Elena’s report for Lady Mezalune, continued…

Back in the days of the Corruption centuries past, before the humans started practicing the eldritch rites of the Hellbourne to fight the elven Emperor and his Hellbourne servants, I’ve heard that slaying a Malphas was regarded as a feat of great heroism. Elicia herself, would bestow the highest of honours upon the mortal soldiers who had done it in service to her. Those of their brothers and sisters slain would be heralded as martyrs, too. Promises of elysian fields and eternal peace, the whole package and more.

Not anymore, though. Especially not for me. Then again, was this ever true to begin with?

The Malphas didn’t waste any time anticipating or waiting for me to make a move, and it rushed forward to try and seize me within the burning grasp of its massive claws. It’s an unthinking mass of fire and brimstone and smoke, after all. The so-called Demon King and his followers had made themselves noticeably scarce. He had fallen silent, but his followers were going wild with rather feverish enthusiasm, screaming and cursing and chanting sounds and words that I can only best describe as mad gibberish. It was slightly annoying, to say the least of it.

Sadly, as much as I’d like to kill the lot of them, having a giant Hellbourne behemoth in the way made it rather hard to have a good look around. Because, you know, everything’s burning and there’s smoke everywhere. And I suppose that there’s also that bit about killing him being an ultimately moot point, at least for now. The Malphas was still blocking off the mines up ahead, and were this Demon King to lose control for any reason, his Hellbourne servant would simply attack everyone in sight. I should know, because I’ve seen it happen before.

Didn’t stop me from getting out of the way, though! If the Malphas ever got me, I’d surely be a goner. Knowing this, I immediately willed my skeletal militia to attack, to go straight for its legs. They did well covering my retreat to make a little distance between me and my burning foe, the ones with ranged weapons pelting it with bullets, bolts, and rocks, and the ones with melee weapons charged in suicidally, slashing and stabbing and smashing down low.

It went about as well as you’d think, my Lady. The Malphas smashed headfirst like a burning boulder into my skeletal army as their weapons chipped away at its legs. In a matter of seconds, it had crushed them all into ashes and dust with its burning claws thrashing wildly. Even the skeleton with the rocks was not spared its wrath, incinerated almost instantly by a gout of hellfire.

Poor guy.

But it was good enough for me. I was now safely out of range of those burning claws. Try as it might, the Malphas couldn’t reach me with all that distance gained, and I intended to keep it that way as we played a game of cat and mouse while the world around us burned. Skirting around the fire burning down the camp, I pelted the Malphas with salvos of arcane and necromantic magic, over and over, aiming specifically for brimstone of its legs already chipped away by my fallen militia. I’m thinking, that if I can bring it to its knees, taking it down shouldn’t be too hard after that. Some of the Demon King’s cultists tried to get in my way, egged on by crazy and their even crazier leader, but I cut them down without skipping a beat, leaving their corpses to be trampled and cremated into ash by the burning mass of my pursuer.

The fight’s going well. I’m sure the Demon King was frustrated beyond belief, since occultists have to constantly exert their will upon their Hellbourne servants to obey orders, and I’m quite sure that it’s very mentally and physically taxing to be in command of a powerful and large Hellbourne like a Malphas. Perhaps that’s why, all so suddenly, that the Malphas closed with a sudden burst of speed that caught me off guard. Surely, it was an occultist spell of some kind. It didn’t get close enough to tear me apart with those damned claws, but put it within range for a gout of hellfire that incinerated everything in its path.

I got out of the way, barely, falling towards the snow like a carriage skidding off an icy road. But I also spotted an opportunity, my Lady, and I went for it. I unleashed the largest orb of arcane energy I could muster with my sigil, and aimed it directly at the Malphas’s leg. It had already been battered and damaged repeatedly by my skeletal militia and my other spells, and all that combined with this huge attack of mine, centred upon this exposed weakness complete with writhing flames and overflowing magma, shattered its structural integrity, bringing the burning behemoth of fire and brimstone down to its knees.

It couldn’t grab me now, not a chance in hell. Hatred seethed in its fiery gaze fixated solely upon mine as I got back up on my feet, staying a safe distance from certain death while I brought both hands forward with my sigils burning bright and powerful with all of my unholy might. The resulting blast of arcane and necromantic energy unleashed from my sigil, reduced it to a smouldering heap of rocks and dying embers.

Wordlessly, with their champion and fiery lynchpin of rebellion gone, I lowered my hands and glared at the Demon King. His followers had all fallen silent, and when they noticed my ire, they collectively took a step back into the raging fires of the burning camp behind them as I took one step forward myself, towards them all and the mines up ahead.

Not him, though. He stood his ground, his eyes both bloody and drained.