They came out of nowhere. Screeching and growling, thoroughly insane in look as they cut through the people of Himnar. Jol was relaxing on the large porch, finishing his lunch break, when he heard the first scream as the intruders seeped through the villagers. He looked in horror as the grotesque creatures tore a man’s torso in two while others chased away a few of the children that were playing down the road. Visibly shaken, he barely had time to rush to the forge to grab a weapon — one of the swords he had crafted two days ago — in order to defend himself. As he was getting ready to exit, the door to the storage room flung open, and inside came an even more distressed master Kalric.

  “Demons! They’re everywhere!” Kalric gave an almost silent cry.

  Jol steeled himself.

  “Stay in here, master. The people need my help!”

  “Are you out of your mind?! You can’t go out! They’ll slice you in pieces.”

  The young man gave a stern look.

  “I know it’s horrifying, but I can’t just stand here and do nothing and hope for the best when the worst comes my way.”

  Master Kalric looked at him with visible shock. He took a few steps forward, toward Jol with both his hands raised in a pacifying manner.

  “This is no time for bravado, lad. You get out, and you will di—”

  The door was ripped from its hinges by tremendous force and fell to the side with a thud. Outside, in the rays of a sunnier day than it had any right to be, one of those slender creatures with scarlet skin and greedy green eyes was standing silently, analyzing them. If only for just a moment. Kalric stumbled backward, trying to grab a weapon, reaching for a morningstar, when the demon lunged forward. However, the master blacksmith was too slow…

  Jol interposed himself between the man and the demon, meeting the fiend with a fiery gaze of his own, but filled with courage and determination, not hate and relentless rage. The blade flourished in wide but precise swings, cutting the right arm from above the forearm and making the creature screech in pain. The second swing came down on the staggered demon and left a deep cut on its chest. As he let out another screech, another one came through the door, slightly smaller and even more slender.

  Jol knew he had to finish off the one in front of him as fast as possible and then get out in order not to be overwhelmed in a relatively cramped space. So he continued the movement with the sword in his hands, blocking the first attack of the fiend and then aiming for his neck. In the next moment, more thick, black blood sprung from the demon's body as his head flew across the room.

  Jol barely had a moment to catch his breath before the second demon lunged at him, its claws gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the shattered doorway. Its movements were quicker, more erratic than the first, forcing Jol to step back as he parried its slashing strikes. Sparks flew as his sword clashed against its jagged claws, each collision echoing in the small storage room.

  “Master Kalric, now’s the time to act if you can!” Jol shouted, his voice strained from the exertion.

  Kalric, finally finding his footing, grabbed the morningstar he’d been reaching for earlier. The older man’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip, his fear giving way to a grim determination. As Jol deflected another swipe, Kalric circled behind the demon, raising the spiked weapon high. With a guttural yell, Kalric brought the morningstar crashing down onto the creature’s skull. A sickening crunch filled the room as the demon’s head caved in, black ichor spilling out onto the wooden floor.

  “Good hit, Master,” Jol said, panting as he lowered his sword momentarily.

  The time for rest, however, was not upon them yet, as they heard more yelling coming from outside. Jol didn’t hesitate as he stepped out into the street, dragging Kalric with him. The forge door swung shut behind them, muffling the distant cries of terrified villagers. The sun glared down mercilessly, illuminating the carnage unfolding across the square—flames licked at rooftops, bodies lay strewn about, and grotesque creatures prowled through the chaos, seeking their next prey.

  But none stood as menacing as the hulking demon that now turned its glowing green eyes on them. Towering at over two meters tall, its crimson skin gleamed with a slick, oily sheen, and black veins pulsated across its muscular frame. Its massive claws flexed eagerly, and the air seemed to hum with its palpable malice.

  The demon roared, its voice echoing like a thunderclap, and charged with terrifying speed. Jol barely managed to sidestep its initial swipe, feeling the rush of displaced air as the claws tore through the space he’d just vacated. Kalric swung his morningstar with all his might, the spiked head smashing into the creature’s side. It let out a guttural growl but barely stumbled before retaliating with a backhanded swipe that sent Kalric sprawling to the ground.

  “Master!” Jol cried, stepping between Kalric and the demon. He slashed at its chest, but the thick, leathery skin turned his blade aside, leaving only a shallow gash. The fiend grinned cruelly, its green eyes gleaming with sadistic delight.

  It lunged again, its massive claws aiming to cleave Jol in two. Jol ducked low, rolling to the side, and managed to slice along the demon’s thigh. Black ichor oozed from the wound, but it only seemed to enrage the creature further.

  Jol’s mind raced as he deflected another blow, his arm trembling under the force. Steel wasn’t enough—but he had something else. His hand shot to the small vial hanging from his neck, the holy water his mother had given him.

