Tristan felt his heart sink, and if he had the breath he would have screamed. But he was barely sucking in enough air to fight to his feet as is. He felt rage in his gut. Anger. Pure, undiluted hatred. I’ll kill you! He thought as he began stumbling forward, his armor and weapon fully activated thanks to the essence elixirs Felicity had poured into his gullet. But his injuries were not immediately healed, thanks to the lesser quality of the elixirs.

  The demon humanoid whirled its chain, stepped down on it, and sent the ball flying. Tristan knew he was near the maximum range, and he sidestepped the spiked ball. The demon pulled it back, and Tristan sidestepped it once more as it went back to the creature. “Vous êtes un défi digne d'intérêt, je vous l'accorde. Mais cela se termine maintenant.” (You are a worthy challenge, I grant you that. But this ends, now). It’s words were brusque, filled with some sick sense of enthusiasm, and Tristan felt a near sincerity from the way it spoke.

  But he was overwhelmed by hatred as he saw the still prone and unmoving form of his fairy dragon companion. Raising his arm, he bladed his stance, held his hand upright like a cutting blade, and cocked his thumb back along the index finger – the spell gesture for Frost Flurry. “Ich beschw?re die Wut von Eis und Frost herauf: Ich forme Splitter, die mein Ziel durchbohren und aufschlitzen.” (I summon forth the fury of ice and frost: form shards that will pierce and slash my target). He focused on a single projectile, and in front of his palm, just in front of his torso, the spike of ice began to grow in size.

  The demon scowled and smoke erupted from its hands that coated the chain. The weapon seemed to lose some of its heft and whipped around towards Tristan from the side – slamming into him…and only slightly bumping into him. “Quoi?!” (what?!), it shouted out.

  Tristan kept growing the spike as the smoke elementalism empowered ball and chain was hoisted back, the smoke fading as it once more regained form. Tristan saw the ice shard grow to double his body’s size – and let it loose. The projectile rocketed forward, impaling the demon through the chest.

  The thing opened its mouth, and a surge of black ichor spewed out as it fell to a knee. Tristan began moving forward, feeling his essence crucible almost like a hot furnace in his chest, the cooling power of the Winterbloom bloodline seemingly pushed aside by the burning wrath of the Dragonslayer bloodline. The demon ripped the icicle out of itself, and Tristan saw webs of smoke fill in the wound as it slowly regenerated.

  But the creature was stunned for a short duration – and that was all Tristan needed as he got close enough to reach the thirty-foot cone. Putting his hand up to just in front of his helmet where his mouth would be, he made a small tunnel with his fingers. “The power I took from you is now mine to wield!” he wheezed out with the remaining breath he could draw in faint gasps. He willed it to become the burning inferno of the fire dragon, and the surge of calamitous heat consumed the demon as it wailed out in pain.

  Tristan felt his essence crucible almost empty and heard a very welcome sound. The Archon’s voice. “The spell is done!”

  Tristan watched with morbid fascination as the rift began to seal itself shut. The demon glanced back, it’s battered and broken form accompanied by ragged gasps. It began to turn to retreat, and Tristan used the last bit of his stamina to run forward and stab it in the throat; the weapon’s tip finding a vein that spurted out black blood that dripped down. With a grunt, he ripped the blade sideways, cutting the neck halfway through.

  The demon turned to face him, and Tristan felt some fear rise in him before the creature collapsed to the ground. As it fell, Tristan sensed something in his essence crucible. A small surge of power. Spinning his crucible, he pushed the magic-fueling substance into his cloak. “Return home now!” Tristan was able to shout.

  The bats and wolves all piled through the rift that slowly sealed over, leaving a few stragglers that turned toward him. Tristan was tired; extremely exhausted, but as he raised his weapon, bolts of flame cascaded around him and incinerated the wolves and bats.

  Sheathing his blade and letting all essence fade, he staggered over to Felicity and picked her up in his arms. She was breathing – barely though, and the storage inventory of elixirs were laying on the ground. Good job, Tristan thought as he ripped the covering off one healing elixir after the other, feeding them to his companion. You emptied out the storage before passing out. I’ll get you back on your feet, I promise.

  Tristan heard footsteps approaching, and glanced back to see the Archon and some of the guards had approached. The guards were muttering to themselves about some dog Tristan was holding, and Tristan knew that Felicity’s invisibility must have faded when she was knocked unconscious and heavily injured.

  The Archon knelt next to him, “I can use rejuvenation. May I?”

  Tristan nodded and held Felicity up, “Please,” he gasped out.

  The Archon put his palms over Felicity, “Puissance en moi, je t'ordonne de venir soulager la blessure de cette victime. Purifie toute douleur et redonne-lui une fonction et une forme appropriées.” (Power within me, I command you to come forth and soothe wound of this victim. Cleanse all pain and return it to a proper function and form). Tristan recognized the words as he translated them after hearing them – it was the same Cure Wounds spell that the fairy dragon healer had used.

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  Felicity’s breathing became steadier and fuller. She was still unconscious, but she was alive. The Archon put his hands on Tristan and repeated the spell. Tristan felt his ribs snap back into place and a soothing warmth went through him.

  The large guard that had barked at Tristan earlier walked up, “Elf…you…come speak to the headsman, please.”

  Tristan stood up with Felicity still in his arms and glanced at the Archon, “I’ll go speak to them. Can you go get the horses?”

