The Demon King's Throne Room was chaos incarnate.
Blazing pyres of cursed flame twisted up marble columns. Bloodstains streaked the cracked floor. The summoned statues — hideous, half-human beasts of stone — clashed with the raiding rankers. Magic detonated overhead in blinding flashes. And at the heart of it all, Demon King Blade stood calm, his black sword dripping violet mist, a predator among desperate prey.
Zibal barely kept his footing, one hand driving his battered spear into the floor to stay upright. Crimson streaks covered his cracked armor, and his health bar blinked in the danger zone. He tried to catch his breath.
But then—
A streak of light and shadow blasted past him.
"Move it, Zibal! I'm next, bastard's mine!"
Michel, the dual-blade Dawn Reaver, launched himself into the fray, both of his short swords radiating opposing elemental effects — one wreathed in blue frost, the other burning in crimson flame.
Blade's gaze flickered toward him.
The moment their eyes met, Michel struck.
"Twilight Cleave!"
A spiraling arc of mingled light and darkness tore through the air, aimed straight for Blade's flank.
But the Demon King was faster.
He tilted his head lazily, a translucent barrier of violet mist snapping into place. The attack skidded against it harmlessly, scattering sparks.
Without hesitation, Blade countered.
"Soul Sever."
A whip-like arc of pure darkness lashed out from his sword.
Michel pivoted at the last possible frame — his right blade deflecting the strike with a shriek of metal and mana. The whip coiled past him, but even the glancing touch carved a burning gouge across his left shoulder.
[Michel -20% HP]
"Tch! Cheap-ass boss moves!" Michel cursed under his breath, blood seeping down his arm. He gritted his teeth and launched another skill.
"Phantom Edge Barrage!"
His blades became a storm of light, lashing out in a high-speed chain of rapid slashes. The flurry forced Blade to guard, the Demon King raising his sword with clinical efficiency to block, parry, and redirect — yet Michel pressed harder, weaving in fakes and rhythm breaks.
For a flicker of a moment —
Blade frowned.
He's adapting… fast.
From the side, Faker materialized from the shadows.
The famed assassin's dual daggers gleamed in the half-light, his shadow clones striking from multiple directions.
"Shadow Fang."
Twelve strikes landed in a heartbeat. Blade hissed, forced to adjust his guard to counter the perfectly timed assault. Michel seized the opening — lunging in low, aiming for the side of Blade's exposed ribcage.
The Demon King's counterstrike still came, brutal and sharp.
A quick twist of his blade's pommel slammed into Michel's gut.
[Michel -15% HP]
"Gh—!"
He staggered, coughing blood, but refused to fall. His health dipped dangerously, yet his grip on his swords tightened.
"Not done yet!"
Across the chamber, Chris let out a furious bellow.
The rank two guild leader charged forward, wielding a massive greatsword — a weapon as long as a man was tall, gleaming with enchantments of weight and flame.
"Get clear, Michel! I'm cracking that smug bastard open!"
Michel dove back, his movements sharp but shaky, blood trailing in his wake.
Chris brought his greatsword down in a two-handed arc.
The floor cracked. The throne room trembled.
Blade raised his weapon to block — the clash of force sending a shockwave through the hall, knocking lesser players off their feet.
Chris grit his teeth, forcing his greatsword down against Blade's blade.
For a moment — strength met strength.
But then Blade twisted his stance, his free hand conjuring a surge of cursed flame into Chris's face.
"Damn—!"
Chris was blasted back, flames searing across his chestplate.
He rolled to his feet, coughing and half-blind.
"Pagma's Sword Dance — Kill Wave!"
A booming voice cut through the din as Grid entered the fray.
The Grid's enchanted greatsword left a trail of dark crimson as he executed his multi-hit ultimate, each strike connecting in a devastating sequence.
Blade was forced onto the defensive.
For the first time — he parried, stepped back, and diverted.
The pressure was real now.
Jishuka's flaming arrows slammed into summoned beasts overhead.
Hurent's aura waves crashed into the throne room floor, shattering barriers.
Michel re-entered the fight, circling behind Blade while he was preoccupied with Grid's offensive. Blood matted his hair, his left shoulder sluggish, but his gaze sharp as ever.
"Dawnfall Requiem!"
Both his swords ignited with white-gold light, their length extending, forming phantom blades.
Michel burst forward.
Blade sensed him coming, twisting mid-parry with Grid.
But Michel feinted left — then cut high, low, low again, then overhead.
His movements blurred.
A hundred slashes in seconds.
And on the final cross-cut — both swords bit deep into Blade's chest.
A massive shockwave burst outward.
[Critical Hit — 377,240!]
Blade staggered.
His health bar dropped from 11% to 8%.
The global livestream chat exploded.
"He did it!"
"Michel fucking landed it!!"
"Demon King's bleeding!"
But Michel knew better.
His legs buckled. His health was a sliver.
Blade's smile was cold and sharp.
"Clever boy. But too slow."
Blade's hand shot out and gripped Michel's face.
"Soul Burn."
Cursed fire erupted point-blank.
Michel barely screamed before his body burst into light.
[Michel has died.]
"SHIT!" Zibal cursed.
He was already sprinting forward, spear leveled.
Chris roared, leaping in beside him, his greatsword shining with a final buff.
Grid charged too, his cloak torn, but his resolve unbroken.
Faker's shadows swarmed again.
The rankers moved like a single force now.
They feinted, traded positions, baited Blade's lethal counters.
Chris's greatsword deflected a killing blow aimed for Grid.
Faker's dagger nicked the Demon King's shoulder.
Jishuka's arrow caught his thigh.
Blade bled.
From 8% to 5%. To 4%.
But one by one — he cut them down.
Hurent — dead.
Jishuka — dead.
Chris — dead.
Faker — dead.
Grid — dead.
All fallen.
Only Zibal remained.
Bruised. Bleeding.
A single last man standing.
Blade raised his sword.
"One last hero. Hm."
Zibal spat blood, then smirked.
"Yeah. And I'll be the one to drag you down, freak."
He activated every remaining buff, his spear flaring with crackling energy.
Both charged — light and shadow clashing in a deafening shockwave.
The system messages scrolled faster than players could read.
[Zibal's Final Stand — Active.]
[Final Blow Triggered!]
Their weapons met in a storm of white and violet.
When the light cleared —
Zibal lay broken, his health at zero.
Blade stood, breathing hard, his health bar at 3%.
The world held its breath.
And then the system declared:
[Demon King Blade has successfully defended his throne.]
Blade raised his sword, bloodied but smiling, looking into cameras.
"I told you… humans are fragile."
*******
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