Chapter 1: 0.5 [the final battle]

 

 

Nothing is ever in black and white. 

That was my first lesson learnt when I became the Hero. 

I learnt that the mighty Republic, the safe haven founded for all four magical and non-magical races to peacefully coexist, wasn’t as strong and invincible as it portrayed itself to be. The Elders, who I venerated and vowed to protect, were just as corrupt and treacherous as the evil I was sworn to fight against when faced with death. My companions, who had stuck with me through thick and thin, who urged me on even in my darkest hour, dropped their weapons and deserted the instant our enemies broke through our defences.

“Vaʊnd ði əˈlɑːm!” [Sound the alarms!]

“Eʌn! ðɪs ˈsɪti ɪz ə lɒst kɔːz!” [Run now! Before it’s too late!]

The Republic’s four-striped flag fluttered solemnly above the empty bastille, casting a long shadow over me and the chaos beneath. Behind me, the thundering peals of bells rang out across the capital city—two short chimes, followed by a long, slow toll. A warning that the last stronghold of the Republic was about to fall. 

Cold wind lashed against my face as I ascended the stone steps onto the bastille roof. The guards had already abandoned their posts, their fatigues and weapons strewn unceremoniously across the alure in their hasty escape. To them, there was no reason to stay and fight anymore. The Elders had fled the city before the alarms were raised; the citizens had no faith that a mere human could protect them from the demon invaders. No one would be willing to sacrifice themselves for a lost cause. 

Slowly I walked to the parapet overlooking the valley that stretched beyond the city walls. Where lush green grass and trees once stood, a vicious sea of black now steadily advanced towards the capital, swallowing anything and everything in its path indiscriminately. 

The demons. A magical race who coveted domination over all of Eltshion, who practised black magic and subsequently banished to the edges of the world by the Elders a long time ago. Unlike the other races, they can take on any shape and form as they wish, thus making them extremely hard to detect. Their only known weakness is the sun, which is the reason they have to move around in a cloak of black during the day. However, even in broad daylight, it is impossible to kill a demon unless their core is pierced by silver. 

I glanced up at the lonely flag flying above me, then shifted my gaze to the floor. Judging by the length of its shadow, the sun would completely set in just less than an hour. The demons wouldn’t be patient enough for that—this amount of sunlight could scarcely weaken the strongest of their army. In a matter of minutes at most, they would emerge from their cover and launch their merciless assault. 

Right after that thought flashed into my mind, I felt a violent tremor shake the ground. The stone floor creaked and groaned. Screams punctuated the air almost immediately. 

“ʃiːz hɪə!” [They’re here!]

“Tðə ˈDemən lɔrd!” [The Demon Lord!]

Then, everything stilled. As if time itself had momentarily paused. The wind instantly died, the warning bells abruptly cut out and I felt a chilling presence hanging over me. 

When you are fighting a losing battle, you are always on edge. All of my senses were now screaming at me of the imminent danger behind my back. 

I drew in a sharp breath and spun around on my feet. The tails of my white coat billowed out behind me. My right hand gripped the hilt of the sword around my waist in a fluid motion. 

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I immediately locked eyes with the tall female figure leaning against the flagpole, her slender silhouette cast in the fading light. 

The Demon Lord, in all her cold beauty and chilling grace, boldly stood before me with an elegant arrogance. Her regal black dress shimmered in the breeze like silky ripples across a dark moonlit lake. Wavy midnight-black hair framed her rosy face like a dark halo. Her slitted, icy aquamarine eyes held a hint of amusement as she regarded me thoughtfully. 

For a moment, even I was lost in her disarming charm. Her human form truly was beyond exquisite, her beauty almost ethereal like an illusion conjured by my deepest desires. If this wasn’t the battlefield, I was certain that I would have fallen for her already. 

A smooth voice, as soft and gentle as the twilight glow, echoed in my head. You’re the only one defending the city, Hero. 

I nearly choked out a self-deprecating laugh at her blunt remark. 

So, why? Why are you still standing here, defiantly wielding that piece of scrap metal against me? 

What is there left to fight for? 

It is said that humans and demons descended from a common progenitor in the beginning of time. Humans don’t have an innate affinity for magic, however, hence our ancestors did not follow in the path of demonkind. 

But that does not mean that the other races treated us like their equal. We cannot wield magic naturally unlike the elves; we aren’t anywhere near as strong as the beastkin; we don’t possess the wisdom and foresight of the faeries. And given our likeness to the exiled demon race, it isn’t surprising that we are ostracised and scorned by the rest of Eltshion. 

The disgusted faces of the people when they realised a mere human girl was to be their mighty, glorious saviour flashed back before my eyes. 

For an instant, my hand on my hilt relaxed, and I glanced at the four-striped flag frozen on the flagpole. Violet, representing the faeries; blue, the elves; emerald, the beastkin; lastly white, the humans. How many times have I looked up to this flag, despite being forced to bow down to others? How many times have I recited the Republic’s pledge of equality before it, despite my unfair treatment? How many times have I bravely fought for what the flag represents, despite my country’s mistrust and derision?  

Perhaps it is both a blessing and a curse that I was born into this world, that I was revealed to be a descendent of the Hero of Eltshion by the Elders, that I am simply too weak to surrender in order to prove myself and my race worthy. 

I can promise that you are going to die today. Are you not afraid? 

I shook my head firmly. Just like the legendary heroes in the fairytales I used to read, I was already prepared to give up my life to save the world. Dying in a valiant battle against the Demon Lord was exactly what I wished for. 

A foolish decision, the Demon Lord said, but a honourable one indeed. I, Lukterasia, challenge you to a fight to the death.

Lukterasia. The name echoed in my head repeatedly. It sounded humanlike, almost feminine even. I wondered if it was possible for demons to have genders too. 

Seemingly reading my mind, Lukterasia smiled faintly at me. Then, a black scythe materialised in her hand, and the world around us descended back into chaos. 

The final battle between the Hero and the Demon Lord thus began.

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