AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, this is going to be the start of an interesting little collaboration we have cooked up. Partially inspired by the One Bad Day one-shots DC's currently doing with several Batman villains, four of us, the two of us as well as Writer of the Storm and another friend of ours will each write two Spotlights centered around a villain in the Infinity Verse, telling a tale of them when they were at their most devious and committing the most diabolical of deeds. Up first is the first of Writer of the Storm's two stories, and again, a special thank you to him as always.
DISCLAIMER: I own absolutely none of the properties you will see here. All rights go to their respective owners.
Infinity Verse Spotlights-Faces of Darkness
Demona: Blood Bonds
It was another typical late afternoon in Manhattan. A seemingly never-ending sea of pedestrians was out and about, walking anywhere and everywhere. Home, their jobs, somewhere to get food and drinks, or possibly somewhere for some entertainment to enjoy the free day their schedules afforded them. Either way, it was not just the people filling up the sidewalks who had places to be. So did those in the seats of an equally big wave of motor vehicles and some bikes, scooters, rollerblades, and skateboards here and there.
Amongst those vehicles were public transportation buses that would spend all morning, afternoon, and half the night picking up and dropping off loads of civilians to wherever they needed or wanted to be that particular day. Typically, because they were right in the center of New York City, there would be a good several people at each stop. Only this day, there was a noticeable exception, a change not impossible but also unexpected for the Big Apple. A public bus pulled up to a stop with only a single awaiting passenger standing by.
It was a woman, a glaringly beautiful one far as the driver and several riders could tell. The woman had her long red hair pulled back in a ponytail. Also, she wore a white dress shirt with a red business jacket and skirt, with matching red heels, and carried a violet purse. Whoever this woman was, the driver and those passengers who noticed her felt the dire need to know her better.
They would have their chance when the bus pulled to a stop alongside the designated spot at the curb before the doors opened. Without hesitation, the woman stepped on board, offering the driver a kind, lovely smile as she did so. His heart was sent all a flutter. Despite being married for twenty years, the round, gray-mustached, fifty-one-year-old was entranced.
"Good afternoon to you, ma'am," the driver said, albeit in a nervous voice. "Where is it we're going today?"
The lady giggled a bit as she reached into her purse, seemingly for fare or a bus pass. "Hell," she answered,
When this woman pulled her hand out of her purse, she held the last thing anyone would expect: a pistol with a silencer attached to it. The driver only had time to gasp as the woman pointed her revealed weapon and fired a round into the middle of his forehead. As the driver's lifeless form fell to the floor, everyone at the front of the bus started to scream, alerting everyone else that there was a situation in progress. However, it would only escalate further. In part because of all the panic.
"Silence!" the woman exclaimed loudly as she turned back towards the passenger. "Everyone down on the ground, now! Hands on your heads!"
After making sure all the doors on the bus were shut, she continuously repeated her order and started making her way down the bus. As people saw the gun she was holding, most complied, while others panicked, tried to escape, or tried to stop the woman. Half of those defiant hostages would meet their end at her weapon, making the other half fall in line with her orders.
Once she was at the back of the bus, the woman pulled her purse off her and held it out. "Phone in the bag. Now!"
"Please, not my phone!" a teenage girl begged. "Please, I-"
She was soon silenced by a shot to the head, causing shudders of fear.
"You bitch!" a teenage African American boy shouted as he charged the woman.
He met a similar death, making everyone scream yet again.
"Does anyone else wish to defy me? Or perhaps also play hero... and lose?"
No such contenders came, for as the woman walked by and bent down, anyone nearby gave up their phone as demanded. Once she had them all, the woman took the driver's seat.
"Make sure you stay where you are," the woman ordered. "It's going to be a bumpy ride."
With a sinister laugh, the woman drove the bus ahead as the terrified civilians on board stayed on the floor, crying and muttering fearfully. It was only a minute or two later that the lady spoke again, this time in a foreign dialect none of the others on the bus could understand. Because they were all down with their heads lowered, they never saw her eyes start to glow red. The same colored aura appeared around the outside of the bus. Then, suddenly the vehicle disappeared soon after in a flash of light.
"And police continue to be baffled by the sudden disappearance of the public transportation bus yesterday," the reporter on the TV said. "Although the people of Manhattan have said that they've come to expect this. One person on the street we spoke to said, quote, 'Why should we expect any less? With all the monsters, mutants, and magic creatures running around the world right now, we should be used to this by now. Especially the fact that the police are powerless to do anything about it.' Unquote.
"Police don't take these statements lightly, insisting they're doing everything they can in their power and are taking the situation very seriously. Unlike in past cases, they're seriously looking into phone video the person who made it claims is legitimate. As you can see here, it appears to show the bus glowing before it seems to fade out of existence. For years now, the city of New York has been experiencing occurrences that many believe should not be possible or they find to be incredible. Only now, it seems the impossible is just another part of everyday life."
Before the reporter could say anything else, Macbeth turned off the television and stood up out of his recliner. The more than wealthy, immortal man had woken up and showered only an hour and a half ago. Now he stood in his barely lit study, brooding in silence as he thought of how supernatural and powerful forces had been at play long before the modern age came into being. He was living proof that such things were possible.
