, scattering archers and foot soldiers alike. Armored knights found their steel insufficient against the concussive force of the monks’ bare-handed strikes. Nobles, peasants, and hardened swordsmen alike fell before their wrath, even behind the sanctuary of spear walls.


    When Sir Bradfrey’s banner fell and the black knights began to retreat, Gideon immediately ordered a withdrawal to the encampment walls. The phalanx of ghostly warriors dissolved, allowing the fleeing soldiers to pass through. Pagan healers waited on the other side, offering aid without judgement. There was no time for quarrels or prejudice as religion and magic blurred in the fight for survival.


    “Get down!” Lascivious shouted. A knight tackled Gideon, narrowly saving him from an orb of kinetic energy aimed at Anneliese.


    Through the dense haze of dust, the perpetrator emerged—a dark silhouette of menace, its eyes burning red. Another volley of destructive orbs tore through the air, passing harmlessly through Anneliese’s transient form.


    “Go! I’ll hold them off,” Anneliese ordered. Igniting her wizard state, she teleported unpredictably, drawing the monk’s attention away from the retreating soldiers.


    The red-eyed monk stood firm, its jaw unhinging as an endless chorus of screams tore across the plateau. The sound clung to Anneliese as she flickered between realms, the voices somehow anticipating her arrival before she could fully adjust to each new plane.


    The monk waited. Its hands traced rigid patterns in the air, conjuring magical projectiles in preparation for her reappearance.


    Anneliese struck from behind, unleashing a volley of implosive orbs. Blinking rapidly between positions, she hurled debris across the battlefield in a chaotic storm. The monk raised its protective field just in time, barely deflecting the onslaught. Yet the orbs didn’t explode. Instead, they clung to the field, their clear, transparent forms corrupted by black, vein-like growths.


    The monk reached out, gripping the thick, purplish-gray substance as it slithered down its arm like a living thing. The corrosive slime consumed the monk’s limbs, crawling across its body until its heavy white robe and stained headband crumpled lifelessly to the ground.


    “What just happened?” Anneliese muttered, the echoes of the monk’s screams still ringing in her mind. A cold shadow prickled at her senses.


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    “Whatever you do, don’t enter the magical realm,” Lascivious warned.


    “Then what am I meant to do?” she snapped.


    “The red-eyed Gutian is here. No, wait...” Lascivious trailed off, his shock palpable as he and Anneliese turned their sights to Id.


    The Serpent Dragon’s eyes glowed a devilish red. Its throat bulged grotesquely before spewing black tar, which erupted into purplish flames on impact. The toxic explosions spread like wildfire, the affected ground sizzling into a wasteland of corrosive destruction. The ancient beast unfurled its massive wings, casting a shadow over the battlefield as it turned its gaze skyward.


    “We can still wait it out,” Lascivious muttered with a hollow laugh, disbelief dripping from his words as the monstrous Id rose higher.


    “I haven’t got a hundred years,” Anneliese shot back, her voice brittle with anger.


    “Then relinquish control. Only I can stop Id,” Lascivious urged. But her glare cut him off before he could say more.


    Where’s Bjarke? The thought pulsed through her mind as she scanned the carnage, searching for the telltale green glow of his axe.


    The battlefield lay eerily still, strewn with the lifeless. Then—a flicker of green, barely visible between the wings of a faltering Pegasus spiraling toward the earth.


    The majestic creature hit the ground in a bone-jarring crash. At the last second, Bjarke flung himself free, tumbling across the grass before slamming onto his knees. Groaning through his pain, he staggered to his feet, his body broken in all but spirit.


    The Pegasus shuddered, its form unraveling in a reverse metamorphosis, giving way to Zizrum, Weddle, and two other pagan recruits, all sprawled in a disheveled heap.


    “Let’s never... never do that again,” Weddle groaned, flailing like an overturned turtle.


    The legendary demon slayer knelt, his head bowed in exhaustion, his battle-axe planted firmly in the ground beside him. The bitter taste of iron lingered in his mouth, leaving him unsure if it came from his illusionary tongue or something deeper, more terminal. But at the sight of Anneliese, he tore the remnants of his shredded shirt, tying his one good hand to the hilt of his axe. With a groan of determination, he rose and reported for duty one last time.


    “I can get you up there,” Anneliese offered.


    “I know,” Bjarke rasped, his offhanded thumb probing his ribs as he assessed the damage.


    “But I can’t promise I’ll catch you or that it’ll be a clean drop.”


    “I know.” Bjarke’s crooked jaw twisted into a faint, tear-lined smile.


    “We’ll find you again, I promise,” Anneliese said, her voice wavering as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Her gaze lingered on the axe, quelling any urge to embrace her conflicted savior.


    “Treat’em well,” Bjarke said. “Like Coble.”


    He looked to the sky, offering silent thanks to those who had seen the boy, not the monster, and to the oath he had yet to break.


    Darkness enveloped him as the cold wind of the plateau gave way to the stale air of pagan tunnels. The ground shifted beneath his feet, and then gravity released its hold. Disoriented by the sudden teleportation, Bjarke closed his eyes and braced himself until the blinding warmth of sunlight shattered the void.


    He was falling. The tickle in his stomach rose to his throat as the clouds parted, as if by divine will, to form an arrow across the sky. Below, a thousand feet away, the Serpent Dragon carved a trail of purple ruin. Its lashing tail and colossal wings formed the crosshairs of Bjarke’s freefall.


    Time slowed. What had been a distant blur sharpened into the fine details of ridges and scales, the monstrous body filling his vision. It should have been an easy strike—perfect. But the Serpent Dragon veered sharply to the right, and Bjarke’s axe found nothing but air.


    Gone. Everything—hope, despair, fear, and failure—folded into a hollow ache. Anneliese’s implosive orbs rumbled through the sky like distant thunder, but Bjarke paid them no mind. He closed his eyes once more, surrendering to the peace his ancient demon had always denied him, forgiving the world he did not belong to but had given everything to protect.