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The castle of the demon lord was a magnificent structure indeed. From its dark and candle lit halls to the terrifying screams that echo out through the far corridors, it was truly the home of a malevolent and cruel tyrant. And Rozvelgore perfectly fit that description.

Rozvelgore the demon lord was an enigmatic being. The half-dragon half-demon hybrid had a huge body, dwarfing the form of most mortals. His crimson scales glimmered under the moonlight piercing through his castle's curtains. He took great pride in maintaining his muscular form through battle, often flexing and showing off at any who would witness. His preferred form of clothing was simply greaves with black leggings and a loincloth over his waist. He didn't wear any upper clothing so he could show off his bulging muscles to all. But most notably were his piercing eyes. With orange irises and black sclera, his gaze caused even seasoned warriors to shake before him.

As the ruler of his demented abode, Rozvelgore had earned his title through war and death. He had quickly become the most feared demon lord the world had ever seen. Everybody alive had heard of his conquest for power. It had been speculated by sages and military officials alike that he had a motive strong enough to fuel his hunger for this power. But those who knew him personally all agreed that there was no such thing. Instead, all this demon lord really wanted was pleasure.

It was a twisted thing, desire. The want to have something. To have everything. It had consumed him, plain and simple. And when Rozvelgore got what he wanted, he wanted something else. Something more. And sure, taking over the world was fun at first. Very fun in fact. But it had gotten boring after the third overtaken nation or so. Of course the occasional rebellion happened. But they were so miniscule and under equipped it didn't even matter. At this point he was taking over the world just for the hell of it.

So here he was, an all powerful tyrant, a bloodthirsty demon lord, bored out of his goddamn mind as he lazed upon his throne. The room around him was a stark contrast to his current mood. The obsidian walls lined with crimson banners proudly displayed the might of his empire. Greater still was the massive hoard of gold and artifacts behind the throne, glimmering under the moonlight provided by the open windows.

Even Rozvelgore's army of cruel demons and dark magics could share his sentiment. Everything had become so easy. Too easy. The fun of conquest had begun to fade as they took one country after another. At this point Rozvelgore owned over half of the known world, a huge amount of territory and power. It had been earned through bloodshed and war. But it had been far too easy to take.

The demon lord's two most trusted guards, Gnash And Velo, felt his frustration the most. Gnash was a demonic boar with a mighty pair of tusks and horns. He had proved himself to the demon lord by defeating the chiefs of every tribe belonging to his species, bringing them into the demonic dragon's army. The dark powers gifted to him by Rozvelgore gave him mastery over fire magic and muscles that threatened to break out of his armor. Velo on the other hand, was more mage than warrior. The lean crow's dark arts had the power to dominate the minds of others. He had proved his mastery to Rozvelgore by overthrowing an entire church without killing a single member.

In the beginning they had joined his army, worked their way up his ranks, and pursued his goal of ruling the world because they thirsted for power just like their master. But it felt like everything was being handed to them on a silver platter. Quite boring.

Rozvelgore let out another bored sigh as he readjusted his position on the throne. Although the demon lord only wore an elaborate leather loincloth, he had been sitting there for so long it was beginning to get uncomfortable. He turned his head to look at Gnash and Velo, who were standing guard by the large wooden doors. The pair were barely keeping their eyes open. Normally he would have punished a guard for dozing off on the job. But he fully shared their sentiment and couldn't care less about such a small thing at the moment.

"Gnash. Velo. Tell me that something interesting is happening today. Sitting here is making my scales itch. Any longer and I'm going to go take over a new castle myself." The guards chuckled to each other, knowing of their ruler's lofty attitude in recent times.

Velo regains himself and closes his eyes for a moment. The runes on his staff glow as he connects to his dark network of pawns controlled by his magic. After a few moments, his eyebrows raise. This in turn causes both Rozvelgore and Gnash to raise their eyebrows, interested in the crow's expression. A few more moments pass before Velo's staff stops glowing and he opens his eyes with a rather cruel smile.

