File: Demon King's Dogs.png (3.32 MB, 1792x1024)

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Miranna caught your free hand, her faltered wings smashing against the slow wind to keep herself aloft. She had the strength, but so did the gargoyle, stretching you between them like a torture rack, the void yawning below you. You cried, feeling your joints stretch painfully with each tug. You glanced at Miranna, wondering if she even realised how feeble your body were. From below, thought a shroud of slate-coloured clouds, the damage beast returned to join the other; at a distance.

> Try to hit back at the stone beast’s head with your feet to wriggle free: slip off those cherished clogs.
> Tell Miranna to let go of your hand, unless the rips it off. Deal with the gargoyle until she has the time to.
> Yell at Miranna to give herself a bleeding wound and then mark you with it … you’re out of ideas here, damn it!
> Pretend to be unconscious, maybe dead. What are the stone beasts even suppose to do about the caught humans?
> [Write In]

> UPDATES?
Once a day.
> PREVIOUS THREADS?
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=TPNMSTDGBHK
> MUSICAL SUMMARY OF THE PREVIOUS THREADS?
https://files.catbox.moe/71bjdm.MP3
> OTHER QUESTS?
https://pastebin.com/raw/YJ2k1TuN

>>6037057
> Yell at Miranna to give herself a bleeding wound and then mark you with it … you’re out of ideas here, damn it!

>>6037057
>Try to hit back at the stone beast’s head with your feet to wriggle free: slip off those cherished clogs.
I can't lock onto the tone of this quest. The premise is naturally comedic, but the writing so far seems not at all.

>>6037057
>> Yell at Miranna to give herself a bleeding wound and then mark you with it … you’re out of ideas here, damn it!

>>6037160
Personally, I think the quest has a large potential for a "failing upwards simulator" experience. Where instead of winning the way Miranna expects we fulfill the prophecy and become the king, we do so through obscure bullshit circumstances and logical thinking rather than any form of bodily strength.

>>6037057
>Try to hit back at the stone beast’s head with your feet to wriggle free: slip off those cherished clogs.

>>6037057
>Try to hit back at the stone beast’s head with your feet to wriggle free: slip off those cherished clogs.

File: Clouds And You-.png (2 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6037077
>>6037160
>>6037257
>>6037268
>>6037933

https://files.catbox.moe/soakaj.mp3

You squirmed, and thankfully Miranna -had- noticed your discomfort. She fanned her wings, closing the distance between her and the stone fiend in flight, easing the strain on your body. She slashed the air with her blazing hand, but couldn’t quite skewer the gargoyle dog, resulting in a precarious mid-air tussle between you, Miranna, and the beast. You jerked your legs, your clogs slamming against its granite head.

The beast’s fissured hands skidded off your ankles, its thick fingers clinging to your cherished footwear. In the clouds, a memory flashed of when they were given to you by girl, the lass you had something with despite the gap in age—her being a decade older. Well, not exactly: she didn’t give you the actual clogs, those were worked on by the cobbler. What she gave you as a present was a log of wood … but she was so excited and happy for you to have it!

She was a strange one. What was her name again?

Hang on, was your life already flashing before your eyes? No, no, no, back off!

You bashed the clogs against the sentinel’s grip, twisting your feet until they slid out of the wooden shoes. Pop, they came loose, and you were tossed back towards Miranna. Your held onto Whiskers, grasping the she-demon’s hand with your fingertips. Again, your arm was yanked as she lifted you, all this pirouetting making the scenery blur into a dizzying whirl. Miranna didn’t seem panicked; you couldn’t quite see.

The wood crunched and broke in the creature’s claws. You couldn’t see it, but a single melancholic tear rolled down your cheek regardless. You were going to miss them those clogs and the wood they were made out of. More tears swelled up, not from sadness but from the altitude, mingling with the cold. The stone wings cracked loudly in your ears. Why couldn’t those wings just break entirely already, damn it!

“They are both going right at you,” Miranna yelled, juggling between lifting you up and keeping her wings steady.

“I’ll get crushed like a wine grape!”

“Or a herbarium insect!” she added her own metaphor, proudly.

> Throw Count Whiskers at Miranna and tell her to keep him safe. Let go once they are close to fall and to try and have them smash at one another.
> Yell at Miranna to toss you at one of them so you can grab it around its gargoyle head, and then let her deal with the other one without you being in the way.
> Apologetically bite at Miranna’s hand holding you in the air to draw her blood and cover yourself with it. Gross. Would that be enough? Would that even work?
> Start desperately rubbing your face against Count Whisker’s fur. Maybe possibly they’ll mistake you for a cat?
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 18-.png (3.07 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6037160
I'd like it to be half-comedic half-serious, but my quest have been about 10% comedic before, so I'm getting used to it. It can go whichever direction, let's find out.

>>6037257
That's right, bullshit your way to the top! Use them as pawns! Backstab the nonbelievers! Wait, you are a nonbeliever. Well, that complicates things.

>>6031436
Had problems, but I think I figured out the correct prompt. Look at her cute face!

>>6038094
>> Apologetically bite at Miranna’s hand holding you in the air to draw her blood and cover yourself with it. Gross. Would that be enough? Would that even work?

Hot.

>>6038103
Dang, she is cute.

>>6038094
> Apologetically bite at Miranna’s hand holding you in the air to draw her blood and cover yourself with it. Gross. Would that be enough? Would that even work?

>>6038094
>Throw Count Whiskers at Miranna and tell her to keep him safe. Let go once they are close to fall and to try and have them smash at one another.

>>6038094
>Start desperately rubbing your face against Count Whisker’s fur. Maybe possibly they’ll mistake you for a cat?

>>6038094
> Apologetically bite at Miranna’s hand holding you in the air to draw her blood and cover yourself with it. Gross. Would that be enough? Would that even work?

>>6038094
>Throw Count Whiskers at Miranna and tell her to keep him safe. Let go once they are close to fall and to try and have them smash at one another.
I dont like the idea of exsanguinating the one keeping us from plummeting to our death

File: Clouds After Battle.png (3.04 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6038201
>>6038215
>>6038269
>>6038271
>>6038549
>>6038562

https://files.catbox.moe/n0ea02.mp3

“Think you can yank me away before that happens?”

“For sure!” Miranna replied, her voice brimming with confidence.

Overconfidence. You had doubts that she could: avoiding both seemed impossible, and they would just pivot and pursue. You heaved yourself yourself up, bringing her hand level with your chin. They were statues, but they also looked like dogs.

