These Hallowed Bones - [Monster Evolution, Dark Fantasy, Heroic Undead]

Duke Halcyon's knuckles were white where he gripped his goblet. The metal, forged in some lesser hell, began to groan under the pressure. A thin crack appeared, spiderwebbing across its surface as the wine within began to boil.

His eyes, burning coals in a face of sculpted malice, never left mine.

"Pan," he said, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the stone floor. "You have a very short time to explain this jest."

Pan flinched, his body trying to sink into the feed trough he called a throne. He opened his mouth, but only a dry click emerged.

"There is nothing to explain," I said. The words carried across the hall, clear and cold. "You requested fresh meat. We provided it."

Halcyon's goblet shattered. Wine, now steaming, splashed across the table, hissing as it ate into the polished bone.

He rose slowly, his chair scraping backward. His wings, folded tight against his back, began to unfurl, each feather a sliver of obsidian.

"My messenger," he said, each word a drop of venom. "Served on a platter."

"He was fresh," I replied. "And nearby."

The hall erupted.

Demons at the lower tables leaped to their feet, some cheering at the audacity, others backing toward the walls.

Only Baldred remained seated, his pale fingers still adjusting the tubes that fed his creation. The flesh golem's single eye-slit tracked the rising tension.

Halcyon's wings snapped fully open. Each span stretched twelve feet, blotting out the torchlight behind him.

The temperature in the hall dropped ten degrees.

"You mistake arrogance for strength, bone-thing."

The Arkashoth fragment stirred within my ribs, recognizing the taste of genuine threat.

Not like the lesser demons we'd crushed on the road. Halcyon carried true power.

Still lesser than what I'd faced before.

Still far less than what waited in the silent south.

Duke Halcyon's champion stepped forward from the shadows behind the throne.

A winged demon like his master, but leaner, built for speed rather than brute force. Scars crisscrossed his hide in precise patterns, ritual markings that spoke of decades spent honing his craft. He carried a spear, long and barbed, its tip shining with something that wasn't quite metal.

"Kill the skeleton," Halcyon ordered. "Then bring me the imp."

Pan whimpered beside me.

The champion rolled his shoulders, wings folding tight against his back. The spear shifted in his grip, point tracking my movements with predatory care.

I stepped away from Pan's chair.

The hall held its breath.

The demon lunged.

Fast. Faster than the brutes on the road, faster than the trolls at the gates. His spear thrust toward my chest, seeking gaps of weakness.

I twisted left.

The barbed point scraped against dragon bone plates, gouging deep furrows but failing to penetrate. Sparks flew where the speartip met my reinforced frame.

His wings snapped open, carrying him past me in a rushing blur of leather and shadow. He pivoted midair, spear reversing direction.

I caught the shaft in my skeletal hand.

The wood, if it was wood, burned cold against bone. Cursed coating on the weapon hissed, eating away at the outer layers of bones.

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But I held.

The champion's eyes widened. He pulled back, trying to free his weapon.

I pulled harder.

His feet scraped against stone as he fought the unexpected resistance. Wings beat frantically, seeking traction, assistance to move back.

The spear's shaft cracked.

I released it.

He stumbled backward, off-balance, half his weapon gone.

The broken end jutted from my fist like a crude dagger.

I threw it.

The jagged wood took him in the shoulder, punching through hide and muscle to pin him against the stone wall behind Halcyon's throne.

He hung there for a moment, wings spread wide.

The champion wrenched himself free from the wall, dark ichor streaming down his shoulder. The broken spear clattered to stone, its cursed coating still smoking.

He flexed his wounded wing, testing the damage. Pain flickered across his scarred features, but his stance remained steady.

This demon had survived decades of combat through skill, not luck.

His remaining weapon was a curved blade, drawn from a sheath at his hip. Its edge rippling with the same cold fire that had coated the spear.

I advanced.

He feinted left, then dove right, blade sweeping toward my leg joints. Dragon bone met cursed steel in a shower of sparks. The edge bit deep, carving through reinforced plates.

But dragon bone remembers.

The wound sealed itself, plates shifting to compensate for the damage. What would have crippled lesser skeletons became nothing more than surface scoring.