"Master, it seems something interesting has finally happened. A dragon wearing radiant armor and wielding a gleaming white sword has declared that he will be the one to vanquish you. Reports from my web say that he wields light magic with ease and can heal any sickness. It seems this paladin has become a sign of hope for the people." Instead of showing worry for the demon lord's safety, the elite guard member has a smirk on his beak.

Just like Velo, Gnash and Rozvelgore are now energized as well. Gnash rolls his shoulders with a smile and the demon lord himself has a smirk of his own. He straightens his posture and sits on the throne like a proper emperor.

"Where is this paladin? What's their name? Tell me everything, my servant." A fire burns in Rozvelgore's eyes. It has been so long since the church has sent a paladin to defeat him. Even longer still since he's heard of one able to wield magic with ease. The dragon's eyes are hungry, almost predatory as he thinks of how to take on a divine challenger.

"Of course, my lord. The paladin in question is a dragon with white scales that match his sword. He is a young adult from the farlands, probably hoping to stop our advances in that area. He has already defeated one of our squadrons..."

Rozvelgore continued to listen to the crow. The more he heard, the more the fire in his eyes grew. This paladin was truly impressive. Defeating a squadron of demons was no small task, and to do so alone was even better.

After a few more minutes, the crow finishes giving his report to the demon lord. He himself was also impressed with this paladin. So was Gnash, who was nodding at some of the dragon's achievements himself. When Velo finished speaking, he turned back to look at his master, but he quickly took a step back once he saw the dragon's face. Gnash was confused at his partner's shocked expression and turned to look at his lord as well, and he soon understood Gnash's shock.

Rozvelgore's expression was one of feral excitement. His eyes were wide, crazed with depraved anticipation and desire. Finally someone interesting has appeared to oppose him. Finally he can feel the rush of an exciting encounter once more. He had to battle this hero, he simply had to!

The demon lord stood from his seat on the throne, startling Gnash and Velo as they had been nervously watching Rozvelgore's large form. He walked forward and pushed open the throne room doors with ease, making Velo and Gnash follow after him cautiously. The demon lord would be ready to face the hero. He would take his time, form a plan, and bring this uprising to its knees. He could hardly wait.

A few months later, a warrior clad in shining steel armor and wielding a gleaming sword stood in front of the doors to the throne room. His name was Jericho. He had been sent here on a divine mission to stop the demon lord from spreading his reach any further. Ever since he was young, his control over light and healing magic was extraordinary.

The world had been put into a dire state because of the demon lord's might. He had torn apart families, slain women and children, even had his legions rape and murder kings in public before taking over their kingdoms. Rozvelgore was a truly depraved creature that needed to be put down. And it was Jericho's duty to do the deed.

The white-scaled dragon gripped his blade tightly by the handle. He knew of the demon lord's vile accomplishments, he knew of the many dark arts and horrific powers that he wielded. But all of that would mean nothing before Jericho's divine blade, granted to him by the gods and blessed with holy might. Today was the day Rozvelgore the demon lord would be slain.

Thanks to the efforts of the combined forces of the last remaining kingdoms and their armies, the demon lord's army was currently outside the castle battling the assaulting forces. The sounds of war reached Jericho's ears even now as he stood in the heart of the vile palace. They had given him an opening to invade the castle while it was unguarded. Now, it was his turn to fight. For his family, for his people, for the kingdoms, and for the world.

The paladin pushed open the massive doors to the demon lord's throne room. They creaked loudly and a menacing echo spread through the hall. Through the large doors was a large and open room. At the back of this room was a large throne fit for a ruler. Said ruler was currently sitting in this throne, giving his welcome guest a cruel smile.

Jericho walked into the room and drew his sword with flair. The blade gleamed in the moonlight peaking through the windows as the paladin pointed it at the demon lord. "Rozvelgore! Your reign of tyranny ends today! I won't allow you to take anyone else's freedom!"

Rozvelgore chuckled at the paladin's declaration. It was quite the thing to proclaim knowing full well the demon king's power. He stood up from his seat, the room itself seeming to shudder from his might.

The demon lord smirked down at the intruder, his impressive height oppressing everything else in the room. Rozvelgore was truly a demon lord in more than just name. Even the very air around him seemed to bend to his will. He crossed his arms and said to Jericho, "With such a declaration I take it that you are the paladin sent by the gods to defeat me?"

