The light of terror whisked, the lair's state returning to its darkened state as the Demon Lord was finally slain by the Hero's party which consisted of a shy but powerful human mage named Lyria, a harsh and cold beastwoman arbalist (crossbow) who proclaimed herself as Zephyr, a silent yet perceptive undead skeleton whom wielded a scythe dubbed Grim, Maximillian the Legendary Hero who led the group with his sword by the choice of fate, and of course, you.

It took you a while to comprehend, but you guys did it. A far cry from the pride which carried you all with shattered equipment, but you all did it. His body laid at the foot of his throne where servants bowed to him, slowly fading like piled sand and drifted out the stained glass windows, shattered fragments glinting under the moonlight.

You, being at the front of it, began to approach, your damaged equipment creaking as you took heavy steps to observe the carcass disintegrating to ash. It felt as if every moving crook dug bones into your flesh, but it was important to see if your job as a Hero was done.

Placing one knee to the ground as you observed the decay, hearing footsteps echo down the towering halls from behind you. And all of a sudden, as if the Gods gave you a second chance, the swift sound of metal of Maximillian's half-broken blade coming down from an overhead swing cut through the still air and directly at you.