The man himself had lived for over a thousand years because of a magical pact that bound his immortal life with that of a being who had come to be his greatest enemy. Once the king of Scotland, forces came into play that usurped Macbeth from his throne, including the betrayal at the hands of his archnemesis, who was at one time a close friend. Since then, many things occurred regarding Macbeth specifically. His life was, at least partially, made the subject of a famous play by legendary playwright William Shakespeare. He had carved out an identity for himself in the modern world as Lennox Macduff, a wealthy businessman and scholar of medieval times, collecting trinkets and artifacts of all sorts from the era.
More importantly to Macbeth, he had honed his skill over the centuries as a warrior. They had been elevated to legendary status in the name of hunting down and slaying she who betrayed him. It was only by one destroying the other that both would die. Macbeth continued his hunt for centuries knowing full well this was the case and even wishing for said outcome. This bitter struggle brought him into conflict with many strange and supernatural forces, including a clan of Gargoyles that had made their home in Manhattan and even with Arthur Pendragon himself. He was even involved in a war that took place on the mystical plain of Avalon, albeit against his will.
At the moment, Macbeth was dressed in an all-black business suit. The grizzled, older-looking but more than physically fit man hung his head as he brooded in silence. So many things ran through his head. The circumstances of his father's death. His friendship with the being who would ultimately be his undoing as king. Learning his son was slain soon after he was forced to go into hiding. All this and so much more was on Macbeth's mind and most likely would continue to haunt him until he got his ultimate reprieve.
"Standing alone in the dark, Macbeth?"
Macbeth turned quickly, for he knew who this voice belonged to. "You," the immortal king said in a whispery yet growling voice.
"I would have thought you'd find better things to do with your time after a thousand years. Something not so... boring."
Out from the shadows and into the light stepped a familiar form, yet one Macbeth was not quite as familiar with, comparatively speaking, despite briefly being married to her in it. "Miss me, mon cheri?"
"Demona," Macbeth said before gritting his teeth in rage.
"In the flesh," Demona said. "Flesh, I believe you really seemed to enjoy and wanted to get to know better."
While born a gargoyle, she was currently human, for it was the day, and as decreed by the elven being, Puck, this is how it would be. At least until sunset, when Demona would once again take on her true appearance, allowing her to stalk the night. However, Macbeth did not intend to give her the chance.
"Trecherous she-demon! You've mocked me with your words and your presence for the last time! Whatever it is you came here to do will be snuffed out with your slaying at long last!"
Macbeth ran at Demona and went for a jumping side kick but only met free air, for the gargoyle-born woman dodged to the side and slid away. Once Macbeth landed, he turned to Demona, his teeth gritted as he started throwing a series of punches.
"I'm not here to fight you!" Demona shouted as she dodged every blow thrown her way.
"Foolish to think anything less would happen when you're in my presence!" Macbeth said between punches. "I'll not stop until I'm finally rid of you and this life!"
"That's what I've come to offer!" Demona said as she jumped back.
Macbeth quickly ran to the wall and pressed against a small square section that sunk deeper into the overall structure. Then it slid open to reveal an electric stunner, one of Macbeth's signature weapons in the modern day.
"Don't try your trickery on me, monster," Macbeth said as he grabbed the gun and aimed it at his archenemy. "I know all your tricks by now. None will work on me!"
"It's not a trick, Macbeth!" Demona said in frustration. "Truly, I've come offering you a reprieve from life as you've known it for centuries. A reprieve I want for myself as well...But if you don't wish to believe me, then take your shot and rid us of this life."
Demona held her hands at her side and stretched her head upward despite closing her eyes. She made absolutely sure she was the perfect target for Macbeth, who was more than tempted to take her up on the offer. Still, despite his finger being more than ready to pull back on the trigger and every muscle tensing up to its maximum capacity, Macbeth found himself unable to take the shot. The displaced king of Scotland cursed himself silently in his head, but as much as he hated to admit it, Demona had caught his curiosity. He had to know just what the woman he hated for so long meant.
"State your business," Macbeth said.
At that, Demona looked forth at the proud Scotsman as she put her arms down. "You and I have been trapped together by fate for centuries. Or at least I say fate, but it's truly a curse from a magic pact we were backed into making. Back when we were foolish enough to think we could be allies...or friends. You nearly betrayed me and my clan, so I betrayed you fi-"
"I was never going to betray you!" Macbeth shouted.
Demona glared on for a minute before she resumed speaking. "Anyway, fate set us apart emotionally but bound us together in means unnatural to life as we know it. We feel any pain each other feels, especially when we're close together. The only way we could hope to have any semblance of relief is for one of us to slay the other, finally ending our torment."
"You're not telling me anything I don't already know. Do you just like to hear the sound of your own voice?"
Demona's glare intensified before she went on. "But what if I told you that was no longer so?"
Macbeth raised a brow at that. "What do you mean?"
