Drakken

Drakken knelt down and studied the large footprint in the soft earth. Most mortals would have fled in terror at the sight of a print that belonged to such a monstrous beast, but Drakken was not like most mortals. He was, however, surprised when he saw how tremendous the print actually was. He had never seen one’s footprint this large before. He tried to picture what the creature might look like. The thought of its size troubled him. Could he actually best a creature this large that has survived for thousands of years in the burning hells? Maybe when he was younger, sharper, and stronger he could have. Though he had defeated countless demonic beasts before, he wondered if his time had run out.

A sudden surge of energy jolted Drakken back to the reality of his surroundings. That surge, that instinct that told him when otherworldly enemies were near, was Drakken’s gift. This is how he knew that the Demon was still close. The print was still fresh, which might explain why the Demon was still in his range; but judging by the speed these creatures usually possess, it should have been long gone by now. It was waiting for him, perhaps. He stood up and started on the same path that the Demon had taken only hours earlier. He glanced over his shoulder and caught one last glimpse of the village that lay in a smoldering ruin behind him. This was the calling card of his demonic enemy. To Drakken, this was a challenge, and he never refused a challenge.

Drakken felt no fear as he headed off to meet the likely ambush of his enemy. He had been hunting demons for the past 150 years. Fear was a sensation that had long ago become a dull nagging that he had used to stay alert. That fear had become instinct now. Fear was for amateurs, and Drakken was a professional. He was the best of the best, rightfully deserving the name the people of the lands had granted him. Elrith in the tongue of the ancients, but few understood that language now. The name for him in the common tongue was much simpler, and Drakken found it more fitting. His reputation had rightfully earned Drakken the name of Demon Slayer.

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The Demon grinned as he felt the presence of the man known as Demon Slayer near. Oh! How people would fear him when he killed this man. The Demon who defeated the legendary Demon Slayer. The thought made him tingle. How could this pathetic man stand a chance against a Demon who had nearly controlled all of hell? Ruling the Earth would be much better than living in hell. Here he could feed on fear. Here he could kill thousands simply for pleasure and still have thousands of humans ripe with fear of him. All he had to do was kill this pitiful man and it could all happen. Only one man stood in his way.

The excitement in the Demon rose as Demon Slayer continued to walk on towards his death.

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Drakken knew he was walking into an ambush, but he didn’t care. He was confident and proud; a significant weakness for one confronting a foe as dangerous as a demon. He slowed to a crawl and drew his swords; one short sword and one magical scimitar. The scimitar’s blade was of pure black and its razor sharp edges could slice even the thickest of mail. It weighed no more than a feather, and even after countless battles, it had never gotten so much as a scratch. This was the single weapon that demons feared the most, and it was given the name Demon’s Bane.

He stopped to survey his surroundings. The forest he was now in was a perfect place for an ambush. There was greenery everywhere and trees so thick in some places that they could block out the sun. They were the perfect places to hide. He kept aware of these places as he continued to follow the Demon’s tracks. There was no sound of the usual animals frantically scurrying that are common for a forest, it was just silent.

The tracks ended abruptly beneath one of the thickest trees that blotted out a great deal of the sun. He didn’t take the time to try and figure out why they had stopped and where the Demon might have gone. That is exactly what anyone would expect him to do when they set an ambush. That would be the perfect place to attack. He dived into another shadow and flattened himself against a tree and waited.

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The Demon, invulnerable as he thought himself to be, had his own weakness. He was impatient. Demon Slayer had been in the perfect place for it to attack him, but he unexpectedly dived out of the way and disappeared into a shadow, as if he knew the Demon was about to attack. This annoyed it very much.

He is a pitiful human; I have no need to ambush him. He shall fall to my blades here and now! The Demon thought to himself. He drew his twin Falchions enveloped in an eternally burning hellfire and leaped from the shadow from which he was hiding. It was time to destroy this nuisance.

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The Demon was very close now; he could sense it. Drakken had not moved from his place in the shadow beside a tree for several minutes. Patience could be as valuable as battle prowess at times, and this was one of those times. He knew demons had limited patience. They preferred to bash and destroy first and ask questions later. If the Demon truly did not know where Drakken had gone it would come looking for him shortly.

A shadow to his left suddenly lit with flame. Through the flickers of light he could make out a colossal being which held two unusually massive falchions ablaze with unearthly fire. This was the Demon he had been hunting. Drakken had never seen one so enormous before. Its rough red skin looked as though it was stronger that any armor. Eyes blacker than night gazed longingly at the thought of tearing Drakken to shreds, and its powerful frame made it look as though doing so would be child’s play. Drakken thought that maybe he would have one advantage fighting this fiend. Its bulky frame might make it too slow to follow all of his agile movements.

