The Unforgiving Minute
The Demon and Aryeon
Aryeon’s majordomo stares down the demon statue sitting there in the hallway. Sweat drips down her forehead, stinging her eyes. She closes one eye, then opens it, then closes the other, trying not to blink, trying not to look at the halls showered in body parts and splashed with crimson, trying not to look at the magical light globes flickering, losing their energy.
She wields an axe embossed with platinum, taken from the walls; it is Dwarven made, and still lethal after thousands of years with no use. But it hadn’t done much good, no matter how many times she hit the thing, and it is getting heavy. Her arms tighten, straining to hold the weapon, holding on to the hope that it would somehow keep the creature at bay, or she would get one swing in when it was vulnerable. She tries not to blink, tries to hold her ground as the light gets dimmer, and dimmer.
“Damn it all,” she screams at the servant running up behind her, carrying a vicious looking polearm, “I said to get Aryeon out of here! Do as I say or you will wish this thing gets you before I do!” The servant finally runs, the pole arm clattering to the floor. She breathes a sigh of relief.
“Just you and me, now,” she snarls. “Blink and I’m dead, right? But leave here and you are free to run off and kill everyone else. So which happens first? You drain the magic? Or Aryeon brings this entire place down around us, burying you for the rest of your endless days?” She smiles viciously.
One of the lights goes out. Only two left.