4:00 PM — Violet Moon's Cottage
The Monster had fallen. The green magical light dimmed from its eyes until nothing remained but dull glass. William could finally turn his attention to the Shadow Demon.
The air burned thin — each breath he took scraped his lungs raw. The heat from the Night Fire warped the world into a wavering, blistering haze. Sweat and blood rolled into his eyes. Every inhale was agony, every exhale a warning that the cottage, what little was left of it, would not survive another minute.
He staggered, light-headed, realizing with a flicker of gratitude that V's leather bag was still tied to his belt — an unconscious act of instinct. From within it, his fingers brushed an oyster charm. He hurled it toward Gwen, who was still cowering in the corner. The charm shattered against the wall, flaring to life. In an instant, she was encased within a shimmering sphere of cool water.
For the first time in minutes, William exhaled.
She's safe. For now.
But his relief was brief. The Demon loomed in the firelight, its body an ever-shifting storm of shadow and hate. William's strength was failing — the enchantments woven into his clothes were weakening, the old magics of his kind faltering.
"Think, old fool…" he muttered through clenched teeth. Then it came to him — the key to every Shadow Demon's existence. Within that writhing form, buried deep, was a Dark Crystal. The corrupted soul bound to it powered the creature.
According to the old myths, separating the Demon from the crystal would destroy it.
That sliver of hope rekindled something fierce inside him.
---
⚔ The Inferno
Hildwulf blinked back into the cottage beside his brother. For the first time in decades, they stood side by side again — battered, bleeding, but united.
There was no need for words. The Red Cap brothers were forged in war; blood and battle were their truest language.
Mother would be so proud, Hildwulf thought.
William tapped the hilts of his daggers together. Magic flared — the twin blades fused into a single bladed staff humming with blue energy. Hildwulf slammed his axe into the ground; his armor blazed with a golden aura, reforming where it had cracked before.
"Together, brother," William said.
"Always," Hildwulf replied.
They charged. Tentacles erupted from the Demon, black whips cracking through smoke and flame. The brothers vanished in a Blink — reappearing mid-strike, steel singing through the infernal air. William drove his staff through the Demon's skull, pinning it to the floor, while Hildwulf's axe cleaved through its legs. The creature roared — a sound that shook the stone foundation of the cottage.
William's staff began to glow, bleeding pale blue light that slowed the Demon's regeneration. Hildwulf joined him, swinging again, cleaving deep wounds in its side. William threw two golden coins into the bleeding shadows — but the Demon's tentacles deflected them, scattering sparks across the floor.
"Stubborn bastard," William growled.
Hildwulf inhaled deeply on his pipe — then exhaled a cone of flame that ignited the Demon's body. The Shadow Demon shrieked as Night Fire met real flame. Desperate, it lashed out with unnatural speed, catching Hildwulf off-guard. The flames splashed across his armor; the shoulder plating shattered. A tentacle speared through the exposed flesh.
He grunted — blood poured freely down his arm. His axe wavered.
William blinked behind the Demon and reached for his staff — but three tentacles struck him first, slamming him into the wall. His protective enchantments kept him alive, though the impact forced blood from his mouth. The tentacles twisted together into a drill and plunged down toward his skull—
Hildwulf blinked between them and his brother. His axe caught the blow, the steel screaming as it bent. The force snapped his wrist, pain radiating up his arm. With another flick, the Demon hurled him away.
"Hildyard…" Hildwulf gasped, struggling to breathe. "I think… this is it."
"Maybe," William coughed, blood spilling from his lips, "but not for her."
He pulled the Homestead Stone from his pocket, blinking beside Gwen. She was crying, pounding on her watery prison as the fire closed in. William pressed the stone into her hand.
"Safe passage," he whispered.
Light erupted around her. Gwen vanished in a column of brilliance — her body pulled into the stone as the world disintegrated around her. Her final vision was of a tentacle piercing William's gut.
"Hildyard!" his brother cried.
William turned toward him, coughing violently, smiling through the blood. With his last strength, he threw the glowing stone into the portal leading to the Mortal Realm. It tumbled, spinning, before landing safely on the wet stone floor of the sewers beyond.
The Demon drove both brothers into the floor, pinning them like insects. The air filled with the sound of sizzling flesh as its tentacles began to vibrate and twist. Pain surged through their bodies — but neither made a sound. Red Caps never screamed.
The Demon's maw opened, the heat of Night Fire building. Its green flame roared to life.
---
🔥 The Arrival
William shut his eyes. So this is it.
But the fire never came.
When he dared to look, he saw the impossible — the Night Fire halted mid-air, folding back on itself like smoke caught in a jar. A slender, pale hand held it in place as easily as one might catch a candle's flame.
Ms. Brollachan stood before them. Her blood red leather corset and black leather pants glowed with magical colors. She planted her heeled boots firm.
Tall and unnervingly thin, she moved with the calm grace of a serpent. Her pale skin shimmered faintly, not from beauty but from the power radiating beneath it. Her black and purple hair flowed with unnatural motion. The air bent around her — heat, shadow, and fear all obeyed her presence. The Demon pressed the Night Fire at her harder, the reflection radiant in her black glass. She was fixed on the Demon with amused disdain.
When she spoke, her voice was velvet and venom.
"Fear not, my little dwarf," she purred. "Your salvation has arrived."
The Night Fire screamed against her palm, but she merely smiled — as if holding the wrath of hell itself were no more effort than catching falling rain.
For the first time since the battle began, the Shadow Demon recoiled.
Even William — dying and delirious — knew what that meant.
If Ms. Brollachan feared only one being in existence, and this was her effortless strength…
Then the true power of Detective Stone was far greater than anyone could yet imagine.
---
End Chapter 23