Blood and Ichor

Sir Lucan's warhammer crashed into the demon's double-bladed axe, and a shriek of metal cried out through the tunnel. 

The demon snarled, its features contorted in disgust and fury as it pushed back against Sir Lucan's assault. 

Its strength was immense, fueled by a dark energy that spewed off its body like steam from boiling water. 

Sir Lucan found himself stepping backward as the demon launched a barrage of assaults, which he met each time with only his warhammer to defend him, just barely blocking the attacks.

Finally, he found an opening. Just a small slip-up on the demon's part, but it was enough. Swinging his warhammer point first, he was able to make contact just under the Sixth Son's ribcage. 

It pierced the shadow-like skin and tore through it, causing the Sixth Son to stumble back. 

A gold liquid dripped from the wound, splashing into the murky water. Sir Lucan watched with surprise as the water around him began to clear up, almost as if it were being purified. 

The Sixth Son dragged a finger across the wound, looking at the golden blood with interest. "I…almost forgot what it was like to feel pain. It's…it's good!"

Sir Lucan took a step back as another one of the shadow demons charged forward. He disarmed it by slamming his warhammer into its elbow, sending it crashing into the water. 

Galvan stood a little further back, holding off three of the demons, but he didn't seem to be able to kill them. Every slice of his sword merely swept through their bodies.

"That…weapon of yours," the Sixth Son said, peering down at Sir Lucan's warhammer. "It is made of Dragonsteel then?"

Dragonsteel? Sir Lucan looked down at it, confused. The metal had always had a darker hue than steel, but he'd never questioned it. It was his father's, after all. He needed no other reason to wield such a weapon in battle. 

"So it's true then," the Sixth Son continued. "Four weapons were stolen from the depths of our home, thousands of years ago by a man named Kai Talth. A warhammer was amongst those four weapons. It has somehow made its way to your hands."

Sir Lucan, perplexed by the weight of history thrust upon him, furrowed his brow in consternation. The name Kai Talth rang hollow in his ears, a whisper from a forgotten era. He tightened his grip around the worn handle of the warhammer, feeling its familiar weight anchoring him to the present.

He raised the warhammer. "This weapon has been in my family for centuries. I've got no clue what you're speaking of."

"It should have never escaped my father's kingdom. It is a traitor."

How could a warhammer be a traitor? Sir Lucan wondered. "You demons are all mad. Hey, soldier, let's finish them off!"

Galvan looked up, frowning. "I can't. They're invincible!"

"He bears a weapon of the Overworld. A cheap metal I could snap in my hand," the Sixth Son said. "But your warhammer was forged in the very furthest depths of Hell. By my father himself."

The warhammer seemed to vibrate in Sir Lucan's hand, and he felt a sudden rage consume him. The handle began to grow hot, nearly burning through his glove. His muscles tensed with an energy he'd never felt before. 

His breath quickened, his senses heightened, and with each passing second, the world around him seemed to blur into insignificance.

*******

Twenty Years Ago:

"My son," his father said, kneeling in front of Lucan. He put a hand gently against his face, his eyes glimmering with kindness. "You get up everyday, you work toward your goals, and you don't stop. You wish to be stronger, as do I. But no matter how hard you try, you will always be a disappointment in my eyes."

Lucan fell to his knees, exhaustion finally taking over his body. Sweat dripped down his bruised face as he tried to catch his breath. Every limb felt heavy, as if weighted down by invisible chains, and his heart pounded in his ears like a distant war drum.

"I'm not done yet," he said between breaths. "Father, I'm not done!"

Father turned around, his eyebrows raised. "You look like it to me. Do yourself a favor. Go clean up. There's no need to continue this."

Lucan snatched up his wooden sword and charged at his father. "NO! I will beat you!"

Father easily sidestepped his first swing, sticking out a foot into Lucan's path, sending him tumbling into the dirt. 

Lucan rolled over, just in time to see the boot stamping downward. His nose broke beneath the pressure, and Lucan cried out as blood spurted out.

Father didn't give him a moment to recover. A second kick found its place in his stomach, and a third to the ribcage. 

Lucan gasped out in pain as Father snatched him up by his collar. He could only squirm helplessly as Father punched him twice in the face with his gloved hands. 

Lucan found himself slipping into unconsciousness. 

When he awoke, the sun had set, and Father was already asleep. 

His nosebleed had stopped, but the aches all across his body remained persistent. 

"The pain is only natural," Father always said. "It'll make you stronger. Like me."

Lucan stumbled to the stables, reaching his bed. At least ten pigs, covered in mud and shit, already lay there. He joined them.

Curling up in a ball on the ground, Lucan fell asleep dreaming of pain.

*******

Pain.

It was something Sir Lucan had quickly become used to. A feeling, an intensity that made the body react in revolting ways. 

Yet, as the Sixth Son's axe sunk into his shoulder, he rejoiced in the pain. It wasn't a mortal wound. No, it was an opening.

Sir Lucan threw himself backwards, snatching the axe away with him.

Ripping it out of his shoulder with his freehand, he charged forward.

The Sixth Son, now weaponless, braced for impact.

"NO!" The demon screeched out as both the sharp end of the warhammer and the blade of his axe sank into his chest.