Steeling his resolve, Jericho simply glared at Rozvelgore. They were truly polar opposites. The demon lord was a creature of infernal might and raw power, while the paladin was born of pure white and magical strength. The dark ruler may be larger than his opponent, the warrior did not back down. "You who have taken everything from this world. I will slay you here and allow us to flourish once more!"

A loud, booming laugh echoed through the chambers of the throne room. Rozvelgore was finally becoming excited. This was what he desired, what he craved for. The anticipation before battle, the rush of adrenaline at the fight's beginning, he was ready to experience it all once more. It had been far too long since he'd fought a worthy foe after all. The demon lord was starving for a good battle.

Rozvelgore held his hand out to the white knight and taunted him forward. "Then come, little warrior. Come and slay me if you dare." Jericho needed no further incentive, and he dashed forward with a righteous shout.

Light coalesced around Jericho's blade as he ran straight for the demon king. He knew his opponent was powerful, but the paladin would not give up until the vile being before him was dead. A grunt left his mouth as he jumped high into the air and brought the blade down.

The demon lord was already prepared for the attack. In a burst of dark smoke, the king dissipated into thin air and the swing missed its target. It was clear Rozvelgore wasn't done yet as the cloud of smoke grew into a swirling tornado. It blocked Jericho's sight and he put a hand in front of his head in an attempt to see.

Laughter echoed all around Jericho as the darkness consumed him. Magic coursed through his blade and he swung it wildly, unleashing arcs of light to disperse the shadow. But it was a fruitless endeavor as the shadows consumed every wave. The laughter only seemed to grow. Clearly Rozvelgore was taunting him.

"Come out and fight me, demon! You only succeed in prolonging your demise!"

Fire rained down on Jericho and he barely had a moment to put up a barrier spell. A dome of light surrounded his body, repelling the crimson flames as they poured down onto him. It was hard to see anything out of the attack. But the paladin did catch a glimpse of the dark tornado starting to close in on him. He pushed more magic into his barrier, letting out a roar of effort as it burst into an explosion of light.

The fire and darkness cleared instantly. Jericho got into his stance once more and scanned the room. The demon king was nowhere in sight. The paladin clicked his tongue and looked about angrily. "Come out already! We will end this here and now, so hiding is useless Rozvelgore! FIGHT ME!"

Barely a second passed before Jericho's eyes widened and he dodged to the right, barely avoiding a flaming spear that whizzed by his head. The paladin rolled with his previous moment into an upright position. But he let out a shocked yell as the demon lord kneed him in the chest, sending him flying backwards. His back slammed into the base of the throne which knocked out what little air remained in his lungs. He took in a few gulps of precious air as he stood up from the attack.

Rozvelgore in the center of the room in all his glory. His large demonic wings were splayed out fully and his tail lashed about behind him. A large flaming spear was held in one of his hands. His other hand reached down and picked up the spear he had thrown at Jericho. He rested it on his shoulder and gave the paladin a disappointed sneer. "Really? Is this all you have? I have rookies in my ranks who can perform better!"

Anger crept its way into Jericho's mind. His fist clenched around the handle of his holy sword and he crouched in a running pose. Rozvelgore raised a brow as a light green aura surrounded the paladin's body. He lunged forward at the demon lord with a burst of speed powered by his magic. But it wasn't enough.

Rozvelgore easily sidestepped Jericho's attack at the last moment and smacked him in the side with his spear at an illogical speed. The blow knocked Jericho far off course and he hit the ground rolling. Not one to let his opponent relax, the demon lord was already behind him when Jericho's rolling stopped. The paladin couldn't even raise his torso from the ground before his head was kicked. Hard.

Blood sprayed out from Jericho's mouth and the world spun as he was launched away from the demon lord. His mind couldn't catch up with the trauma of the blow quick enough before he hit the ground. It took a moment for the paladin's senses to come back to him. He slowly raised his body to its feet using his sword as a support. His armor was badly dented, a sign of the damage he had been dealt. Rozvelgore clicked his tongue and took slow steps forward, intentionally letting his opponent gain his bearings.

