Prologue

  It happened an age ago.

  The story began as many others did. The world was peaceful, ruled by a just and powerful Emperor. His lands were rich and plentiful, and his people vibrant and happy. Had it been any other time, in any other life, it would have been declared a Golden Age to rival even the ancients.

  But such prosperity would remain only a dream. For from the depths of Hell came a Demon bearing the mark of a King. Followed by vassal lords—each a devil in their own right—they marched upon the civilized world, pillaging and plundering all in their path. It was then, at the turn of the millennium in the heart of the Second Empire, that the Demon King revolted against life itself.

  At first, the brave soldiers of the Empire fought valiantly, holding off this endless tide. They slew thousands, the rivers of the world running red with the blood of countless Demons. For every one man felled, ten demons fell with him.

  But despite their best efforts time was not on their side. The trained men of the empire slowly dwindled, replaced again and again by ever greener recruits, each new legion younger than the last. No matter the petty victories Man claimed, for every ten demons killed, one hundred took their place.

  Soon it became clear the Empire of Men could not hold back the demons any longer, and so the Goddess in her infinite wisdom sent forth a champion, a Hero plucked from an unknown land who could surpass any other and—eventually—kill the Demon King himself.

  It took three bloody years of constant war, but the Hero met the Demon King in his Palace of Sin, and plunged his holy blade into his wretched heart, ending him for all time.

  And perhaps here the story would end. The Hero victorious, and the Demon King dead. But though the Hero was successful, he was not thorough.

  For though the Demon King is dead, his vassal lords do still draw breath;

  Edda the Woman-Serpent, who has conquered the six seas, sinking any ships which pass through her territory and waging war against all who live on the land;

  Nytheloph The All-Seeing, whose countless eyes witness all that has been and all that could be;

  The Black Knight Laurence, The Traitor of Mankind, who hides away in the old Capitol, acting out a pantomime of his lost humanity;

  And The Lich-King Aethric the Undying, whose undead legions slaughter any who would dare set foot into his new realm of death.

  For though their lord may be dead, these devil kings refused to follow, pushing back the warriors of the righteous further and further each day. What was hoped to be a total victory turned merely pyrrhic. Defeat after defeat piles up with each year that passes, as even the few victories achieved only seem to barely delay the inevitable.

  Alas, the Hero is dead, and the heartlands of the Second Empire along with him. And though Mankind still eeks out a living in the south, it is only a matter of time before the demons return to finish what their fallen Lord started.

  And this time, there might not be a Hero to save them.

  --

  2032 P.T. (Post Tenebras)

  The city of Occia had once been one of the largest cities in the world. It sat near the southern edge of the Second Empire, growing fat and bloated off Nostratum Sea trade. It had been the seat of King Aster, the granduncle of the last emperor, under whose rule it had sprawled to the greatest heights it had ever seen.

  Now it was a tomb. The entire population—tens of thousands of people—killed in a mass sacrifice by the Lich-King in the final years of the Demon Wars. Now the corpses of its citizens still roam its streets, an undying garrison which had held the line against any attempted reconquest of the Heartlands for the past thirty years.

  But today that would change. Today, after decades of constant warfare, the Lich-King would finally die.

  And it would be Sinbad the Paladin who would make sure of it.

  Brandishing his holy sword 'Heilige S?uberung', Sinbad roared, burying the blade into the throat of an undead knight. He then tore it free, spinning on the spot and cleaving through the skull of the next zombie in his path, not willing to waste a moment in his onslaught.

  He tore his way through the rotting city of Occia, the narrow alleys all that allowed him to survive the endless hordes. He took another step forward, clearing the way for his few remaining allies as he laid the dead to their long-awaited rest. As he ducked under the wild swing of another zombie his vision flickered and his knees nearly gave out. He took a deep breath of the wretched air, biting his tongue to force himself to stay conscious as days’ worth of constant warfare suddenly caught up with him.

