They come.

The Pale Man looked through the gigantic hole in the throne room, and saw each of them.

One by one, they come.

He saw the two, walking together. The younger and the older.

One is a pampered child, forced to gain strength by the world. It ran, it came back, and it thinks itself stronger for it. When it is placed in true misery, though, we shall see how it survives.

His gaze lingered on Ostrava, longer than it would on the others. He frowned, then moved on.

The Older. The experienced. The boisterous, vicious, and endlessly loyal. He also has not faced his trial yet. We will see where he is once given every reason to give up.

Ahead of them was The Woman. Running, her mask hiding everything beneath it.

Wrath, burning til there remains nothing. A great emptiness, with no viciousness, no vice. Perhaps she would be less terrifying if there were. Carries the souls of an entire guild within her. Stronger than both the knights.

Past her, even, waited the corrupted. The man who had once been a sage. But now served the same lord as him.

The Knowledge-seeker who sought too much. My ally, technically. But untrusted even by myself. What will happen when he is forced to face his past? When his enemies attempt to turn him from his Master's voice?

And then the fifth arrived. And his gaze shot further back.

The one without a name. The cursed and the survivor. The Champion and Lover of the First Demon. No heralds. No hesitance. Enters knowing death intimately, unafraid. Is he enough?

The Pale Man watched, with some interest, and then turned. He stood where his throne had once been, when he had been a king. Long before he had seen the sins of the entire world. Long before he had realized the Old One offered a gift in its oblivion.

He heard its whispers, every day, begging, pleading. In the end, it would destroy everything.

And everything deserved no less.

And as he sometimes did, from the myriad of cries rattling in his skull, he separated out the prophetic voice of the God that was.

Two. It said.

What? He asked it.

Two. Two of them will challenge you. The voice whispered to him. Three shall die.

King Allant nodded, and stood where his throne had once been. Just like his kingdom...gone.

There was a clash of steel.

"Don't let up, lad!" Biorr screamed over the roaring. "We've got two of em."

Sure enough, two black knight bodies lay on the ground, but it wasn't reassuring when there were three more. Ostrava's sword glanced off a shield, a knight he hadn't been paying attention to backed off and lowered his spear for a charge.

"Uh...BIORR!"

Biorr was fending off the third knight. He turned and delivered a powerful swing that reached across to the charging lancer, and cut through his helm. The other knight fighting Ostrava went on the attack. Swings rained down, one after another, as he desperately held up his shield, just in time to stop them. Finally, the attacks became reckless. There was an opening, and he shoved his sword through.

The knight crumpled, and with no distractions, Biorr parried a strike and then sliced with both of his swords, cutting his opponent in half.

"Ye alright?" Biorr asked.

Ostrava wanted to say yes, but then he felt the sting, again. His hand drifted down to his side, where blood leaked out from his armor.

"Oh, that..." Biorr said. "Take some moon grass, lad, that's a scratch."

"We only have so much moon grass," said Ostrava.

"Huh?" Biorr pulled him forward, and they kept walking through the keep. "Don't tell me yer losin hope now, boy. Yer the one with spirit, right? We just have to get through here and we're good. Do ye doubt yerself? Do ye doubt me?"

"No...it's just..." Ostrava looked up past the mottled roofing, above the wreckage that had once been a town for the elite, at the tower again. "My father. I don't know what I'll see when I get up there. For once, I have a bad feeling."

"Don't worry yerself too much," Biorr said. "Strong men like Allant, they stand, even when everything and everyone falls around them. Trust me, I know from my brother."

"Your brother...Biorr, where is Vallerfax?"

"He left, lad, remember? He spread news of the fog. He's prolly still doing it, stubborn ox, even when he's more needed here."

"I know, but...we need all the help we can get. Especially after Nameless-"

"-I'm tellin ye not to think of that. Listen: men fall. And if Vallerfax were in Boletaria, I would know. Whaddya want to do? Leave now and find him? We ain't got time, there'll be three more Archdemons by the time we get there."

"But Biorr, everyone's heard the legends of the Twin Fangs."

"Aye, Twins with Twin Swords. Best name we could have."

"The inseparable nature, the endless loyalty."

"Mmmhmm."

"Don't you think he'd come here for you?"

"Why do you care so much?" Biorr suddenly snapped. "My brother is fine, I'm fine, 'sall that matters."

"Okay," Ostrava said. "Alright, fine."

"Lookie there, lad," Biorr said.

