"Behold my power, mortals!" yelled Sha'Un. "You have unleashed me unto this world, and now I shall reward you all with the greatest blessing of life: death!" Sha'Un brought forth his arms, directing eldritch lightning at the heroes.

"Stand tall!" Aldrin raised his great shield to the sky, unleashing a holy barrier around the party. "Fiend! You will pay for the evils you have committed against our world--the light shall see to it!"

"Bwahahaha! Foolish Aldrin. Do you think a mere barrier of light can stop me?!" Sha'Un raised his arms as well into the air, and quickly brought it down. What soon followed was a barrage of unholy energy which rained upon Aldrin's holy barrier.

Aldrin gritted his teeth as he continued raising his shield to reinforce the barrier. With every second, the weight he felt upon his body grew heavier, and inch by inch he was pushed back. Soon, sparks of purple magic pierced through the barrier, landing along the trail of dirt Aldrin had made as he recoiled against the attack.

"This should finish it," said Sha'Un. With maniacal laughter, he lifted his arm into the air and threw it back down. An enormous rock imbued with eldritch lightning suddenly appeared, crashing against the barrier of light and into Aldrin's party.

"Gwah!" Aldrin screamed. "How--how were you able to break through my barrier!?"

"Simple: I am powerful," said Sha'Un.

"That may be so, fiend, but we are the champions of light! We shall not falter!" Aldrin unleashed from his sheath a blade made out of pure light. "This is the true power of the people: the Blade of Justice! Demon lords have fallen to this blade, and you are no different, Sha'Un!" Aldrin rushed forward and thrusted the blade into Sha'Un's chest.

"I-impossible! No mortal should be able to penetrate my armor!"

"You underestimated humanity, fiend!"

Sha'Un immediately collapsed to the ground. Aldrin withdrew his sword and his party rejoiced--at last, the demon lord has fallen! As the heroes turned their backs and walked along the trail back to the kingdom, spears of eldritch magic pierce the hearts of Aldrin's companions.

"W-what?!" said Aldrin in surprise and immediately turns around. "Sha'Un? How are you alive!? Your demonic soul should have been burnt to ash by the Blade of Justice!"

"Fool. I am no mere demon lord, Aldrin! I am the first demon lord that was born in the demonic realms. I hold supreme power and dominion over all the fiends!" This time, Sha'Un's appearance became more grotesque, vile, and evil. Four arms sprouted from his torso, and the armor that he once had is now instead raw, demonic scales which colored his entire being into ashen black.

"It's over, Aldrin," said Sha'Un as he teleported behind Aldrin and pierced his chest with his bare arms.

"I-impossible..." said Aldrin. Sha'Un threw Aldrin's body to a nearby tree.

"Bwahaha! If this is humanity's best, then my feast is guaranteed. Say your farewells to your precious kingdom, 'hero.'"

As Sha'Un began to walk towards the kingdom, a burst of light suddenly surrounds Aldrin. His body began to levitate, his chest wound sealed itself, and the Blade of Justice manifests in his hand as a physical sword. Angel wings sprouted from his back, and with one fell swoop, cuts Sha'Un in half.

Aldrin looked at Sha'Un's sliced body in pity, but much to his dismay, Sha'Un's body began to glow a dark purple, and soon the demon lord's body became one once again.

"Come on, how is that fair?" said Aldrin.

"I AM the first demon lord, Aldrin!" said Sha'Un.

The two do battle once again, and Aldrin gets a clean cut on Sha'Un's head, causing it to drop off from the demon lord's shoulders. The body stood there menacingly, and suddenly began to attack Aldrin despite having no head.

"Dude, come on, this isn't even fair anymore," said Aldrin.

"First demon lord!" said the beheaded Sha'Un.

And they do battle again. And again. And again.

"Come on, Shaun! This isn't fun anymore. You just don't want to lose!"

"Nuh-uh, you're the one that doesn't want to lose! I told you, I'm the first demon lord," Shaun protested, his shirt sweaty from all the swordfighting they've been having.

"I've killed you like fifteen times and you've always had an excuse! You just said you had a philoshoper's stone or whatever that prevents you from dying and I have to find it! That's not fair at all!" said a frustrated Aldrin.

