Intruders.

Deep within the brimstone catacombs of Mount Arat lived a foul-mouthed and just plain foul demon. Long had he lived undisturbed in this place, except for the odd Demon Slayer or two. Still, his demonic traps, incantations and other nasty surprises kept them at bay. In fact, it did too good of a job since it would keep potential clients out too.

Surrounded by swords, the tall, dark-skinned lizard demon sat. All these swords carried a demonic aura, or presence, or whatever you wanted to call it. The demon prided himself on his abilities to craft swords, as far as he knew, he was the greatest demon forger in either the Mortal realm, or Hell itself. Alas, something felt different today. Yet, he couldn’t quite put his claw on it.

Meanwhile, the traveling duo kept up a fair pace within the labyrinth catacombs bored into the mountain. They didn’t dare slow down since Vaskalen knew of the inhabitant’s habit of laying traps along the right passages. Still, even they were of little consequence to the aspiring ruler of the entire Mortal plain. If they came across a trap, it wouldn’t trigger on a powerful being like it… although the archer would be at risk.

Ah well, not like it would be a huge loss, now would it?

*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*

At last, a customer who could make it through the endless maze of tunnels he dug into the volcano! Fifty or sixty years came and went since his last customer. However they were, he’d have to give them a discount if only since they relieved his boredom. Alas, when they finally arrived, he’d find himself greatly shocked at just who had stopped by.

“Humans!?” He exclaimed when they entered his cave. In the shock brought on by this development, he instantly went to grab one of the many swords hanging on the wall. “You’ll never take me alive human scum!” He exclaimed as he pulled his finest down off the wall.

“Beat me with such an inferior blade? I laugh”, came a voice from behind him.

“Inferior? Do you know to whom you speak!?” He shouted, turning around on the spot.

“Do you? Tremble, puny demon and beg for forgiveness. I am Vaskalen: The Hellfire Sword, and the second most powerful Apocalypse Blade!”

“Ha! You? Vaskal-.” He started, but when noticing the sword clutched in the head-head's hand, he stopped. “V-v-v… Oh, mighty Vaskalen! Please, forgive my rudeness.” The demon threw himself to the floor. On the walls, the vast number of demonic blade, once begging for their creator to spill their blood, stopped dead. There was no sentient sword who didn’t know Vaskalen, or any of the other Apocalypse Blades.

“Arise, for I have need of your assistance, Blacksmith.”

“Anything, oh great and powerful sword!”

“Repair my broken blade and you will have your life when the world is mine.”

“Oh course! I shall make it better then it ever was!”

“You’d better,” Vaskalen replied before being handed to the demon by Galan.

Zalif stood there the whole time; mind ravaged by worry an anxiety. Where was Mioska? What was she planning to do? When would she come and stop this? Alas, if only he could see into the shadows. There, he might find the answer.

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(Avy by insaney, sig by an assortment of various ZUers present and past. You know who you are. =3)
Figments of my Imagination.