They were looking over another bridge, stretching into yet another set of gates further ahead. This time, it was above them, and stairs led up to it. Blockades were set up. Demons and soulless soldiers stood in front of all of them, ready for anything stupid enough to approach.

"Well," Biorr said. "That's encouraging."

"I should have known, like any army that's lost most of its territory; they're redirecting their forces to defend what's left."

"More reasons why we need to attack now, before the entire demon armada gets to this bloody spot," Biorr said. "I told ye we shouldn'ta waited, especially cuz it only resulted in-"

Biorr stopped himself.

Ostrava had no energy to get offended by Biorr's callusness anyway. He was focusing all of it on trying to find a way through. Suddenly, he remembered something.

"Biorr, the tunnels," he said. "The tunnels lead straight to the castle."

"What are ye talking about?"

"Only the royal family knows about it, and the advisors, and the royal guard," Ostrava said. "There's an emergency tunnel meant for escaping from the castle...but we can use it to get in."

"Does this imply being quiet?" Biorr said. "Because I'm not so great at that."

"Once we get inside, no," Ostrava said. "No one will be able to hear us, even if we're loud."

"Sounds almost too good to be true, they might have blocked it."

"We'll see," Ostrava said, and led Biorr around the tower, careful not to alert any guards.

They reached the edge of the stairs, where a loose panel remained, undisturbed. Above them, the guards were looking straight ahead, waiting for a direct approach. They weren't ready for this.

"I can't believe it's so undisturbed," Ostrava said.

"Nor can I; even after seeing it. Careful, lad, we don't know whether they've trapped this."

Ostrava nodded, but pulled the panel, and with it, an entire massive stone door.

A stone door that ground against the other stone. An extremely loud door.

"Shit! That's some secret tunnel!" Biorr yelled, and looked over.

"It's been undisturbed for too long, the oil's gone," Ostrava said, but kept pushing. "If they were going to hear us, they aready did. Help me."

Biorr rushed the door and started pushing. Ostrava pushed with him. Above them, they heard the clanking of armor running toward their location.

"This...may not have been...the best...idea..." Biorr said.

"Shut up, Biorr..."

Finally, the door was pushed open enough for a person to get through, and Ostrava rushed in. He realized Biorr still couldn't fit, and started pushing it from the other side.

"Lad, don't-" But the door was already open, and Biorr stumbled in, weapons poked in after him, and even a stray arrow or two flew past his head.

"Close it! Close it!"

They pushed the door shut, just as slowly. A spear glanced off of Ostrava's helmet, and an arrow off his shoulderpad. Biorr nearly lost his eye. A Dregling arm shoved itself in and started throttling around, it grabbed Ostrava by the throat, and tried to choke him.

But just then, the door shoved shut. There was a sickening snap, and the arm bent in a way it wasn't supposed to. A scream sounded from outside.

"That's as shut as it'll get, now run, before they get it open," Ostrava yelled.

They turned around, and started sprinting. Thankfully, the sheer cluster of demons must have made it hard to make an organized effort of opening a door. Especially with the stuck Dregling. They were off into the tunnels before it showed any sign of opening, and when they reached the first fork, Ostrava started running down the path he had been forced to memorize by heart.

He was Her Champion. That was the closest thing to a name he had. He'd decided, and there was no turning back.

He didn't walk, he ran. A blue eyed knight came at him, and swung, and time seemed to freeze. He saw it, the clumsiness of the swing, how it had been made too widely and too obviously. He saw how easily he could move around it.

So he did.

As he spun around and cut the blue knight's head from his shoulders. He charged faster. Dreglings came, and as each of them did, each of them fell. His armor wasn't heavy, he wasn't even tired. A mindless soldier came at him, swinging above. He ducked and slashed low. Another, striking downward. He put his shield above him and stabbed his sword into his enemy's unprotected abdomen. He heard the whirring of the arrow the moment it was launched, and his shield moved, blocked it as it tried to stick his side. An archer had thought it opportunistic to shoot him at this moment.

He looked, and saw the man standing on top of a building, loading another arrow. So he grabbed the talisman he'd held before, and waved it. A soul arrow flew, and burned the man's face. He grabbed at it, screaming, then fell from the roof.

Her Champion squeezed the talisman, then looked down at it, and saw The Old One.

The enemy that had once been god.

He looked up, and saw the tower with the broken wall, the highest point of a mangled castle.

