In the heart of the arena, where the air was heavy with the stench of dust and old blood, the Demon Lord stood tall. His hand rested with lethal relaxation on the hilt of his sword. His voice, deep and commanding, boomed across the stone floor:
"Andre... contractor. Step forward. Grasp the hilt, and let your suffering begin."
Andre moved with heavy, deliberate steps, his eyes locked on the target. The moment his fingers curled around the grip, the ground shuddered. The sword glowed with a sickly pale light, and heavy metal chains slithered like living vipers from the cold stone, coiling tightly around the wrists of both master and vessel.
With a deafening crack, the central boulder shattered. Rising from the earth was a blade as black as a moonless night. Its hilt was carved into the likeness of a white dragon with gaping jaws, radiating a darkness that chilled the bone.
The Demon Lord smiled, gesturing open-handedly toward the weapon.
"I present to you the terror of centuries... the Sword of Dark Doom. Pick it up."
Andre drew his own sword with a sharp metallic hiss, shifting into a combat stance. But the Demon Lord did not draw. He left his blade dormant in its sheath, merely securing it at his hip.
Andre narrowed his eyes, asking suspiciously, "Why do you not draw?"
The Demon scoffed, dusting imaginary dirt from his shoulder with agonizing slowness.
"This sword, little one, only leaves its sheath for those it respects. And you... neither I nor the blade respect you. You are nothing but an empty vessel. Since you took up the sword, you have done nothing but hide behind me or the Ice Lord. You are worthless."
Before Andre could process the insult, the Demon gathered immense energy in his fist. With a sudden jerk, he yanked the chain connecting them. Andre lost his footing, flying helplessly toward the Demon's fist, which slammed into him like a sledgehammer. Andre hit the ground hard, dust billowing up, but the Demon gave him no quarter. He yanked the chain again, thrashing Andre's body against the walls and the floor as if he were a ragdoll.
Finally, he tossed Andre to the dirt, looking down with a sneer.
"Come on, Hero... surely you haven't finished this easily?"
Andre lay broken. His nose was crushed, his teeth shattered, his face a mask of blood. Yet, with trembling limbs, he forced himself up.
The Demon clapped slowly, mockingly. "Bravo. That is how a hero should be."
Spitting a mouthful of blood, Andre gripped the chain and screamed, his voice ragged:
"If you were a man... you would fight me without all that accursed power!"
The Demon raised an eyebrow in feigned shock. "Power? I haven't even used one percent! Are you a child to complain so?"
Andre wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. "I have never cried in my life. Not when my bones broke as a criminal, not as Olaf. But I am certain... if you were stripped of your power, you would weep like a babe."
Rage ignited in the Demon's eyes. "You want me powerless? So be it!"
He signaled a minion, who brought forth an ancient lamp. The Demon blew into it, and a strange, ethereal light drained from his body into the flame, leaving him void of his terrifying aura.
The Demon spoke arrogantly, opening his arms wide. "And now, you rat... come."
Whatever the Demon expected, it wasn't this. A disturbing, bloody smile spread across Andre's face. A low, gurgling chuckle escaped his broken teeth, sending a shiver of genuine fear through the Demon for the first time.
Andre began wrapping the iron chain around his fist, slowly, methodically.
"Do you think I'm a fool? If I had your power, I would never give it up. But prison taught me one thing: The blood that leaves your body never returns... but you can extract rivers of it from the one who spilled yours."
With a violent, sudden heave, Andre pulled the chain with both hands. The shocked Demon was yanked forward, straight into a barrage of chain-wrapped punches. Andre tackled him, straddling his chest, and rained down blows until his own hands were soaked in demonic blood.
"Who is the rat now?! Tell me!" Andre screamed with every strike.
Suddenly, Andre's hand froze mid-air. An invisible force lifted him, and the Demon's hand clamped around his throat, choking him.
The Demon spoke through a ruined face, his eyes burning with malice.
"You wretch... I congratulate you. You have truly touched a nerve."
He flung Andre across the arena. Andre scrambled up, gasping, "How?! This is a breach of contract! You should lose!"
The Demon spat a glob of blood. "I did not breach the contract, you fool. I borrowed a fraction of the Sword's power, not mine. I cannot believe a nobody like you humiliated me. I swear... I will tear off those hands that dared to touch me."
The Demon Lord grasped the hilt of his sword. As he drew it, a ear-splitting shriek echoed, as if thousands of damned souls were screaming in unison. The air itself vibrated. He didn't even step forward; he simply swung the blade at the air.
A shockwave of pure force severed Andre's arms instantly. Then his legs.
Andre was reduced to a torso, screaming silently in shock. The Demon grabbed the chain and began dragging the mutilated body slowly across the floor, leaving a thick trail of crimson. When he reached his feet, he sheathed the sword, knelt, and began to pummel Andre's face with chain-wrapped fists—fueled by pure hate—until Andre's face was unrecognizable and blood burst from his eyes.
Finally, he stood and stabbed the prone body.
Outside the Gate:
The Ice Lord and the others waited anxiously. The gate creaked open, and Andre emerged. Silence fell. Without a word, "Andre" commanded the Cursed Power to return to the sword.
The group cheered as the village was healed, but the celebration died instantly.
The sword in Andre's hand shifted, warping into the shape of the Demon Lord's blade. A massive, cursed aura exploded outward, carrying the heavy scent of death, making even Louis recoil in terror.
"Andre" spoke calmly, but the voice was not his.
"Did I not tell you not to include me in your plans? You never learn unless it is the hard way."
The Demon (possessing Andre) raised the sword and swung. A wave of destruction sliced through everything. The Observer reacted on instinct, grabbing Maurice and diving through a portal. On the other side, Maurice collapsed, his entire right side sliced open, while the Observer frantically used time manipulation to reverse the fatal wound.
Back at the battlefield, the sky turned pitch black. Seven floating gates appeared, unchained and ominous. Two demonic horns erupted from Andre's forehead.
He smiled—a smile of total annihilation.
"Now... this world will drown in Eternal Darkness."