It stepped into an opening and bellowed a roar of challenge. Drakken strode out to accept. Excitement peaked within him, but he suppressed it quickly. Such distractions could cause him death. He pointed Demon's Bane toward the Demon as the two opponents slowly closed the gap between them. They started to circle each other, and Drakken could smell the Demon’s foul breath.

The Demon suddenly attacked with a double-thrust low. Drakken parried with the proper cross of his swords and counterattacked. The Demon parried with equal ease as sparks flew from the clashing swords. It was obvious to Drakken that the sheer bulk of the demon did not make him less agile. This disheartened him slightly. He couldn’t let is mind wander if he wanted to survive; he had to focus.

Drakken went on the offensive with a series of methodical jabs and thrusts, all of which were skillfully knocked aside by the Demon. How unusual this was to have a demon with such battle prowess. The demons he had fought before were always overconfident and had tried to use brute strength to overcome him. This one was smart, and Drakken loathed it. He slowed the pace of his attacks and decided to let the Demon go on the offensive for a while. It eagerly seized this opportunity and lashed out with its own vicious style of attacking which involved powerful slashes followed by quick thrusts. It tried to force Drakken back on his heels, but he knew better than to let it do that. Instead of stepping back to relieve some of the pressure from the Demon’s attacks he stepped to the side and kept pushing back. It seemed his only chance was to wear down its patience and make it angry. Anger caused mistakes; mistakes caused death.

He could feel the heat from the hellfire that blazed on the falchions which were mercilessly attacking him. He was showered by a fountain of sparks every time he parried the Demon’s magical blades. It kept attacking him at an amazing pace. Drakken could hardly follow its movements to deflect its blows; how was he supposed to launch a counter attack?

The Demon kept pushing and pushing, and the battle raged on. Soon Drakken could start to feel the weary affects of fatigue creep up on him. He could not let the Demon see this however, because if it did it would undoubtedly ignore the risks of making a mistake and press harder.

This gave Drakken an idea. If he played his cards right and acted more fatigued than he really was, the Demon’s overconfidence may give him a chance. It may make a brash decision which Drakken could capitalize on. But if he acted too fatigued then he could make a mistake. The option was risky, but if the fight continued at this pace there was no way Drakken would survive.

He increased his breathing to sound heavy and labored. He slowed his reactions to parry attacks at the very last moment. This was the tricky part, for if he waited too long he would be killed, and if he didn’t wait long enough the Demon would catch on and not fall for it.
The Demon noticed these changes and gave an enormous grin…just as Drakken planned. With its patience already wearing thin, this opportunity was all too welcome. It gave the implications no second thought as he increased its pace. Drakken tried to wait to the last second to parry these also, but it was difficult enough to block them when he was fighting at 100%. He tried to keep pace as best he could, but now the faked fatigued was becoming real.

Finally he saw an opening in the Demon’s defenses. He launched a quick counter attack with his short sword. It was batted aside at the last second by one of the Demon’s falchions, but not before he swung Demon’s Bane around and thrust it in the exact spot where the short sword had been. This move surprised the Demon, as scimitars are used primarily for slashing. When preformed right, however, thrusting was equally deadly. The curved black blade easily penetrated the Demon’s thick hide. Drakken withdrew and jumped back. Dark red blood gleamed off Demon’s Bane. The Demon stared unbelievingly at his gaping wound. A fury unlike any Drakken had ever seen before raged it its eyes.

Drakken charged forward and slashed a clean “X” in its chest and severed one of its arms. It fell to its knees and gazed at Drakken incredulously.

Drakken raised his sword for one final strike when suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his gut. The Demon withdrew its falchion from Drakken’s abdomen. He looked down at his gaping hole in his stomach. No blood flowed out from this wound, however, since the hellfire from the falchion had cauterized it instantly. It was now Drakken who fell to his knees. He took his precious scimitar and, with his last ounce of strength, impaled the Demon through the heart. He did not have the strength to remove it; he hardly had the strength to smile. At least he had seen this demon die. Now he could rest with the feeling of triumph flowing through him. The thought of a short rest sounded very appealing, but he knew that if he rested it would be anything but short. He leaned against a nearby tree and closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted away into nothingness, as did his life.

This was the last demon that Demon Slayer had slain.