The vixen smiled in satisfaction from having caught her immortal foe's attention. "I've been dabbling in magic and mysticism for as long as I can remember. Long have I used it as a way to gain advantages in all my ventures and conquests. Such tactics have met with...varying results, let's say."
"Get on with it, monster. You try my patience," Macbeth said in agitation.
"What I'm trying to say," Demona responded at first through clenched teeth, "is that in my studies of the mystic arts, I've found a spell that is guaranteed to remove our cursed link to each other."
"What?" Macbeth let out in surprise. "You mean to tell me that... w- we..."
"We'd be separated. Our magic bonds shattered," Demona said. "I would no longer feel your pain, and you would not feel mine. Best of all, we would not need to slay one another to meet our final demise."
Macbeth's eyes trembled with emotion. "You mean...I could..."
"Be reunited with your loved ones just as I could my clan," Demona affirmed. "All it would require is us meeting at a specific time and giving a drop of our blood."
"Mere child's play," Macbeth said. "Why, a drop of blood is nothing. It's like...Wait a moment. How can I be sure you're telling me the truth? How do I know you're not just trying to deceive me again? That this isn't a trap?"
"What other choice do you have, uncrowned king?" Demona countered. "For so long, you've wished to be rid of me and able to move on to the next realm. I've despised you for centuries and wanted you gone. We now both have a chance to get what we want. Will you honestly let the past make you decide to throw away your desired future?"
Macbeth said nothing but instead quietly contemplated what his oldest enemy had told him. On one hand, he did not trust Demona in the slightest, especially given how deceitful she had been to him in the past. However, the lure of finally being free of Demona was more than appealing to him as well. What he had wanted for so long was seemingly served to him on a platter in more ways than one.
Even if Demona was lying and this was some kind of trap, he had absolute confidence in his ability to overcome what she had to throw at him. Then he would be able to kill her anyway. So, either way, the scenario presented an opportunity the uncrowned king of Scotland felt deep down he could not pass up. Having thought it over, Macbeth soon came to his ultimate decision.
"Very well, Demona," Macbeth said. "What all do you want me to do?"
Demona's eyes seemed to light up upon Macbeth's agreement to her proposal. "Meet me on Overlook Mountain at the hotel ruins around midnight tonight when the blood moon is full and brightest. Come alone, no weapons."
Macbeth scoffed. "You think me a fool, beast witch. I'll come alone just fine, but I'll be dammed if I come unarmed around the likes of you."
"Very well," Demona said hesitantly with frustration. "Bring your toys if they make you feel more...secure."
With that, Demona began to walk away as Macbeth watched her, wondering if he was making a mistake not finishing her off right then and there. 'I'll have another chance tonight,' Macbeth thought to himself. 'One way or another, this will end."
A bulb of light moving through the night sky signaled Macbeth's final approach to the spot Demona had told him to meet her on Overlook Mountain. He flew in on a standing hover scooter he had designed specifically for hunting beasts that can take to the air, such as gargoyles. Besides the light from his achievement of ingenuity, Macbeth's path was also illuminated that night by a bit of a red hue that originated from the blood moon. Macbeth only stole one quick glance at it before lowering down for a landing.
The hover scooter touched down in the former hotel's courtyard near a set of steps that would take whoever walked them up to the entrance of the Overlook Mountain House. Or rather, what was left of the decrepit, hollowed-out structure. Being the first hotel built on the mountain, it was designed and built in 1833 due to an interest in tourism increasing around the area. However, constant fire damage and lack of a steady rail system led to the eventual abandonment of the hotel, which had since lost its roof and the stability of the floors above ground level.
Macbeth looked up the steps for a moment before turning and scanning around the courtyard he stood in. His observations were interrupted when a shadow fell upon him, followed by a very familiar, banshee-like call. At this, the misplaced king of Scotland glowered all the more before he turned back to the steps. Looking up, he spotted a familiar silhouette standing in the doorless entryway to the partially destroyed Mountain House. The red hue of the moon backlit the gargoyle, making her even more of an astounding sight.
"You came," Demona said.
"I did," Macbeth said. "Any chance to be rid of you is worth the risk."
"The feeling is mutual," Demona said bitterly. "Come, I've already made necessary preparations for the blood ceremony."
Macbeth wanted so much to say something but ultimately decided against it. Instead, reluctant as he was, the immortal Scot began to ascend the steps toward his most hated adversary. About two-thirds of the way up, he saw Demona turn her back to him and walk into the hollowed-out remnants of the Overlook Mountain House. Glowering in aggravation, Macbeth double-timed his steps so he would not lose sight of this beast he still did not fully trust.
Demona led Macbeth, who had caught up with her, to a particular spot in the hotel. Once there, he saw a hole in the floor, one of many. This one seemed different, far more intentional, as if it was actually built into the hotel like it was supposed to be there.
"What's this?" Macbeth asked.
Demona merely waved for her enemy to follow before walking down a set of steps into the hole. While this annoyed Macbeth, he still followed the gargoyle woman down into what was revealed to be a passageway. The corridor-like cavern was partially illuminated by a lit torch hanging off the side of the wall. Demona grabbed the torch and led Macbeth down the passage. It was about eight feet tall and four feet wide and seemed like a very smooth walk-through. During the descent, Demona would wrap her wings around her shoulders, making them hang down and resemble a cape.
