Jeff, Dubba, and Pharker were back to back, surrounded by the demonic warriors. Their weapons were ready to defend, but the attack was slow to come.
Demonlord approached them.
“You fight well for humans. Which one of you is the bravest though? I will give you a chance to survive and to save your friends. Any of you fights and wins against me, and I will let all three of you walk away.”
“You’re not human. You can’t be defeated,” Dubba whispered.
Demonlord’s mouth twitched, lifting a corner into a resemblance of a smile. “What choice is there?”
Dubba ground his teeth and leaped, sword singing. Slash, stab, swing. Demonlord evaded every blow with ease but didn’t attack. They danced on and on until the night swallowed them.
Jeff looked back at Moffman, who was on the ground now, his hands covering his face, his body shuddering.
“Something is very, very wrong,” he said, at last, more to himself than anyone else.
“How the phark did you figure that out?”
“I mean. . .”
Demonlord appeared from the darkness. Alone.
“I’m afraid your friend lost his soul to Kira.”
Pharker screamed and ran at the black knight.
“No!” Jeff tried to grab him and pull him back but was too late.
Ag, Crager, and Cepera blocked his path, pushing him back, blocking most of his view.
“Pharker, don’t fight him!”
The answer was Pharker’s scream, then Demonlord’s voice.
“Your turn, my dearest prince. Your turn.”
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