The Festival of Shadows had transitioned rapidly from a romantic cultural event into an active war zone.
High above the plaza, the golden airship—The HMS Righteousness—cast a blinding spotlight down onto the black cobblestones. The light fried the retinas of several Vampires, who were now hissing and shaking their fists at the sky.
Valdred stood his ground, his massive black sword, Night-Eater, resting easily on his shoulder. He wasn't looking at the ship anymore. He was looking at Elara.
She was hovering a few feet off the ground, clutching the plush bat, Val-Jr, in one hand while her other hand crackled with violet energy. Her yukata fluttered violently in the wind generated by the airship's propellers.
"Elara," Valdred said, his voice cutting through the mechanical whirring above. "The plushie. It is a liability. Drop it."
"Never!" Elara shouted over the wind. "Val-Jr is innocent! He is a non-combatant! I will tuck him into my obi!"
She jammed the fat black bat into the sash of her dress. It looked ridiculous, its googly eyes peering out from her waist, but Valdred found he didn't have the heart to argue.
"Fine," Valdred grunted. "Secure the hostage. Now, launch me."
"Launch you?" Elara blinked. "Like... a projectile?"
"The ship is out of my sword's range," Valdred stated, calculating the trajectory. "I need elevation. You control gravity. Do the math."
A wicked grin spread across Elara's face. "Aye aye, Captain."
The Descent of the Hero
Before they could execute the maneuver, a platform lowered from the belly of the airship. Standing upon it, bathed in holy light and glitter (literal glitter, likely applied by a squire), was Leo.
The Hero.
He wore golden armor that was polished to a mirror sheen. His cape was white velvet. His hair was blonde, perfect, and defied the laws of aerodynamics.
"Citizens of the Dark!" Leo bellowed into a magical megaphone. "Do not fear! I have not come to purge you all... today! I have come to liberate a prisoner!"
The platform touched the ground. Leo stepped off, flanked by two Paladins holding banners that read JUSTICE and LOWER TAXES.
Leo pointed a gauntleted finger at Valdred.
"Unmask yourself, villain! Release Elara from your mind control spell! I know she would never willingly wear..." Leo squinted at Elara's outfit. "...a yukata! It is cultural appropriation of the Eastern Lands!"
"I look cute, you idiot!" Elara shouted back, floating down to stand next to Valdred. "And I'm not mind-controlled. I'm on a date."
Leo froze. The crowd froze. The Paladins looked at each other awkwardly.
"A... date?" Leo stammered. He lowered his megaphone. "With who? That thug? That trench-coat-wearing criminal?"
Valdred stepped forward. He reached up and slowly removed his sunglasses. His crimson eyes burned with a mixture of annoyance and supreme authority.
"I am not a criminal," Valdred said, his voice deep and resonant, echoing off the surrounding buildings. "I am the Sovereign of this realm. And you, Leo, are trespassing on private property. Do you have a landing permit?"
Leo's jaw dropped. "Valdred?! You... you got a haircut?"
"I styled it," Valdred corrected. "Now. Leave. Or I will file a noise complaint with your Deity directly."
Leo's face turned red. "You mock me! You stole my mage! You stole my victory! And now you dare to parade her around like a... like a girlfriend?!"
"She is not my girlfriend," Valdred said stiffly.
"I'm his partner," Elara interjected, leaning on Valdred's arm and flashing a peace sign. "And yes, the benefits package is amazing. I get dental, vision, and weekends off. What did you give me, Leo? Exposure?"
"I gave you the honor of saving the world!" Leo screamed. He drew his sword, Sun-Bringer. The blade ignited with holy fire. "Enough talk! I will cut you free from his corruption, Elara! CHARGE!"
Leo dashed forward. He was fast. He was, after all, a Hero chosen by the Gods.
But Valdred was a Demon Lord chosen by Survival.
The Battle of the Plaza
Valdred didn't even lift his sword. He simply raised his left hand, palm open.
CLANG.
Leo's holy sword struck an invisible barrier inches from Valdred's face. Sparks flew.
"You have gotten sloppy, Leo," Valdred noted, looking bored. "You are overextending your lunge. Your center of gravity is off."
"Shut up!" Leo gritted his teeth, pushing against the barrier. "Die!"
"Elara," Valdred said calmly, ignoring the hero trying to stab him. "The ship. It is charging its cannons."
"On it!" Elara chirped.
She turned her back on the duel and looked up at the airship. The cannons were glowing blue, aiming right at the plaza.
"Targeting civilians?" Elara muttered, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. "That's a violation of the Geneva Convention, Leo. Oh wait, this is a fantasy world. It's just a violation of being a jerk."