"There was a secret society that would meet at this location," Demona finally explained. "They'd pay the owner under the table to make these underground expansions."
"How far do they go?" Macbeth said.
"Far enough for us not to be disturbed," Demona answered.
The king of Scotland did not appreciate the vagueness of the reply and briefly contemplated pulling out his electric stunner. Instead of doing so, however, Macbeth followed Demona until their path brought them to four different possible continuations. Demona would point to the second walkway on the right.
"This way," the red-haired gargoyle instructed.
Macbeth continued to hesitantly follow his rival until their path finally ended in a larger cavern. Here, a roaring fire was burning with a copper frutera bowl propped up on a stand in front of it. Looking around, Macbeth took notice of two more openings, one on either side.
"This is where the ceremony is to be performed," Demona explained.
"I never would have guessed," Macbeth replied snidely.
"Spare me your sarcasm, Macbeth!" Demona exclaimed in frustration. "Let us just get on with this so we can finally be rid of each other!"
"Very well," Macbeth said.
The two hateful enemies approached the bowl, after which Demona pulled out a small knife. She extended her free hand and quickly slit her palm, not releasing even the tiniest gasp of pain. Demona then extended the knife to Macbeth, who was taking off his glove when he looked down into the propped-up bowl. Instantly, he noticed something was off. For it looked as though there was already blood in the frutera. Not just that, but it looked like there was quite a lot of crimson plasma within. Further inspection revealed Demona was only just turning her hand to make the blood from her wound ooze into the bowl, joining the rest of the red liquid.
"Demona-"
"All the spell needs is your blood and my incantation before I throw the collected blood into the fire. Then, the curse bonding us together shall be broken, at last."
"Demona," Macbeth said more firmly. "Where did all that other blood come from?"
"What other blood?" Demona asked.
"Do not feign ignorance to me, monster," Macbeth said before pointing down into the bowl. "Most of that blood was already there when we got here, and I certainly know it all did not come from you."
"What does it matter?" Demona asked. "We're only steps away from the salvation that will separate us. Do not let yourself get sidetracked by silly questions!"
"I don't consider inquiring about the origin of so much blood silly in the slightest," Macbeth said.
Suddenly, something broke through the air. A noise that was faint and sounded farther away. Yet it was carried just well enough to be audible despite the crackling of the fire and the bickering of Macbeth and Demona. The immortal king of Scotland took notice instantly, for the voice seemed to be that of a child sobbing while shouting, "Help! Help!"
Macbeth grimaced angrily at Demona, enticing a grunt of irritation. Her eyes lit up in a crimson glow as she hissed like the most bloodthirsty of vampires before lunging at Macbeth while trying to drive the knife she held into his gut. Instantly Macbeth caught the wrist of his foe's blade-wielding hand and used Demona's own momentum to swing her around toward one of the cave walls. However, in the process, her tail whipped wildly and smacked into the stand the bowl stood on. This ended up knocking both down onto the ground, thus spilling the collected blood.
At the same time, Demona crashed against the wall as Macbeth intended, soliciting a grunt of pain from the gargoyle. Although, as she fell to the cave floor and wrapped her arms around her, Macbeth let out his own cry of pain while wrapping his arms around his body as well. The curse bonding them was still very much in effect, forcing both combatants to feel each other's agony. Nonetheless, Macbeth was still willing to put up with it so long as he took Demona with him.
That would have to wait, for Macbeth still wished to know the source of those crying shouts before. Especially since they sounded like the calls of a child.
"Where are you?" Macbeth shouted loudly, his voice echoing through the cavern.
"Help! I'm here! Down here!"
"Alright, I hear you! Hold on! I'm coming!"
"Oh, no, you don't!"
Macbeth turned to see Demona rushing at him with a fist pulled back. He only had time to raise his own hand before Demona was upon him, landing a successful strike to Macbeth's face. The force of the blow sent him flying back before crashing against the side of the cavern. Both combatants groaned in agony as they both rubbed the side of their faces while Demona dropped to the ground as Macbeth had previously.
"You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" Demona said after letting out a final groan. She turned to one of her oldest, most hateful enemies in utter hatred. "You couldn't just play along and let me do what I needed to do so I could finally be rid of you. No. Instead, you had to defy my greatest wish and play the hero."
"I'll not let any innocent outsiders suffer because of our personal turmoil, Demona," Macbeth grunted as he stood up. "You ought to know that by now."
"And you ought to know that there's no such thing as true innocence," Demona said while rising to her feet. "Even you, the high and mighty uncrowned king of Scotland, who wishes to be a noble hero, have committed heinous deeds for outcomes that were to your betterment."
"That was a long time ago, monster," Macbeth said. "You, on the other hand, have proven yourself rotten to the core time and again. Even further now because that was the voice of a child. Like a cradle robber in the night, you took them because your blackened soul propelled you, for you are an evil thing."
"Any more evil than the filthy race that damn near hunted my kind to extinction?" Demona shouted.