As he stared, a gigantic blue dragon soared past it, and landed on its top. The dragon looked around, and roared, as if it were sending out a general warning to everyone who happened to be in the area. He'd seen the dragon, before, but something seemed different about it now. In that way in which we don't notice the obvious, it took him almost a full minute to discover what it was.

This dragon was blue.

And out of nowhere, the red dragon came, and landed next to it's brother. It looked around, idly breathed fire below itself, then took off again.

There were two dragons. Two.

And if he was going to make it to the tower, he got the feeling that both were going to need to die.

He took a deep breath, and looked down at the Talisman of Beasts again.

One last Archdemon.

His eyes shot back up. He kept running.

Biorr held his fingers up to his nose.

"Ugh, lad," he said. "What is that smell?"

"It smells like..." Ostrava sniffed, then coughed. "Oh god. It's-"

"It's death," said Biorr, more somber than he'd ever heard him. "...We've wandered into the dumping grounds for Executioner Miralda."

"Miralda! She was one of my father's most loyal servants, she-"

Biorr shook his head.

"What?" Ostrava asked.

"Listen," said Biorr. "When yer kingdom went south, Miralda was there, all the way. When it went further south...further south than any human could take it, she kept at it. And lad, that executioner's stand had never been more busy. Everyone who questioned those fat ministers ended up there, fer unrelated crimes but really fer that. And there was Miralda, hacking away, gleefully laughing all the while."

"...Laughing?" Ostrava asked.

Biorr gave him a dead stare. "Laughing."

Ostrava shivered. "I just thought that we could go through here. I didn't realize there would be problems."

"No, no ye did good, lad. We'll just walk past this place, and-"

Then they heard it.

The high pitched laughter. Squealing below.

And wet chopping.

"Oh god," Ostrava whispered.

"She's still at it," said Biorr. "Ye'd think she'da run out by now. But...no, still at it."

Ostrava felt a disgust enter him, as he realized and remembered that some people didn't need the demons to turn them into monsters.

"Just keep quiet, an-" Biorr started, just before his massive boot stepped on a bone, cracking it loudly. The laughing suddenly stopped.

"Well," Biorr said. "I went an' forgot I can't stealth."

Then they heard it, just around the tunnel behind them, sprinting, squealing, screaming, laughing.

"There's two of us, one of her," Ostrava said.

"Don't let yer guard down," said Biorr.

But when she turned around the corner, they saw a woman in cloth armor and a flimsy executioner's cowl who charged them, swinging her axe madly. Too madly, clumsily if anything. They easily stepped out of the way, and finally Biorr kicked her and swung one of his swords to the ground heavily. Her hands twitched longer than they should have, as she screamed. But, finally, silence.

"Well," Ostrava said. "That was disappointing."

"Not everythin' evil is strong," Biorr said. "Do ye think I shoulda hesitated rather'n just offin her?"

Ostrava looked down at the hands on the ground. The fingers were stained with dried blood.

"No," he said. "You were in the right."

But as they kept walking, the stench only grew stronger. Until they turned the corner that she had come around from, with nowhere else to go.

They walked right in to her play-chamber.

"Good god," Ostrava said, and turned away from the horrible sights.

"Yeah, no regrets," Biorr said. He stepped out of the way just as something hanging above him dripped.

"How could she...how could anyone..." Ostrava whispered.

Biorr walked through the gore as carefully as his armor would allow. "Bein soul-less makes the bad worse, lad. Ye take the soul away from a Saint, they'll lose their mind, but ye take it from a madwoman, and-" he suddenly stopped, both walking and talking.

"Yeah, I get it," Ostrava said. "Let's get out of here," he started carefully following Biorr's footsteps.

But the big man wouldn't move.

"What's wrong?" asked Ostrava.

But then Biorr bent down, and wrapped his fingers around something. He held it up.

It was a helmet that looked exactly like his own.

"Wait, Biorr...why is that there?"

Biorr remained silent, and turned his eyes up, to the body lying on the slab, the one that Miralda had been playing with. He stomped toward it, no longer paying attention to the flesh he crushed on the way. He stood in front of the slab, and stared down at it.

Ostrava almost said something, but decided against it.

"...Vallerfax?" Biorr asked.

"Biorr..." Ostrava whispered.

"Vallerfax. It's...it's Vallerfax," Biorr repeated. "He's...lad, that's my brother."

"Biorr, I'm-"

"I don't-" Biorr interrupted, he looked back at the cave, then at the stone slab. "I don't understand. How did ye...to her? Ye were...well, sometimes ye were better'n me. I mean, when we sparred. And we always sparred, lad, did you know that? Vallerfax n' me."