  He'd come too far to collapse right at the finish line.

  "Move!" Geronimo roared, the Dwarven warrior swinging his battle hammer in a wide arc. Sinbad had barely a moment to collapse to the dirt before the hammer flew over his head and pulped the zombie attacking him, followed a half-second later by a wall of concussive force that tore the shambling horde behind it off their feet.

  Without blinking the Paladin rolled back to his feet, knowing that even a second of hesitation would lead to his death. The three straight days of combat after they'd broken the siege had drilled that into him more deeply than a decade as a career adventurer.

  Using the momentum of his roll he cut another zombie in half, before turning to face three more bearing down on him.

  There'd been an army with them, when they started this fight half a week ago. Thousands of good men and women who had trusted him to lead them to victory. Now, Sinbad stared impassively as he cut down the corpse of a man who'd helped them breach the walls yesterday. Only three adventurers—Sinbad, Geronimo, and Rosalina—had survived long enough to make it this far. And as he cut down another former ally, Sinbad swore they'd make every sacrifice that got them this far worth it.

  Hours passed as he lost track of time, killing and re-killing a seemingly endless horde of the undead. His exhaustion slowly began to catch up with him, his arms shaking with each swing and each step becoming more of a stumble. No matter how many he cut down, no matter how many Geronimo pulverized, no matter how many Rosalina burned, this war appeared endless.

  Suddenly his ears popped, and the faint smell of the sea pricked at his senses. He turned, and only got a faint rumbling as warning before the street was flooded, a tsunami overtaking everything.

  And yet as the waters reached his group they suddenly split, the rushing waves dodging them completely and instead annihilating only the zombies around them. Sinbad barely blinked before both the waves and the undead army were gone, leaving only the scaled grin of a familiar Drowned-Man.

  "David!" Rosalina sagged, leaning on her stave in support. She looked like she was about to cry in relief.

  Sinbad sympathized. They'd been overwhelmed for hours, and at some point he’d nearly accepted this would be the day he’d die. "Where have you been, you damn show-off!?" He grinned, reaching forward to clasp the Drowned-Man's arm. "We were worried you were dead when you didn't show up last night!"

  "I thought I was too!" David grinned back, showing off row after row of jagged teeth. "Luckily for me it turns out Fleshwalkers fall apart when you blast 'em with enough saltwater, else—"

  Their short reprieve was cut off as the ground shook. The overgrown cobblestone streets before them suddenly exploded as giant skeletal hands erupted from the earth, rotting flesh still clinging in chunks to yellow bones. The hands numbered one—two—four—eight before they grabbed the surrounding buildings and heaved, bringing the rest of their bodies out from the depths.

  Or, rather, body.

  "What in the Lady's name—?" Sinbad whispered as the full demon came into view.

  Eight rotting limbs, each the equivalent of an ancient oak tree in girth, connected to not a body but a titanic, jawless human head, pulsating with dozens of misshapen eyes and hacking up liters of black toxic tar with each agonized gasp it took.

  The eyes as one turned to glare at them, and the thing let out a garbled, anguished scream, before skittering towards them like a spider with its oversized hands.

  "Go!" Geronimo screamed, before letting off a shockwave of power that knocked the thing back a few blocks. It immediately got back to its feet (hands?) and charged again with its horrible cry. "I'll hold it off here!"

  "But Geronimo—!"

  "Don't worry about me!" he snapped back. "Just make sure you get Rosy to that damn Lich! It's taken decades to get to this point, but if we fail here it might take decades more! And I don't know 'bout you, but I'm not that patient!"

  Sinbad set his jaw and nodded, grabbing Rosalina's arm and dragged her away, the woman only resisting for a moment before following.

  "He's going to die," she whispered.

  "Probably," Sinbad grimaced. "He's strong, though. Have faith in the Goddess, and she’ll certainly protect him."

  "…Faith, huh?"