Her eyes lit up once again as she shrieked her unholy call before rushing at Macbeth. He dodged out of the way just as Demona's claws were about to shred right through the immortal warrior. As the gargoyle turned to face her opponent, Macbeth pulled out the electric stunner on his utility belt, hidden by the leather trench coat he wore. Macbeth took aim and opened fire on Demona, an electric bolt snaking out of the weapon and landing a successful hit on the demon-like fiend. Both combatants cried out as they felt the surge of electric energy passing through their persons, inflicting great agony upon them.
Demona dropped to her knees, but Macbeth miraculously managed to stumble to the side of the cave wall and use it to keep himself standing. Not only that, but Macbeth walked alongside the wall, following it until it took him to the mouth of the pathway he believed he had heard the child's voice coming from. Despite his legs feeling almost like jello, Macbeth forced himself to use them and run down the underground path. He was only going at half the speed he would usually be capable of, given his condition after the fight with Demona. Nonetheless, Macbeth hurried as fast as he physically could.
"Where are you?" Macbeth called out. "Call out! Let me hear your voice!"
"Help! Please!"
Macbeth went on as fizzling torches provided him just enough light to go on, not stopping until the path brought him to...a door? Yes, at the end of the path was a door. One that would have seemed at home in a fancy hotel or castle or the like if not for the toll time took on it. Nevertheless, Macbeth forced the door opened and stormed into the room beyond...And what he saw was an absolute horror show out of the darkest of nightmares.
"Dear God," Macbeth let out.
The room was illuminated by lit torches on the walls. There was a table in the middle of the room with several chairs around it. In those chairs and lying all around on the floor were the bodies of several different people. Or, more specifically, what was left of their corpses. Pools of blood, disemboweled pieces, and the barely held-together bodies of the deceased individuals were all over the place. The sight was utterly horrifying, even for someone as battle-hardened as Macbeth, for he had never seen such levels of depravity.
"Hey," a voice let out weakly. "Over here. H-Help...me. Please."
'The child!' Macbeth realized as he looked in the direction he heard the voice come from.
He was horrified further to see the form of a child shackled to the wall. His arms were outstretched at his sides as a result of his cuffs having no chains and being built directly into the wall. From what Macbeth could see, the boy looked to be around the age of eight or nine. But more than that, two things stuck out to Macbeth: The child's wrists were slit, blood was dripping from the open wounds...and the fact that this child somehow, someway, seemed to look like a bear.
'A Beastman?' Macbeth's thoughts wondered as he ran over to the child. "You're gonna be alright, laddie. I promise," Macbeth assured.
The immortal Scotsman grabbed a loose stone from the wall and started slamming it into the shackle around the boy's right wrist until it eventually came undone. Macbeth was forced to grab another stone, for the one he had been using was smashed apart by the blunt force it was put through.
"Macbeth!" Demona's voice screamed out.
The last cuff broke just as the shadow of a gargoyle fell upon Macbeth and the Beastman child. He grabbed the boy and rolled out of the way. Demona managed to adjust herself and land on all fours along the side of the wall. As the gargoyle righted herself on the ground, Macbeth kicked up his legs, the momentum carrying him off the bloody corpse he had fallen upon.
"Demona, what have you done?!" Macbeth asked while still carrying the child in his arms.
"What I had to do for the spell," Demona said. "I scoured through archives and archives of many different magics, good, evil, or otherwise, looking for a way out. A way for me to finally be free of you. Finally, I found something strong enough to break even the three witch sisters' cursed bond put on us. But the immortality of those the curse was bestowed upon would have been kept intact were it done properly."
"What sort of spell requires such evil?" Macbeth demanded.
"Dark magic. A blood pact," Demona said matter-of-factly. "The specific spell I stumbled upon required the blood of the two cursed ones, along with that of fifteen souls, plus one of a beast who walks like a man."
Macbeth looked at the Beastman boy he held in his arms, horrified to see his face getting fainter.
"All the blood must be gathered together and tossed into a fire under a blood moon," Demona went on. "I only discovered this spell just three days ago, so I knew if I was going to be ready to do it tonight, I had to get everything needed for the ceremony as fast as possible."
"You were the one who abducted that bus in Manhattan!" Macbeth exclaimed as he pointed an accusatory finger.
"Yes, I did!" Demona said. "I used my knowledge of the arts to first capture the Beastman boy in Anima City and then came back to Manhattan to take the bus I knew would be filled with all the souls I would need for the spell. And I gladly slaughtered these lousy human bastards to get what I needed from them. Then, it was just a matter of tricking you into coming here and agreeing to be part of the ceremony."
"Trickery is right, you black-hearted monster," Macbeth said defiantly. "If I had known the full details of what performing the spell entailed, I would have never agreed to be part of this...upfront to society. These were innocent people, Demona. They did nothing to you. Other than your selfish needs and desires, you had no reason to massacre them so demonically as you have!"
"They were humans. That's reason enough," Demona coldly said.
At this, Macbeth gritted his teeth in anger. "And the boy? Have you no remorse for him either?"
