Too often Mattias Smithson found himself to be the only one willing to act. The townspeople had all bowed their heads and fled. They would sacrifice their homes to the demon lord, but what lives would they live after?

A life of squalor, Mattias thought.

He strode through rubble, a fire in his eyes. He held a lumberjack’s axe, ready to strike the demon the moment it came into his sight. Flames blazed on thatching, ash and smoke plumed the skies. His lungs protested, and he gave in and sputtered. The demon would die before he collapsed; that was what he told himself.

At last, he’d found what he sought. A winged demon standing taller than any man he’d met. It had red scales, black leathery wings, and sharp yellow eyes that carried with it intelligence. Its claws were granite, and in it held a golden halberd.

“Have at me, demon!”

He raised his axe and rushed forward. The axe swung with all his strength, and the demon parried effortlessly.

“That all you’ve got, boy?”

It thrusted its halberd and Mattias buckled. The demon pinned him under its foot.

“I wonder how you’d taste roasted,” it said.

“Let him live, Agnis.” Another demon appeared from smoke. “We need one human to remember our faces. He’ll tell his friends of our coming. Champions will then come for us, and we’ll slaughter each of them.”

Agnis grinned. “Very wise, Threniel.”

The new demon, Threniel, held in his arms a small figure, an unconscious girl. He had curled ebon horns for a crown, thick black leather for skin, pallid eyes with black dots, and no wings. The demons chattered amongst each other. They’d done what they set out to do; destroy the village. Mattias glimpsed the girl’s face, and he knew her name: Annette. She was a girl no more than ten years, and she was to become a captive, to enrage the humans and drive them towards the demons.

Mattias thrashed against the demon’s foot, a hot spark carried through his fists until his skin split and bled. Agnis laughed and dug his foot in. A chilling crack rattled Mattias and he groaned in agony.

With a spit, the demons left.

Embers swirled, and each breath Mattias took felt as if he’d ignited an ember. He mustered no strength, to be laid on the earth to gaze long at a blackened reach. A smith’s boy whose usefulness in life had so far amounted to making horseshoes. He wasn’t fit to be a hero, and he’d fooled himself into believing he was one. If he’d lived to see tomorrow, he’d tell the others of Annette. He’d leave her to be saved by a true hero, one who wouldn’t falter under a single thrust.

Round, ash and embers and smoke rose.

At least they can, he thought. I’m nothing.

It was a long while until he was carried off to recuperate.