Marc and Trystan’s movements became swift and fluid, as though fighting as one. They leveraged each other, for balance, strength, and protection. Trystan felt as though he could anticipate their next move. He felt their connection. Their bond. It grew stronger with each moment that passed.
More spells.
More arrows.
More sword strikes.
Neither was gaining the upper hand.
Morgaine stopped.
Marc and Trystan remained poised for her next move. Glancing over his shoulder, Trystan noticed Emrys was no longer where he had last seen him. He wondered where he was, hoping he was all right. Something in his gut told him he was.
“Enough of this!” Morgaine screeched. She pulled out the small wooden box Lôrît had provided her and read the inscription aloud.
“Death shall come to those who see. Demon lord, I summon thee. Thy portals I do open free. With this, my lord, the blackest key.”
After she spoke, the box in her hand transformed itself, creating an opening where there was none before. She reached inside and pulled out a charred, blackened object.
“No!” Trystan yelled.
Morgaine held the crystalized, burnt heart of an angel in her palm and squeezed her hand around it, crushing it into ashes and letting the remains fall to the ground.
From the ashes, a cloud of dark gray smoke formed. Marc backed away as the smoke expanded. When it was twice the height of Morgaine, it dispersed to reveal a hideous creature—one of pure evil.
The beast was massive and muscular. Few of its basic features were similar to a man’s—it had one head, two legs, and stood upright. But there, the similarities ended. The creature’s scaly skin was gray like ash, darker in some places, lighter in others. Red markings swirled on its arms and legs, glowing like burning embers. Its four massive arms ended in claws like that of a dragon. And where it would have feet, instead were enormous cloven hooves. It had a square jaw with menacing fangs. Its two eyes were cold and black as the darkest night.
The Demon Lord, Thraul now stood before them.
He let out a thunderous roar that boomed violently across the land.
The earth beneath their feet rumbled.
In the skies and on the ground surrounding them, an orange glow spread across and tens of dark portals of swirling smoke began to form. As soon as the doorways fully opened, demonic creatures started pouring through them.
The hellhounds came through first. The vicious, dog-like creatures the size of a small horse charged toward the soldiers and wolves defending the hill. Charred, hairless skin covered their dark orange bodies. Flames rose like a mane of hair from the tops of their heads and continued in a line down their back to the tips of their tails. Strong, muscular legs ended in razor sharp claws. Their teeth were jagged and sharp, and their eyes glowed an eerie red.
After the hellhounds, creatures of all kinds came through the portals, and they came through fast. With no hesitation, they began their deadly assault. Mischievous little devils with scaly skin and glowing green eyes flew around. They swooped down, picked up large rocks, and dropped them on the humans and elves. Others picked up the men and women themselves, carried them to extreme heights, and dropped them to their deaths onto the soldiers below.
Some of the creatures looked much like the demon lord himself, only smaller. They carried large swords and heavy axes. With one swipe, they felled several warriors. Their crude, blunt weapons ripped flesh and bone away from the bodies of humans and elves alike.
Men and women cried out in pain.
Still, they fought back.
King Locryn rallied his soldiers and fought alongside them.
Elves ripped from the shadows by hellhounds succumbed to the curse of the demons’ bites. Those that did not perish right away writhed in pain, silently pleading for death and fighting until they could fight no more. The wolves viciously defended the elves. They sunk their teeth into the hounds and dragged them into the shadow world, separating their cursed spirits from their bodies and leaving nothing but a soulless carcass on the battlefield.
Some of the elves, including Teleri, tended the fallen. White and purple swirls of light bloomed over the bodies of the injured as the elves moved from soldier to soldier, human to elf to wolf. Their elemental magic healed some, but those bitten by hellhounds could not be saved. The healers ended their suffering as painlessly and as quickly as possible with an imbued, silver dagger to the heart.
Plague dragons crossed over from the demon realm to the earth. Their blackened, scaly skin oozed with decay. They flew through the darkened sky, spitting fire in every direction. One fiery blast from the dragon’s mouth was hotter than molten rock, and instantly melted skin from bone. The smell of burning flesh and ash filled the air as fire fell from the sky.
Collective, thunderous screeches and roars rocked the skies as several hundred more dragons flew in from above the patches of clouds with riders on their backs. Silver scales shimmered gloriously in the orange hue under late morning sun. The dark clouds glistened as they passed through them.
Trystan expected the riders on their backs to be just as regal as the dragons they rode, but they weren’t. They looked as much like the humans they protected.
A small bit of relief poured through Trystan.
