Chapter 22

  King Azzarath

  After I’d applied a liberal amount of strength to rip the gates out of the wall, we stormed into the courtyard like a specialist force of complete badasses.

  I’d even thought of a theme song and everything, the music blaring in my head as we made our dramatic entrance. It was, of course, heavy metal - because anything else would have been wildly inappropriate for the situation.

  Peter, Rel and his skeletal knights

  Bad asses bringing the fight

  Smashin’ the fuckin’ gates down

  Gonna take these dumbasses to town

  Inflictin’ a world of pain

  Bring an end to the douchebag’s reign

  The courtyard was depressingly empty.

  I turned to look at Rel, wanting to complain about how anticlimactic our entrance was, only to find him staring at me - an expression on his face that contained equal parts pity and judgment. Somehow, despite having no muscles or facial features, the skeletons managed to convey a very similar sentiment.

  Oh.

  Whoops.

  Maybe the singing hadn’t been entirely in my head.

  Whatever. They clearly didn’t have the sophisticated taste required to appreciate such lyrical genius.

  There were various buildings dotted around the vast courtyard - a barracks, what looked to be a mess hall of some sort, a forge, and all the other facilities you’d need to keep an army of violent demons operational.

  A winding path ran through the centre, climbing the steep incline to the palace that loomed atop the hill.

  “Is anybody else slightly concerned by the complete lack of demons?” I asked.

  “Not particularly,” said Rel with a shrug. “Clearly they witnessed the might of our force and are now cowering in the palace.”

  We made our way up the path, with me taking the lead. Rel followed behind, in the centre of a fortress of skeletal bodies. Have you ever seen footage of a deeply controversial politician arriving to give a speech, surrounded by a ring of hulking bodyguards in identical suits?

  It looked a bit like that - only the bodyguards were skeletons. And their suits were chainmail.

  The final stretch to the palace was up a straight but steep narrow path barely fifty metres long. After taking a few steps, the palace gates groaned as they swung open.

  A lone demon appeared, glaring down at us before turning to shout something over his shoulder. He vanished from sight, and a few moments later we heard a deep rumbling, followed by the grinding of stone on stone.

  That couldn’t be good.

  An enormous fucking boulder rolled into view, two hulking demons on either side guiding it forward, their faces strained from the effort. When it reached the top of the incline, gravity took over.

  Both demons wore deeply satisfied expressions as the boulder started to gather speed… and then the assholes gave us the finger and started making gestures that I do not feel comfortable describing.

  I was fairly certain I’d played this exact video game many times during my childhood. However, in those, I’d always had to jump over the boulders.

  Not this time, motherfucker.

  This time, I was going to change the rules of the game.

  When the boulder was only a few metres away, I bent my knees and braced myself, raising my hands in front of me. I spread them, like I was about to catch a beach ball thrown by the troll king after he’d just shot up a megadose of steroids.

  “You show that fucking oversized rock who’s boss!” squeaked Rel from somewhere behind me.

  It crashed into my outstretched hands, driving me back a few feet before it came to a stop. I shifted my grip, spreading my hands a little further apart.

  With a manly ‘hell yeah, bitches’ I drove upwards from my legs and heaved the boulder over my head.

  I felt rather satisfied in that moment.

  “Nice try, assholes!” I shouted. “But you can have it back!”

  I hurled the boulder, utilising every point of my colossal strength. It shot back up the hill like a meteor, crashing against the walls of the palace with such force that I felt the ground beneath my feet shudder from the impact.

  You have gained 1 strength.

  Current strength: 37

  I felt outrageously satisfied in that moment.

  When the dust cleared, I let out a low whistle. The entrance to the palace was now significantly larger.

  I glanced back to find Rel and the skeletal knights staring at me, looking incredibly impressed. I gave them a casual ‘it’s no big deal’ shrug and continued up the hill.

  We stepped through the ‘gates’ into what had once been a very large, very regal entrance hall. It now looked more like a demolition site, enormous chunks of stone littering the floor. Nothing had been spared. Statues, artwork, decorations – they were now all part of a very expensive pile of rubble.

  As I looked around, one thought dominated all others: why the fuck did they have that boulder in here? Did they have it lying around, just in case they felt like crushing an unsuspecting visitor? Was it summoned from another dimension? Did they have a demon magician whose sole job was turning objects into enormous fucking rocks?