“I’m going to bite you!” you warned.

She looked at you, her irises churning like flames as she nodded in affirmation.

You sank your teeth into her hand, drawing her demon blood and immediately spitting it out. Glowing like lava, with warmth and surprising awful zest, it spurted off her claws and splashed onto your face. You winced, and so did Miranna, letting more of her blood fall on you. A moment later, the stone demons drew closer, lowering their heads like battering rams. What an awful idea this was! You squeezed your eyes shut, not even sure who to pray for. Just as they gargoyle dogs neared to crush you between their marble forms—at the last possible moment—they trashed their marble wings and veered away, taking flight further elsewhere.

The wind gathered in the pummel of their departure, the sharp gale crashing at you from both sides. The violet tempest buffeted Miranna’s feathers, trashing her form about. Her talons scratched your hand, an unintended payback, before her grip loosened. You fell, your back skimming the wispy clouds as if through mist. The beasts had abandoned their pursuit, but Miranna’s silhouette was disappearing just as fast.

She did not give you a moment to reflect on your life a second time, swooping in like a downpour, curving her arms to seize you. You elbows smacked against her iron breastplate, the force of the impact cradling you in like a worm.

“Got you!” she said, flashing a grin, more of her scorching blood staining your clothes. “Careful, don’t get it in your mouth.”

“Don’t tell me … it’s poisonous to humans?” you spat, the blood charring your tongue like an awful spice.

She winced, her freckles sparkling like embers. “No, I just don’t want you to see that I, Nettle Harpy, bleed!”

> Nonchalantly tell Miranna that you don’t mind seeing her bleed. It’s cool, in fact; she shouldn’t worry.
> Apologise for biting her without much warning, and hug her as a thank you for catching you from falling.
> Thank her for catching you, verbally. After a while, lift Whiskers to kiss her in your stead.
> Give her a promise that none of this happened, you don’t recall, and you don’t remember that you bit her.
> [Write In]

> Nonchalantly tell Miranna that you don’t mind seeing her bleed. It’s cool, in fact; she shouldn’t worry.

>>6038982
>Nonchalantly tell Miranna that you don’t mind seeing her bleed. It’s cool, in fact; she shouldn’t worry.

>>6038988
>>6039056
>+1

>>6038982
> Give her a promise that none of this happened, you don’t recall, and you don’t remember that you bit her.

>>6038982
>Thank her for catching you, verbally. After a while, lift Whiskers to kiss her in your stead.

>>6038982
>Nonchalantly tell Miranna that you don’t mind seeing her bleed. It’s cool, in fact; she shouldn’t worry.
>Apologise for biting her without much warning, and hug her as a thank you for catching you from falling.
Don't you look good in red? And I want a secure grip to not fall again. That's definitely why.

>>6038982
>Apologise for biting her without much warning
Golden rule. Idk about hugging strangers, but then again I'm not sure if Miranna is a stranger at this point.

>>6038982
> Nonchalantly tell Miranna that you don’t mind seeing her bleed. It’s cool, in fact; she shouldn’t worry.

>>6038988
>>6039056
>>6039060
>>6039169
>>6039170
>>6039253
>>6039740
>>6039878

https://files.catbox.moe/6dfb1b.mp3

“Too late for that,” you said, lifting your hand to secure a grip around her neck, and no more.

She clicked her tongue against her teeth, looking down as you continued,

“It would be better if you avoid getting stabbed, sure, but if it happens, worry about the injury itself.”

“But I am the strongest Demon General, even-thought-I-quit, hero!” she whined. “I can’t just … spill my blood!”

“I’m telling you, it’s fine.” You checked on Whiskers’ health. “I needed that blood to mask my scent” —even thought you weren’t sure if it would even work. You took a quick look at the bite mark, and you reckoned she wasn’t expecting an apology. “It’s impressive, in a way, the way your blood looks and embers. It also … compliments your red-eyed gaze, kind of. In a way. Yeah.”

She squinted. “Really?” — she lingered, humming— “But the demons who bleed are -weak-!”

“That ‘Chimera Hound’, you said she never bleeds, either? So you two are infamous for the same exact thing?”

She looked ahead, pondering “No, not really. Every Demon General, and many demons, regard being cut as shameful.”

“Oh I didn’t—“

“Well, it’s fine if it’s the hero!” she said, her words as nonchalant as her honest smile. “You … were saying?”

You cleared your throat. “Were you to be covered in that lava-like blood as well as your fire, that would be anything but shameful. I think you'd appear quite impressive.”

“You’re saying I should get cut on purpose so I’ll look even more frightening and overwhelming to my enemies?”

You shook your head, faster than your neck could handle, echoing an innocent crack.

“No. Don’t get injured intentionally; but don’t worry if you do. If you embrace it, you’ll be like an infernal fury to those who’ll want to fight you. Isn’t that more fearsome?”

Harrumphing, Miranna tucked her hand to rub her blood against your cheek.

“You know, hero, maybe you’ve overreacted. You didn’t need my blood, neither to trick the stalwarts.” She grabbed your shirt before you could answer. “You had weathered and survived Dragon-Beast’s might, even if those stone vanguards had dared to slam into you, you wouldn’t even feel it!” Miranna neared her head, her nose too small to touch your face.

“Or is there another trick to how you stayed alive after battling Pyrathor?”

You leaned back, an inch of distance becoming a foot gap. She weren’t going to listen to the truth, so were you going to have to lie? Mercifully, into the distance where the gargoyles had dissolved, manifested a diversion: the Demon King’s Banefroth Citadel. Distracted by it, Miranna fanned out her wings and lifted you both to further loft.

Perched amongst the jagged crests impended a behemoth structure, a fortress of sprawling spires and steep edged walls, each stone black and melting into the next, yet somehow retaining a distinct contour. As namesake said, the air beneath the foundation seemed to simmer with invisible affliction, drawing out comfort and the warm colours. The dark granite walls submerged into the surrounding rock, towering labyrinthine battlements jutting out a irregular intervals, the twisted crenellations gnawing on the sky like termites. A mountain range on its own, it stood, the towers disappearing within the roiled ebony clouds above them. Hundreds of stained obsidian windows gleamed with a spectrum of subdued lights—deep purples, crimsons, and greys. Suspended bridges and narrow roads spanned the yawning chasms and darkness-consumed artery corridors; scores of demon shadows, both large and small, moving along the edge.