"He is a means to an end. And despite humans ignorantly fearing his kind so, they still reak of the humanity still inside. They can rot with the entire human race for all I care."
Macbeth looked on in dismay, although the expression soon twisted into one of unbridled rage. He set the injured Beastman bearcub down before pulling out his stunner once more and aiming it at Demona. Upon him opening fire, Demona leaped away, landing on the other side of the table.
"Tonight will be the end of you, Demona! I promise you that! Even if I must go with you! I was done with you. I was ready to move on and try to do something worthwhile with my life!"
"Is that what you told yourself?" Demona asked before laughing mockingly. "Not the truth that you had failed for centuries against me and had finally realized my defeat would not come at your hands? How more pathetic can you possibly be, Macbeth?"
The immortal man screamed in fury as he aimed his stunner at Demona and opened fire. She let out a demonic growl and dodged to the side, letting the current fly passed her and hit the cave wall on the far side. Macbeth, not to be denied, had set the boy aside and leaped at Demona, intending to hit her with a flying sidekick. However, Demona dodged to the side, letting Macbeth land between her and the table.
With a hissing roar, Demona lunged forth, grabbing Macbeth by the shoulders and ramming his lower back into the table's side. Both combatants felt the pain that came from the collision, although the impact was not enough to solicit an agonized cry from either. That came when the gargoyle swung her left fish into Macbeth's side as hard as she could. Both fighters cried out in pain and nearly doubled over from the force of the blow. Instead of giving in to the anguish, however, Demona tensed up as she swung a second blow into Macbeth's ribs. This time, both did hunch over and grab at their sides, but Demona forced herself to recover long enough to clasp her hands together, raise them, and then club them down upon Macbeth's back.
The misplaced king of Scotland collapsed to the ground, with Demona nearly falling on top of him. Instead, she just barely managed to plant her hands on the side of the table and force herself to brace and stay standing. Despite that, Demona was breathing heavily from the pain she had been dealt by her own hands. It was so immense that she was unable to properly follow up, fearing that if she tried moving, she would topple over.
This gave Macbeth an opening that he forced himself to take advantage of. He grabbed both of Demona's ankles and pulled on them with all his might. Before Demona even realized what was happening, she went falling onto her back, letting out a loud grunt as she hit the ground. Macbeth cried out in pain as well, but also forced himself onto his hands and knees at the same time before leaping forth on top of his immortal foe. With a cry and vengeance, Macbeth swung his fist forth, smacking it across Demona's face. As to be expected, both felt the might of the blow and were temporarily halted by it.
Demona refused to be taken lightly and thus grabbed both of Macbeth's wrists before her eyes started to glow as she roared and smacked her head against his. Macbeth and Demona felt double the excruciation from this attack than they would have otherwise. So bad was it that they almost felt like they would lose consciousness from the exchange. The blackened heart within Demona refused to let her give in during what could be such a crucial battle. Instead, she brought her knees up to her chest and used all her leg strength to push Macbeth off.
Tumbling away, Macbeth let out a surprised grunt before crashing onto his front. However, the immortal Scotsman was already pushing himself back up despite what he had gone through thus far. He was just hunched over, about to fully stand up, when an equally pained Demona, who had already gotten back up, noticed Macbeth. With a growl of anger and frustration, Demona spun around and swung her tail about, smacking it into Macbeth's ribs. Both let out a cry of pain as Demona dropped to her knees while Macbeth went tumbling across the blood and carnage-ridden cave floor.
Demona let out a few deep, heavy breaths as she forced herself up onto her feet. She glared at Macbeth with a hateful intensity the likes of which would terrify most people to death. With a banshee-like wale, the gargoyle began to limp toward the fallen Macbeth. As it would turn out, though, the uncrowned Scotland king had a few more surprises in store when he sprung up straight on his knees and let out a loud battle cry. It turned out he also had something in his hand. That being his electric stunner, which he aimed at Demona before pulling the trigger. Both combatants felt electric currents go through their bodies as they screamed in utter anguish before dropping to the ground.
It looked as though Demona was knocked out cold, whereas Macbeth was barely conscious but fading fast. His vision warped, blurred, and even darkened at times as doubt crept through his mind about being able to stay awake after the agonizing shock he put himself through. Surely this would be the end of the exchange. At least until either he or Demona woke up again.
That might have been the case if not for Macbeth did not feel something pressing up against him. Two somethings, actually. They felt like...hands! Tiny hands like those of a child. Or, in this case, perhaps a cub. Macbeth soon realized it was the boy. His mere touch reminded the immortal Scotsman there was more to this situation than him and Demona. Thus, Macbeth tightened his fist as he prepared to fight through what ailed him for the sake of this child caught somewhere between man and animal.
Demona let out a pained moan as her eyes slowly fluttered open. At first, she did not know if it was her vision or not, but where she was seemed to be rather dark. Over time, though, her eyes cleared up, and she could see the torches that were lit in the room had started to slowly burn out.
'Where am I?' Demona thought to herself.
That was when she realized she was on top of something and looked to see what it was. It ended up being the corpse of one eviscerated so gruesomely, almost like the victim of any of the legendary slashers of horror. However, Demona instantly remembered that this was her handy work...and what it eventually led up to.
