The central figure stepped down from the obsidian throne, each footfall echoing like a drumbeat across the black plateau.
He stood nearly as tall as Mike's draconic form, armored from head to toe in plates of dark metal that absorbed light rather than reflected it. Violet runes pulsed across his breastplate. His helm was forged into the snarling face of a demon, complete with a ring in its nose, and in one massive hand he held a scimitar that whispered with malevolent energy.
"I am Erlik, The Third Throne. Herald of the Pit's Will. You trespass, devour our kin, and demand names as if you rule this place."
Mike's eyes ignited in red light. "Where the fuck is Hecate?"
Erlik spread his arms, scimitar lowering. "Then come, dragon. Let's see what you've truly become."
He moved first.
Fast.
A blur of motion, Erlik slammed into Mike shoulder-first, the collision creating a thunderclap that shattered the nearby obsidian towers. Mike was hurled backward, skidding through the stone, carving a deep trench before catching himself mid-slide.
Before he could rise, Erlik was on him again. The scimitar flashed in tight arcs, cutting deep gouges through Mike's armored scales. Sparks and blood flew with every strike.
Mike snarled and countered, wings flaring out as he lashed upward. His claws raked across Erlik's helm, tearing gouges into the enchanted metal and throwing the king off balance. They collided again, claws against steel.
Mike struck with raw power, wings slicing like swords, tail cracking like a siege weapon. Erlik responded with brutal precision, kicking with essence-reinforced boots, slashing arcs of magic and steel through the air, and flooding the field with a numbing aura that threatened to slow Mike's limbs.
It didn't work.
Mike roared and slammed into him, grabbing Erlik by the waist and driving him through one of the basalt statues. Stone exploded outward in every direction. Erlik tumbled, trying to rise, only for Mike to land atop him, claws raised.
"Where is she!?" Mike roared, voice booming across the plateau.
Erlik lifted a hand and activated a glyph. A pulse of black light detonated outward.
Mike was blasted away, landing hard, smoke rising from scorched wounds along his chest.
But he stood.
His breathing heavy. Blood dripping freely. His eyes still glowing a dark red in the dark.
"Fucking demons," he growled.
Erlik rose again, helm partially shattered. One glowing violet eye met Mike's burning red gaze.
"You bleed well, dragon," he said, grinning. "But you bleed all the same."
Mike didn't answer. His aura erupted again, black and red essence streaming from his form, not wild this time, but sharp, refined. Controlled.
Erlik hesitated.
Then Mike lunged.
He blasted forward, claws catching the king's midsection and hurling him into the sky like a ragdoll. Mike shot after him, caught him midair, and smashed him down into the obsidian, forming a crater in the stone.
Mike didn't hesitate. He grabbed Erlik by the throat and began to pummel his face with glowing fists. Each blow cracked blackened steel armor. Each tremor rippled outward in shockwaves. The scimitar dropped from Erlik's hand.
When Erlik reached up to cast again, Mike bit the hand clean off.
The king howled.
"Where is Hecate!?" Mike screamed, then drove his claw through Erlik's chest plate. Black blood erupted from the wound, sizzling against the ground.
Erlik, panting, bleeding, tried one last pulse of essence, Mike absorbed it, clenched his jaws, and ripped the demon in half.
Black blood and molten entrails spilled across the plateau.
A long silence fell.
Then Mike ate.
He tore through the broken king, consuming him piece by piece. Power surged through his body. The wounds closed. His form bulked slightly.
"False kings taste as bitter as their lies," Bahamut muttered in his mind.
Around him, the lesser demons began to retreat, but it was too late.
The air quaked.
Two more thrones emptied.
The Second Throne, a demoness with smoke for hair and eyes like dying stars, descended with her raven-headed staff.
"I am Morrigan, the Second Throne."
The First Throne landed beside her. A massive, bull-headed demon in golden scales, wielding a titanic battle axe.
"I am Mot, the First Throne."
Morrigan responded by slamming her staff into the stone. A pulse of violet magic exploded outward. Mike's body was flung like a ragdoll, crashing through a wall of basalt. The impact shattered several support pillars behind him.
Before he could rise, a scream pierced the air.
Morrigan had transformed. Her body shifted violently, bones cracking and elongating, flesh becoming feathered darkness. A massive raven now hovered in the air, wings as wide as a cathedral. Her claws, the size of swords, shimmered with violet essence.
Mike rolled aside as her talons stabbed into the ground, cracking the obsidian.
She shrieked, an echoing sound that shattered lesser demons' skulls in the distance. Mike's ears rang, blood dripped from his nostrils.