A sweat rolled down your forehead. Maybe this was all a big mistake.

“We can start with at my tower, but it’s pretty high and far from everything else,” Miranna chirped, unbothered. “Or we break somewhere near the prisons, if you think the ‘Grub Hag’ will be there. Or to Demon King’s throne room?”

“What?!”

“He’ll be anywhere but there!” she said. “If you’d like to defeat him straight away, we can wait there for him!”

> Miranna’s bedroom.
> The prison adjacent hallways.
> The throne chamber.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 19-.png (3.04 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6039253
>Don't you look good in red? And I want a secure grip to not fall again. That's definitely why.
Red is a girly colour, pfeh.
>>6039740
She's a very clingy stranger. The worst kind.

>>6039986
> The prison adjacent hallways.

>>6039986
>> The prison adjacent hallways.

>>6039986
> Miranna’s bedroom.
Could help us get a bette ridea who and what we're working with, here.

>>6039986
> Miranna’s bedroom.

I want to see if she has girly shit there.

>>6039986
>The prison adjacent hallways.

>>6039986
Slay your devils, kill 'em all
Take your throne, paint the walls
And if you make it out alive
Hold that bloody head up high
>Miranna’s bedroom.
I imagine this will be lightly guarded, and Miranna will be expected to be around. Secondary objective is to rifle through her stuff for anything useful (or funny). We're not going to get to come back here, so I recommend her packing some panties. I wonder what colour they are.

>>6040003
Clingy is good when you're thousands of feet in the air, at any rate

>>6039986
>Miranna’s bedroom.
Destroy this general's entire sense of self-esteem

>>6038094
>Throw count Whiskers then fall so they collide

No update today, apologies.

>>6040681
All well, I hope?

>>6040685
Yes, no QM quest hit me so far.

File: Banefroth Citadel.png (3.75 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6040007
>>6040015
>>6040022
>>6040074
>>6040081
>>6040149
>>6040258
>>6040420

https://files.catbox.moe/bhjdt7.mp3

You shook your head; no, that was the last thing you wanted to happen today.

“Let’s start at your tower, and we’ll figure it out from there,” you said.

She flashed a grin and gave a firm nod, tightening her grip and lifting you towards the roiling ebony clouds swelling against her wings. The clouds parted to reveal the fortress’ tallest spire, a dark lance impaling the sky. She flew above the citadel’s expanse, the labyrinthine compounds and storm-battered stones obscured by the perpetual grey squall, save for where the Nettle Harpy’s tower sliced through. The tower maintained a consistent width, expanding only at its summit into a cage-like frame. Miranna circled the smooth granite rooftop, many of the gables sporadically interspersed with glass panes.

Upon landing on the ledge, she stretched her neck, gently lowering you onto the tepid stone. You peered below from the wrought iron fence, the balcony jutting over the abyssal skies. Yet here, the wind was soft, and the sun’s warm was palpable.

You’d lived your entire life without seeing the sun, and yet, within the last hour you had drawn nearer to it than any bird.

Pushing open the massive, glazed doors, Miranna welcomed you into her chamber’s private gloom. She slammed shut the doors behind you, Count Whiskers jolting and snarling in response, writhing from your arms and leaping away.

“Wait—!” you yelled, but the cat’s silhouette vanished. Why was it so dark? “Don’t tell me that you live like this?”

The sun shone through the glass-panelled gables, filtering through them a meagre glow.

“I’m not a vampire, hero,” she said in sing-song, whispering voice. Miranna ignited her claws, the incandescent glow bouncing off the walls before the flames trailed off her nails and onto the lantern candles, casting a crucial light to illuminate the room.

You could see the room, and you couldn’t deny your curiosity to see how it looked inside. Yet, as you turned to explore, there was a rustle of wings followed by a metallic flash. Miranna stepped in, her claw flicking upwards, sparks flying and metal chiming inches from your face. A tiny metal bird darted about, its polished beak gleaming.
“What is that?!” you said.

Miranna waved her hand, her attention shifting from the bird. “Something to keep me on my toes, hero.”

The steel construction swooped again, brandishing its blade-like beak at the she-demon. She parried it.

You covered your neck, to where it went for initially. “Can you make it stop?”

“No,” she said. “Not without breaking it. And they are difficult to replace.”

“Then how do you sleep?”

Sparks flew as she deflected another aggressive stoop. “I clutch it in my hands when I want to,” she explained. “As it’s trying to escape, it also sharpens my talons. Clever, don’t you think?”

> Pathetically ask if she can cradle the bird in her hands for the duration of your stay in her room.
> Hurry out of Miranna’s room so you don’t have to put yourself at risk of being skewered by the bird.
> Try and ignore the bird, trusting Miranna to safeguard both of you. Explore Nettle Harpy’s chamber.
> [Write In]

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>>6041313
> Try and ignore the bird, trusting Miranna to safeguard both of you. Explore Nettle Harpy’s chamber.

>>6041315
>[Write In]
If it won't help me cast down the demon king, it is a demonic toy that has no use to me. Destroy it, or if it is something special to you, make sure it doesn't hinder me.

File: Demon King's General 9-.png (1.36 MB, 1792x1024)

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Getting ourselves into a girl's room hours after meeting her? Impressive!

>>6040149
Miranna is unironically expecting you to do all that.

Yes, I would take a clingy harpy over a noncling one.

>>6040258
It doesn't seem she minds!

>>6040687
Curse, I meant curse, not quest.

>>6041315
> Pathetically ask if she can cradle the bird in her hands for the duration of your stay in her room.
We can try to sound slightly less pathetic, though, if we just tell her it's distracting us from planning.

>>6041315
>Try and ignore the bird, trusting Miranna to safeguard both of you. Explore Nettle Harpy’s chamber.
I imagine she's spent years in here with this lil shit and has gotten very good at shutting down its bullshit and can let us rummage through her panty drawer without interruption.

Random thought, what if the prophetic scribes had a bit of trouble with linguistic gender and we're not actually the "chosen" hero but the sidekick to the heroine while we push and manipulate her into being the real hero?

>>6041482
Of course she doesn't mind yet, we are distracted by her violent toy. As soon as find the pantsu and diaries however...

My father is stealing me for a holiday so there won't be an update today. Vote is still open.

>>6041313
> Try and ignore the bird, trusting Miranna to safeguard both of you. Explore Nettle Harpy’s chamber.

>Random thought, what if the prophetic scribes had a bit of trouble with linguistic gender and we're not actually the "chosen" hero but the sidekick to the heroine while we push and manipulate her into being the real hero?