  They didn't speak anymore, instead focusing on their mad dash through the city. Sinbad took the lead, with Rosalina behind him and David taking up the rear. Luckily they didn't stumble across another undead at any point, which only raised the tension settling between them. ‘Luck’ was not something they had believed in in weeks.

  More than likely, Sinbad realized grimly, the demons may have all decided to consolidate on the battle between Geronimo and the monstrosity. Even now they could faintly feel the skull-rattling shockwaves erupting far behind them.

  …He would honor his friend’s sacrifice when they returned home.

  Before they realized it, they'd made it to the center of the city.

  It was a cathedral. The Cathedral. The seat of first Lady Pontiff and the old heart of the Faith. Before the demons came, this had been where pilgrims flocked to, where the Lady Pontiff appointed her bishops, where the Goddess was said to have anointed the first Emperor as Saint.

  And yet, now… it was underwhelming. Little more than a ruined husk, far smaller than he'd expected. Even taking into account its ruined state, the cathedral had had a grandeur he’d built up so much in his mind that seeing it in person was somewhat disenchanting. The Cathedral of St. Alexia in Vola was more magnificent in every way, and it had been abandoned centuries before this city had even been founded.

  Sinbad shook away those thoughts. They weren't here to sightsee—they were here to kill a demon.

  Still. It was a bit disappointing.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  At least that meant he wouldn't feel bad about what happened next.

  Raising his sword above his head, Sinbad channeled the holy energies of the Goddess, and with a single swing let off a blast of holy energy which blew the grand ancient doors of the Cathedral clean off their rusted hinges.

  The three of them charged into the Cathedral, power thrumming in their hands and righteous fury in their hearts.

  "So, you've made it past my spider."

  And there, standing at the crumbling altar, was Lich-King Aethric himself.

  And for the second time today, Sinbad was surprised. For the Lich-King, the great Demon of Death, looked surprisingly… human.

  Clad in only a black battle skirt from the waist down, the Lich-King had lively bronze skin that accentuated corded muscles and a wide, powerful physique. A mane of vibrant red hair fell neatly combed from his head, matched only by an immaculate beard across his jaw. The only part of the Demon in front of them that showed the creature's true nature were the eyes.

  Those black, soulless eyes, that pinned him to the spot even from across the cathedral.

  "I'll admit to being surprised. Even the old Hero struggled against my abominations, and yet here you stand, nary a hair out of place. Why, it's almost as if—"

  That was as much as he got out before a ball of holy fire nearly the width of the whole Cathedral bore down on him, consuming the Lich with an explosion of light.

  For a moment nobody spoke, the three of them hoping for once it really could have been that easy, but none of them having the courage to voice such thoughts aloud.

  "How rude!" the voice of the Lich-King boomed suddenly, and with a wave of power the lingering dust from the explosion was cast aside, revealing him standing at the center surrounded by flickering purple barriers. With a wave of his hand they dispelled as he sighed, placing his other hand on his cheek. "I was in the middle of my pre-fight monologue, too! I mean really, what has this world come to, where adventurers refuse to even let me—"

  Another holy fireball slammed into him.

  "Fine," the Lich snarled, "If you want to play it that way."

  Sinbad blinked.

  And suddenly the Lich-King was right there, a wicked dagger in his hand that he jammed into his helmet, bending metal with ease before—

  Sinbad screamed in agony as his right eye was carved out, one hand reaching up to grasp at his helmet while the other—the one holding his sword—thrust forward on instinct, forcing the Lich-King away with a clumsy swing.

  The monster barely made it a step away before being blasted by briny saltwater, the pressurized blast knocking him back several feet. It lined him up perfectly for Rosalina to slam him with another holy fireball, though this one was much smaller than the last two. The Lich-King knocked it aside as Sinbad’s remaining two allies flanked him, hitting him with holy fire from one side and frigid seawater from the other.

