The starlit night sky, occasional faint cloud fluttering past, could be seen through the many large holes in the once magnificent throne room's ceiling. The cold, white light of the full moon fell on the dark marble floor, illuminating debris that use to be a few of the decorated pillars, the light glistening off the metal armour and weapons, partially rusted with the passage of time and incomplete skeletons, black rings of metal around their necks.

The room was eerily silent, even for what it was now considered, a tomb. The effect was only broken by the occasional drip of water, splashing in puddles created by the earlier thunderstorm.

It was easy to see, even in its dilapidated state, that in its heydey the room would have been fit for even the greatest of kings, one which the entire kingdom would be proud of.

A tattered banner, mostly rotten, gave a single flap as it got caught by a gentle breeze, dislodging a large amount of dust into the room.

With the passage of time, seemingly meaningless, the seconds turned to hours, the only noticeable change to the room being the rays of light shifting as the moon reached its zenith.

Suddenly, a loud coughing can be heard, along with a low, agonised groan.

In the shadows, the shape of a huge man slumped against what appears to be a throne, shifts, dislodging more dust into the air. Dark spear-like shapes jut from his chest and legs, pinning him to the chair. From how he was sitting, as well as the angle of the spears, it was clear he was thrown back into it as he was impaled.

If one were to look closely enough, they would see faint blue runes flicker from time to time as the weapons, their origins long lost in time, consumed the beings lifeforce and mana, leaving him powerless.

With another cough, the figure used it's free hand to scratch a single, bull-like horn on the left side of his head.

"Hmm, this place is falling apart." A soft, almost angelic voice echoes around the room as the cloaked figure of a woman appears in one of the circles of moonlight. "So how are we today boys? Ready to give me your souls or just fancy a little chat like normal?"

After pulling down her thin mantel, the woman put her hands on her hips, her featureless face, similar to a blank mask, pointed towards the man on the throne. The woman struggles to contain a laugh, though where it came from, no one knew. "Unless you have somewhere more important to be?"

The figure stapled to the throne sighs. "Why do you always take your hood off? You have a figure to die for." The man chuckled at his own joke. "But your face is just creepy as hell. I still want to know how you see and talk? It's been what, three hundred odd years? Tell us already."

"Flattery, as well as an insult? It seems that imprisonment has been good for your personality. I remember the days where you would just rage and scream about vengeance and what you would do to me when you got free." The figure put her hand on her chest, "Oh, such lewd and... intriguing promises. You might have stolen this goddess's, heart."

"Pfft, what goddess? You're just an ancient soul eater." Responded the Demon Lord dismissively, refusing to rise to her bait.

"Hey, I even have a few of my own temples now and with the old gods gone, someone needs to take their place." The woman took an upset pose, but it was evident she was toying with him. "So about yo-"

"Fuck off Styx." A cold, detached voice echoed through the room. "I am not in the mood."

"When are you?" Styx tilted her expressionless head sideways. "Shame this little time out hasn't been as beneficial to you. Do you ever stop and think that it was your personality had something to do with why they couldn't just let you roam free?"

Silence.

"Then again," the woman said holding a small, white crystal above her head. When the moonlight hit the crystal it reflected, illuminating the room. "It's better than when you were all doom and gloom. Mr Demon Lord over there was funny." Her voice turned monotone. "You were just nasty."

In the middle of the room, what appeared to be a black chunk of armour, shredded almost beyond recognition, was impaled to the floor by nearly four times the amount of spears as the red-skinned, tattooed Demon Lord, who was shielding his eyes from the sudden bright light.

Bits or the armour littered the floor around the figure, and where they should belong, raw flesh, bone and sometimes a bit of skin could be seen. The man was in a kneeling position; his head slumped downwards. In his hand, clutched for over three hundred years, the hilt of a broken, rusty sword.

Leaving the crystal floating in the air, Styx walked towards the figure, and slipping in between the unnatural spikes; she put her hand on the man's cheek. If anyone were to see this scene, they would think that a Valkyrie had come to collect a fallen warrior and, in a way, they were right.

Valkyries often gathered for soul eaters, the beautiful women tricking the fallen soldiers into thinking they were being escorted to the afterlife. Corrupt souls that had sinned and then suffered a violent death were like a delicacy for the soul eaters, add a few hundred years to them, and they would almost lose their minds. Styx sighed and mumbled inaudibly. "Shame it has to be willingly given. I bet you taste divine."