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  It made me a little sad that I’d probably never learn the truth…

  Unless I beat it out of King Azzarath.

  The floor was polished stone, damaged slightly where the boulder had rolled across it, but the marks were difficult to see beneath the thick layer of dust that covered everything.

  Now, the reason I emphasised the word ‘everything’ was because standing at the bottom of the staircase at the far end of the entrance hall was a small army of demons. They were arranged in formation, clearly awaiting our arrival. The only part of them not coated in the grey powder of shattered stone were their yellow eyes.

  They looked pissed.

  I imagine they’d been rather excited as they waited for us to enter, fully expecting their presence to strike fear into our hearts. I bet they’d polished their armour to an impressive gleam, sharpened their weapons diligently, and put on their nicest cloaks. Hell, they’d probably even put some pomade in their hair and sprayed on a little cologne.

  And I’d gone and ruined it all.

  That’s what you get for trying to flatten us with a boulder, you assholes.

  Standing at the top of the stairway was the largest demon we’d seen so far. Based on the rather impressive crown resting on his head, I could only assume he was King Azzarath. Being a little higher up, he’d been spared from much of the stone dust and still looked rather pristine.

  I had to admit, he struck quite the imposing figure. He was over ten feet tall, with a physique that would make a mountain jealous. His face – skin the red of spilled wine - was handsome, framed by long, flowing black hair that reached his shoulders.

  He wore plate mail, the metal the colour of moonlight. Unlike everything else we’d seen so far, the sickly red light that streamed through the windows seemed unable to touch it. It shimmered with a pure radiance that felt incredibly out of place in this twisted world.

  His axe…

  Well, let’s just say, if Kaelis were with us, he’d be feeling incredibly inadequate. It was a ferocious looking double-axe, the blades on either side as large as my torso.

  “Well, the fact that you are here and Evalria is not suggests that you killed her,” he boomed, his sonorous voice filling the entry hall. “That is a shame - but it is the natural order of things. The strong survive. The weak perish.”

  He descended the stairs, his armour clanging against the stone with each step. The assembled demon warriors parted seamlessly before him, allowing him to move to the front.

  Damn it was smooth. I wondered how many practice runs it had taken to get right.

  “The question is…” he continued, examining each of us in turn. Based on the contempt in his eyes, he was not impressed. “How strong are you?”

  He sneered.

  “I am rather disappointed in Evalria - for her to have fallen to creatures as pathetic as you. Tell me… which one of you killed her?”

  “It was this guy,” Rel squeaked, poking my ankle. “And honestly? He made it look easy. If she was your ‘First Knight’, you must be a pretty shit king.”

  The assembled demons erupted in outrage, over fifty voices bellowing – in explicit detail – what they’d do to us to avenge the insult to their king. I’ll give credit where it’s due: some of their threats were impressively original.

  ‘I’m going to rip out your tongue and make you lick your own eyeball!’

  ‘I’ll take this axe and carve you a second butt crack!”

  “This warhammer is going to find itself a new home in your…”

  Okay, I’m not finishing that last one. Some things are better left to the imagination. Or your therapist's office.

  Rel chuckled menacingly and launched a huge fireball into the ceiling.

  The demons fell silent.

  He sauntered forward, looking Azzarath up and down.

  “You call yourself the king of demons? You who stand silently while your soldiers defend your honour?”

  Rel shrugged, the small movement somehow containing a staggering amount of judgment.

  “Now, I’m not claiming to be an expert on running a kingdom,” he continued. “But that seems pretty pathetic to me.”

  I watched Azzarath’s face closely as Rel spoke, and I took great pleasure in seeing his rage mounting with each word. There was a particularly impressive vein in his neck that pulsed so violently I was surprised it didn’t burst.

  Rel truly was a master of shit talking.

  And he wasn’t done yet.

  “You dare to accuse me of cowardice?” roared Azzarath, taking an angry step forward, stone cracking beneath his feet. “I am King Azzarath, Crusher of Hope, Breaker of Heroes, Conqueror of Worlds, and Slayer of the Divine!”

  His fist crashed against his breast plate when he reeled off the last title.

  Rel stood there for a long moment, apparently deep in thought, one claw tapping against his lips.

  “I think you forgot one,” he said. “Azzarath, King of Being a Pussy Ass Bitch.”

  This time, the vein did pop, blood spurting violently from his neck.