  It gave Sinbad enough time to regain his bearings, lunging with his sword at the unprotected Lich's back. But he was somehow parried, a skeletal arm growing from under the Lich's skirt and knocking his sword away before a second arm—this one still rotting—joined the first and shoved a dagger at his waist, forcing him to back away or risk losing a leg.

  Grimacing, the Paladin changed tracks, focusing instead on cutting off the many (many) undead limbs hiding beneath the Lich's skirt while Rosalina and David held his attention at range.

  And eventually, after what felt like hours of strained combat, Sinbad's good eye widened as he saw his opportunity. With a leaping thrust that shattered the ground behind his feet he lunged with a roar, slamming his sword straight through the Lich-King's elbow. The blade sliced through bone and flesh like a hot knife through butter, cutting off his arm and leaving just a bloody stump in its place.

  Sinbad had only a moment of vindication, before his eyes widened as a deluge of maggots, flies, and other insects he didn't care to name burst from the Lich's already rotting stump. They flew towards him like a cloud of horrible death before a blast of holy fire from Rosalina incinerated them all.

  The Lich-King was pushed back by a blast of seawater from David, forcing him even further off balance. He raised his head, only having time to widen his hollow eyes as Rosalina raised her stave high, another prayer on lips and fire burning on her fingertips.

  With a wave of her stave holy flames barreled down on the Lich-King, but just before it reached him the roof exploded and a monster crashed through it. Landing between them it blocked the attack before the holy sacrament could turn its master to ash.

  Sinbad swore as the skeleton of an ancient Drake unfurled its leatherless wings between them, the holy flames cast aside with a single flap of its rotting wings. Without wasting a second the Lich-King slipped into the ribcage of the undead beast which then took off, exploding out of the altar through the same hole it had entered through.

  "He's escaping!" Rosalina yelped, raising her stave.

  "Like Hell he is!" the Paladin snarled, jumping after the two of them. Kicking off the ground with a dull boom he leapt several stories into the air, following the Drake through the hole it'd left in the roof.

  Landing on top of the old cathedral he snapped his head around looking for the monster, only to swear again as he saw it already halfway across the city. He swore again as he saw that the hordes had apparently finished with Geronimo, and were now converging on his location. Raising his sword up Sinbad prepared to throw the weapon, aware that even if he hit it likely wouldn't do any real damage, before something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

  It was a stupid idea, but he didn’t have time for second thoughts.

  Slamming his foot against the molding tiles of the ruined Cathedral, he launched himself at the cathedral’s crumbling bell tower. The erect spire had once stood proudly at the crown of the holy site, but was now little more than a ruined, deteriorating mess, with only a rusted chain as evidence it had ever housed a bell at all.

  But none of that mattered for what he was about to do. Reaching down to the crumbling base of the cathedral's spire he dug his fingers deep, and with a single grunt of exertion tore it straight off its foundations. Not sparing another second he used the momentum of his heave to twist around and with a bellowing roar, launched the old cathedral's spire like a javelin after the fleeing Drake.

  It rocketed across the city, far faster than it had any right to, rotting bricks and mortar falling in its wake. It gained on the Drake in an instant, the undead beast and its master barely having time to turn in shock before the spire slammed into them, exploding on impact and rending the Drake’s spine in half.

  Then Sinbad—who had launched himself right after the bell tower—slammed into what remained of it, grunting in pain as he clawed his way onto the massive ribs of the beast as it fell from the sky.

  The Lich-King had barely the time to widen his empty eyes before the Paladin swung his sword, cutting a deep gash through his torso which barely missed the heart.

  Then the three of them crashed into the city below, plowing through an abandoned house before skidding to a stop in an overgrown plaza. The skeletal Drake let out a soundless wail as it flailed into an old fountain, sending shattered bone in every direction and dropping its passengers onto the overgrown cobblestones.