Would be funny. You could even say we ARE the Hero just in pushing Mirrana towards not being evil.

>>6041755
>>6042396
Forgot to link to the damn post I was quoting.

>>6041369
>>6041374
>>6041512
>>6041755
>>6041782
>>6042396
>>6042397

https://files.catbox.moe/fvxbbx.mp3

Your irises quivered, watching the metallic fowl buzz and whirl across the chamber’s ceiling like a rogue wasp. You faced away, the beating of metal wings and clash of Miranna’s talons clanging in your ears. Taking a deep breath, and having faith in Miranna to keep her toy in control, you decided to explore the Nettle Harpy’s room. For what reasons? Perhaps, to uncover something useful, glean insights about her, or simply to sate curiosity.

Reflecting in the magical fire there was a vast, open chamber with walls of dark stone enclosing an unclaimed expanse. No layers of lofts obstructed the space. Somewhere up there, at the very top, suspended a chain wave hammock, seeming uncomfortable it not for the plush velvet throw and plethora of pillows laying on it.

The relentless bird scattered sparks across the floor, singeing your now-bare feet. You yelped, stumbling and sliding on the uncarpeted, neglected floor—it seeming untouched by Miranna’s, or any, footfall.

Crash! You slammed into solid wood, a large curved wardrobe trembling from your fall. The closet warped, the doors bulging and then bursting loose, hurling you to the dusty floor as armour of all shapes, types, and sizes cascaded from within, engulfing you like a flood. You gasped for air, clawing your way out.

The clangour ceased as the avalanche of cast-off ill-fit armour weighted down upon you. You front stroked through the layers of plate and chainmail, dipping out of the mass of metal articles with a clenched fist. Unfolding your hand, you spotted a pair of female braies you were clutching at before, loose linen trousers with an over-tangled drawstring.

Could it be Miranna’s? Before you could even ponder the question aloud, the metal bird skirted past Miranna and whirled at you! Miranna trashed her wings, the dust kicking up in all directions, but even as she swooped in, the time wasn’t there …

And did you really plan for her to see you her undergarments?

> Pull out a random piece of armour from the pile to protect yourself.
> Throw the braies at the metal bird.
> Duck back into the pile and let Miranna handle the bird. Do you want to let put the braies back into the pile or keep to them?
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 23-.png (2.74 MB, 1792x1024)

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Sorry for the silence. I'm back now.

>>6041512
'Please protect me Miranna!' he said, non-pathetically.

>>6041755
Perhaps you'll be able to find out when you find her!

>>6041782
>diaries
At best, it'll be a sketchbook.

>>6043803
> Pull out a random piece of armour from the pile to protect yourself.

Fuck you bird!

>>6043803
>Throw the braies at the metal bird.

>>6043803
>Throw the braies at the metal bird.
I cast Entangle!

>>6043803
>Duck back into the pile and let Miranna handle the bird.
What else has she got in here I wonder?

>>6043803
>Throw the braies at the metal bird.
THROW THE PANTSU

>>6041782
Anon, she's illiterate. She couldn't keep a diary even if she wanted to. Holding a pencil would be awful in those claws too.

>>6044274
Maybe she keeps a book of charcoal doodles? Kek.

File: ye olde crayons.jpg (745 KB, 3829x2548)

745 KB JPG

>>6044281

>>6043941
>>6043956
>>6043981
>>6044238
>>6044274
>>6044281
>>6044290

https://files.catbox.moe/0mttxf.mp3

The bird was coming at you quick, not leaving you much time to pick at anything of protective worth. You crumpled the linen underwear and, as your your reflection glinted off the avian’s beak, you hurled the cloth towards it.

The textile wrapped around its span, bladed wings briskly slicing through the threads, shredding the garment into scattered tatters, barely slowing it for a moment. Your hands lifted for defence.

An continues whirring hummed as the beak’s sharp end trembling before your knuckles. Miranna’s claw had seized the bird before it could spear through you, clutching it tightly with her talons. Her fingers clanged from inside, the fowl scraping and grinding against her nails. As she landed on the pile, the armour sinking at her weight, she let out a gasp. Behind her, the torn remnants of her underwear finally landed on the ground.

“Sorry—“

Miranna pushed forward, her spaulder nudging you aside. She seized a large slate helm with a hinged visor.

Your gaze shifted from the destroyed braies to the helmet, watching as Miranna broke into sweat.

“It’s not mine!” she yelped, the nails of her free hand digging into the metal. The bird continued to fight against the confinement of her grasp. Her vivid irises shrunk; she tossed the helmet aside and grabbed a single piece of leggings instead.

“Those leggings that were too tight on the hips? Not mine,” she said. “And those itchy braces? I know better to use them!”

“So nothing in here is yours, is what you’re saying?”

“That’s correct, just armour of other demons’,” she said, perching her chin, her neck trembling with each word.

> Go along with her excuses, leaving the armour behind to explore Miranna’s chamber further.
> If she says so, then there’s no reason she would mind you picking bits to dress up as a demon.
> Insist. Why would she be embarrassed about all this armour? Ask her to explain herself to you.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 22-.png (3.51 MB, 1792x1024)

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If only for a moment, you held her undergarments.

>>6044238
Nothing personal, or so she says.

>>6044274
Good point about the claws. How are you going to handhold?!

>why no images?
Sorry, I have limited generations and I've been trying to get a good consistent style, but the generator struggles.

>>6044661
>If she says so, then there’s no reason she would mind you picking bits to dress up as a demon.

>>6044661
> If she says so, then there’s no reason she would mind you picking bits to dress up as a demon.
We DO need a disguise.

>>6044661
Sure, Mira. You definitely know how these things you've never worn fit on you.
>If she says so, then there’s no reason she would mind you picking bits to dress up as a demon.
But we still have to tease the demon a bit anyway too

>>6044680
>How are you going to handhold?!
Very carefully and either us holding the back of her hand or palm-in-palm 90 degrees apart. Or we have a go with a file first.

>>6044661
> Insist. Why would she be embarrassed about all this armour? Ask her to explain herself to you.

>>6044680
>How are you going to handhold?!

Carefully, but it should be fine. I don't know about you all, but I don't jam my nails into the person I am holding hands with. More concerned about talons on her feet. One bad dream and her foot kicking out, and we are going to need stitches. And new sheets.

>>6044661
>If she says so, then there’s no reason she would mind you picking bits to dress up as a demon.