The moment he lunged forward, Mot charged.
The bull-headed king barreled through molten wreckage, his hooves cracking stone beneath him. With an explosive grunt, he swung the massive axe in a wide arc.
Mike tried to leap, but it caught his flank. Scales split. Blood sprayed. The impact sent him skidding, tearing a black trench through the earth.
Mot didn't stop. He roared and charged again.
Mike dug his claws into the ground and met the charge head-on.
Their impact created a thunderclap that shook the plateau. Mike caught Mot's horns in his claws, and the two pushed, locked in a contest of brute force. Sparks and embers rose from the grinding friction of armor and claw.
Mot snarled, swinging his axe one-handed, but Mike ducked under the arc and raked a claw across the demon's ribs, drawing lines of fire where the blackened blood spilled.
Above them, Morrigan dived, her wings folding as she streaked down like a comet of black magic. Her talons glowed as she slashed at Mike's back.
He roared in pain as they cut into his wing joint.
He spun, his tail cracking like thunder, smashing her into the spires of a broken throne.
Morrigan screeched and exploded into a cloud of ravens all with burning eyes and sharpened beaks. They swirled around Mike like a living storm, biting, cutting, cackling in chorus. Each peck dug at his scales.
Mike roared again, flames erupting from his body in all directions. Dozens of the birds were incinerated, their screeches echoing into nothingness.
But it bought Mot time.
The bull-headed demon charged again, this time leaping, bringing his massive axe down in an overhead cleave meant to split Mike in half.
Mike caught the blow between both hands, his claws grating against the edge, locking it in place.
Their eyes met.
Mot's voice rumbled like thunder. "You are powerful, dragon."
Mike grinned, black blood running down his chin.
With a surge of essence, Mike's aura flared, red and black flames erupting around him like a volcanic maelstrom. He twisted, snapping the axe shaft in half and driving the splintered wood into Mot's stomach.
Mot staggered.
Mike didn't stop.
He lunged, biting deep into Mot's shoulder, tearing muscle and armor alike. Then he pivoted, grabbed the demon by the horns, and with a bone-shaking heave, spun and hurled him into Morrigan, who had reformed into her humanoid shape mid-air.
Both demons collided in a massive detonation of magical essence and demonic blood.
Mike rose slowly from the blast crater, shoulders heaving. He advanced.
Morrigan scrambled to stand, one arm hanging limp, her staff broken.
"Wait," she gasped. "I will tell you where—"
Her voice cut short as Mike drove his claws through her stomach, lifting her off the ground.
He opened his jaws and bit her in half, consuming her upper body as her legs twitched in the air before going limp.
The power filled him instantly. More than Valac. More than Erlik. His wings lengthened. His scales thickened. He could feel his bones becoming denser, his senses sharper.
He turned to Mot, who had crawled to his knees, coughing blood.
Mot looked up defiantly. "Finish it."
Mike grabbed him by the throat, lifted him, and ripped the bull helm off his head, revealing a face cracked by centuries of violence.
With a low growl Mike ripped his head from his shoulders. He dropped the body and consumed the remains without ceremony.
With each bite, he grew.
His wounds vanished. His wings grew broader. His flames burned hotter.
"A fitting end for false kings" Bahamut growled.
Mike turned from the carnage. The throne plateau was ruined. Three thrones shattered. Flames still burned across the black stone.
He smashed through the nearest command structure. Scrolls and demon scholars burst apart under his claws.
He grabbed a robed demon trying to flee.
"Where is she?"
"Her… her location is hidden even from the Thrones!" the demon gasped. "But—but one of the kings, Raum, the King of Crows… he knows. He watches her movements. He guides her shadows."
Mike growled. "Where?"
"Throat of Ash. South of the Flame Lakes. Follow the obsidian road…"
Mike crushed the demon's skull with one clawed hand.
Then he turned.
And began his march.
Meanwhile…In a conquered temple, Hecate stirred.
She sat cross-legged on her obsidian throne, fingers dipped in blood as she etched runes into the air.
A trembling demon approached.
"My Lady… news from the Pit."
She opened her eyes. Three flames burned behind each iris.
"Speak."
"Valac is dead. Erlik, Mot, and Morrigan… also slain. Their thrones shattered. The dragon… has entered the Pit."
For a long moment, Hecate said nothing.
Then she smiled.
"So," she whispered. "My love has begun to devour."
The demon hesitated. "He… he's headed for Raum."
"He won't stop," she said, softly. "He's broken the divide."
She rose, her voice like velvet drawn across a blade.
"Then let's feed the fire."
She turned, her gown of shadows swirling around her.
"Summon the coven."