  The demon noticed his hesitation and seized the moment, charging forward. Jol barely had time to twist out of the way, the fiend’s claws ripping through the air where his head had been. He stumbled but managed to yank the vial free from its cord.

  “Master!” he shouted. “Keep it busy!”

  The blacksmith, grimacing in pain, raised his morningstar and slammed it into the demon’s shin. The creature roared, distracted for just a moment as it turned its ire on Kalric. Jol took his chance.

  He darted forward. With a desperate shout, he flung the holy water directly into the demon’s face. The vial shattered against its head, and the effect was instant.

  Brilliant white flames erupted across the demon’s body, searing its flesh. It howled in agony, thrashing wildly as the purifying fire consumed it. Its claws swung blindly, carving deep gouges into the dirt street, but Jol and Kalric kept their distance, watching as the creature’s movements grew slower and more erratic.

  Finally, with one last, guttural roar, the demon collapsed to its knees. The flames consumed it entirely, leaving behind only a smoldering black husk that crumbled to ash in the breeze.

  Jol leaned on his sword, panting heavily. Kalric limped over, his face pale but alive. He clapped a hand on Jol’s shoulder.

  “Good job, lad. Now it’s time to hide, though. I don’t know if I can take another hit like that.”

  Jol shook his head, standing tall despite the ache in his limbs. “Not yet. Not for me, at least. There are more of them. You, indeed, need to hide, Master Kalric, but I have to get to my mother’s house.”

  Kalric hesitated but nodded, gripping his morningstar. “Go, then. I’ll find somewhere safe. Just… don’t get yourself killed, lad.”

  Jol nodded, grabbing his sword tightly and disappearing into the alleys as the blacksmith retreated to the ruins of the forge. The village was still in chaos, and Jol’s heart pounded as he slipped through the shadows, heading east toward his home.

  It took him just a few minutes to reach back through the ravaged streets, which were now – mostly – empty on that side of Himnar. From a small distance, he saw the house, more quiet than ever. Rationally, that sprung up the idea that his mother could have been ignored by the wretched creatures. However, his soul was telling him something had happened. He had to reach inside to see the truth for himself.

  As he ran, he kept hearing the guttural roars of the demons in the distance, so he prayed a few words to the Archlight that Master Kalric would be alright. Nothing he could do about him at the moment, so he placed him in the care of the deity’s grace.

  He leaped over the wooden fence in the small backyard and opened the back door to his house. Inside, the hallway leading into the kitchen had a couple of scratch marks on its walls, and the rug was torn to pieces. He stepped silently into the kitchen, seeing three of those thin red figures bent over something over the stairs, to his left. He approached like a thief in the night, the figures not observing him, ready to strike the first one. That’s when he saw her: his mother…

  He froze for a brief moment, letting out a cry of pain that jolted the demons in place. He swung the sword wildly, cutting the heads of two in one attack, to then take a hit in the shoulder from the last one, but he did not back away to defend himself. The remaining demon was surprised, to say the least, but did not stop the aggression. Jol was, however, faster and sliced the fiend’s right arm right below the shoulder. The demon attacked with what he had left, the claws finding their target in the right side of Jol’s chest. But the wound was shallow, and as he pulled back for another attack, Jol grabbed his left arm, searing his palm in the process. With an even more enraged roar, he plunged the sword into the demon's mouth, ending him.

  He dropped the sword, blood and tears flowing down on his face and torso. He dropped to his knees and then dropped on top of the lifeless body of his mother. She was full of wounds, especially around the chest and stomach areas. He held her tightly. As tightly as he could for a few moments. After, as tears ran down his cheeks, he let her body touch those cold wooden steps again. The scream he let out after was like not one that was ever heard in the history of Himnar. And what happened next… The history of the whole world would mark it in its archives.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  *****

  As the fury grew, so did he. Sprouting massive wings from his back, he started transforming. His eyes turned yellow. His hair disappeared. Scales grew all around him. The color was that of a pure white, like a cold winter day. The strength was that of armies, put together to utterly destroy their enemies. He could not be contained.

  He roared and then cried in pain, and the house he was in began to shudder. No structure that size could fit a dragon inside, not even a young one. Not by a long shot. As the walls, frames, and rooftop collapsed around him, he rose, taller than the highest point of the former house.

  He was there, but he was not the same anymore. Or, he was more himself than before…

  His snowy wings unfurled with a thunderous gust, scattering debris in every direction. The shattered remnants of his childhood home lay in a halo around him, a memory buried beneath the weight of transformation. His roar echoed across the village—a deep, guttural sound that shook the very earth, filled with agony, wrath, and a power long dormant.

