The Fall of Zephon
And then they were alone. But Zephon had been alone for a very long time, so it made little difference. They waited.
"It's been an honour" Melchiah said suddenly.
Zephon laughed, recalling a few choice moments. "I doubt that."
Melchiah agreed, and some pointless banter followed. It trailed off, but their assassin was being painfully slow. After several minutes in which there was a decided lack of murderous demons, they began to get a bit impatient
"Where the hell is he?" Melchiah was regretting sending his family away so soon, clearly.
"Patience. He will not forget us." Although it would be nice if he did.
More waiting. Then a gate slammed shut, painfully close. Screams followed, pillar guardians crying for aid. Again, Melchiah stirred.
"Should we?"
"...No. That's Malek's concern. Do you think we could impede Vorador himself?"
Melchiah was restless, but that was understandable. It was difficult, waiting for your end. Zephon desired to say more, but suddenly there were footsteps approaching. Too much time, and not enough. But he'd made peace with his fate, ever since he'd felled the final vampire on the battlefield. They spread out, readying their weapons.
"Regrets?" Zephon asked, as the footsteps drew near, donning his helm. His regrets were well known, but he was curious as to Melchiahs. A long military career always spawned regrets.
"Many. But I need not live with them long." There was no time for more. Their slayer was among them. The gate slammed shut behind it, with the clang of finality that only came with the jaws of a trap snapping shut. A sarafan on an upper level would be working the winch. Zephon had often wondered if the doormen ever thought about the people they sealed in to die. Probably not, he decided.
There was a short pause as their assassin regarded them. Zephon felt he had to challenge him.
"Come to take your revenge, demon?"
Actually, no, I've come to deliver some flowers and a small complimentary basket of fruit. Would you gentlemen perhaps know the identity of the owner of this sword I found?
The sarcastic thought was so strong that Zephon actually heard it said. But of course that was absurd. The assassin charged suddenly.
Melchiah met him stroke for stroke, driving him back and hammering him into a pillar. Even a vampire couldn't match a General, certainly not in hot blood. Writhe as he might, the assassin had no response, and his rare counterattacks were blocked by Zephon. He had no objection to letting himself be killed, but he would not allow a comrade to die by his fault. Hammer as he might, however, Melchiah could not make any lasting damage. Wounds closed instantly, untraceably, faster than the standard vampiric healing process. Even an Elder vampire, millennia old, could not heal shattered bone within moments.
Eventually, the demon managed to leap free and fled them, before turning at the centre of the courtyard to face them again. This time, it began using skill beyond its speed and agility, actual art, as human fencers had to and vampires usually didn't. Nonetheless, the movements were only slightly more dangerous as the demon moved as one accessing long forgotten, unused skill. Melchiah was no longer bothering to defend himself beyond a token amount, but a fraction of his talent proved adequate enough to repel the assassin for a long period, Zephon striking out every now and again out of habit.
Finally, the assassin got in a strike that did more than glance off armour, and Melchiah fell, dropping his guard and letting himself be impaled. Zephon struck out once with his full force, in honour of his fallen friend, knocking the assassin to his knees for the first time. The strike, to the demons exposed throat, almost snapped his neck. Shocked, the monster retreated again. Zephon strolled to meet him, unconcerned. He had made his peace with his fate.
They sparred for another four minutes before Zephon tired of the charade and allowed himself to fall. The last thing he heard was the gate creaking open, beckoning the demon onwards to the other brethren and his own impending fate.