Beneath the Abyss, A Heart of Gold

The blade went in easy. Too easy. Saintess Elara Veyne came with a thousand Heroes, holy steel, and a prophecy that said the Demon Lord would fall. She stabbed him in the chest. He smiled. (Finally) Blood drips black from the wound. The Flame Sword across his lap doesn't ignite. It flickers. Warm. Orange. Like a hearth fire. Not the wrath of a god. Her hands shake. His voice is soft. Wrecked. A man who hasn't spoken in centuries. "You wanted to know what I was holding back?" He steps off the throne. The stone beneath his boots cracks. From the cracks comes light. Orange. Pulsing. Sick. It makes her soul want to claw out of her skin. "I was holding back everything." The Heroes break. A thousand soldiers become a thousand panicked animals. They run. The Saintess runs too, but she looks back. Around his neck, a black crystal pulses. Inside it, a child's voice whispers: Father... they're hurting you again. The Flame Sword ignites. White. Blazing. His shadow stretches behind him, not human. A void. A hole in reality. And at the edges of that darkness, the world is fraying. He gives her one last look. "Run, Saintess. While the sun's still there to run under." She runs. On the surface, the sun blinks out at noon. The holy spires crack. Children ask why the stars are out. And somewhere in the dark between surface and Abyss, the Demon Lord begins his long walk upward. He's dying. The world is dying with him. (Just once, he thinks, just once, he'd like to meet the asshole who decided this was his job)