"I'm so sorry," Ostrava said.

"No, no it's..." Biorr said. "It's not okay, lad. It ain't. But it's-"

He didn't say anything. He didn't move. Ostrava just stood there, watching him, in that terrible smelling, disgusting room.

Then, suddenly, Biorr said. "Let's go."

He started walking, not even waiting for a response.

"Wait," Ostrava said, and walked after him, careful not to step on any remains. "Biorr, wait, shouldn't we-"

"Shouldn't we what?" Biorr said, without turning around. "This place is bloody awful. And there's no time to...to drag him outta it. We gotta go, we gotta kill that last Archdemon. We gotta save this world, and then...I mean, once that's done. I'll..."

Biorr stopped, and looked back once. Ostrava saw him make a face he'd never seen before.

"I'll have time. Afterward. But...but not now."

He started walking again. Faster. Ostrava had to run to keep up.

She found them all gathering around the entrance to a tunnel, for some reason. That made it easy.

Half of them were dead before they even noticed she was there. The others feebly put up a resistance, but fell before long. She was too fast, they were too slow.

When she looked up, after killing the last, she saw that she was not alone.

"Disappointing," she said, flicking the blood from her rapier. "I thought we were at least rid of you. That mission was a failure after all."

He stepped forward, his armor ringing with each step, glinting despite the demon blood that stained it. His sword was aloft, and his shield up, ready for her to try anything.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Her Champion said. "But we're on the same side, right now. Either help me kill the last Archdemon, or step aside."

"No," she said. "All things have purpose. The purpose now is to purge. Once you, and everyone else with knowledge of the soul arts is dead, then the Old One can be overthrown."

"But you have knowledge of the soul arts. Mephistopheles, that's hypocritical. You can't-"

"I will," she said. "Because when all is said and done, I will kill myself as well. Such is the dictate of the Order of the Soul."

And he finally understood.

She couldn't be reasoned with, she wouldn't be. She was as fanatical as Yurt, yet a hundred times moreso, and with far less interest in holding a debate. She was probably only talking now to distract him.

He prepared for battle.

But just as he readied a charge, there was another voice. A different one. No longer human.

"How dare they..." It whispered and yelled at the same time. "All those glorious souls, fighting each other? Winner taking them all? No...no, I cannot allow it. I must have them. I must have them both, now. Souls...give me your souls. Give them to me. Give them give them give them-"

And he continued speaking as he crawled forward, when Her Champion turned, he saw the shell of the man he'd known, stumbling on his feet, frothing at the mouth with soul-hunger.

"Freke..." he said. "Freke, no."

"Yes. Yes, we are in a glorious age. Child," Freke said. "The Age of the true Soul Arts. Where there are enough souls available to make...to make one man a god! Look at me, son...look at my power! I...I can move mountains. Oh. Oh and when I take yours. I shall move the planets. The stars in the sky! Oh...and knowledge, so much knowledge...yes..."

Her Champion suddenly realized he'd left an opening, and turned back to Mephistopheles. She was still there, but she'd clearly been planning on moving. But as he looked at her, he realized he'd taken his eyes off Freke. He stepped backward, keeping his eyes on both of them.

"Look at you, then," Freke said to Mephistopheles. "The little girl who stole all my souls. I need those back, sweetie. Yes...yes, I do. Give them to me."

"You are an abomination," Mephistopheles said.

"Oh-hohoho...you are always to the point. The point. That pointy sword you have...yes...it makes sense, doesn't it?"

Mephistopheles glared at him, and then back at Her Champion.

Freke glared at her, and then at him.

He readied his sword.

Freke screamed a crazed scream, and rushed toward them both. This was his opportunity, and Mephistopheles must have seen hers as well.

All three charged.

Pokes head out.

Hello, everyone. Well, here's some good news: I am currently done writing about giant spiders, and back to writing about dudes with swords. At least for the next few weeks. I know. I told you I would work on this and Anazia, but I also told you that Anazia was first priority. Well, I heavily overestimated my ability to write two things at once. So for the past two months, it was nothing but Anazia.

Well, I finished that about a week ago now. So I jotted this up real quick and just wanted to let you know, yes, yes I totally am still finishing this fanfiction. HOPEFULLY before Summer ends. This is significantly easier to write than Anazia was, so I don't see a problem with that.

Also, cross your fingers. If all goes well, I'll be facing publication by then. Not this, of course, but the giant spider story that I'm genuinely proud of.