The battlefield was still.
Mountains of demon corpses lay broken at his feet, wings torn due to his hands or sword, jaws shattered, limbs twisted into the dirt.
The air reeked of blood, smoke, and something far worse: the rot of the unnatural.
He stood alone.
His sword was chipped, soaked in black. His armor dented, scorched. His body bloodied.
But he did not fall.
He will not allow that to happen.
Because the gate still stood behind him.
Then the sky tore open.
A heavy pressure descended down like a storm. The ground shook as the corpses flies away because of the wind. A demon walks crushing lesser demons beneath his clawed feet.
Horned, cloaked in smoke, huge blades like rusted ruin imbued in his arms.
Its eyes burned like coal.
Its smile was wide and cruel.
"So… this is the one "he" left behind."
The demon's voice rumble deep, mocking, coated in poison.
It stepped forward, dragging its jagged weapon behind it, carving lines into the stone.
"How long have you stood here, I wonder?"
"How many have you killed, gatekeeper?"
"And for what?"
The knight said nothing.
He did not answer the mockery.
"Still so silent," it laughed. "Still pretending it means something."
"You think your silence is strength but it's a cage."