"Yeah, Shaun, we've been dead for like thirty minutes now and we kind of want to play a new game now," said Mike.

"You guys are just sore losers!" said Shaun. "You're the sore loser!" retorted Aldrin. "I'm going home," said Aldrin as he dropped his wooden stick.

"Me too," said Mike, and soon everyone else followed.

Shaun stood there as he watched everyone else walk back, only for all of them to go back tomorrow to let Aldrin have his turn of being a Gary Stu.

My peers shunned me for my unorthodox methods in art. They were passionate about their work--but so was I! Yet, I was singled out, berated, and ridiculed.

I was labeled as a creep and as a fool. 'A grown man playing with dolls?' is what they would always ask to belittle me. My work is still art, and never did these so-called 'artists,' with their canvas, clay, and marble, consider my craft as equal, simply because I create dolls.

There would be people too, strangers or otherwise, that would praise me. 'Great attention to detail,' but it would always trail off with 'a little creepy though.'

Not a single one out there appreciates my dolls one bit.

I had driven myself to a reclusive life. I eventually began to carve my dolls through the wood I had taken from the trees where I resided. It was a lonely life. It was a maddening life. But eventually, I would meet...what you would say, was my light.

Shirley was the name she had introduced herself with. A lithe woman whose platinum hair flew along with the wind. Her arms were decorated with small tattoos; hearts, flowers, numbers, words. They trailed along all the way up to her shoulder, before her sleeveless top began to obscure the rest. I was scared but there was something different about her. It turns out that she was an artist as well. She carries her sketchpad with her, looking for a nice piece of scenery to draw.

We eventually began to talk, and the hours of that day flew by as if it were seconds. She found out that I made dolls, and for the first time...someone, with all their heart, truly and genuinely appreciated the amount of effort I put into them. The details, the edges, all of it...Shirley loved.

She would begin to buy them off me as well, but I decided to reveal to her my secret first. It was terrifying; I knew there was a chance she would shun me. But she deserved to know. I had based my dolls off of the people I remember, recalling each detail of their face, inscribing it onto the doll. Sadly, hatred is a strong foundation of memory, and thus most of the dolls I had made while in solitude bore the faces of the people who mocked me.

All of this Shirley paid no mind to; she only gave me empathy. She preferred to buy dolls that were made without the burden of disdain, to which I understood and agreed to provide.

I managed to buy myself a few nice things because of Shirley, as well as with her sharing to other people the work that I create. I was no millionaire, but as an artist, it was a big deal.

Things were finally looking up for me.

Then, one day, Shirley brought with her a man. Tall, muscular, and as painful as it is to admit, far more attractive than I am. But surely, he was just someone interested in what I do--sadly, as soon as Shirley mentioned the word fiancé, my heart dropped.

I had no words. Everything went blank and I had gone deaf. I stared at the man, looked into his eyes as deep as I could. Everything about his face just burned into my mind.

Then, I walked back to my house and ignored the banging. The noise of a man and woman who had decided it was finally time to burst the happy little bubble I was in during the last couple of months. Just white noise to me at this point.

I spent the rest of the night carving that man's face on my doll. Then Shirley. Then me. My ears felt hot as I continued my work, my hands shivered, and my teeth clenched. Yet I made sure that the details were there, all of it. I hated that man for taking Shirley away from me. I desired to hurt him, and so I took a stab at my own doll, but the release was far from cathartic. I began to hate Shirley as well; she had led me on and made me believe that this worthless life of mine actually had meaning. And me--the fool, the grand fool, who believed.

At this point, I had lost it. I was so engrossed in my work and hatred that I had forgotten just about everything else around me.

The next day, Shirley and his fiancé came by. We greeted each other and I apologized. I even let them in, although the mess I made last night was still there. The emotions I had that night were still there, too.

And it only grew when they mentioned it again. Then before I knew it, I had struck Shirley's fiancé with one of my carving tools. His face bled all over until he collapsed; Shirley could not do anything but scream. Then, out of a fit of my own anger, she was next.

I stared at the both of them on the ground, collapsed. I soon followed.

A few days later, Shirley, her fiancé and I stood atop the chair where I had left my dolls. We watched the news, all three of us, seeing our bodies on the floor.

For the first time in my life, I was famous. It only took my death to make it happen.