"Macbeth," the enraged gargoyle said as she balled her hands into fists.
She growled fiercely as she looked to the only opening in and out of the room full of gore. Demona got up and ran after her foe, not wanting the night to end with him getting the best of their exchange. Her pride would not let Demona leave things at that. At the very least, she had to be the one standing over him before the night was done.
After running for a certain amount of time, Demona's ears eventually picked up the sound of footsteps running ahead of her. Knowing she was close, Demona did the best she could to run faster while also trying to be light on her feet so that Macbeth could not hear her steps like she could his. She did not know how successful it was, nor did she focus too much on it. Demona just kept running through the catacombs until she finally came upon the steps that led to the hollowed-out remnants of the Overlook Mountain House hotel. Still, she did not see Macbeth when she walked up to the ruins.
It was not until Demona reached the entrance to the hotel that she finally saw Macbeth again. He was running down the steps with the injured and pale-looking Beastman child in his arms. At the sight of Macbeth, Demona's scowl increased in intensity as she growled and her wings spread before she leaped down at her archenemy. The gargoyle let out a cry of fury as she glided down to Macbeth, who was three-fourths of the way down the steps when Demona attacked. She shifted her body and stuck out a foot, kicking it into Macbeth's spine, making him cry out in pain as he tumbled down the steps the rest of the way. Demona instantly fell to the ground as she cried out and held a hand to her lower back.
Despite feeling that and other pains caused by Macbeth's tumble, the vengeful monster of a gargoyle forced herself to stand up as she looked down upon her fallen foe. Her eyes widened with rage to see Macbeth still moving as he crawled over to the Beastman boy, who had fallen from his arms. At this sight, Demona's rage took over, yet again, as she leaped high from the steps she stood upon and glided down towards Macbeth. The gargoyle flew in close and grabbed Macbeth's shoulders as tight as possible, digging in her claws in the process. Macbeth let out a surprised and pained yelp before he felt himself being lifted off the ground and up into the air. Demona laughed maniacally as she glided higher into the late-night sky.
"You ruined my chance of freedom, Macbeth!" Demona spat venomously. "Freedom from you! Freedom from being forced to have even the smallest of connections to you! For that, you must be made to suffer, and I plan on being the one to do it. Even if I suffer with you, it'll be worth it just to know your pain is being caused by my hands!"
"At last, we're in agreement about something," Macbeth said defiantly.
He then surprised Demona with what he did next. The Scottish warrior swung his fist up, smashing it into his own eye socket as hard as he could. Macbeth and Demona both cried out in pain before they tumbled out of the sky, through the branches of several trees nearby, and finally fell to and rolled across the ground. For a moment, neither of them could move, for their bodies hurt too greatly. However, the call to battle was too great to ignore for long, especially with two warriors such as Demona and Macbeth. Thus, with groans of anguish, the combatants began to stir, their eyes slowly fluttering open as most muscles in their bodies twitched,
Finally, Macbeth and Demona started to push themselves back up to their feet. As they both reached a knee, the two noticed each other and instantly scowled or sneered in contempt. Their hatred for each other proved enough inspiration for the two pained fighters to get the rest of the way back up. It was Macbeth who got the next hit, swinging a big right hook into Demona's face. Both combatants staggered from the blow, the sides of their faces feeling like they were shredded from the inside out. Despite this, Macbeth forced himself to fight through his pain and land a left hook to the other side of Demona's face, making them both stumble in agony once more.
Despite both sides of her face throbbing, Demona's fury compelled her to go on the attack. With eyes glowing red, the gargoyle shrieked out as she swung her right-hand claws down Macbeth's front, followed by her left-hand claws slashing upward on his side. However, this only tore apart the black cavalier he was wearing under his black leather trench coat. Demona refused to be denied in this exchange, which was why she let a loud grunt as she delivered a standing front kick directly into Macbeth's stomach. Once more, both fighters shared the pain as they grabbed at their guts. Yet it ended up being Demona who fought back enough to grab Macbeth's shoulders and pull him in while swinging her left knee into his gut, further agonizing him and herself in the process.
Hunched over in pain, both of them felt like they were going to throw up. However, Macbeth and Demona knew they had to keep fighting, for one or the other would eventually. With that in mind, Macbeth put all he could into a right-left, two-body punch combo aimed at Demona's midsection. The two of them felt like their insides were being torn apart from the blows, the agony of which nearly dropped them both to the ground. They stayed standing, however, allowing Macbeth the opportunity to swing his fist up into Demona's lower jaw for a vicious uppercut.
Demona and Macbeth would end up dropping to a knee but forced themselves back up just as quickly. The hateful gargoyle also found it within her to grab Macbeth by his shoulders and dig her claws into his shoulders. Ignoring the residual pain she got from the tactic, Demona used what she had left of her mighty strength to spin around, dragging her foe along. Then she tossed him away, leading to Macbeth hitting the ground with a hard thud and rolling for a bit while Demona's accumulated anguish forced her to her hands and knees.