  Obadai shook his head, “No.” He turned to the guard, “You can wait until we decide to speak to your headsman. On the morrow.” He turned to Tristan, knelt, and gathered up the remaining elixirs – essence and panacea. “I’ll hold onto the panacea, but you should drink the essence ones.”

  The guard began to protest, but his own men began shouting at him, and he grunted. “Fine. On the morrow, Elf.”

  Obadai nudged Tristan who was just looking down at Felicity, “That way,” he softly said as he directed Tristan over a hill. Tristan walked, spinning his essence crucible as he wanted to just get back to the Fey Realm to let Felicity rest.

  They came across the horses about a mile away, lazily munching on some grass. Tristan leaned against Onyx and just held Felicity in his arms, replaying the fight over and over in his mind. “What was that?” Tristan asked.

  “A demon lord,” Obadai replied as he walked over to Midnight and ran a palm along her neck. “They are the rulers of the Demon Realm and are masters of enchantment and smoke elementalism. I am surprised it did not attempt enchantment – probably too focused on bloodshed overruling.” The Archon chuckled, “Good thing you guessed that part correctly.”

  “What? That it wanted conquest?” Tristan asked numbly. “That was apparent from its orders to its pets. I just…hoped it wanted to fight a worthy foe.”

  “It’s smoke-imbued ball and chain did not harm you. That surprised me.”

  “I drank demon dragon blood,” Tristan replied as he met the Archon’s gaze. “Wyrm sized. Which gives me good resistance to whatever spell types it could use. Enchantment and smoke elementalism.”

  Obadai grinned, “And once more, the Anorox bloodline, the Dragonslayer, has impressed me.”

  Tristan had a few more questions that he asked while pushing essence into his ring. “Why did your spell take so long?”

  “Each time the rift grew I had to start over with a new spell. Only once its dimensions were set could I close it.”

  “And when I killed it, I felt a surge of essence.”

  “When you kill something with an essence crucible, you grow your own a small amount – including instantly gaining that much essence for use. It’s called harvesting.”

  “I heard of that,” Tristan mumbled. “But I thought it came from anything I killed?”

  “The wolves and bats? No essence crucibles. Essence-weavers, such as that demon lord? Yes. But not every demon lord has an essence crucible. You got lucky in that regard. How did you control the beasts?”

  “My cloak,” Tristan said as he saw the mud and dirt on the normally pristine, white cloak. “It’s an artifice item with Thrice Command within.”

  The Archon chuckled, “More and more surprises. Well, we go to your Realm, rest and make sure you are fully healed, and then you can speak with this headsman on the morrow.”

  Tristan heard the rustling of dry grass and looked up to see a group of townsfolk that had tracked them down. “What do you want?” he asked as he tried to fill his voice with confidence and assuredness.

  One of the group had a basket and walked over to him placing it on the ground. “You saved Priam’s Overwatch. The least we can do is give some thanks.” The young woman bowed slightly, “Fresh baked bread.”

  After her offering, the others approached and set down their own baskets, sacks, and other goods. Tristan was silent during the whole process, just wanting to go to the Fey Realm and make sure Felicity was okay. A small treasuries’ worth of goods were piled up in front of him, and he bowed to the arrayed townsfolk. “Thank you, but please…keep your goods. I will be back on the morrow, and we can use all these wonderful offerings to celebrate.”

  There were murmurs of dissent and approval through the gathered crowd, but ultimately, they nodded and took their goods back, heading to the town. The Archon looked at Tristan, “You could have become quite rich quite fast with all that they offered. Cloth? Gemstones? Rare foodstuffs?”

  Tristan shook his head, “They need that stuff. I don’t.” His ring glowed, and he gestured for the Archon to come over. After making sure he and the horses were close enough, the world turned white.

  The Fey Realm was as it always was, and Tristan called out for their fairy dragons who knew rejuvenation spells. The Archon interrupted, though, “I can do the spell, Tristan. But she needs rest. The mind experienced near-death, and only so many Cure Wound spells can help.”

  Tristan nodded and held Felicity out as Obadai repeated the spell a few more times. By the time he was done, he was breathing raggedly but had a smile on his face. Felicity’s body looked as perfect as ever, with not a single scale or feather out of place. But she was still sleeping, curled up in Tristan’s arms. “Thank you, Obadai,” Tristan said.

  “Of course. I take my leave to rest.”

  Tristan reverse-spun his crucible as he walked into the Queen’s Wood, filling himself up with the Realm’s ambient essence. Going downstairs, he went to his bed and put Felicity on one of the pillows before divesting himself of his armor and laying down next to her.

  He replayed the fight, step by step in his mind. Trying to figure out any mistakes that he had made. The biggest one was making himself airborne and unable to dodge the follow-up attack from the chain-wrapped fist. I fucked up, Tristan thought. That blow could have killed me outright. Glancing at his armor, he saw the crunched in torso and winced as he remembered the pain. He still felt sore when he took deep breaths, and getting up, he walked outside of the Queen’s Wood.

  Asking a passing fairy dragon to fetch the healer, the larger sized fairy dragon arrived and shifted to an elfanoid form, using Cure Wound repeatedly on Tristan until he could breathe without issue. Returning to his chambers Tristan surrendered to the mental fatigue and exhaustion of the fighting.