Bleeding, bruised, and on the verge of collapsing, Sabnock Sabro stood defiant in the face of the colossal, ancient winged beast—the Guardian of Cutthroat Valley. The Guardian towered over him, its shadow engulfing the broken demon. Sabro knew this was the end, yet his mind, despite the pain, was alight with the thrill of the struggle.
He briefly reminisced about his childhood, recalling the massive, leather-bound tomes he was forced to read by his lineage—the Demon King's Prophecy.
Inner Dialogue (Sabro):My family—all of them, for generations—groomed me, beat me, and educated me to take the throne. The prophecies, the rituals, the endless training...
He spat a mouthful of blood and broken teeth onto the ground. That wasn't why he was here.
"You think I'm here because of some ancient, dusty prophecy?" Sabro roared at the beast, pulling a shattered axe from his armor. "You think I'm doing this because my family told me to?"
He braced himself for the final, annihilating strike from the Guardian's claw.
"WRONG!" Sabro screamed, fueled by pure, unadulterated passion. "I want to be the Demon King because the Demon King is the coolest!"
The sheer, earnest absurdity of his ambition, delivered at the moment of his demise, was the purest expression of his demonic will. He didn't crave power for governance or wealth; he craved it for style.
Driven by this simple, powerful desire, Sabro decided on a final, all-or-nothing offensive.
"You will remember this name, Guardian!" he bellowed. "Witness the power of the Sabnock bloodline!"
He quickly bit into the remaining edge of his shattered battle-axe. His teeth glowed with an internal, intense energy, and the metal he bit off immediately dissolved into pure magical energy, reforming instantly in his grasp.
This was his Bloodline Magic: the ability to create a powerful, new weapon from any material he bites, which consumes and dissolves the source material.
He swung the newly forged weapon—a scythe of concentrated, biting metal—with a desperate, terrifying force, aiming for the Guardian's snout. The weapon bit deeply into the Guardian's thick scales, drawing dark blood and momentarily stunning the enormous creature.
The effort, however, was his last. The Guardian roared in pain and retaliated, a massive backhand slamming Sabro against the canyon wall. Sabro collapsed, his armor ruined, his body broken.
Lying defeated, staring up at the furious Guardian preparing its finishing move, Sabro didn't despair.
"I... I regret nothing," he declared, forcing a final, defiant smile. "I have always, always followed my own will!"
Just as the Guardian lifted its massive, clawed hand for the final, earth-shattering blow, a shadow fell over Sabro.
From the skies above, descending in a chaotic, uncontrolled tumble, came Noir Sullivan. He was plummeting through the air, his eight black wings wildly out of control, having obviously attempted a disastrous first flight.
Noir hadn't intended to intervene heroically; he was just crashing. However, seeing his self-proclaimed rival about to be obliterated, his instincts—human and friendly, rather than demonic—took over.
"Sabro!" Noir shouted, throwing himself forward in a clumsy, selfless lunge.
He landed hard, sprawling awkwardly right in front of the defeated Sabro, placing his own frail body between the ambitious demon and the Guardian's colossal claw.
The gigantic claw descended, its shadow covering Noir. Sabro, too injured to move, could only watch in horrified disbelief as the supposedly arrogant, supremely powerful Noir threw away his own life to save him.
The claw was inches from Noir's head when it suddenly froze.
The Guardian's enormous head tilted, its red eyes staring not at Noir, but at the sky just above him.
Hovering awkwardly but definitely in the air—the clear beneficiary of the wind currents—was the gigantic, downy Scythe-Winged Harpy Chick Noir had helped in the Warbling Valley. The chick let out a loud, protective squawk, placing itself directly between its healed human and the enraged Guardian.
Sabro, his eyes wide, immediately understood the situation.
"That... that's the Guardian of Cutthroat Valley's child!" Sabro gasped, recognizing the distinctive lineage and size of the chick.
He stared at Noir, who was still trembling from the near-death experience, realizing the incredible, unbelievable luck that had delivered him from death's door.
Sabro pushed himself up onto one elbow, a savage, tactical glint returning to his eyes. He quickly and quietly re-bit the metal fragments of his broken armor, forging a small, razor-sharp dagger in his hand.
"Hmph. A distraction! A magnificent one at that!" Sabro hissed, his voice low and guttural. He ignored the terrified look on Noir's face, interpreting the crash as a planned diversion.
He prepared his final, desperate move. Sabro intended to exploit the ultimate familial bond between the Guardian and its chick to launch a devastating, decisive strike.