  He didn’t seem to notice.

  Rel still wasn’t done.

  “On the walk up here, my friend Pete,” he continued, gesturing to me, “said he can’t wait to slap you all over your own palace and show the world what an absolute fucking joke you are.”

  What the actual fuck?

  Rel moved back to stand with his skeletal knights, clearly satisfied that his job was done.

  If his job was to enrage Azzarath to the point that he’d lose any sense of reason… mission accomplished.

  The demon king roared, bellowing for his soldiers to form a wide circle around us.

  Then he turned all the fury that Rel’s words had inspired on me.

  “Slap me all over the palace, will you?” he snarled, spittle flying through the air. “A fucking joke, am I?”

  Rel and his skeletons moved to the perimeter of the ‘arena’, shoving demons aside before turning to watch.

  Azzarath raised his axe and stared at me down its length.

  “I’m going to make a spectacle of your death,” he said, cheers erupting among the demons. “I’ll slice you open, bit by bit, until every last drop of your blood has been spilt. Then I’ll pin your mutilated corpse to the castle wall as a reminder of what happens to those who dare insult me.”

  I was a little bit disappointed by his threats – his minions had been far more creative.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot?” I asked, winking at him.

  Azzarath roared as he leapt towards me, his axe looming over his head like an executioner’s blade. He brought it down in a colossal two-handed strike.

  I raised my forearm to block it.

  It fucking hurt.

  A lot.

  You have gained 1 durability.

  Current durability: 28

  I used my spare hand to shove Azzarath away. He let out a very undignified squeak as he hurtled through the air and collided with the wall of demons. Several of them were crushed beneath his considerable bulk – I felt particularly bad for the one who ended up with Azzarath’s metal-plated crotch in his face.

  I glanced down at my arm.

  There was a deep gash, blood pouring freely from the wound.

  Fuck, yeah!

  Azzarath lumbered back to his feet, disbelief and terror warring for control of his expression.

  “How…?” he mumbled, staring wide-eyed at the blade of his axe. “I split a Divine Herald from forehead to neck with that very same attack. I wear his armour as proof of that victory.”

  His eyes drifted from his weapon to me.

  “And all you have to show for it is a small flesh wound on your arm,” he continued, terror gradually winning out over disbelief. “What are you?”

  The last words were laced with a not insignificant amount of despair.

  I shrugged.

  “I’m Peter Brookes.”

  “That’s right, bitch!” squeaked Rel from the sidelines. “Peter Brookes, First Apprentice of Rel!”

  I turned to give Rel the finger, then walked towards Azzarath.

  “Now it’s my turn,” I said, my smile conveying a mildly unhinged excitement that apparently caused several demons to remember they had somewhere else to be and make a not-so-discreet exit.

  “Don’t ruin his armour,” said Rel. “I have plans for it!”

  The head it was then.

  I exploded forward, the movement registering as little more than a blur to Azzarath. Before he even had time to think - never mind react - my fist collided with his jaw.

  I’d restricted my power considerably, so rather than the contents of his skull turning the palace into a piece of modern art, he was launched across the hall, slamming into the wall at the top of the staircase.

  A moment later, I was standing over him.

  “I have a question for you,” I said softly.

  Azzarath let out a rasping cough, blood streaming down his chin and onto his chest. I looked into his eyes, and the only emotion that remained was resignation - the fury he’d felt moments before had been extinguished like a candle in a blizzard.

  “Very well,” he rasped. “You have proven yourself my superior, so I shall answer your question. What do you wish to know? I can share with you the secrets of immortality, tell you what lies beyond the edge of reality, or even reveal the path to the heavens themselves…”

  I brushed those suggestions aside with a dismissive wave of my hand.

  “I don’t care about that shit,” I said, leaning a little closer. “There’s only one thing I want to know…”

  Curiosity flared in Azzarath’s eyes, and his pain seemed to be temporarily forgotten.

  “My question is…” I whispered. “Where the fuck did that boulder come from?”

  Azzarath let loose a throat-tearing scream, his hand darting to his belt to draw a dagger. I stepped back, expecting him to slash at me with it. Instead, he turned the blade on himself, burying it in his throat.

  Through his dying gurgles, he fixed unfocused eyes on me, then gasped his final words.

  “Fuck you!”

  I straightened up and nodded in understanding.

  Some knowledge was so valuable that people would rather die than share it.