Not the worst place to bleed out.
The throne room was in ruins. The throne still stood, and a single wall behind it. Bodies covered the ground, both human and demon alike.
Adolin would have preferred a more peaceful place. In a field of flowers, or in his own home at the right age. But he couldn't complain, he had seen far worse.
The hero's party journey was over.
Adolin had killed the Demon King. His party lay dead around him.
His gaze drifted upward.
The Demon King sat on the throne, watching him.
Well... still dying.
Adolin quickly looked away.
He hoped the Demon King wouldn't try to talk. With everyone dead, it was finally quiet. He wanted to keep it that way.
"Mage," the Demon King spoke, his voice strained.
Why.
Adolin ignored him.
He was used to it. A decade-long journey, and not a single one of them had taken the hint.
Why would the Demon King be any different?
He wanted to teleport away. Spend his last moments alone. But he didn't have any mana left. What little remained was already being used to numb the pain and keep his head clear.
A quiet chuckle broke the silence.
"Mage," he repeated, "you don't have to talk. Just listen."
Maybe pain would be better. If it hurt enough, maybe he wouldn't have to hear him.
No. He didn't like pain either. It wasn't much of a choice. If he broke the spell, he wasn't sure if he could cast it again.
"You and I are the same," the Demon King continued. "I see that clearly."
They weren't the same. If they were, he would've shut up already.
The Demon King chuckled again.
"Your… social reserves are empty," he said.
Adolin decided that he didn't like him. He was the only one who had taken the hint, and then, apparently, decided to ignore it.
Adolin started humming, loudly.
"The control is fading," the Demon King said. "At last."
With his remaining hand, he reached into his coat. Then he pulled it out. A red stone rested in his palm.
The philosopher's stone.
Adolin didn't like where this was going.
Was he going to use it to keep talking to him for all eternity?
He shuddered at the thought.
It had been a long time since he'd been alone. It was starting to affect his thoughts. The philosopher's stone was powerful. Powerful enough to rewind time—defy death itself. The Demon King could revive his sages. Wipe out humanity.
Adolin didn't care. He had done his duty. The Demon King was dead.
He glanced at him, dying.
He was still dying.
Whatever came next… wasn't his problem. Or wouldn't be, in a few minutes.
He coughed, a mouthful of blood spilling from his lips. He tried to wipe it away…
Right. He had forgotten.
He didn't have any hands left.
The blood started dripping from his chin onto the cold stone.
Drip. Drip.
It was distracting. He hated it. But it was still better than talking with him.
The Demon King studied him, faint amusement in his gaze.
"You're not curious how I intend to use it?"
"No," Adolin finally said. He didn't want to answer, but he hoped that would shut him up.
It didn't.
"I'm too weak to use it properly," the Demon King said, "but I can still use it within this hall."
Adolin went back to ignoring him.
The Demon King didn't seem to mind.
"I will reincarnate everyone here," he said, "into another world. One without cruel gods to control us."
At first, Adolin didn't react. It took him a moment to process the words.
"No," he said, his voice raw.
But it was already too late.
A bright white light burst from the stone, flooding the room.
His voice failed him.
No. Leave me out of it.
The magic didn't stop. He was going to be reincarnated.
…With the most exhausting people he had ever met.