When the world stopped spinning, Jericho realized two things. Firstly, he realized that the demon lord's strength was far beyond monstrous. Such raw physical power should be impossible, yet Rozvelgore displayed it with absolute ease. The second was that physical combat alone would be his doom. He was just too outclassed to take the evil ruler on in purely physical battles. He would need to push his magic to the limit to win.

Step after step Rozvelgore approached the currently downed Jericho. He was quickly getting bored with the paladin's performance and was thinking of ending their little duel now. But his eyes widened in shock just a moment before raising a hand in front of his body, barely blocking a ray of concentrated light.

Arcane energy filled Jericho's body as he focused his power into a beam of light. It was a simple spell, but a powerful one. More than enough to keep the demon lord on the defense for a moment. The paladin took a moment to cast a healing spell on himself. A green runic circle covered the ground underneath him and he took a deep breath. The pain in his body was washed away by the soothing green magic as he poured more power into his beam. He wouldn't be able to hold it much longer, but this precious moment was all he needed. He could still fight, he could still save the people of this world.

Time seemed to slow to a halt as Jericho's sense of danger went off like an alarm spell. Something was very wrong. He had to move. NOW!

The paladin lunged backward from his current position with not a moment to spare. As his head moved backward, the flaming tip of Rozvelgore's spear pierced through the center of the light beam, almost piercing Jericho directly through the eye. The spear had gotten close enough to heat the front of his helmet. That was far too close.

Two more lasers shot out at the demon lord at Jericho's command. Rozvelgore turned into a cloud of smoke and evaded easily. But in that brief moment before the transition, the paladin had caught a glimpse of his expression. It was one of pure, primal joy. The vile ruler was taking pleasure in their battle, even when he was fighting to the death. It was terrifying to Jericho. It was as if he was merely tonight's entertainment. He was starting to realize that was exactly what the demon lord thought about him.

The paladin stumbled backward after his lunge. He had just enough time to bring up his sword to protect his right arm as Rozvelgore reformed beside him and brought down one of his spears. The blade blocked the strike. But there was so much strength behind it that Jericho's arm was knocked to the side. His eyes widened in horror as the other spear shot forward. It pierced his unguarded left arm, searing straight through his armor, his scales, and his flesh without remorse.

Screaming filled the whole castle and reached the ears of the forces battling outside. Nobody gave pause and continued to fight for their lives. Nobody except the tyrant's personal guards Velo and Gnash, who he had ordered to go and fight to further bait Jericho into the castle.

Velo finished turning an enemy general into his puppet as Gnash laughed with glee as he beat the general's soldiers to death with his bare hands. They turned their heads to the palace with a cruel smile on their faces.as the scream reached their ears. "It seems things are beginning," said Velo. Gnash simply laughed and turned his attention back to tearing apart his prey. They would have their fun with the paladin later. For now, they had to deal with the lesser prey.

Back in the castle, Jericho screamed as his arm was pinned to the ground by the flaming spear impaling it. It hurt so badly. The infernal pain was making his blood literally boil and his flesh melt together with his scales. He could barely think through the suffering, much less focus. The demon lord pushed his spear deeper into the ground, forcing Jericho down on his knees as his burning arm connected with the floor.

All the while Rozvvelgore berated and taunted Jericho. "Are you really supposed to be the hero sent by the divine to kill me? Are you truly the paladin on a journey to defeat me and claim my life? It couldn't be! You're pathetic! So utterly pathetic it would be sad if I weren't having so much fun teaching you your place!"

More laughter echoed out through the chamber and mixed with the paladin's screaming. Jericho could feel the fear and agony take root in his very soul. His training hadn't prepared him for this. He was nowhere near strong enough to battle Rozvelgore at this stage. He couldn't move, his limbs wouldn't respond. He couldn't cast his magic, the mana simply wouldn't come to him. He was locked in his spot by both the burning spear and the fear overcoming him.

Another sharp pain came to Jericho as the demon lord stomped on his head and forced the side of his face against the ground. "Really? Is this all you have to show? I planned for months, allowed your army to take back one of my territories, even called a retreat of my forces in the western mountains. All of that simply to lure you here. But all you've done so far is disappoint me."