  Then he felt it—a pull. A presence deep at the edge of Himnar, glowing like a fading ember. The Heart of Gold.

  It was being taken.

  Jol launched into the sky, his wings carving through the smoke-choked air. Below, demons shrieked—some dragging terrified villagers through burning alleyways. His eyes locked on the central plaza, where once the lights of festival lanterns shimmered. Now, only flame and ruin remained.

  There – two figures.

  One stood at the base of the shattered chapel steps: cloaked in charred, black stone, four muscular arms flexing as they gripped nothing at all. No weapon, no armor—just raw, demonic flesh gleaming like cooled magma. His breath steamed in the cold, his snarl carved from fury.

  The other figure turned just as Jol arrived—tall, cloaked, wielding a curved sword of dark steel that pulsed with veins of crimson light. In his other hand, he held a sealed container glowing with soft gold-green radiance.

  The Heart of Gold.

  Jol roared—ice and sound colliding. He dove like a falling star, slamming into the plaza with the force of an avalanche. Stone shattered. Frost exploded outward. Lesser demons were hurled back, crushed under debris or frozen mid-scream.

  The brute—four-armed, brutal—roared back and lunged, fists swinging like boulders. Jol ducked the first, then met the second with a claw, bone and knuckle clashing. The third caught his shoulder. The fourth slammed into his jaw, cracking scale and drawing blood.

  He staggered—but held.

  That’s when a child’s scream cut through the chaos. A girl, no older than ten, trapped beneath a fallen beam. Jol’s eyes darted. Without pause, he surged through the flurry of fists, crushed a pair of lesser demons underfoot, and swept the beam aside with his tail..

  She looked up—wide-eyed, unafraid.

  “Run,” he said, voice like glaciers grinding.

  She did.

  The brute charged again—but Jol met him this time. Frost surged from his body, coating the demon’s limbs. Their clash cracked the earth, ice and fury exploding with every impact. Jol’s breath carved a jagged cone of glacial wind, so cold it seemed to rip the air in two. The brute’s skin steamed, cracked, but he pressed on, grabbing Jol’s horn and yanking him down—

  Only for Jol to bite into his wrist and hurl him across the plaza.

  The sword-wielder hadn’t moved. He simply watched.

  Jol turned, snarling, eyes blazing toward the container—the Heart of Gold, still glowing faintly, lying in the center of the plaza where it had fallen from the sword-demon’s grip.

  He moved to claim it.

  And that’s when the blade came.

  A whisper of shadow. A slash of crimson.

  The sword-wielder was faster than thought.

  Jol jerked back just in time, the black blade grazing his chest with a burst of heatless pain. The air ripped with each swing, reality bending around the unnatural edge.

  The demon didn’t speak. He didn’t taunt.

  He was surgical. Merciless.

  The brute rejoined the fray with a guttural roar, leaping at Jol’s side while the blade flashed again from the front. For the first time, Jol was outnumbered—claws met fists, scales deflected steel—but the blows were landing now. He felt it. The sting of slashes across his flanks, the ache in his wing, the burn of shadow-magic scraping across bone. He fought on, unyielding, but pain began to bloom beneath his armored hide like fire beneath ice.

  Claws slashed. Blades hissed. Fists thundered against scale.

  Jol staggered, breathing hard, wings shredded at the edges.

  But still he stood…

  Until–

  A streak of fire shot between the demons, smashing the brute aside.

  Raela landed, eyes glowing, focused like never before.

  Aluvar followed, angular and fast, his lightning-charged form crackling with energy. His scales shimmered like polished steel, every movement laced with arcs of raw voltage. He dove from the sky and unleashed a blinding bolt of pure lightning, striking the sword-wielding demon and hurling him back in a flash of thunder.

  Together, the three dragons stood – shoulder to shoulder, wings extended. A wall of scale, fury, and elemental might.

  The brute roared and lunged again, but Raela met him mid-charge, coiling around his arms and blasting him point-blank with fire, flame seeping into every crack in his scorched hide. Jol surged forward with a thunderous bellow, frost exploding from his jaws and freezing the brute’s legs to the ground. Aluvar dove again, crashing into the sword-wielder with a discharge of lightning that lit the plaza like midday.

  The sword demon hissed and vanished into shadow—only to reappear behind Aluvar. But Jol was faster. He wheeled around and slammed his tail into the demon’s side, sending him crashing through the chapel’s broken wall.

  The brute broke free of Raela’s grip just as she loosed another burst of fire, this time aimed at the ground, surrounding him in a blazing ring. Jol lunged onto his back, claws digging deep, frost erupting with every wound he tore open. The demon howled—but didn’t fall.

