Nerina staggered, her breathing ragged, her limbs barely holding together. She had fought with everything she had, and still, the last Demon Lord loomed before her, his dark aura suffocating. Beside her, Lyra wobbled on her feet, her sword trembling in her grip. The gaping wound she had burned through their enemy's chest had taken nearly all her remaining power, and now she could barely stand.
The Demon Lord sneered, his fanged grin stretching unnaturally wide. "Is that all? How disappointing."
From above, the Demon God Zebos floated, watching the spectacle unfold with amusement. A tear in space split open behind him, and from the glowing portal, two elegant women stepped forth—his personal maids. "Ah, there you are, my sweet Callistra, Myrene. Bring me my drink."
The two maids, dressed in otherworldly silks, gracefully poured a thick, iridescent liquid into a golden goblet. The scent alone carried something intoxicating and foreign. As Zebos took a long sip, the liquid dripped down his chiseled chest, glistening in the dim sky. He chuckled as he watched the two exhausted warriors struggle below.
"Ohh, my sweet Silent Death Duo, how I enjoy watching you struggle." His voice was a sultry purr, filled with unholy delight.
Nerina clenched her teeth. She was at her limit. Lyra was barely able to stand. If they didn't finish this quickly, they would both die.
The Demon Lord, seeing their weakness, finally grew cautious. "I won't underestimate you two again." His dark energy coiled around his form like a storm, his muscles tensing as he prepared to crush them completely.
Lyra, despite her drained state, smirked. "Then how about a little trick?"
She threw her sword to Nerina. Without missing a beat, Nerina caught it and, in a single motion, hurled her own lance into the air. The Demon Lord instinctively followed the weapon's movement—exactly what they wanted. In that split second of distraction, Lyra lunged forward, her fists crackling with the last embers of her mana.
"NOW!" Nerina roared, swinging both sword and lance in a precise, fluid motion. The twin weapons cut through the Demon Lord's exposed side, deep and clean.
Lyra followed up with her last burst of energy, ramming her fist straight into his wound. A surge of magic exploded from her hand, piercing through his body.
The Demon Lord let out a bloodcurdling scream. His form convulsed before disintegrating into nothingness.
Above, Zebos sighed in disappointment. "Hmph. How boring." He waved his hand lazily, opening another swirling portal behind him. "I suppose this is where I take my leave. I'll be watching, my little pets. Struggle harder next time." With that, he stepped through, disappearing into the void, back to his dark throne.
Jareth pushed open the last door, stepping into the grand throne room. A single figure awaited him at the center of the lavishly decorated hall.
Demon King Romelo sat lazily on his throne, his legs crossed, his delicate fingers brushing through his silky black hair. His appearance was strikingly beautiful—his face delicate enough to be mistaken for a woman's, yet his muscular build gave him an undeniable masculinity. With his flawless skin and enticing smirk, he looked more like a pop idol than a tyrant.
"Oh? Bahamut's champion has finally arrived?" Romelo's voice was smooth, honeyed with amusement. "Did you enjoy the climb to my tower? I must say, it was simply delightful watching you struggle through my halls."
Jareth frowned, his grip tightening on his sword. "You talk too much."
Romelo chuckled, unfazed. "Now, now, no need to be so rude. After all, I've seen everything—every battle, every struggle. It was quite entertaining, you know. Watching you cut down all those lovely servants and pets…"
Jareth was about to reply when he noticed something—his focus was slipping. The Demon King's voice was dangerously hypnotic.
A click.
The room suddenly came alive. Hidden mechanisms in the walls triggered a barrage of deadly traps. Arrows, spikes, beams of searing magic—all fired toward Jareth at blinding speed.
His instincts roared. In a split second, he twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the deadly storm of projectiles. The heat of a searing blast singed his sleeve as he dashed forward, closing the distance between himself and Romelo.
"You talk too much, you self-loving EGOIST!" Jareth roared, his blade flashing toward the Demon King's throat.
Romelo merely smirked and flicked his fingers.
Mirrors appeared all around the room, lining the walls, the ceiling, even the floor. And then—
A single beam of magic shot from Romelo's palm, striking one of the mirrors. The instant it hit, the beam split in two. Then four. Then eight. The deadly rays bounced between the reflective surfaces, multiplying in number, filling the room with a crisscrossing web of destruction.
Jareth barely had time to react. He dodged, twisting his body to avoid the barrage, but even with his enhanced speed, a few stray beams grazed him, scorching his skin.
Then—
The spell ended. The beams faded.
Jareth exhaled, catching his breath. "Five seconds…" he muttered. "Each spell only lasts five seconds."
Romelo's grin widened. "Oh? You noticed?"
Jareth steadied himself. He had found a weakness.
But before he could act—
Romelo lazily lifted his hand. "Well then, let's make things a little more interesting."
Ten magic circles lit up around him.
Jareth's eyes widened. "Shit—"
The next instant, ten beams fired at once, bouncing chaotically off the mirrors, filling the entire room with death.
Jareth barely had time to change his stance.
"JARETH!" Bahamut's voice roared in his mind. "FOCUS! DODGE IT WITH MINIMAL MOVEMENTS OR ELSE WE WILL DIE!"
Jareth gritted his teeth. This is going to be hell.