Tendrils of darkness sprang forth from the ground and latched onto Jericho's limbs. The fear was spreading through his body, causing him to quiver. Why couldn't he move? Why wouldn't his body respond to him? He needed to move, run, thrash about, do anything to free himself from the foot on his head and the spear through his arm. But he couldn't. No matter how much he screamed, both from pain and to himself, he simply couldn't.

More screaming ensued as the demon lord ground his foot against Jericho's helmet, effectively crushing his head against the floor. He could even feel the metal starting to dent from Rozvelgore's raw strength. How was he supposed to win against the demon lord in the first place? Here he was with his face against the cold stone floor, no longer a shining hero but a ruined mess. If he couldn't defeat Rozvelgore here and now... then who could?

"Hahahaha! Come on now Jericho," the demon lord said. The paladin didn't ever remember giving his opponent his name, a fact that only served to make him more afraid. "Don't give up so soon! I've yet to even start your humiliation and you're already contemplating despair in that head of yours. Are you really even the chosen one?"

What? Yet to start his humiliation? This wasn't already humiliation!?

At that thought, Rozvelgore ripped his spear out of Jericho's arm. As twisted as it felt to him, he was grateful the demon lord's foot had been keeping his head against the ground. Otherwise his arm would be a mangled mess and his body would have been flung upward with the force of the pull. The burning spear had also cauterized the wound so no blood spilled out of Jericho's body. But the pain remained.

Jericho tried to muster up the mana to cast a healing spell on himself. But to his complete surprise, Rozvelgore did it for him. A wave of magic coursed through his body, erasing him of the pain and restoring his arm as if nothing had happened. Even the damage his head had taken from the earlier kick was healed.

Before Jericho had time to process this act of mercy, his neck was grabbed harshly and he was raised into the air. His limbs immediately reached up, clawing and striking at Rozvelgore's muscular arm. But the demon lord barely felt any of the attacks and only sighed. He tightened his grip a bit more, forcing Jericho to relax his arms and fall limp before slightly releasing his grip. The beaten paladin took in large gulps of air as the demonic dragon sighed.

"You know, I should have expected this, but fuck is it still disappointing. That light blast you shot at me was impressive. But I realized it was too weak to actually damage me when I saw the way you threw the mana at me. I mean come on, spell control is the most basic of basics. Didn't anybody teach you shit?"

Jericho couldn't respond to Rozvelgore as he was still trying to breathe in more air. But the words stung him more than he would have liked to admit. At that, Rozvelgore clicked his teeth in annoyance. "You can't even guard your thoughts. Every time you think it's like you're trying to start up a conversation with me. Who the fuck made you so useless?"

The demon lord released his grip on Jericho's neck and the paladin fell to the ground, gasping and sputtering as Rozvelgore put a hand to his chin and thought. The warrior realized the demon lord was barely paying attention to him anymore. He wasn't sure whether to feel glad or humiliated further... though that thought alone caused him even more shame.

Meanwhile, Rozvelgore was stunned. Just why was the paladin so pathetically weak? There was no way the gods would send such a sad excuse of a hero to come and fight him... right? He was barely better than the average squad leader in the demon lord's army. Not to mention the worthless magic he wielded. Sure, light magic and healing magic were good aspects, especially when one was born with them. But in order to be harnessed properly one had to have a perfect understanding of how they worked. Just why was Jericho chosen to be the paladin?

Hold on a moment...

A thought began to form in Rozvelgore's head. His eyes widened slowly as things began to click. One piece after another, the puzzle suddenly came together in the demonic tyrant's mind. He turned to Jericho, watching the paladin stare at him nervously from on the ground.

"Hey, stab me with your sword."

Jericho wore a shocked expression. The demon lord... wanted him to stab him? Was he so insignificant that he didn't think his strike would have any effect!?

Rozvelgore spread his arms outward, leaving himself completely vulnerable to an attack. "Come on, I don't have all day! Either stab me or roll over and die. Whatever it is make up your mind quick I don't have all day"

The taunt sparked something in Jericho and the humiliation he felt was burned away in a sea of rage. Radiant light poured out of the paladin's sword as he grabbed it from its spot on the ground and lunged at Rozvelgore with a furious shout. The brilliant light wrapped around his blade and he thrust it forward, intending to stab the vile dragon directly in the heart!

