Daigan Ur strode through the carnage. Everywhere there was fire and bloodshed, steel clashing against steel, magic and flesh battling for supremacy. It was supposed to be a massacre, but the magic that should have been flooding the battlefield was growing scarce, each gust of wind bringing less and less. The mortals of Rhyfell were winning somehow.
A Rhyfian swordsman stepped to block Daigan’s way and was run through by Kalador, Daigan’s sword. Daigan Ur was covered in arrows, scars and burns, but he was still strong. No mortal weapon could harm him. The Debruans that fell today were weak and deserved to fall.
Daigan Ur’s target was the Rhyfian fortress of Bacendon. A great amount of magic poured from that spot. It could only be Nattyr, no other could cause such chaos.
The fortress was in sight, and Daigan Ur pressed on through the slaughter.
As he approached the fortress, the desolation grew. Fire was everywhere, illuminating the blood of thousands. Magical remains of banished Debruans covered the dusty earth. Daigan stroked Kalador, he would see more work soon, that was certain.
The gates of Bacendon loomed ahead of him and Daigan Ur blasted them open with nothing but a point of his finger. He knew his final confrontation with Nattyr was not far away.
The dust cleared in the courtyard behind the walls and Daigan was faced with a mortal.
“You are not welcome here demon. I am Glan, champion of the free people. Turn back or be destroyed,” the Rhyfian champion spoke proudly and confidently.
Daigan Ur sniggered, “You will regret that tone mortal. You know nothing of my power or my purpose, yet you attack me. You may banish a few of my weaker brethren, but we are too strong and too numerous for you to ever overcome. Now you attack me and do not realize I am the only reason your race still exists.”
“We have allies now,” the mortal challenged back, “allies greater than you. They have shielded our world so no more of you will ever enter from Debrua. Once you are banished the fight will be ours. I will be the one to banish you.”
“You are mortal,” the demon boomed a response, “Your feeble weapons are no match for me. I am not a mere imp like those banished on the ground outside. I am Daigan Ur, greatest Debruan of Light.”
“No more shall you dominate my people.” The mortal drew his sword. Its blade was jet black and elaborately runed. Who would give a mortal such a gift?
“On guard foul beast, it is time for you to fall by my blade.”
“Very well mortal, you shall have your death!” Daigan Ur raised Kalador and advanced on the Champion of Rhyfell.
Enchanted steel met enchanted steel. The blade that the mortal wielded throbbed with power. It moved like lightening and struck like a hammer.
The shield, that the mortal opponent wore, repelled each blow back at Daigan Ur with a force that threatened to send Kalador flying from his hand.
The helm the mortal wore seemed to sense his every move before it happened. Daigan Ur found the mortal was waiting for each of his blows to fall, easily blocking them and counter attacking.
The gauntlets the mortal wore glowed red with power. As they got brighter the mortal’s blows fell harder. His feet moved faster and his defence became more solid.
His armour of metallic blue was impenetrable. Every hit seemed to strengthen it more.
These gifts were from a powerful Debruan. Only Nattyr could do this, but why would he after all this time? There was power enough for all. Why cut off the world and give it to the mortals?
The mortal’s black blade was a blur to Daigan Ur now. It smashed Kalador from his hand and buried itself in his chest.
Daigan Ur felt his essence burning out of him. He fell to his knees and dropped his shoulders a great rune of banishment began to appear on his forehead. “Well done mortal, your people may have their freedom for now, but if you ever have war find you again, do not seek me, for you have doomed me for eternity.”
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