  The two warriors wasted no time, both instantly on their feet and attacking in tandem. The Lich snapped his good hand forward, a bolt of inverted lightning crackling forth from his fingers while the Paladin let out a roar and thrust his blessed sword towards the Lich's heart, determined not to miss a second time.

  Unfortunately, in their zeal to off each other they had both forgotten about the undead Drake that had fallen with them. The two halves of the Drake squirmed frantically, a soundless roar loosed from its cracked jaw as shattered bones flew forth from its undying body.

  Sinbad only had enough time to bring his sword protectively in front of him before the leg of the back half kicked him, launching his body away, while the Lich-King got hit in the head with a flying shoulder-bone, knocking his aim off and causing him to fire the lightning bolt into the sky instead.

  Sinbad slammed back-first into another building, rolling to his feet just in time to dodge a follow-up lightning bolt from the Lich-King. He ducked down, keeping his body low as he charged again, using the time his enemy had to waste dodging his flailing construct to gain ground—

  It was warm. And it was bright.

  That was all the warning Sinbad got. It was all the warning he needed. He broke his charge immediately, slamming a foot into the cracked earth and launching himself back as fast as he could.

  The Lich-King, unfortunately for him, was not so swift. He had just enough time to look up in the sky and stare his death in the eyes before it descended.

  A second sun blazed above the rotting city of Occia, a ball of pure white flames so large it blotted out the sky, radiating heat and light and holy miasma enough to wipe an army off the map.

  Which it was going to do. Right on top of him.

  Sinbad had only a second to be grateful he was a paladin before his world was consumed by white.

  --

  Sinbad kicked open the doors of the ruined cathedral, noting at some point the rest of roof had caved in. Probably after he used it as a launchpad, now that he thought of it.

  "Hey, Rosy!" He coughed, wincing as the burns along his neck tore further at the action. "I need healing! Before I end up like this sorry chap!"

  With that said he chucked the body he'd dragged all this way back on the ground, the charred corpse of the Lich-King rolling twice before slumping to a stop before the altar.

  "Oh, Sinbad!" Rosalina yelped, running up to him. "I'm so, so sorry, but I saw the opportunity and I just—it might have been our only chance and—"

  "Hey, hey," he coughed painfully again. "Healing first, apologies second."

  "Right," she nodded sharply. Bringing her stave to bear she recited a short prayer, and Sinbad sighed in relief as he felt his burn scars start to fade away. "I'm sorry, again. Truly."

  "You did what you had to," he told her, rolling his healing muscles experimentally. You had to keep moving while healing, lest your body heal too far and turn you into an invalid. "Killing the Demon General was more important than any of our lives, and the fact we succeeded is all the victory we need. That said. Please never do that again.

  "Of course," she nodded firmly, before glancing down at the corpse he'd dragged along with him. Her face soured at the sight. "How is that still here, though?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "That should have turned it to ash, not simply killed it. Every other undead I used it on simply ceased to exist afterwards."

  "Well," Sinbad hacked, coughing more ash from his lungs, "It certainly got the Drake."

  She frowned at him.

  "Look," he sighed, "I brought him back here to make sure either way, see? Just burn him again if you're so worried. Regardless, where'd David go? Please tell me you didn't let him start looting the cursed treasury of the Lich-King alone."

  She scowled at him. "What do I look like, his mother? I told him to wait until you got back to go down there, but no~ he has to be the first to the loot every time. I'd think him avaricious if I didn't already know it."

  Sinbad sighed, rolling his newly healed shoulders. "Whatever. At least he'd get himself cursed now rather than before the fight."

  Rosalina scoffed, before glaring down at the Lich-King's charred corpse. She slammed the butt of her stave as hard as she could into its gut, and instantly it lit up in holy flames again.

  Sinbad frowned at the uncharacteristic sight. "Hey, are you okay? You're not usually this… grumpy. Did David say something?"

