A Vow of Vengeance

The Death's Caress directed at Gideon was like a pebble cast into a lake, stirring mere ripples before calm returned. Burd could only speculate if Gideon's immobility was due to sentiment rather than the formidable level nine spell. To Burd, it seemed absurd, but that was the emotion he perceived in his adversary's eyes. Regardless of whether the demon's guesses were accurate, facing such an opponent, to whom even the mighty "Death's Caress" had no effect, made fleeing far from shameful. Only a fool wouldn't run from such a battle.

So, Burd attempted to flee. It should have been simple—turn and step through the portal. But as the demon crossed the threshold of the spatial gate, he abruptly froze, unable to move further.

The sharp edge of a blade rested against his neck.

Just one step, that's all he needed. One step forward and the door would close behind him, separating him from this monstrous foe forever. But now, a mere lean forward would mean the sharp edge could slice through Burd's throat.

Burd could feel the pulsating aura of death along the blade's edge, a chill pricking his skin as though the weapon had been tempered by vengeful spirits and blood. Through his Mage's Eye, Burd saw the stark reality of the blade before him.

Swallowing hard, the demon managed to speak, "Hey, look, I just remembered I have urgent business to attend to. That's why I didn't say goodbye. You're not upset, right? I was just pointing at you, as promised. What's that in your hand, a, a scythe? The Grim Reaper's scythe?"

"A scythe? No, this is simply a unique form of 'Da Ge' (Great Halberd), a variation of 'Ge' (Halberd). Though you could call it..."

Gideon's words were abruptly cut short as Burd made his move.

With a sudden backward lunge, Burd slammed towards Gideon, his body sprouting a forest of bone-white blades from his spine, like a myriad of glistening bayonets ready to rend flesh.

Gideon elegantly stepped aside, gliding past the demon with ease as though they were partners in a waltz. With a deft spin, they switched positions; Burd barreled back into the town, out of the portal, while Gideon found himself where the demon had just been, within the gate.

And the scythe remained poised at the demon's neck.

"You could call it a scythe if you like," Gideon finished calmly. "By the way, next time, could you wait until I finish speaking before acting?"

With the retraction of the scythe, Burd's head soared skyward, still shouting defiance even as it fell, "You'll see! I'll come back for revenge! Next time, maybe we'll have some tea, discuss a few things, and then get down to business. So don't run off! Argh!" The head dropped, silencing Burd's mouth partway through his speech.

The portal, unsupported by magic, began to close.

As it dwindled to the size of a teacup, a hand suddenly reached through, grasping at the demon's remains, extracting a black orb from the corpse before swiftly retreating.

The gate shut, severing the two worlds.

Amid the morning light, the town was left to the whispers of the wind and the weeping of lost souls. And a full glass of brandy remained untouched—

Back in the wilting castle of the Abyss, a small demon climbed from the fetid pool, tears streaking down its face.

"Damn it, damn them all!" Burd cursed Azazel in every language he knew. Then he summoned his loyal servant, "Susan! You harlot, come to me at once!"

Soon, a succubus appeared before Burd, her cloven hooves clacking, her luscious visage framed by black horns, her flame-like hair dancing above her head. Panting breathlessly, Susan, in disheveled clothes baring her ample bosom, faced Burd, her eyes wide with incredulity, "Burd, my lord. What... what has happened?"

"What happened? You need to ask? I'm perforated with holes, my flesh flayed, and my head flew at least thirty meters high before crashing down, smashed to pulp! What happened? I was slain in the prime material plane!"

Susan sighed with relief. As any demon or devil knows, they cannot truly die in the prime material plane. If you think you've killed a demon, you're mistaken. Shredded demons are reborn in the Abyss, though as the lowest of imps, stripped of their power and starting anew. Devils face a similar fate in the Seven Hells. But being killed in an outer plane is a true death, hence Burd's last desperate rush at Gideon—more to reach the other side of the portal than to attack the formidable enemy.

"So, what would you have me do now? My dear little demon prince?" Susan inquired coolly, her voice dripping with insincerity. Stripped of his power, Burd was nothing. And now, reduced to a small demon, his arms were barely thicker than his once-proud manhood, which now resembled a thread of spider silk.

"You dare mock me! Have you forgotten your soul-core is with me? You're in a hurry to die, aren't you?" The diminutive demon threatened, his voice brimming with frustration.

Susan forced a wretched smile, "Impossible! I am forever your most faithful servant. Command me, and I will obey."

"Well then, get to the prime material plane immediately. I don't care how you do it, bring back my demonic core. Retrieve my power, my weapons, my gems. Hurry, hurry, hurry!"

Susan scurried away.

"Wait!" Burd called her back.

"What else, my lord?"

"When you speak to me, look into my eyes, not down there!"

"Did I? Really?"

"Yes, and you were smirking!"

"Sorry, I couldn't help it. It's so... adorable, oh my little cutie."

"Go! Just go!"

Susan vanished from Burd's sight.

As the succubus's footsteps faded into the distance, the silent decay resumed in the castle's stinking pool. In the shadows, Burd brooded over the future and the past.

For the future, his prospects were grim; many sought his life, and now he was tragically powerless—a single misstep away from oblivion.

As for the past, Burd engraved Azazel's visage into his memory, vowing never to forget those features, that voice, their battle, never to forget the humiliation and hatred. That pain and outrage would remain forever etched in his mind.

Then Burd lowered his gaze to what remained below his waist. It was indeed pitifully small. He could almost use Susan's cavern as shelter from the rain.