Chapter 905 : Demons Brothers



While the battle of Surtr versus Kaizen and the others was taking place, in another part of the battlefield, where Surtr's flames and destruction had not yet reached, an equally intense battle was about to begin.

In an adjacent room, surrounded by black stone walls, Og'tharoz and Maelstrom faced each other. Both were demons, former friends whose life choices now placed them on opposite sides.

The room was large, lit by torches that burned with a dark green flame, casting dancing shadows on the walls covered in demonic inscriptions.

Og'tharoz, with his long black hair and eyes burning an intense red, was visibly angry in his gaze. His hands, covered in thick black smoke, trembled slightly as he wielded his sword.

Maelstrom, on the other hand, was as calm as ever. He moved with the grace of a butler, his steps light and precise. His face was a mask of serenity, and he spoke with a polite, courteous tone, as if he were greeting a guest in a ballroom, not facing a mortal opponent. His eyes, also red, were fixed on Og'tharoz, without a trace of fear or hesitation.

"Og'tharoz," Maelstrom began, his voice soft and controlled, "We were friends once, weren't we?"

"Friends? That was millennia ago, Maelstrom. Today, we are enemies. And I'm going to destroy you, no matter how much you try to distract me with your words. I know what you did to my wife!!!" Og'tharoz roared, advancing with his sword raised.

Maelstrom sighed, as if deeply regretting the situation. "If that is how you wish it, then."

The two moved with supernatural speed, their weapons clashing with a sound that echoed through the room. Sparks flew as Og'tharoz struck powerful blows, his sword slicing through the air with brutal force.

Maelstrom, however, dodged elegantly, his every move a ballet of precision and grace. And the blows he couldn't dodge, he blocked with a small dagger.

"You've always been impulsive, Og'tharoz. You've never learned to control your feelings." Maelstrom commented, dodging a particularly fierce blow and countering with a swift movement of his thin blade, which was more like an extension of his own arm.

They advanced again, their swords clashing with a clang that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. This time, Og'tharoz was more focused, every move calculated, his anger a weapon, not a weakness.

"You're better, Og'tharoz." Maelstrom commented, a slight smile on his lips as he dodged an attack and countered with a series of quick blows.

Og'tharoz didn't respond, focused only on the battle. He felt every blow, every movement, as if he were in a combat trance. The room around them seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them, their swords, and the battle.

The floor was scarred with cuts and cracks, the air filled with the smell of sulphur and magic.

Og'tharoz launched another attack, his sword slicing through the air with devastating force. Maelstrom tried to dodge, but he wasn't fast enough. Og'tharoz's blade struck him, cutting deep into his shoulder.

Maelstrom staggered, his hand going to the wound. "Well done, Og'tharoz. You're beginning to show me how formidable you really are."

Og'tharoz stopped and looked at Maelstrom. A part of him still cared, still remembered the times when they fought side by side.

"Why, Maelstrom? Why did it have to come to this?" Og'tharoz asked. "Why didn't you listen to me when I said you probably wouldn't come back and come with me? Midgard is much more beautiful than this land of fire, lava and dark stones."

"Because, Og'tharoz, sometimes our paths lead us to places we don't want to go. But we cannot escape our destinies."

With those words, Maelstrom took a step back, his sword still raised, ready to continue the fight, but he was clearly more worn out than at the beginning.

Og'tharoz felt a wave of sadness and anger mix inside him. He didn't want to kill Maelstrom, but he knew he had no choice. Maelstrom was Surtr's most loyal demon and as long as Maelstrom lived, Surtr could still return.

"Then so be it." Og'tharoz said, advancing once again towards the one who was his first friend and sister, his sword glowing with demonic power.