  Aluvar’s strikes danced like lightning—quick, sharp, relentless. Each crackling impact with the blade-wielder was a symphony of thunderclaps and sparks. The demon parried, twisted, slashed—but the young dragons were pressing in now, surrounding him.

  Raela rose above the battlefield, wings glowing from within, fire trailing from her mouth like smoke before an eruption.

  “Now!” she roared.

  Jol and Aluvar moved as one. Jol pinned the brute with frost that sealed the ground beneath him. Aluvar arched his neck and released a bolt of forked lightning, slamming into the sword demon and sending him reeling.

  Raela descended in a spiral of flame and fury, unleashing a final jet of fire that washed over both enemies.

  When the fire and frost faded, the brute lay shattered—encased in ice and burned through to the core. The sword demon knelt nearby, his cloak tattered, one leg half-fused to stone. He looked up, eyes blazing with hatred.

  “You dare… interfere with the will of the Dark Ones?”

  “You walk in stolen power,” Aluvar growled.

  “You know nothing of what’s to come,” the demon hissed, blood oozing from his wounds, eyes gleaming with fanatical purpose.

  Then the air shifted.

  The Heart of Gold pulsed—once, twice—its light flickering unnaturally, like a sun eclipsed. Veins of black-red energy slithered across its surface, as if something deep within had been awakened. The sword-wielder reached out a trembling hand—not to take it, but to touch the seal carved into the earth beneath it, a sigil none of them had noticed until now, burned into the stone in some ancient, crooked language.

  Raela’s eyes widened. “No—don’t let him—”

  The seal flared.

  A shockwave of corrupted light rippled outward, distorting the air and briefly freezing the breath in their lungs. The demon’s wounds sealed in an instant with steaming black sinew. His shattered leg reformed. His cloak fluttered as if alive. And his sword—once dark—now blazed with crackling crimson lightning and fire, infused with energy not his own.

  His form expanded—twisted. Horns curled higher, his eyes now glowing coals of madness. His voice echoed with more than one tone—his own, and something deeper, older.

  “Our will cannot be denied.”

  Before any of them could move, he struck.

  He was on Jol in a flash—faster than before, faster than even Aluvar could track. The blade screamed through the air and slammed into Jol’s side, bypassing scale, frost, and strength. A burst of black-red light followed the impact.

  Jol roared—not in rage this time, but pain—and was hurled across the plaza, crashing into a broken fountain. His form shimmered—then collapsed. The dragon was gone. A boy lay crumpled among the stones, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

  “No!” Raela screamed, fire erupting from her mouth as she leapt between him and the demon.

  The commander advanced, blade crackling, but Raela stood firm, wings spread wide over Jol’s body. She opened her jaws and let loose a cone of pure fire, the breath of an ancient dragon compressed into a single defiant blaze. The ground melted beneath her fury, forcing the demon back—but not breaking him.

  That’s when the thunder came.

  Aluvar struck from above.

  He dove like a silver lightning bolt, storm-charged wings folded tight, and slammed into the demon with the force of a hurricane. Thunder erupted across the plaza, shaking the earth. The two figures crashed through a half-collapsed building, disappearing in a flash of lightning.

  A moment later, the demon burst out of the rubble—burning, clawed, enraged—but Aluvar was on him again. The dragon circled high, then let loose a wrathful blast of lightning, a crackling cone that struck the demon square in the chest and held him there, burning and spasming as every nerve in his body lit up.

  Raela reared back, unleashing a second cone of fire from across the plaza, catching the demon from the other side.

  Fire and lightning converged, turning the space between them into a blinding blaze of light and energy.

  The demon howled, stepped forward, raised his sword–

  Aluvar dove again, jaws wide, and clamped them down on the demon’s arm, crushing it with the crackle of divine thunder. With a brutal twist, he tore the shoulder just as the demon pushed him away. He could not hold his sword anymore.

  Raela took flight then, soared high, and let loose one final, massive jet of fire, white-hot and roaring, engulfing the broken figure below.

  When the flames and stormlight faded, the demon was on his knees—body crumbling, form unraveling. He glared up, hatred undimmed.

  “…He stirs… beneath…”

  Then he turned to ash and vanished in the wind.

  Silence returned.

  Smoke curled into the sky. The seal had broken. The Heart of Gold still pulsed softly, its light steady once more.

  Raela landed beside Jol and immediately shifted back to her humanoid form. She knelt at his side, cradling him, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

  Aluvar landed next, still in his dragon form, his chest rising with labored breaths. Thunder crackled faintly along his spine.

  “He’s alive,” Raela whispered.

  As the fires burned low, the snow formed earlier from Jol’s draconic magic began to fall to the ground again – soft, steady, real.