Even when the paladin rushed forward to strike, Rozvelgore didn't move from his position. And so the strike flew true and stabbed the demon lord directly in his heart. Blood splattered outward as the blade lodged itself in the demon's chest.

But... he didn't move. In fact, Jericho watched in stunned silence as Rozvelgore sighed. He lowered one arm and brought the other to the blade lodged in his chest. With his blood leaking out from around the sword impaling his heart, Rozvelgore did the impossible and grabbed the blade with his bare hand, before squeezing tightly and pulling it out of his chest.

Shock coursed through Jericho's entire being as he stepped away from the demon lord and let go of his sword. That was the holy blade. A weapon blessed by the deities themselves. How? How was Rozvelgore able to survive?

Instead of answering his question, the infernal tyrant fully drew the blade out of his chest and held it in his hand. He examined it for a few moments by tracing the sharp edge of the sword. Rozvelgore then squeezed the blade hard. The sharp edges didn't even draw blood from the demon lord as cracks can be heard from the sword. Jericho was about to yell out when he realized what was happening, to plead for the cruel ruler to stop. But he was too late and the blade shattered right before his eyes under Rozvelgore's raw strength.

Jericho fell to his knees. The world's last resort against the demon king was no longer, and all hope was lost. The wound on Rozvelgore's chest began to heal soon, leaving behind not even a scar. "That wasn't the holy blade at all. It was just a weak imitation of the real thing. Without the real holy blade you could never obtain the divine power needed to defeat me. That means the holy blade is gone as it can only be sustained by the divine might of the gods. It seems that they've abandoned you."

"W-what? No... it can't be..." No matter how much he hated it, no matter how much he wanted to deny the truth... Jericho knew Rozvelgore was correct. The holy blade was a gift from the gods themselves. It was therefore indestructible and held immeasurable might, which was transferred to whoever wielded it. If the demon lord was able to destroy it, especially as effortlessly as he did... that meant he hadn't been wielding the holy blade at all this entire time.

Had the gods truly abandoned him? Abandoned the whole world? Did they really no longer care about their own creations? This truly meant that all hope was lost. No... it meant their hope was worthless right from the start.

"My entire life I was called a hero... they said that I could do it, that I could free everyone. It... i-it was all a lie?" unable to comprehend the truth of the matter, the paladin muttered to himself as tears began to roll down his cheeks. This whole time. This whole time he had been lied to by everyone. Did they know he would be sent to his death against the demon lord? Did they willingly doom him? Why...?

Footsteps echoed through the chamber as Rozvelgore approached Jericho. But the paladin no longer cared. He had been abandoned by everybody he swore to protect. They knew he would fail right from the start when they gave him the false holy blade. It hurt more than the grueling training, more than the wounds after fighting the demon squadron, and more than the beating he had received from the demon lord himself. So even if Rozvelgore was going to torture him for his own amusement, even if he was to be slaughtered for the enjoyment of all demons, it didn't matter anymore. It was all meaningless.

While this was also a revelation to the demon lord, he understood and accepted it fairly quickly. The demon lord's purpose was to remind the world of the price of evil by destroying it when the world grew too greedy. Then, the hero would appear and show the world virtue before defeating the demon king. Balance and peace is thus restored before the world falls to evil again.

This endless cycle is what it means to be a demon lord and a hero. But Rozvelgore didn't care about that. He was evil indeed. But he wasn't evil because the world was falling to depravity. In fact, the world had been at peace before Rozvelgore showed up.

No, Rozvelgore was evil because he simply felt like it. He did what he wanted at the expense of others. He killed and slaughtered because he wanted to be entertained. He was taking over the world because he thought it would be fun. He didn't need a grand goal like other demon lords. Endless pleasure suited him just fine. And thus, if the gods didn't give a shit anymore, he would have his fun for all of eternity. But first, he had a paladin to take care of...

