A/N: This is based off of the deleted scene from J.C 2. Enjoy!

Lord Friedwell cursed and slapped table in front of him. A map showed the multiple places this demon had abducted his people from. And it didn't die, no matter how many archers fired at it. No matter how many knights stepped up to lob its limbs or head off, it seemed to just grow them back and fly off.

And that was another matter entirely. It being able to fly made it even harder to track and kill.

"My lord, General Liscious wishes to speak to you," Friedwell's personal servant announced, stepping into the room.

"Fine. Send him in."

The general was a man of forty winters, and had seen many a battle. He had a scar on his cheek, just above his jaw, where an arrow had caught him when he was young. His brown hair was shoulder-length, a norm for men in Lord Friedwell's military. Green eyes glared at most everything they looked upon.

"What is it, Bron?" Friedwell asked, sitting on a wooden stool.

"I would like to ask your permission to form a brigade to take this monster on," Bron replied, sitting across from him.

"No. We don't even know where the demon is at! Much less how to kill it. I will not waste my men on it."

"We do have a way to find it. Or rather, lure it in. It loves children, and those who are scared of it. I wish to take the prisoners in the dungeon and put them in a field, lure it in. Then fire our ballistae to pin it. We have priests that have volunteered to send it back to Hell."

"How many men all together?"

"We estimate two hundred soldiers, twenty priests, numerous servants and eighty prisoners."

"Holy Hades!"

"Too ensure that he comes for them, we need a large amount. And from what I've heard, the dungeons are overflowing."

Friedwell stood and walked to a window. The sounds of the city floated up to them. So did the smells.

"This city was once the pride of the lands. We used to be great, had close to no crime. But ever since this Demon showed up, it has plunged into chaos. My troops can't hold the peace, and more often than not end up dead."

He turned around and stared the General. "Do whatever it takes to kill this thing. And bring me its head."

Nodding, Bron turned and left, heading for the dungeons, where the prisoners were already being taken from their cells. The last was pushed aboard a wagon just as he exited the dungeon.

"Move out!" he shouted, mounting his horse and riding to the front of the long column.

They started at a swift pace, heading for a grassy plain three miles west of the city.

A few hours later

Bron leaped to the ground and handed his reins to a servant. As the horse was led away, he crept up to his troops, who were hiding behind four feet tall grass. A few were finishing up the paint job on their shields. Bron had ordered each man to paint the Demon on their shields, in some way shape or form. The prisoners were sitting around in front of them, where the grass had been cut away. Each stared nervously at the sky as they waited.

"Has there been any word from the scouts?" one of the men asked, looking at his commander.

Shaking his head, the General put a finger to his lips. Everyone was still, sitting in the hot sun and scanning the sky. Finally, after a few hours, a prisoner stood up.

"Why are we just sitting here? Either kill us or take us back to our cells! At least they were cool," he grumbled, picking up a rock.

One of the guards stood up and went to sit the prisoner back down, but was stopped by a shadow passing overhead. All eyes went to the sky once more as the Demon dropped, wings extended.

With a thud, the creature landed and let out a growl, staring at the standing guard. Smiling, it jumped forward, taking his head with a quick stroke of his claws. Bron let out a shout and jumped up, charging forward.

Arrows flew in, perforating the thing's wings. It let out a painful scream and tried to take to the skies, but a well-placed ballista stuck it through the chest. Another caught it from behind, both ropes going taught to keep it stuck.

"Stake it!" he shouted.

Spearmen came up under it and tried to stab straight up. But the Demon grabbed one spear with his clawed feet and jerked the man up, one foot letting go to stab him in the shoulder.

Painful screams erupted from his throat before the Demon reached down and began to eat him, causing everyone to stop in their tracks. More than a few soldiers dropped their weapons and took off.

Two mounted knights rode forward, trying to keep the man from being killed. But the Demon was already cutting the ropes holding him in place and dropped to the ground, a crude dagger in hand.

"Swords!"

A hundred brave men stepped forward, forcing the Demon into the clearing. They let out a battle cry and charged forward, each hoping to score the killing stroke.

But the creature simply laughed and jumped up, wings holding him in place inches above their heads. He stabbed down, taking a throat, eye, neck, something with every strike. He took many a wound, but would disappear into the large crowd of men and fly back up, blood dripping from his chin.

Bron realized that there was no way to kill this creature by physical means. He called forth the priests and their guards, sending them into the fray. A few minutes later the soldiers were stepping back, leaving the priests in a circle around the Demon. They were praying, he realized.

And were getting results. The Demon was on his knees, crying out in pain and holding his head. One of the priests stepped forward and shouted incomprehensible words, touching his forehead.

The Demon let out a blood-curling scream. All the priests stepped back, still praying. The ground began to shake. After a little while, the ground began to recede, flames licking up to sear the grass surrounding it.

Everyone watched as the creature fell, still screaming, into the pit, the dead grabbing at him, pulling him down faster. Then the ground began to shake again. The dirt sealed back together, leaving no sign of the pit to Hell.

The soldiers that had died were still laying where they had fallen. When one man went to collect his friend, Bron shook his head and looked at one of the priests.

"Leave them. Their spirits will be the eternal guardians of this world. Whenever the Demon comes forth, they shall fight him so the living won't have to. But their bodies must remain," he said, voice heavy with fatigue.

Bron nodded and ordered his men to move out. He was skeptical that the dead would be enough to hold him, but he went along with it anyway. As he mounted and rode to the head of the column, Bron took a head count. More than sixty men had fallen. And the prisoners were missing. He looked at the knights. Three of their own were missing. So sixty-three.

Too many to beat back one Demon. But, sixty-three was better than six hundred and three. He vowed to have his body placed here when he died, so he may join his troops in everlasting guardianship.