File: Helmet's Reflection.png (3.48 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6044687
>>6044925
>>6044970
>>6045065
>>6045191

https://files.catbox.moe/le70h9.mp3

“Not yours, so you claim,” you uttered.

She bobbed and nodded her head, causing the wings-turned-scarf to rustle against her freckled neck.

Lifting a patined greave by its gnawed strap, you stared at Miranna for a silent moment. Never had you worn real armour, especially not armour forged for demonkind. Even an imp would look more impressive in it.

You shook your head; why was looking presentable important? A disguise would be useful, and here it was, what luck!

“Then you wouldn’t mind me picking parts of it for myself? Then I won’t have to worry about being caught.”

Miranna’s clenched teeth hissed as she drew breath. “But they are uncomfortable, itchy, and outright dowdy, hero!”

You lifted one foot off the sharp plates, searching for something to cover your legs—sabatons. You spotted a mismatched pair: one weathered and battered, the other nearly pristine, with a reinforced leather base. Struggling with the buckles and belts, you manged to secure and tighten them in only a minute, exhaling with relief.

Gesturing at your newly fitted armour, you inquired, “How does it look?”

“Just as bad as before,” she said. “You shouldn’t be wearing any of this, hero. There is an armoury here in the citadel.”

You waved her off. “I’ll be only wearing this to conceal myself.”

You smelled no odours, but perhaps you could hope for some lingering scent of Miranna’s to be embedded in the armour, enough to fool creatures like gargoyles.

The bird persisted beating and scraping her talons—Miranna gripped it firmer to keep it from drowning out her voice.

“If you -truly- insist, hero” she said, her cheeks turning a pout. She stepped closer, her taloned feet splintering one of the breastplates underneath. With her darkened figure looming over you, her head tilting languidly and her crimson eyes searching, she reached out as if to grab you, but instead diverting to snatch a scuffed helm: slate scales protruding along its sides of the skull, with narrow, deep eye slits set in the thick ebony steel.

She hoisted it and slapped it onto your head, the chamber, already dim, plunging further into shadow and obscurity.

“I’ll pick you the best of the worst, then!” she said, her crooked smile barely visible through the visor.

That hurt! You toppled onto the pile, Miranna neither noticing nor caring, leaping forth to find the next thing.

“Are you going to dress me up?” you protested, rubbing inches above your rear. “I can take of it myself, thank you.”

She flung aside a pauldron, a gauntlet, and a vambrace, one after the another. “I know that— I have a better eye for this.”

You sat there like a puppet, Miranna whirling and tumbling around you, fitting and cinching the armoured attire. In mere minutes, she grabbed you by the elbow, the weight pulling at your muscles. Maybe this was a mistake.

She clapped her clawed palm against the fist still gripping the bird, looking satisfied. Your reflection shimmered on the helmet’s polished crown, each piece of the bulky demon armour mismatched, yet still ominous—perhaps even more.

It was difficult to see.

You reached up to lift the helm, gasping for air as the edges nicked at your hair.

Miranna slapped the helmet. “None of them are, I mean seem, comfortable, right? That’s why I don’t wear one.”

You sucked in air; indeed, the helmet promised to be a nuisance: particularly the one she picked for you. You surveyed over the piles of helmets, some showing sights of wear while others did not: several having—the better—adjustable visors.

> Decide to go without a helmet, the same way as Miranna. You’ll just have to pretend to be a hornless demon.
> Stick with the helm that Miranna had picked for you, with the narrow slit design and uncomfortably deep visor.
> Put away the helmet that Miranna chose for you, and instead take one of more comfortable design.
> [Write In]

>>6046230
>Put away the helmet that Miranna chose for you, and instead take one of more comfortable design.

>>6046230
> Stick with the helm that Miranna had picked for you, with the narrow slit design and uncomfortably deep visor.
Don't want to offend our friend/waifu/partner/delusional kidnapper, and she said she knows best with these things. What do we know about demonic fashion?

>>6046230
> Stick with the helm that Miranna had picked for you, with the narrow slit design and uncomfortably deep visor.
Not like our vision is particularly good anyway

>>6046230
>Stick with the helm that Miranna had picked for you, with the narrow slit design and uncomfortably deep visor.
Helmets are good for keeping brains in, and we're not here to sightsee, just get some sense out of the grub hag.

>>6046230
> Stick with the helm that Miranna had picked for you, with the narrow slit design and uncomfortably deep visor.

>Try out our best "I am 100% a demon, respect and fear me" voice to make sure the helm has good acoustics.

>>6046325
>>6046369
>>6046383
>>6046771
>>6046940

https://files.catbox.moe/rqxfh4.mp3

You shifted the helmet in your hands, weighting the pros and cons of keeping it atop your head. It could conceal your pallid face, protect your skull in potential skirmishes, give you a hint of Miranna’s demon scent, and perhaps …

You harrumphed. “Believe me, I am a demon!” —your voice boomed through the slits— “So fear and respect me!”

Miranna leaned back her head and flashed a wide grin. “Should you wish rule as a Demon King, then it is perfect!”

You squinted, trying to get used to the thick lines obstructing half your vision. “I told you, that’s not the plan.”

Barely furrowing her brows, Miranna assisted your down the cluttered uneven pile of plate and steel, setting you down on the paving stones, the bluish-grey layer of dust covering the floor like a snow. She swung the bird at your face.

“The protectiveness of the armour wasn’t the issue with it, but we could always test it out just in case.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said. You had no intent to battle in it; by other king’s throne, you could hardly move in it.

Miranna shrugged, loosening her grip on your shoulder. You repositioned the helm—wedged on your head like a knight astride a mule—to catch a glimpse at the rest of her quarters. The cascading shadows of the visor plunged the lantern-lit chamber into further darkness.

There, against the black queried walls, hung a moth-bleached tapestry, brocading glistening threads depicting winged demons in a variety of outlandish stances. On the opposite side stood a faded reddish table, charred as if to fit the room’s curved design. A stack of golden—or gilded—wreaths were piled on a vertical stand, beside a bowl filled with river-worn stones, each marked with unique bluish circular patterns. It was hard to spot anything else—if there even was indeed anything more to see. Her room stood sparse, stark, even more barren than your own—and you couldn’t afford anything!