Jericho hung his head low as the shadow of the demon lord loomed above him. He no longer had the will to fight or run. He simply accepted his fate. "Go ahead. Burn me, cut me, kill me, whatever you want. It doesn't matter..."

"Tch. You even give up easily too. You're no hero, you're a fucking joke." The harsh words caused Jericho to hang his head even lower. His body went stiff as a wave of magic covered him and he was once again raised into the air. This time his arms and legs were spread outward and his head was perfectly eye level with Rozvelgore's.

The paladin made no effort to free himself from the magic. Instead he resigned himself to his fate and hung limp in the spell's grasp. Rozvelgore clicked his tongue in disappointment at the warrior's lack of will and held up a hand. Swords made of darkness appeared all around the paladin and leveled themselves at him, set to impale the sorry excuse of a hero. Once again, he made no moves to stop the demon lord and he closed his eyes.

Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. And finally after half a minute Jericho opened his eyes again. Rozvelgore was giving him a fierce stare. The demonic dragon's arms were crossed and he seemed to be... tapping his foot?

"Is that it? Is that really it for you? Just like that? You're not gonna like... get a last minute revelation on your will to live and push your limits? No?" Jericho didn't even answer. Even when the demon lord read his mind all he saw in the defeated paladin's head were thoughts of despair and misery. "Hmph. Now I know you never could have been the hero. Probably just some guy born with the right affinities in the wrong place. Although... alright. If you're a failure of a hero then I'll just give you another role."

Instead of impaling Jericho and ending his life, the swords dissolved back into darkness that began to swirl around his neck. The magic holding him in place tilted his head upward and he let out a grunt. The swirling darkness closed in and formed a ring. It coiled around his neck like a serpent before solidifying. A collar made of black metal formed out of the dark magic and Jericho could feel its power moving through him hungrily. He twitched and shivered as the mana inside his body was changed and corrupted by the vile tyrant's dark power.

"You're not meant to be a paladin or a hero. That much is obvious. But I think I've got the perfect job for you. Don't worry, I'll make sure you do this one right." Rozvelgore released his magic's hold on Jericho's body and the white dragon was lowered to the ground on his feet. His body was shivering and quaking as the dark magic continued to course through him. At this point he could barely stand without considerable effort. Something was wrong within him. Just what had the demon lord's magic done to him?

Rozvelgore chuckled a bit as he realized just how small Jericho was compared to him. "Heh. You're even at the perfect height for this too." The demon lord's words confused Jericho. But the demonic tyrant soon made his intentions known by waving his hand. Magic burst toward the paladin and he had to shield himself with his arms as a spell shot through him.

It took a moment for Jericho to realize what Rozvelgore had done. Although it became quite clear as his armor started to fade away and whisps of smoke. His helmet, chest piece, leggings, and even his shirt were all turned to smoke. He was left with only his underwear and the demon lord chuckled when he looked away from the tyrant in embarrassment. But it still didn't matter to him. In Jericho's mind he was convinced that the demon lord was preparing to torture and gut him. Oh how wrong the defeated hero was...

The orange runes on Jericho's collar began to glow and suddenly it became very hard to breathe. He could feel magic writhing through his body in an unrestrained torrent, washing away his own mana for something more sinister. An integral part of who he was was being twisted, altered... corrupted. Looking down at his hands revealed that a white and light green smoke was seeping off his scales and evaporating into the air. A horrified look covered his face as he realized it was his affinities. The very talent that made him a hero was being stripped of him.

Unable to handle the loss of such an important part of him, combined with his inability to breathe as the collar worked its magic, Jericho fell to the ground on his knees. Spots consumed his vision and tears rolled down his face as everything hit him all at once. He wasn't a hero. He never truly was. And now he was being claimed by the demon lord as a slave for the tyrant's amusement. That was his fate now. And if the gods truly were gone, it would be his fate until the day he perished.

With the last remaining bits of his consciousness, Jericho looked up at the face of his new master. Rozvelgore's smirking face looked down at him and spoke words that crushed whatever bits of hope remained in his heart. "Don't worry hero. I'm sure you'll come to love your new life."

Those were the last words Jericho heard as he fell to the ground and slipped into unconsciousness...