Monday, August 8, 2011
From "Demon Gates" by Robert Day
Drav was the last warrior to fall, pierced through the chest by the Demon’s blade as he swung in a vain attempt to wound the fiend. In a rage, Faradhar threw the last vestiges of his energy into another bolt of lightning. It struck the Demon as it turned towards him. Sparks showered the corpses at its feet and the Demon howled in pain.
To Faradhar’s horror, the howls turned to laughter as the demons infernal gaze descended upon him. With a whimper, he crumpled to his knees. His staff clattered to the stone as it slipped from powerless fingers.
“You have no power to fight me,” mocked the Demon in a voice both powerful and compelling. “Your powers and those of your people are weak, unchanged from an age long past.”
The Demon looked around the chamber with what could only be described as rapture. Mocking laughter echoed through the cavern, assailing Faradhar. His reeling mind could not concentrate, could not focus enough to piece together what was happening and what it meant.
His thoughts turned to agony as the Demon loomed over him. Its intense heat crushed his waning magical defences and engulfed him. He neither saw nor heard the blade’s descent, but his last thought before oblivion was a silent prayer for the people of Kil’Tar.