> Ask Miranna about the tapestry.
> Ask Miranna about the golden wreaths.
> Ask Miranna about the pattern-present stones.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 25-.png (3.59 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6046369
>What do we know about demonic fashion?
Zilch.
>Not like our vision is particularly good anyway
Hey, you need good eyes to see them plant-eating-slugs.
>>6046771
Indeed, we are not here to sightseen. Anyway, which of Miranna's personal belongings do you want to sightsee?

>>6047020
> Ask Miranna about everything
I don't see why not

>>6047046
Please pick one. For reasons.

>>6047048
Boo

>>6047020
>Ask Miranna about the pattern-present stones.

>>6047020
> Ask Miranna about the pattern-present stones.

>>6047020
>Ask Miranna about the golden wreaths.

>>6047020
> Ask Miranna about the tapestry.

>>6047020
>Ask Miranna which demon is a close enough friend to lend her so much armor and underwear

File: Engraved Stone.png (3.28 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6047579
>>6047327
>>6047322
>>6047084
>>6047064
>>6047046

“Whence this armour even came from?” you asked, drawing near the table.

“From here and there,” she said with a short shrug. “From battles, from the smithy’s forge, from the Demon King.”

You hesitated. “And the underwear?”

“Peculiar things you are curious about, hero,” she said, her voice steady. “From long ago, I can’t recall where it’s from.”

You wanted to question her about each oddity, but the small stones had piqued your interest the most.

“Are those magical?” you asked, scooping a crudely shaped stone from the earthen bowl.

Miranna’s arm darted out, picking a different, yet similar rough rock. She briskly scuffed the stone surface.

“In a way, hero! Those are superb,” she exclaimed, excitement in her voice. “Here, circle your finger around like this.”

You mimicked her motion, tracing your thumb against the embedded continuous spiral, the trace lighting up with a glowing azure dust; cool yet vivid. You kept going; were you about to unleash a magic spell?

As your finger reached the centre, the ethereal shimmer intensified, the spiral's light beaming like an enchanted beacon.

You held it aloft, at an arm’s length, while Miranna semi-clutched her fists and leaned in in anticipation.

https://files.catbox.moe/793gtb.mp3

The stone trembled in your hand, a growing thrum emanating from its core, through its pitted grain, soon escalating to a loud intricate melody. The sound filled the masonry gaps, then echoed off them. Enchanted instruments filled the air.

Miranna bopped her head in tune, her dishevelled white hair tousling, the stone in her hand left unlit, as if not to intervene with the melody unfurling from yours.

Distant flutes, violins and horns unleashed bold crescendos, strings straining against the steady breaths. Relentless drumming conjured visions of an unseen battle, the cadence shifting and skimming across the chamber’s span with overwhelming crescendoing thrills. One by one, the sounds had ebbed, and the stone’s light waned.

She gave you another stone. “Try this one,” she urged, her lips’ edges chapping. “It’s even better!”

The room’s wooden door was struck with a series of knocks, followed by a soft squishy voice.

“Nettle Harpy, General.” Called the voice from the other side “The Demon King asks your presence.”

Damn, had they heard the stone’s song? Of course she heard the stone, it came out as loud as a dragon’s bellow!

“Is the door locked?”

“No, shouldn’t be. I’ve lost the key … ages ago!”

> Tell Miranna not to answer back, and as soon as the demon walks away, sneak out.
> Have Miranna answer the door, and promise to the demon that she’ll be there, or similar.
> Ask for Miranna to sneak out through the balcony, and try another breach-in spot.
> [Write In]

>>6047650
>> Have Miranna answer the door, and promise to the demon that she’ll be there, or similar.

>>6047650
> Have Miranna answer the door, and promise to the demon that she’ll be there, or similar.

>>6047650
>Have Miranna answer the door, and promise to the demon that she’ll be there, or similar.

>She has battle music record rocks.
Yes she does!

>>6047860
>Bird Bish brings here own boss fight music when she goes out to fight.

I love our bird-brained partner in crime.

>>6047650
> Have Miranna answer the door, and promise to the demon that she’ll be there, or similar.


Also... why do I have a feeling the Demon Lord is just going to be the last human who got shanghai'd? That the entire line of demon kings has been human because demons a silly?

>>6047650
>Have Miranna answer the door, and promise to the demon that she’ll be there, or similar.
We can interrogate the grub hag ourselves, Miranna must throw the Demon King off the idea she has betrayed him

No update today.

File: Down The Steps.png (4.07 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6047656
>>6047833
>>6047840
>>6047913
>>6048666

https://files.catbox.moe/u77r66.mp3

You tilted your head towards the door, lowering your voice. “Tell them that you’ll be there shortly.”

Miranna drifted to the threshold. “Tell him I’ll be there soon,” she announced, her voice elevating.

The demon on the other side squeaked, “I’ll do that!”

Retreating footsteps soon faded, the demonkin trusting Miranna at her word. Backstroking as if through water, Miranna’s wings unfurled to carry her towards the bowl. She picked one among the many stones.

“I favour this one in a fight,” she said, still in the air, her talon caressing the etched spiral.

You set the stone back and then placed your hand over hers, preventing her from rewinding a different enchanted melody.

“I’ll listen to it later,” you assured her. “The Demon King will grow suspicious with every second you delay.”

Miranna sighed and tucked the flat stone of her elongated plated battle skirt. “He probably will,” she conceded.

“So, we have little time, but at least we know that he’s in his throne room. Are other Generals there as well?”

She clicked her talons and tapped her chin, her nail scraping against her gorget. “There should be just one.”

“Is this place not your home?”

Miranna lifted her raven wing in a shrug. “Every Demon General has quarters, yet none of them possess wings as good as mine to travel back and forth. Twister of Wishes is nearly always about, and Mountain Eater should be close by.”

“But not here?”

“She’s too big!” Miranna said, stifling a chuckle. “As an abyss giant, she’s always battling with the citadel’s walls and ceiling.”

“How” —you glanced down, scuffing the dust, then raising your head— “how large is she, precisely?”

“Less than a dragon-beast,” Miranna said, as if that was suppose to easy your mind. “Enough not to fit in.”

Pang flared above your eyebrows; you plucked another stone and pressed its cold, jagged edge against your temple.

Miranna tilted her head. “Is something amiss, hero?”

Aside from being told that you might soon had to comfort a literal giant? “No, nothing. Let’s not waste time.”

“Then, to the dungeons!”

Miranna seized the wooden edge and slammed the door open, revealing a winding descent of chiselled slate steps, their grainy surface shimmering with a subtle blue hue. Torches along the wall were unlit—the unfortunate demon from before having to ascend blind—but Miranna quickly ignited the sconces with a flicker of her fiery gifts. The stones fell sharply, itsy impish imprints pressed in the dust.

> Ask Miranna to go to the throne room immediately not to raise Demon King’s suspicious and find out more.
> Have Miranna, someone with high authority, guide you to the prisons first and only then leave to throne.
> Forget the Demon King, he’ll find out sooner or later. It’’ll be best that you and Miranna stick together.
> [Write In]

>>6049529
>Have Miranna, someone with high authority, guide you to the prisons first and only then leave to throne.

>>6049528
> Have Miranna, someone with high authority, guide you to the prisons first and only then leave to throne.
> ask what Miranna would do, hypothetically-speaking, if the Grub Hag was mistaken and/or we weren't the correct chosen one to be 'hero'

File: Demon King's General 34-.png (3.4 MB, 1792x1024)

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Apologies for no update yesterday.
Here, have a Miranna playing a mandolin.

>>6049529
> Ask Miranna to go to the throne room immediately not to raise Demon King’s suspicious and find out more.

>>6049541
Cute! Can she play?

>>6049540 is me, btw.

>>6049529
>Have Miranna, someone with high authority, guide you to the prisons first and only then leave to throne.
>>6049540
+1 for the write-in

>>6049534
>>6049540
>>6049967
>>6049977
>>6050060

https://files.catbox.moe/tp8e58.mp3

You beckoned Count Whiskers with a soft kiss, letting him catch your scent before he agreed to settle in your hands.

You leaned against the tight corridor walls, taking careful steps down the narrow descent. Miranna, you surmised, not used to using the stairs instead of simply flying down the balcony, brushed her feathers along the coarse stone before her wings morphed into a voluminous, frayed shawl. Raising her claw, she let embers lit the torches.

“So here is what we are going to do, Miranna,” you began, tilting your head to look at her. “You’ll escort me to the prisons, then you will meet with the Demon King while I’ll seek out and converse with the Grub Hag. Agreed?”

Miranna let out a slight huff, scraping the wall with her talons. “I doubt I’ll hear anything new from him.”

“It’s not about that,” you said. “It’s important he remains unaware of your betrayal.”

“Sooner or later, he’ll find out, hero. I’m indifferent, because there’s nothing he can do.”

You gritted your teeth against your gauntlet’s knuckles. “I care. Him not knowing is giving us a leverage.”

“Does it truly matter, though?” she drawled, etching shallow marks in the shimmering stones.

“Your betrayal only make sense if you have identified -the- hero; he’ll make sure all his attention will be on us.”

Miranna shrugged, sighed, and then clapped her talon-tipped palms. “I’ve promised to do it -your- way, hero.”

You continued descending the stairs, a nagging doubt and question gnawing at you.

“What if the Grub Hag erred?” you said. “Suppose she got it wrong: I’m not the hero, someone else is?”

Even as you spoke, Miranna was already shaking her head. “She’s never wrong. Her prophecies always come true.”

“But what if—perhaps she’s not mistaken. What if it is -you- who are wrong. Your delving about it was hardly thorough!”

The echoing of four footsteps halved as she halted. You stopped, glancing at the she-demon.

“You doubt you are the hero?” she queried, her eyes gleaming a scarlet hue in the cast shadows.

Your swallowed breath echoed louder than you wished. “That’s not what I said.”

Her claw lifted off the quarried stonework before she reached towards you. “It’s in the prophesy that you’ll defeat the Demon King. Even if I were to push you off those stairs, you wouldn’t even end up dying.”

“What do you—“

Not ‘if I were to’; she thrust her hands towards you with formidable might!

> Toss Count Whiskers at Miranna’s face to stop her from throwing you down the stairs!
> Extend your blackened fingernail at Miranna and warn her that you'll release the energy unless she ceases!
> Try and seize Miranna’s wrists above the claws. With both your armours, you should be heavy enough not to move.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 40-.png (3.35 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6049977
It's a bit hard to string with claws not shown

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>>6050284
>Let her do it, confident that she will chicken out. Stare her down hard.

>>6050284
>Toss Count Whiskers at Miranna’s face to stop her from throwing you down the stairs!
It's time for him to actually play a narrative role

>>6050284
>Let her do it, confident that she will chicken out. Stare her down hard.
Hope we invested one of our four Level 1 Commoner skill points in Intimidation, hahaha... ha.

>>6050284
>Try and seize Miranna’s wrists above the claws. With both your armours, you should be heavy enough not to move.
ohhhhh nooo now we're tumbling down together and my hands are on them titties, who could have predicted such an awkward situation

OP I'm sorry for the lewdbaiting but you are giving us very little character motivation beyond 'just rolling with whatever'

>>6050284
>Put Whiskers down safely before getting shoved

>>6050557
Trying to stay alive and/or to extricate ourselves from a prophecy while staying off the Demon King's radar is a good and straightforward motivation, IMO

>>6050372
>>6050389
>>6050399
>>6050557
>>6050898
>>6050995

https://files.catbox.moe/inmwog.mp3

You loosened your grip, letting the cat to leap off your arms. Your arm guards rattled as you placed your gauntlets beneath the faulds of your armour. Tilting the chin of your helmet upwards, you stared at Miranna, daring her to—

Her open palms struck the uncushioned cuirass, rattling the bones and hurling you into the air. Held aloft, it wasn’t long before your back slammed against the edged corners of the steps, the chafing metal echoing your tumbling descend. As you fell and rolled down the steps, it dawned clear: she understood the prophecy to mean you were effectively immortal until it came true.

Before, the visor offered glimpses of the tower’s descending corridor, but now everything blurred in dizzying whirl. Crash upon crash was muffled by your armour, the clatter growing in your ears with each impact. Shadows flickered through the visor’s slits, the cumbersome armour pulling you downwards, each collision only hastening your descent.

A sudden brief scream—not yours—and then a final raucous halt at the end of the stairwell. Though you came to a stop, the resonant echoes lingered like distant bells. By miracle, you survived; you thanked your decision to hold on to the armour. You stood, something soft pushing against your sabatons. With a yank, you pulled the cumbersome helm to see.

An imp laid there, unconscious or even dead! Your breath hitched. Is this how your first demon ended up being slain? You didn’t want that to be so!