Returning to her angelic voice, Styx lifted the man's head. "The Demon Lord I can understand, but why do you continue to make yourself suffer? You were betrayed. By your friends, by the humans and their alliance. Even your lover. You never had a chance to return home, and by now, even if you could, everyone you know would be dead. Your wife, your children, their children. Gone. Why do you do this to yourself? What do you have to gain? I could release you from your torment. Just relinquish your soul to me adn the pain will be gone."

The man's face was illuminated in the light. He wasn't exactly handsome, but he wasn't exactly ugly either. Well, he wouldn't have been if it weren't for the fact that half his face seemed to have been melted, bone and even a few teeth showing through the thin, warped skin. The only thing that marked him out from other humans, bar his wounds, was his eyes. His raptor-like gaze bore into the self-proclaimed goddess's soul, causing her to shudder. They were the eyes of a predator or worse, a monster who, even in defeat, would never submit.

Styx sighed again, letting his head drop down. "You haven't even lost a spark of your defiant nature, but I guess that's why I like you. Apart from those you deem worthy, whether it be mortal or god, everyone else is just a spec of dirty in your eyes. An obstical to be used or crushed as you see fit. What was it you said? The end justifies the means?"

"You sure its not because he gave you your name after telling that story from his home world in an attempt to insult you?" chuckled the Demon Lord, pain from his eternal wounds evident in his voice.

The woman shrugged. "What can I say, I enjoy the name and his stories. Shame he stopped telling them after he realised we were enjoying them."

The Demon Lord could only nod. "It did break up the bordem. Then again, I now look forward to the yearly visits of a lovely soul eater."

The woman chuckled. "I have told you before; your flattery will get you nowhere. I want your soul, demon. No more, no less."

"Hero, I will give you a few more decades, but I am getting tired or waiting and as you well know, there are fates far worse than death." Turning, Styx returned to her crystal and was about to grab it when she froze, the hairs on the back of her head standing on end, dark, haunting words, reverberating in her bones.

"This thing devours all.'

Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;

Gnaws iron, bites steel;

Grinds hard stones to meal;

Slays kings, ruins towns;

And beats high mountains down;

Turning them into nothing but dust before, even that is consumed." replied the shell that was once known as a hero. "Corroding even the most powerful of seals... What Am I?"

Even the Demon Lord, frowned, his red eyes watching the man cautiously. This has been the most he had spoken for over two hundred years, and if the past was anything to go by, that was never a good sign.

The man slowly lifted his head, his eyes locking onto Styx. "Time little goddess, time. Unfortunately for you, I have all the time in the world, where yours is running out."

"So you have finally lost your mind," responded Styx, though she was trying to convince herself that more than anything else "Not even a hint of magic yet those words contained so much power. Where does he get it from?"

Her duty on checking the prisoners done, she faded from sight the moment she had retrieved her crystal. "Damn the reincarnation cycle. We should just kill him and every brat that shows a hint of his talents."

As the light died, The Demon Lord's eyes went wide as he used his only free hand to rub his eyes. For only the briefest of moments, he thought he saw the hero's eyes glowing a blood red, the sign of a demon, or, in rare cases, ancient blood magic.

The eyes moved to the Demon Lord before slowly closing, along with a bone-chilling, self-deprecating laugh emanated from the shadows "Such a shame that most seem to have already fallen to the passage of time. How I would have loved to hear their pained screams as they begged for mercy."

"I gave up on that grudge a long time ago." The Demon Lord shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder who is the real monster here?"

"Was there any doubt?" The fallen hero's voice returned, in nothing but a whisper.

"I guess not." The Demon Lord's eyes scanned the multitude of bodies, mostly his honour guard strewn across the room. "Your kind has always been foolish but summoning pure beings and injecting them with mana to trigger rapid mutations was beyond madness. Though I managed to destroy all records of the practice, I guess the damage was already done."

The room fell into silence.

"Well, I guess they are no longer you kind." A dejected smile appears on the Demon Lord's lips as once again shook his head, feeling a bit talkative after their warden's visit. "Fucking idiots. No only did they not kill you, binding your soul to another vessel that would be native to this world, they locked you up in one of the most mana fertile valleys with a dying Demon Lord."

Talking to himself, the Demon continued.

"I suppose they thought that your mutation cycle had ended. Or didn't really care as they would die long before you were strong enough to escape." Realising that his companion was no longer listening and getting bored of the same thoughts he had had for centuries, the Demon Lord got as comfortable as he could before falling into a trance, reliving memories of better days.