14 THE UN-THING
Centuries later, when bards discussed the destruction of the Court of Filth and the downfall of the Duke, they would wonder whether the outcome was truly inevitable, or whether Sir Alharazed could have averted it somehow: if, for example, he had not befriended Yraine in the Tower, or if he had done more to win her loyalty; perhaps if he had rescued his companion Dalile first, instead of abandoning her in the pit; perhaps if he had paid closer attention to the welfare of his companions, Natalia and Ragak; but in the end, as Sir Alharazed stood at the pinnacle of the Court and beheld his long-lost love, Kitra, waiting closer than she'd been in centuries, the truth was that he could not have done anything differently, and that the outcome of that final battle truly was inevitable.
The carnage in the Court was remarkable to behold. The first wave of attackers were the enraged undead knights of Pazgul - re-animated corpses of slaughtered warriors, their armour a mass of flesh-piercing spikes, driven by insurmountable pain. Ragak and Natalia acquitted themselves well, but it was Sir Alharazed - his obsidian blade alight with sacred flame - who committed the great slaughter that day. Scraps of decayed flesh and shards of armour were strewn across the white marble of the Court.
Next came the spider-people, the serpentmen, the eight-foot demons with their burning eyes, the sword-constructs and the blood-eaters and the devouring flesh-things and the masses of eyes and tendrils called Walkers and all the other horrors of the Court's infernal populace. In the hundreds they stood against Sir Alharazed and his companions; alone, the three of them stood, and while Ragak and Natalia slew many, Sir Alharazed cut down countless numbers, until he was washed in demonic blood and charred with profane fire, and at last he emerged at the peak of a mountain of corpses and looked into the ruins of the Court and smiled.
He turned at the sound of a scream.
Behind him, Heroslayer Nethro stood over the impaled corpse of Natalia, his sword ablaze with fire, and grinned at Ragak. "Your turn, hero," he said.
Had Sir Alharazed been a bit closer, perhaps he could have saved his friend. But he was not, and Ragak's rage overcame him. A moment later Nethro had carved the brave barbarian into twenty pieces.
"At last," said Nethro coolly, "the madman can be at rest."
"You're a real jerk," said Greg, hefting the sword. "I'm here to prove it. By killing you. I didn't really think this part through."
Nethro's eyes narrowed.
"Be quiet, little earth-man," he said. "Let Sir Alharazed speak. I want to hear his voice before I end his life for the third and final time."
"I am Sir Alharazed," said Greg.
When their blades met, the twin fires burst in an inferno that consumed half the Court.
*
In a dark and silent place, Yraine oversaw the sacrifice of the last tender virgin into the fuckmaw of the Outerworld Devourer and smiled. "The ritual is nearly ready, my lord," she said.
Lord Pazgul grinned. He'd been watching Yraine's work for hours, admiring the grace with which the nearly-naked and bound woman went about her work. Even in a state of pain and subjugation, the girl was a masterful witch, and Pazgul was beginning to suspect that the state of subjugation itself gave her power.
"Now, my lord," she said, "I summon the creature of annihilation itself. Avert your eyes."
"It's fine, girl," said Pazgul, settling back in his chair. "I wish to see how this unfolds."
Yraine shrugged. "Fine," she said.
The words of the ritual were simple, and they inscribed themselves across Pazgul's brain in a script of branding fire. He shuddered as she spoke, and as the darkness and blood swirled around her feet, he began to wish that he had turned away after all.
But it was too late. The void rose from beneath her, and Yraine smiled, her eyes blank as pitch.
"Is it here?" said Pazgul unsteadily, an instant before he was erased from existence.
*
Each stroke of Nethro's sword cleaved through a pile of dead flesh, cauterizing the wounds as it passed through, and each stroke was met by a counterstroke from the obsidian greatsword, which rose and fell like a blazing hammer. Nethro grinned. Sir Alharazed glared.
"Do you remember the ruins of Cath, hero?" Nethro mocked. "You thought you'd thrown down the creature from beyond time and space, but you had only drawn it into your life, and when you returned home, everything you had worked to build had been torn away and obliterated."
"Not everything," growled Sir Alharazed.
"You refer to your stupid princess?" Nethro laughed. "Do you truly imagine that she still loves you? After centuries of captivity and centuries of pursuit, you finally delivered her into the hands of your enemy. The Duke himself has enjoyed the fruit of your sweet princess, and you have been removed from her memory. She'll know nothing but torment and hatred for eternity. And you will not even have the mercy of oblivion.
Sir Alharazed had nothing to say, so Greg interjected. "I don't understand why you're such a douchebag," he said. "Can't we all just get along?"
Nethro raked through a mass of twisted bones, flinging them like a hail of arrows, and roared: "No! I LOVE MY LIFE!"
And Greg grew batlike green wings, dove into the air, and yelled:
