When a world is about to die, it calls people like us.
I am Falker code named Faker. I belong to the world formerly known as Utopia. Right now, I am on the verge of killing a demon king in another world.
This planet, called Julia by it's residents, had two very beautiful moons. One was called amethyst and the other sapphire.
The dark prophecy of this world detailed:
That a Demon lord shall rise from the darkness
With two jewels he shall make Julia his bride
And drape it in darkness.
At first Tolstoy had thought that demon lord would be a plane sized bad guy, and was going to marry the planet.He freaked out bad. It was not helped by the fact Grey started making vulgar jokes about the honeymoon between planets.
"Faker you ready?" A telepathic transmission from Grey's voice echoed in his mind.
"Yeah, I am ready. Is Tolstoy ready?" Faker just thought of the question and another voice echoed in his mind.
"Yeah, I am" It was Tolstoy the Werewolf.
"Then what are we waiting for, let's do it!" Grey's voice came in.
At that exact cue from grey there was an explosion at the castle. Tolstoy had destroyed the gate to the "Demon Lord's" castle. There were about 50 demon grunts before they could enter the main castle.
Tolstoy stormed in, slashing and hacking away. It was helped by the fact that there was a full moon tonight. At one point Faker saw some of the demon grunts being thrown so high they were visible above the castle walls , just for a few moments before they fell to their deaths.
"Grey you go in now. Once the courtyard is empty i will be there"
"Aye-Aye Boss" Grey replied.
At that a sword unsheathing was heard about 10 meters in all directions.
Grey might not have had physical prowess like Tolstoy, but what he did have was swordsmanship, and after continuously fighting for 10 years, he had perfected the art meant for killing.
There was a blood bath after that. The slashes, sharp enough to cut through air and produce a loud enough sound to break glass. He was called The prophet at some point in time, because e could predict where the opponent will strike with his sword next.
After 10 minutes and a total death count of 50, Faker heard the telepathic transmission.
"The path is clear boss, you can join us now"
Faker finally unveiled himself from the tree top he was laying-low at.
This had been the first time they had pinpointed the location of the Demon King. This was their chance to finish this commission and head back home. The wretched and unforgiving home, but still home.
"Hey Tolstoy, enjoying the Moon Are we?" Grey poked at the fifteen foot werewolf.
"Shut up, puny swordsman." Tolstoy said as he shoved the swordsman.
"Stop it! you two." Faker entered through the gates of the castle.
"He started it…" Tolstoy replied with an angry exhale.
"Ok, you can bicker later, right now we need to finish the fucking Demon lord and get off this world."
Faker held his palm up and the blood of the dead demons rose out of the dead bodies drop by drop until there was a sphere of gallons of blood floating in the middle of the courtyard.
"Let's go"
The three moved into the castle. One last confrontation and this adventure will be finished. This contract was supposed to last only for a few months but had gone on for two years.
"The motherfucking Demon lord has been hiding and slipping from our grasp for far too long. I have killed 10 of his generals and never found him. I swear if he is not here I will destroy this world whole." Grey said as he followed Faker in.
"Yeah, go for it. Let's see how that turns out." Tolstoy said, trying to grin with his wolf mouth.
"Okay no there are three stair ways. I will go through the centre one. You both take the left and right." Faker instructed as he walked ahead.
"I take right" Tolstoy shouted and walked to the stairway.
"Fine..I will go left."
The Castle was completely dark except for windows that let the moonlight in and illuminated the corridors.
After about 10 minutes Faker heard from Grey. "The left side's clear. I mean fully clear, no one is here. No Demons, No generals and no throne rooms."
A few Seconds passed "Right side's clear too. Same as Grey. No sign of anything."
Nothing again. It was starting to bug Faker now, how could almost every castel they had searched be empty. At least those ones had generals, this one could be completely empty.
Faker reached the top of the central staircase and pushed open the doors to the throne room.
The chamber was vast, circular, and not empty The throne still stood its black stone etched with sigils meant to inspire fear. But it was empty. No lingering magic. No pulse of power.
Instead, there was a body. What remained of it, at least.
The corpse lay at the foot of the throne, dried and collapsed in on itself, as though something had hollowed it out from within. Whatever had killed it hadn't done so violently.
It was a magicule siphoning, over a long period of time. It had been harvested.
"Well the central stairway is not empty. But I think we have a bigger problem now." Faker transmitted his thoughts.
Faker didn't need Grey to tell him what he was seeing. "You found him… tell me it's not that again."
"You want me to lie to you?" Faker asked him.
"Fuck" Grey shouted, "Tolstoy, meet at the central stairway."
Faker crouched beside the corpse and pressed his fingers into the brittle remains. There was no resistance, even the bones were fully brittle. It just crumbled. The ashy remains highlighted a ritualistic circle around the throne.
But that was not all, because one circle would take aeons to siphon the magicules of a Demon king. There were about a 1000 circles in that throne room.
Faker had seen this before. It was always at the end. The worlds they were unable to save.
Whatever had killed the Demon Lord didn't need armies. It didn't need generals. It didn't rule from a throne.
It moved quietly. Efficiently.
Like a cleanup. That is why there had been no major attack on civilians these few years.
Utopia had looked the same in its final days.
"Grey" Faker transmitted, his voice flat. "We're too late."
A pause.
"Can it be contained?" Grey asked.
Faker looked around the throne room, at the walls, the sigils, the bones. "No."
Tolstoy growled. "So what now?"
Faker clenched his hand, and the blood sphere outside pulsed in response.
"Now we document" Faker said. "Then we leave."
Grey hesitated "What of Julia?"