  "It's nothing," she shook her head. "Or rather, it just… it doesn't feel real. I mean, I know killing the Lich-King is what we came here to do, but…"

  "…Yeah, I get it," Sinbad grasped her shoulder in solidarity. "A decade of planning, and we succeed at only what few have ever managed to do—killing a Demon Lord."

  "…Yes. We did."

  Sinbad gave her a relieved smile, before clapping her shoulder once again. "I'll go find David before he actually gets himself cursed, if you're fine up here?"

  At her reluctant nod, he gave her one more reassuring smile before descending down into the former Lich-King's sanctum after their greedy friend.

  Rosalina stayed behind, staring at the holy flames, snapping and crackling and roaring as they purged the unholy creature before her. Glancing back at the defiled altar behind her, she worried her bottom lip, something ugly building within her heart.

  "Yes. We did," she whispered. "And yet, even after he died, the Goddess has yet to reclaim her old home. Almost as if it has truly forever been abandoned."

  She glanced back at the corpse before her, burning merrily at the foot of the altar.

  "Or, perhaps, because even in death the mere memory of the Demon King holds our hearts far tighter than the Goddess ever could."

  --

  "David!" Sinbad shouted as he descended further into the crypts of the Lich-King. "David! If you aren't dead, shout back already!"

  "Oi, Sinbad! You're still alive!" David's cheery voice echoed from around the corner. "Come check this out! I think I found something!"

  With a roll of his eyes and a sigh, the Paladin marched around the corner and, as he expected, found his friend half-buried in a chest, gold and silver trinkets scattered around his feet.

  The Drowned-Man pulled himself out of the chest, grinning at him with his too-sharp teeth. "I think I found the bastard's treasury!"

  Sinbad didn't respond, simply marching up to the Drowned-Man and slapping him upside the head.

  "Ouch! Hey, what was that for?!"

  "That was for being a greedy idiot!" Sinbad shot back. "What is the first rule of adventuring!? Don't loot obviously cursed objects by yourself! Especially not the Lich-King's cursed objects."

  David huffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah yeah, I know. I'm not that dumb," he raised his hands, covered in thick dragon-hide gloves and engraved with holy scripture. "See? I'm not touching any of this stuff until we get it appraised."

  "…Fine," Sinbad sighed, rubbing his forehead only to wince as the new flesh tore slightly. "What did you find in this thing?"

  David shrugged, moving out of the way to let him look in the chest himself. "Eh, besides the coins nothing much, I don't think. Just that thing."

  Sinbad raised an eyebrow, glancing in the chest. 'That' was a necromancer's staff, a long stick of decorated wood with a human skull attached to the top. It looked well-made but unused, if the thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering it was anything to go by.

  "Think it's important?"

  Sinbad grimaced, looking at the rest of the chest, covered in dust and filled with broken weapons and shattered artifacts. It didn't look like anything in there had been touched in an age.

  "This isn’t his treasury. I think you found the Lich-King’s junk drawer," Sinbad told him dryly, rolling his eyes.

  "Damn,” he shook his head in faux sadness. “And here I thought I'd struck gold."

  "Well, we might be able to sell it for gold if we find a buyer gullible enough. More likely, though, we'll just chuck it at the guild and hope for a finder's fee."

  David groaned. "So we kill one of the most dangerous demons known to man, and yet we only get paid enough to afford dry pasta? Something about that doesn't add up, boss."

  "That sounds like a problem for future us," Sinbad told him, grabbing the Drowned-Man's arm and dragging him back to the surface. "Current us, however, should make sure Rosy hasn't burned down the rest of the city without us. You can loot to your heart's content later, got it?"

  "Ugh, fine."

  And as they turned their backs, unseen by any of the adventurers, the skull's eyes began to glow faintly, the powers of the cosmos swirling in their depths.

  Then as quickly as it appeared the glow faded, once more becoming little more than an inert skull.

  It wasn't time.

  Not yet.