The champion's eyes narrowed. He'd fought undead before. Necromantic constructs that crumbled under focused assault.

But I was something else.

He launched himself skyward, wings beating hard. The vaulted ceiling gave him room to maneuver, to use his aerial advantage. From above, he could strike at joints and connections, dismantling me piece by piece.

I reached for Aeternus.

The blade materialized in my grip, its familiar weight settling against bone fingers. Blue fire ran along the fuller, casting dancing shadows across the walls.

The champion dove.

I met him halfway.

Aeternus swept upward as he descended, cursed blade clashing against divine steel. The impact sent shockwaves through the hall. Torches guttered. Goblets shattered on tables.

We locked weapons, his momentum carrying us both toward the floor. At the last moment, he twisted, wings catching air to spin us around.

We hit the floor in a grinding slide of bone and cursed steel. Flagstones cracked beneath our combined weight. A table splintered as we crashed through it, sending roasted meats and goblets scattering.

The champion disengaged, a blur of motion. He used his wings not just for flight; they were weapons of repositioning. A powerful beat launched him backward, out of my immediate reach.

He landed lightly on an overturned table, scarred hide dripping ichor from the wound in his shoulder.

He feinted another aerial assault.

I waited.

When he dove again, I dropped Aeternus and lunged forward. My skeletal hands closed around the base of his left wing where leather met muscle and bone.

His eyes went wide with understanding.

Too late.

I twisted hard, dragon bone fingers finding purchase in the joint. The wing's delicate structure, built for speed and maneuverability, was not designed to resist this kind of leverage.

Cartilage popped.

Sinew tore.

The champion's scream echoed off stone walls as his wing separated from his body in a spray of dark blood. I held the twitching appendage for a moment before casting it aside.

He crashed to the floor, his remaining wing beating uselessly against stone.

He tried to rise, to pull away, to bring his cursed blade to bear.

I did not grant him the chance.

My other hand found the remaining wing. He thrashed, trying to bite, to claw, but my grip was absolute. I planted one foot on his back, pinning him to the floor.

Then I pulled.

The sound was wet and final. His body convulsed, then went limp. I held the wings aloft for a moment.

Then I let them drop to the floor only to raise Aeternus once more and bring it down, cutting the demon in two.

Dark ichor pooled across broken flagstones.

I stood over the bisected corpse, blue fire crackling along Aeternus's edge. The hall remained silent except for the steady drip of demon blood from my skeletal frame.

Duke Halcyon was enraged.

His massive hands gripped the arms of his throne hard enough to crack bone. The other candidates leaned back in their seats, suddenly reconsidering their positions.

The bull-demon cleared his throat. "Well. That was decisive."

Mavren's talons scraped against her goblet. "More entertaining than expected."

Baldred said nothing, but his flesh golem shifted weight from foot to foot. The alchemist's pale eyes studied me with new interest, cataloging what he'd witnessed.

I turned toward Duke Halcyon.

"Is it your turn?" I asked, looking directly at Duke Halcyon.

The other candidates shifted in their seats, suddenly aware that the evening's entertainment had become something else entirely.

Pan squeaked beside me, finally finding his voice.

"The skeleton speaks for me in all matters."

The bull-demon's laughter boomed across the hall, deep and genuine. He slapped his massive palm against the table.

"Let's continue the activities!" His voice carried the enthusiasm of someone who'd just witnessed excellent sport. "We've one match down in the champion bouts at least."

Other demons began to stir, the tension breaking into anticipation. The serpent's champion uncoiled from her position, scales sliding against each other with a sound like steel on steel. Mavren's harpy flexed razor talons, black feathers rustling.

Duke Halcyon remained frozen in his throne, wings still spread wide. Dark veins pulsed beneath his skin where rage fought with pragmatism. His champion's blood pooled at his feet, staining the dais.

"Unless," the bull-demon continued, grinning through yellowed tusks, "Halcyon wishes to forfeit his claim entirely?"

The challenge was there.

Halcyon's eyes found mine across the wreckage of his champion. Blue fire met burning coals. The Arkashoth fragment tasted his fury, his humiliation, his growing understanding that this night would not end as he'd planned.

But Duke was still Duke.

He would not yield his throne easily.