She raised both hands. The sleeves of her yukata slipped down, revealing her slender arms.
"Hey, Val?" she called out. "Remember the Fireworks?"
"The display is scheduled for 22:00," Valdred replied, deflecting another strike from Leo with a flick of his wrist.
"Let's reschedule," Elara grinned.
She snapped her fingers.
"Gravity Magic: Upward Cascade."
Suddenly, every single stall in Sector 4—the Fireworks Sector—rattled. Thousands of rockets, roman candles, and sparklers were ripped from their crates. They floated into the air, caught in a violet stream of mana.
"Go get 'em," Elara whispered.
She thrust her hands upward.
WHOOSH.
Ten thousand fireworks launched simultaneously. They didn't fly randomly. Under Elara's control, they wove together into a massive, spiraling dragon made of paper and gunpowder.
The Firework Dragon roared—a sound of whistling rockets—and slammed into the HMS Righteousness.
BOOM-CRACK-FIZZ-BANG!
The sky exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors. Red, green, gold, and purple sparks engulfed the airship.
"My paint job!" Leo screamed, looking up. "That was gold leaf!"
"Eyes on your opponent," Valdred scolded.
Valdred finally moved. He stepped inside Leo's guard. He didn't use his sword. He used his shoulder.
THUD.
Valdred checked the Hero. It was a tackle that would have made a Linebacker weep with joy. Leo was launched backward, crashing through a stall selling 'Cursed Pretzels'.
Valdred dusted off his shirt. "Elara. The ship is distracted. Launch me now."
"Roger!" Elara turned. She crouched low. "Step on my hands!"
Valdred hesitated. "You are small. I weigh three hundred pounds in armor. Even without armor, I am heavy."
"Just do it! Trust your partner!"
Valdred didn't argue. He ran. He stepped onto Elara's interlocked fingers.
Elara didn't lift him with muscles. She triggered a Repulsion Rune on her palms at the exact moment of impact.
"Blast Off!" she yelled.
Valdred shot into the sky like a cannonball. The G-force flattened his cheeks. He soared past the lanterns, past the exploding fireworks, straight toward the reeling airship.
The Sky Battle
Valdred crested the top of the airship. He landed on the balloon—which was surprisingly solid—and immediately began to run toward the bridge.
Crew members (squires and priests) ran out onto the deck, pointing crossbows.
"Halt!" one shouted.
Valdred didn't halt. He summoned Night-Eater.
"I am cancelling this flight," Valdred roared.
He swung his sword. A wave of dark energy slashed horizontally, cutting the crossbows in half (and the belts of the crew members, causing their pants to fall down—a petty, but effective, tactic).
He reached the main engine rotor. It was a massive propeller powered by a holy crystal.
"This is making too much noise," Valdred muttered.
He raised his sword high.
Down on the ground, Leo pulled himself out of the pretzel wreckage. He had a pretzel stuck to his helmet.
"No!" Leo gasped, seeing Valdred on his ship. "The Engine of Purity! It cost six million gold!"
Valdred brought the sword down.
CRUNCH.
The engine exploded. Not into fire, but into a cloud of holy steam. The propeller sheared off, spinning away into the night like a giant shuriken.
The airship groaned. It tilted. It began to list heavily to the left.
Valdred sheathed his sword. He walked to the edge of the railing. The ship was going down—slowly, thanks to the emergency buoyancy spells—but it was definitely leaving the festival.
Valdred looked down. He saw the plaza far below.
He jumped.
The Catch
Falling is a great time for introspection.
As Valdred plummeted toward the earth, wind rushing past his ears, he thought about his life choices. He thought about the tactical imprudence of jumping from a crashing airship without a parachute spell. He thought about how much paperwork this was going to generate.
But mostly, he thought about who was waiting for him at the bottom.
"I got you! I got you!"
Elara's voice was amplified by magic.
She was standing in the middle of the cleared plaza. She had tossed her paper fan aside. Her arms were wide open.
Valdred squinted. She intends to catch me? She is five foot nothing.
"Elara, move!" Valdred shouted. "I will impact with the force of a meteor! Cast a net!"
"No nets!" Elara shouted back. "I'm catching you! It's romantic!"
"It is physics!" Valdred argued, falling faster.
"Trust me!"
Valdred closed his eyes. He stopped resisting. He tucked his arms in. Trust her. She is the Head Mage. She is my partner.
Ten feet from the ground.
Elara didn't use her muscles. She clapped her hands together.
"Gravity Magic: Feather-Fall Zero."
