Mark was barely holding his own against the greataxe-and-warhammer-wielding demon knight. His entire fighting style lived and died by chance—by the mercy of the dice—and right now his luck was atrocious.
"A six!? Are you kidding me!?" Mark shouted as his d20 clattered to the floor. "I need more than a six!"
The failed roll gave him nothing. No concealment. No escape.
The demon knight answered by smashing straight through the wall of the building Mark had ducked into, wood and stone erupting inward as the massive figure turned, eyes locking onto him.
"There you are!" the demon knight roared, swinging the greataxe in a brutal arc meant to bisect him.
Mark yelped and threw himself aside, the blade screaming past where his head had been an instant earlier. He barely scrambled clear of the follow-up warhammer strike, which slammed down hard enough to shatter the floorboards and send splinters flying.
"Stop squirming!" the demon knight bellowed.
Mark rolled backward and snapped his arm out, hurling his d20 across the floor. It bounced once, twice—then settled.
Nineteen.
"Ah ha!" Mark shouted, thrusting his right palm forward. A firebolt tore from his hand and slammed directly into the faceplate of the demon knight's helmet, drawing a grunt of pain and fury as scorched metal smoked.
The demon knight raised both weapons, ready to carve and crush him where he stood.
Mark's heart hammered as he fumbled for his dice again. There was nowhere left to run. One-story house. No exits. Just luck.
But the blow never came.
The demon knight froze mid-motion, head lifting slightly as if listening to something Mark couldn't hear. Then, without warning, he drove both weapons down through the floorboards and dropped to one knee, bowing.
Mark stared, stunned—but only for half a second. That was all the time he needed.
He bolted.
Mark sprinted through the hole the demon knight had torn in the wall and burst outside, skidding to a stop as he scanned the street. The guards were still holding their lines. Ordinary demons were falling fast—nothing they couldn't handle as long as he kept the demon knight occupied.
"Alright!" Mark shouted, waving them over. "I don't know what that big guy is doing in there, but whatever it is, it can't be good. Let's deal with him together!"
The guards—mostly heavy infantry with a handful of spellcasters—nodded as they finished off the last straggling imp and moved to regroup around him. Nearly thirty of them formed up, weapons raised, ready.
The demon knight stood.
Every single one of them froze.
The air became oppressive—thick, crushing, hard to breathe. Mark reacted on instinct, dropping his dice. It bounced once before landing on fifteen.
A willpower check.
Success.
He could still move.
The guards couldn't.
Mark swallowed. He wasn't particularly sensitive to mana—never had been after getting isekaied here—but even he could feel it now. No—he could see it. Demonic energy poured off the Demon Knight in visible waves, warping the air as he slowly turned to face them, crossing his greataxe and warhammer.
"You are all dead!"
Then he charged.
Mark didn't hesitate. He hurled his dice—not to roll for himself, but for the Demon Knight. It was something he could do, something he rarely did, reserved only for moments like this—when a hit felt inevitable.
And this felt inevitable.
*Come on, dice gods. Don't fail me now,* he begged silently as the d20 struck the ground and bounced.
Critical.
The Demon Knight was only a step away from reaching them when the floor betrayed him. One massive armored foot punched straight through the floorboards, the weakened structure collapsing under his weight. His momentum carried him forward, but the sudden drop twisted his center of balance violently. He slammed down at an awkward angle, one leg jammed above the floor while the rest of his body disappeared beneath it.
A critical failure.
A one.
"Thank you, goddess!" Mark shouted, spinning around and pointing at the frozen guards. "Don't just stand there! This is a once-in-a-lifetime moment—run!"
The command snapped them out of their paralysis. And coming from a member of The Order, it wasn't something they were about to argue with. They broke into a sprint immediately, Mark right behind them—because there was no universe where he stayed to fight that thing alone.
Behind them, the Demon Knight snarled. With brutal efficiency, he tore himself free by sheer force, smashing his weapons down as the foundation itself gave way, splintering and collapsing as he hauled his bulk out of the wreckage.
Then he gave chase.
Even with the head start—and even with this Demon Knight not being the fastest—he was closing the distance frighteningly fast.
"Don't stop!" Mark yelled, breath ragged as he ran. "Just keep running! Left at the next crossroads!"
Mark risked another glance back. The Demon Knight was seconds away now, greataxe drawn back, posture low and lethal.
*Just a little farther. Come on—just a little farther,* Mark thought, panic clawing at his chest.
The Demon Knight lowered his stance mid-run, then launched himself forward in a devastating leap. He sailed over the fleeing line and crashed down directly onto one of the magic users. The impact pulverized the guard instantly, body crushed flat beneath his weight.
The rest of the guards skidded to a halt in horror.
The Demon Knight did not.
He moved.
What followed wasn't a fight—it was slaughter.
His greataxe swept once, cleaving straight through heavy plate as if it were cloth, bodies splitting apart before they even realized they'd been struck. The warhammer came down next, each impact turning armored soldiers into shattered wrecks, the ground buckling under the force. Shields folded. Helmets caved in. Bones snapped like kindling.
Firebolts slammed into his armor and dispersed harmlessly, washing over the sand-colored plates without leaving a mark. Wind blades shrieked against him, shattering on contact as though they had struck a mountain. Nothing slowed him. Nothing diverted him.
He carved through nearly thirty guards with complete and utter ease.
And he never stopped moving.
Mark watched in wide-eyed terror as the Demon Knight finished the last body and surged forward again, warhammer already drawing back to smash him into the ground.
Mark fumbled for his dice, hands shaking, trying to roll again—
"Wow!"
The Demon Knight jerked sharply, looking up just in time to catch an iron spear inches from his eye. He seized it mid-thrust with one clawed gauntlet, stopping it cold.
"This looks like a massacre!" Azid said cheerfully from above, a grin on his face as if the scene below didn't bother him in the slightest.
Mark sagged with a gasp of relief. *Thank goddess I don't have to fight him alone,* he thought—though his fear hadn't lessened much.
Azid dropped down, planting his feet and bracing himself as he pushed against the Demon Knight with raw strength, powerful panther legs digging into the ground.
"Let me join and return the favor!"