It was felt across the battlefield. I’m not sure whether it was some nearly tangible extension of my mind or whether there was some invisible pall of foreboding permeating the air, but everyone seemed to sense that something powerful was about to take place. A few of the Firstborn stopped, looking around in confusion like they were trying to locate the source of their inner disturbance. My demons turned toward me in awe. Many of the Pit Guards trembled fearfully.
I felt strong. I knew, confidently and completely, that I was more powerful than Halkkor. I was more formidable than his entire army. I was stronger than death. I was an unrivalled juggernaut, a being of pure supremacy, an enemy that no god in the universe could defeat.
I stretched my mind forth and grasped as many of my minions’ weapons as I could, wrenching them from their fingers and pulling them toward me. In an instant, hundreds of swords were floating hauntingly above a suddenly silent battleground, all pointed directly at Halkkor. The Firstborn who had been hurrying to assist him stopped dead in their tracks and eyed the airborne arsenal warily.
Halkkor looked up. Then he looked at me. His face, always grotesque, twisted into an even more repulsive snarl of defiance. He knew he was fucked. But that didn’t stop him from lowering his head and charging me with a bellow of terrifying desperation.
With a single thought, I brought every single weapon at my command down toward him. As swiftly as they flew, he was doing his best to outrun them, swatting blindly at the air around him. He actually managed to knock the first blade away, but it was followed by hundreds more. They rained down on him as he sprinted, some clattering harmlessly against the ground and others perforating his massive body. He kept coming, though, looking like the most freakish pincushion imaginable, until one blade that had been properly prepared pierced his heart.
With more than fifty weapons sticking out of his body from every direction, he let out a final, gasping shriek and stumbled forward. His deteriorating body collapsed as his skin thinned, his organs pureed themselves and his bones crumbled. His forward momentum brought his corpse to an agonizing, terrifying halt only inches away from me. I stared down coolly as his final remains splashed softly across my toes like the last vestiges of a gentle surf.
Halkkor, King of Lucifer’s Firstborn, was dead.