Valdred felt his stomach drop out of his body. His momentum didn't stop; it simply vanished. The kinetic energy was instantly converted into light and sound—a soft chime rang out, and a burst of sparkles erupted around him.
He floated the last two feet, landing as gently as a snowflake in Elara's arms.
Well, partially.
He was too tall to be carried bridal style by her. So, he landed on his feet, but she wrapped her arms around his waist to "steady" him, effectively hugging his midsection.
Valdred stood there, blinking. He was alive. His ankles were not broken.
Elara looked up at him, beaming. Her glasses were crooked.
"Safe!" she declared. "Ten points to Gryffindor. Or, uh, Slytherin? Which house are we?"
"We are the House of Pain," Valdred muttered, his heart pounding against his ribs—mostly from adrenaline, but partially from her proximity. "That was reckless. You could have miscalculated."
"But I didn't," she poked his chest. "I'm a genius, remember? You said so yourself."
A loud crashing sound echoed in the distance as the HMS Righteousness performed a controlled crash-landing into the Citadel's moat (home to the Kraken, who was likely very confused).
Leo was nowhere to be seen—probably carried off by his retreating crew.
The plaza was silent. The demons slowly emerged from hiding.
Then, someone started clapping.
It was the Goblin who sold the apples.
Then the Vampires started clapping. Then the Orcs cheered.
"ALL HAIL THE BOSS!" the Ogre shouted. "HE SMASHED THE SKY-BOAT!"
"AND THE LADY!" a Banshee shrieked. "SHE MADE THE FIRE-DRAGON!"
Valdred looked around at his cheering subjects. He felt... strange. Usually, they cheered out of fear. This felt different. This felt like... pride.
"They like us," Elara whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. "We're a power couple, Val."
Valdred looked down at her. He reached out and gently fixed her crooked glasses.
"We are... adequate," he said, fighting a smile.
"Adequate?" Elara raised an eyebrow. "I just blew up a blimp with fireworks. I think that deserves a little more than 'adequate'."
She tapped her cheek.
"Validation tax. Pay up."
Valdred sighed. He looked at the burning wreckage in the distance. He looked at the cheering crowd. He looked at the girl in the starry dress who had turned his life upside down.
He leaned down.
He didn't kiss her cheek.
He whispered in her ear.
"You are..." Valdred's voice was low, intimate, and sincere. "You are the most chaotic variable I have ever introduced into my calculations. And... I find that I no longer wish to solve the equation without you."
Elara froze. Her face turned a shade of red that rivaled the remaining fireworks.
"That..." she squeaked. "That was... math. But it was romantic math."
She buried her face in his shirt to hide her reaction.
"Let's go home, Val," she muffled. "Val-Jr is traumatized. And I think I burned a hole in my sleeve."
"Very well," Valdred said.
He swept her up—actually picking her up this time, bridal style—ignoring her surprised yelp.
"I will carry you," Valdred stated. "Your mana is depleted. It is a tactical decision."
"Sure," Elara giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Tactical. Let's go with that."
And so, the Demon Lord carried his Head Mage home through the cheering crowd, under the light of the broken moon and the burning airship.
Interlude: The Moat
Leo pulled himself out of the murky water of the moat. He was covered in algae. His golden armor was dented.
"This isn't over!" Leo shouted at the looming dark castle. "I will write a strongly worded review! I will rally the kingdoms! I will—"
A massive tentacle rose from the water. It held a sign that read: "QUIET PLEASE. NAP TIME."
Then the tentacle slapped Leo back into the water.
Splash.
Epilogue of Chapter 8
Back in the Citadel, Lilith was sitting at her desk. She was staring at a crystal ball that showed the news broadcast of the festival.
Headline: DEMON LORD AND MYSTERY DATE DESTROY HOLY AIRSHIP WITH ROMANCE AND EXPLOSIVES.
Lilith put her head on the desk.
"The budget," she whimpered. "The reparations. The diplomatic paperwork."
The door opened. Valdred walked in, carrying a sleeping Elara.
"Lilith," Valdred whispered.
"My Lord?" Lilith looked up, expecting orders for war.
"Cancel my morning meetings," Valdred said softly, walking toward the bedroom. "And... send a basket of fruit to the Kraken. He assisted in the cleanup."
Lilith blinked. She looked at the sleeping human girl. She looked at the softness in her master's eyes.
She sighed, picking up her quill.
"Fruit basket for Kraken. Meetings canceled. Understood."
She watched them leave.
"Well," Lilith muttered to herself. "At least it's not boring anymore."