Collapsed prince

A few minutes earlier

Raedas danced through most of the demon's attacks, but he couldn't weave through all of them. The ones that he couldn't, he deflected with his sword, or parried with his shield. Now, though, that shield had been smashed to shrapnel and ash, and his vambrace had also been melted where the demon sword had opened a slash in his left arm.

'Though his flames are not hot enough to burn me,' he thought 'still it's a shame my armor couldn't withstand its heat, and it's an excellent armor too. By the flame, those enchanters can't get anything right!'

He sidestepped one of the demon's claws and deflected an incoming thrust from its tale before ducking a blow from the demon's sword and retaliating with an overhand slash.

This time the cut was deep, not only slicing the veins and muscles but also cracking bone.

Flaming visceral blood glowing like molten magma spewed from the wound. Raedas quickly retreated and blocked a torrent of blows unleashed by the enraged demon.

His sword spun so fast, that it was practically impossible for the average human to witness anything but a storm of sparks, yet his hands didn't seem to move as fast. Almost like a queer dance of sorts, as if imitating the flicker of a candle's flame fighting against the unforgiving wind.

Shaking off the fiery blood and deflecting the onslaught of attacks, Raedas realized the fatigue was setting in. He could taste the blood in his mouth and feel the fog of sluggishness eating away at his mind, body, and soul, clouding his judgment.

Chasing away the sluggishness as he leaned away from another attack, he sucked in a large amount of air. Then his body seemed to ignite with a faint glow as he breathed out a small puff of smoke and fire, and the sluggishness was burnt and expelled from his body.

'I just need to catch my br-' but the demon was mounting pressure, and he, on the other hand, was already fatigued.

He checked a second blow, and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows, and he fell back again.

'What am I doing? I need to escape?' with his mind occupied with the thoughts of escape, he didn't notice. How could he have known?

He took another step back trying to evade one of the many attacks. Surprisingly, he tripped on the corpse of one of the many deceased legionnaires.

Another swipe from the demon's sword and Raedas, in a position unable to weave, met it with his steel. The shock of the impact ran up his arm as the swords crashed together. A claw slammed a sidestroke into his ribs and was rewarded with a muffled grunt of pain.

The counterstroke caught Raedas on the shoulder. Steel crunched, and pain flared up his neck, but for an instant, He was unbalanced. The demon's tail slammed into his left leg from under him, and he fell with a curse and a crash.

Not sparing a moment, rolled backwards. Narrowly dodging a viscous downswing from the demon. Desperately rolling to the side, in the next moment, he dodged the murderous thrust of a claw.

Already on his feet, he deflected another claw aiming for his throat. He tried dancing through the demon's attacks, but his footwork was a mess as he kept stumbling into corpses. By now he had already guessed the truth of the matter.

The demon was using its tail to move the corpses and use the terrain to its advantage.

"Bloody sly thing" Raedas cursed with heavy breaths. He had dealt a great deal of damage to the demon. Wounds and opened gash littered its glossy, leathery hide, arrows and bolts sticking out; one of its arms was severely wounded, and so it was forced to use only three limbs to attack and its tail. But the same could be said of Raedas. Tired, wounded, bruised, and battered, he was fatigued to the brink of collapse, and his blood was thinning, too; he wasn't going to last any longer than this.

He blocked a side swing from the demon sword, and their swords pushed against one another. A claw slammed into his abdomen, clawing at his breastplate but unable to cut through it, and then he was kneeling, using his damaged left arm to pry himself from the claw. His grip weakened, and the sword slipped from his grasp. The demon sword came down like a guillotine, ready to send him on the pale mare's journey, but he caught the fiery sword in his grip, with his gauntlet.

"Raaaaarghhhhh!" he screamed with defiant rage. One gauntlet arm holding the seemingly tangible demon sword and the other hand pushing back its vile claw. Glaring at the demon with malice and hate, as if saying all be bloodied and battered, he refused to die.

Then its tail twitched and vanished, he heard the sound of steel crumpling, and suddenly, the demon and its surroundings shrunk in size at a terrifying speed.

"Ah? …" The sounds scarcely left his mouth when he crashed into a group of slaves, some flying all around with broken links and chains mixed among them before he slammed into the cave wall.

Then suddenly, everything went black, and his vision quickly dimmed.

Artam's eyes widened as he saw Prince Raedas's collapsed body, his flaming sword flickering out. The demon roared in triumph, its bloody wounds barely slowing it down. The unmounted horses let out frenzied screams and fled, their retreat a stark contrast to the hopelessness of the slaves left behind.

"By the flame!" The gray beard cried, before he quickly searched for the spare keys in the wagon and tossed them to a slave, saying;

"Save yourself, young lads," before he galloped toward the collapsed prince.

The slaves, realizing their doom and their hope, erupted into chaos. Some tried to break free from their chains, while others cowered, their spirits crushed. The few that were close to the key began clustering together, clawing and fighting one another for the key.

Kaloc took one last look at the chaos. "Guluny save us" he whispered, before he tightened his reins and rode away into the storm.

The wounded legionnaire and his horse couldn't escape, some slaves had surrounded him and had taken hold of his reins. It wasn't long before they pulled him off his horse and began lynching him.

A moment later the demon had reached the slaves, wreaking havoc, death, and destruction on the hapless slaves.

Artam knew he had to act quickly. He looked around for anything that could help. His eyes fell on the jagged piece of rock, still sharp despite the surrounding carnage.

'The chain shouldn't be high-quality iron since it was used to bind weakened and starved slaves.' The thought came to him like a glimmer of hope.

He picked the rock up and, with desperate resolve, started picking the lock of his link. The metal bit into his flesh, but he ignored the pain. Whisper, The fletching Crow in his chiton, chirped softly as if sensing the urgency. Artam worked faster, but eventually the rock cracked, and the link remained unlocked.

"I-I'm going to die…?" Artam muttered with labored breathing.

Then he noticed the frenzied horse of the lynched legionnaire was running in his direction. Quickly, he scrambled out of its trajectory; the old slave beside Artam wasn't as quick. The demented horse's hooves caved his head in with one blow, and it stomped his dead body, as ran it dragging the corpse and its corded chain around its hooves.

The chain grew taut and pulled Artam with frightening force.

"Argh," muffled shouts leaked from his mouth as he was pulled a good distance before he felt the chain slacken, and he slid to a stop.

The friction generated by sliding the distance had damaged Artam to a large degree. He stood and checked his surroundings.

Artam stood near the cave's mouth, where the wagon had been. The chain connecting his link had broken; the link was badly damaged but still held.

"For Guluny's sake of all the things …" Artam cursed.

The demon had slaughtered most of the slaves and the ones that survived had been trampled on by the frenzied horse. The grey beard and his mounted horse were stalling the demon. Though it was clear he wouldn't last for long.

"Watchers, what can I do?", but then he saw him. A wounded boy, not more than 6 or 7, was crouched and clutching at a tiny glistening rod, He had just pried open his link.

It was a short and narrow iron rod with a straight bend on its end. 'A key. It's a key.' He ran towards. 'It's the key to the shackles!'

"I'm free, I'm finally free." The boy whispered; the hot tears came streaming down as he cried in joy while clutching his wounds.

Artam snatched the key from the freed boy dropped on one knee and began to maneuver the shackles, trying to get his hand into a suitable position to insert the key. It took him a short while to understand how the lock worked, but then there was a satisfying click, and suddenly he was free.