The Hero's Puppet Master

There were sounds of clashing swords, screams, and roaring demons without end. Blood gushed out everywhere on the ground, and the place was engulfed with raging fires that consumed everything in their path.

Among it all was Aurelia, a human hero. She is quiet and motionless. A spear was sticking into her chest. Her brilliant green eyes are now dimmed and lifeless, focusing into the chaos.

Ronan fell to one knee, holding himself up by the sword. Blood was streaming from his wounds, and each breath came shallow and labored.

"I'm. not done yet," he whispered through clenched teeth. His voice was weak but full of determination.

In his way stood a towering form clad in heavy black armor. Red eyes glowed like two sparks behind the slits of the helmet. A dark and malignant aura surrounded the battlefield as Zorak, Demon King, rested his massive sword on his shoulder. That sword pulsed with overwhelming power, matching Zorak's presence.

"Take what's left of your pitiful army and leave," Zorak said, his deep voice rumbling like thunder. "This war is over. No need to waste more lives."

He turned and began walking away, his heavy footsteps echoing across the battlefield. "I don't enjoy pointless slaughter."

Ronan's grip on his sword tightened. Rage burned in his exhausted eyes as he forced himself to stand.

"This isn't over!" he shouted, his voice cracking over the mayhem.

Zorak paused and turned back over his shoulder. "Oh? Because I killed your precious hero?" His tone was taunting, almost bored.

"Fuck the hero! I don't care about her," Ronan snarled, steadying himself. Dark energy began swirling around his blade, wild and vicious.

His voice was shaking with fury and grief. "What I care about is revenge. Revenge for everyone you have taken from me. I'm going to end you!"

Zorak turned fully to face him, the glow in his red eyes burning brighter. "So be it. If you wish for death so badly, I'll grant it."

The Demon King's sword radiated evil energy, and his aura pressed down on the battlefield like a crushing weight. Ronan planted his feet firmly, the dark energy around his sword growing more intense. 

"I'll take revenge, Amy," he whispered to himself, his bloodied face set with grim determination. 

With a roar, Ronan charged forward. 

The ground shook as their swords clashed, sending shockwaves across the battlefield. Ronan moved quickly, dodging Zorak's massive swings and striking whenever he saw an opening. 

"You're fast," Zorak said, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. 

"And you're slow," Ronan shot back, feinting high and slashing low.

Their battle was fierce, each blow pushing Ronan to his limits. He observed Zorak closely, seeking a weakness. 

And then he saw it. A weak, flickering light under the Demon King's armor. His core. 

Summoning all his might, Ronan charged forward. His sword struck true, piercing Zorak's defense and hitting the core. 

An explosion shook the battlefield as Zorak stumbled backward, clutching his chest.

The Demon King growled, his voice sharp with anger. "How did you know?" 

Ronan smirked, blood dripping from his lips. "Lucky guess."

The morning light suddenly grew unnaturally bright, clashing with Zorak's dark aura.

"You leave me no choice, mortal," Zorak said, standing tall again. "No one defies a king and lives."

Before Ronan could move or act, a wave of dark energy gushed forth from Zorak and swept up the battlefield in crushing might. 

 Zorak's sword sliced into his chest in a movement far quicker than Ronan's sight.

 Gasping, Ronan's blood sprayed from his lips as he gazed down upon that monstrous blade. He sagged down with knees folded but refused to let go to the ground.

"You've come closer than anyone ever has," Zorak said, his voice calm but cold. "But this is where your story ends." 

He pulled his sword free, and Ronan collapsed to the ground. Blood pooled beneath him as the world blurred and darkened. 

Even as the darkness closed in, Ronan smiled faintly. His voice was weak but defiant.

This. isn't over," he whispered. "I'll be back. again and again. until I rip your heart out with my own hands."

Zorak looked down at him. "You mortals never fail to amuse me," he said, turning away. "But your defiance won't change anything."

As Zorak walked off, his deep voice echoed ominously. "We're all just pawns in his grand game. Even you."

---

Ronan opened his eyes to gasp for air, heaving his chest in deep breaths. Sweat streamed down his body; the air was cold.

There came the smell of freshly baked bread and old wood—the smell of the orphanage instead of the battlefield.

Ronan looked around and took in the small bunks and worn floorboards where he had grown up in an orphanage.

He stumbled to the cracked mirror and stared at his reflection. A frail boy with messy black hair and bright blue eyes looked back at him—his seven-year-old self. 

"I'm. back?" He whispered, his voice trembling. "Again?" 

A sharp, annoyed voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"Oh? The mighty king has finally woken up."

Ronan slowly turned toward the doorway. Standing there, arms crossed and with a scowl on her face, was Aurelia.

Aurelia, seven years old, with piercing green eyes and messy blonde hair.