The hated enemies breathed heavily as they both tried to force themselves up on their feet once more so they could continue their fight. It was not easy, for both had taken and given a lot of punishment, and they had felt all of it together. Their curse of feeling each other's pain was very much intact. Still, the pride of a warrior and the hatred of each other were firmly inside their very beings, thus they would not stop until the punishments of battle forced them to.
At the moment, all that drove Demona seemed to pay off the most. Just having Macbeth in her sights reminded her of all the physical and emotional anguish he had caused her over the centuries. The rage from it all boiled inside her like the hottest of volcanoes ready to explode. So, Demona let out a loud cry of battle as she pushed up on her feet and rushed at Macbeth like a linebacker going in for the tackle. Macbeth looked and saw this two late as Demona plowed into him. She lifted him off his feet and carried him for a seven-step run before slamming him down with a UFC-like double-leg takedown.
Macbeth and Demona both cried out in agony as their spines felt like they could shatter at any moment. Just more pain for them to share despite the two wishing in their own way to be rid of one another. Nonetheless, the fate they had chosen for themselves so long ago, not realizing the consequences, was intact, a clear end no longer in sight.
Except for maybe one.
Demona noticed they were on the edge of a drop off that went down a good distance. While it was not exactly a cliff, the way down was so steep that if one were thrown down with enough force, there was a good chance they would not be able to stop rolling. It would take a miracle for them to get on their feet again, although what Demona was thinking did not include such an outcome. As she looked from the drop off down to her hated enemy, a sneer of contempt crossed her face.
"Perhaps you were right all along, Macbeth," Demona said between heavy breaths. She then put her hands around his throat. "Maybe there really was ever only one way it would end. And...maybe it's how it should end. Maybe...we belong...dead."
"Leave...him...alone!"
The voice sounded strained as could be, yet also child-like and animal-like. Demona turned to see the Beastman bear child limping towards her, trying his best to lift a thick tree branch, no doubt to attack her with. The child was pale as could be and looked like he could kill over at any time, no doubt from massive blood loss. Yet he also seemed determined to make his last moments count and help the man who tried to save him. He just had it over his head and was practically standing over Demona, ready to attack. Unfortunately, Demona beat him to the punch, for the gargoyle shrieked as she swiped her talons forth, slashing them across the boy's features.
"Ow! My face!" the boy cried as he grasped at the fresh, bleeding cuts.
"That'll teach you, Beastman," the monstrous woman said as she forced herself onto her feet.
"Leave the lad alone, Demona!"
She turned to see Macbeth sitting up and forcing himself to a knee.
"Your fight is with me," Macbeth insisted as she sneered in defiant contempt.
Demona growled but stopped when an idea came to her mind. "You want to save this Beastman child so badly? Well, you can have him!"
With what remained of her incredible strength, Demona grabbed the boy and swung him into Macbeth. The collision hurt both Demona and Macbeth, but not as much as when the latter and the boy he tried to save went tumbling down the drop off. Demona fell to the ground once more while Macbeth and the boy rolled and bounced down the steep hillside, occasionally smacking into an out sticking rock or small tree stump, among other things. The agony of the tumble did not stop for Macbeth until he and the boy reached the bottom.
Macbeth grunted and groaned as he held his arms tight around his body in a near fetal position. He wore large bruises and bloody cuts on his face as well from everything he had gone through since meeting Demona that night. As much pain as he was in, though, Macbeth soon realized he was not the only one who took the fall. The immortal Scotsman looked around for a bit before finding the boy facing him a few feet away.
He...was not a sight Macbeth wanted to see. At least not the way he was.
"No..." Macbeth whispered in a saddened tone.
He then forced himself to crawl over to the Beastman bear cub, his pain and injuries be dammed. Macbeth would eventually reach the kid, remove a glove, and run his hand over this child's face, neck, and wrists. There was no pulse, no sign of life in his eyes, and nothing moved. He was not breathing or knocked out. The boy was dead.
Macbeth turned away, a horrified, regretful, and sad expression on his face.
"I'm sorry," Macbeth said as he reached out his hand and closed the boy's eyes. He then looked down. "I've failed you."
Suddenly, Demona's sinister laughter filled the air. Macbeth looked up for a moment, only seeing her silhouette standing on the edge of the drop off, looking down at him.
"How does it feel, Macbeth?" Demona asked. "You sacrificed your one chance to be rid of me for the sake of a boy...and look what it has brought you. Only a night of pain and suffering with the boy's lifeless body looking upon you, reminding you of your failure.
"You cost me a great deal tonight, Macbeth. More than I can allow. My only consolations are that several human lives were purged from this world at my hands, and you get to weep as you look into the face of your failure. Just know that for all that has happened tonight and your past transgressions against me, this will never be over between us! Never!"
Demona laughed before taking to the air, letting out her banshee-like wail as she did so. She would, eventually, find a place to land, for she was too injured to maintain flight, but it would be too far away for Macbeth to give proper chase. That, along with Macbeth's physically and emotionally pained screams echoing through the night was enough to set Demona's darkened heart at ease.
At least for now.