It was laborious to kneel in your armour, but you did it anyway. A small imp, distinctly feminine, was a shade of rich purple. She spotted short straight horns, large pointed ears, and a bluish hair with subtle brown streaks. She was in a black dress with puffed short sleeves, black-red leather apron, a frayed skirt, black lace gloves, and sturdy boots. A large keychain, burdened with a dozen keys, dangled from her crude chain belt.

Was this the demon that came for Miranna?

Is she dead? You can’t tell—do demons need to breath?

> Don’t touch the imp. Wait for Miranna to reach down the stairs so you can give her a piece of your mind.
> Nothing you can do if she’s dead. Search the imp for any useful items, that keyring looks mighty useful.
> Head up the stairs until you find Miranna, then insist that she helps the imp should she still be alive.
> [Write In]

>>6051050
>Head up the stairs until you find Miranna, then insist that she helps the imp should she still be alive.
Let's be the all-loving kind of hero

>>6051067
Plus One!

>>6051050
> Head up the stairs until you find Miranna, then insist that she helps the imp should she still be alive.

>>6051050
>Head up the stairs until you find Miranna, then insist that she helps the imp should she still be alive.
If this is a bildungsroman where we need to develop our own ideology and objectives in tandem I will never forgive you when you flake, YAYWaifu

>>6051050
>Nothing you can do if she’s dead
I think we’re too old, jaded, and terrorized by demons to insist on saving one

>>6051291
We saved that not-goblin guard like an hour ago.

File: She's an Imp She's a Maid.png (3.74 MB, 1792x1024)

3.74 MB PNG

>>6051067
>>6051136
>>6051279
>>6051291
>>6051297

https://files.catbox.moe/kcr2zn.mp3

Your eyes darted frantically, searching the tiny imp for any signs of life. No bleeding, no bruises … surely, she was just unconscious? You edged closer to the demon maid’s body, then turned your head once the echo of Miranna’s came near.

This was her fault, damn it! You spat a low scoff, making your way up the stairs.

You heard her hum, before a blazing row of luminaries flooded the walls in newborn scarlet glow.

Narrowing your eyes, you glared at Miranna’s skulking shadow and demanded, “Are you out of your mind?”

Her silhouette emerged out of the crimsoned gloom, talons scraping at the dense worn stone.

She appeared with a lopsided, self-congratulatory smirk. “Do you second-guess yourself some more, hero?”

You lifted your hands to your head, hovering inches from your softly-edged hair. “You—” Hissing, you grabbed the she-demon by her wrist and pulled her to the bottom of the stairs towards the fiend’s still body.

“I slammed into her!” you said, your voice heightened by the walls. You drew sharp breath. “Did I end up killing her?”

Miranna glanced at the imp behind your shoulder. “No, dead demons look different.”

“Different … how?”

Miranna clawed at her neck. “I’m not sure how to describe, but you’ll know once you kill a demon!”

You had no desire to kill anyone, demons or not. You gestured towards the imp in the frilled black-red dress. “Then she is fine?”

Miranna’s tattered cloak momentarily morphed into heaps of feathers, lifting her off the ground for a quick leap.

“Fine is a stretch,” Miranna drawled, as if she couldn’t be bothered. “It seems like you jumbled her brain a bit.”

“You practically hurled me at her,” you threw back. “Fine. Forget that. Just help her in someway.”

She regarded you with folded arms, her eyebrow raising. “Why do you care? She’s just some low-rank castlekeeper.”

“That shouldn’t matter. She did nothing wrong” —you paused— “to me, and she was supposed to relay on your answer!”

“I guess she won’t,” Miranna muttered, weaving her talons together; they cracked like an old pipe organ.

“If she suffered a head injury, we have to help her,” you said.

“I thought we were short on time, hero? Are you planning to wait for her to awaken? We could nudge her for that. Give her a shake.”

> Since its Miranna’s fault, ask her to bring some of her pillows from her chamber to put under the imp.
> Miranna is likely well-versed in the layout of the Citadel. Direct her to find the nearest room for the imp.
> Send Miranna to find another demon who might be able to offer the imp a better assistance.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 38-.png (3.6 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6051279
Anon, this is a half-comedic 4chan quest, not Russian literature. They again, the hero is yours to shape.

Sike, I did not flake.

>>6051291
>>6051297
He's right, you did spare the green imp, but what of the purple imp? Hey, he -was- an imp!

>>6052197
>Miranna is likely well-versed in the layout of the Citadel. Direct her to find the nearest room for the imp.

>>6052197
> Miranna is likely well-versed in the layout of the Citadel. Direct her to find the nearest room for the imp.

>>6052202
Shut up, imposter.

>>6052197
> Miranna is likely well-versed in the layout of the Citadel. Direct her to find the nearest room for the imp.

>>6052291
>>6052327
>>6052637

https://files.catbox.moe/q4aw00.mp3

“Avoid shaking her,” you cautioned, holding your hand in front of the horned fiend. “I know that could worsen her condition.”

Her nose crinkled, ruby spots shifting as she sniffled. “Then, what would you have me do, hero?”

You peered over the dim chamber, shadows clinging to the walls, the fresh dust hanging in the air. “Let’s find her a room.”

“Sure … I suppose we could do that,” she said. “What sort of room?”

“It ought be near, preferably where no prying eyes will can see us entering it.”

She drummed her fingernails against her chin, one after the another.

“There’s my chamber. If she wakes up and falls from the swing bed, don’t blame me.”

“Somewhere nearer, so we don’t need to carry her up the stairs. The less her head is jostled, the better.”

“Alright, I’ll think on it,” she said. “There are imps in the barracks, and other castlekeepers in the lodgings.” She noted, her claws curling. “If there’s one as-is vacant room near, it would be … not that.”

You caught the evasive tone. “Not what?”

She winced, her tongue flicking across her pallid lips. “The Demon King’s chambers.”

“His quarters?” —you blinked— “Is there really no other place that we can use?”

“No, hero, the Demon King’s room is the nearest you’ll get. He’s not there, right now, and I’m sure he’ll be preoccupied with the prophesy and how to deal with -you-.” A sly smile crossed her face. “As long as she” — Miranna gestured dismissively at the unconscious imp— “wake up before his return, nothing bad will happen to her.”

You hesitated. “Why is your tower so close to his?”

“This is the highest tower in the citadel,” she said. “I chose it for many simple reasons; they were irate with me.”

Your eyes narrowed in the dim light, urging her to elaborate.

“Mountain Eater and the Twisted of Wishes. They coveted his chamber, but since they couldn’t have it, the tower was the closest second-best thing. They were so annoying about it,” she lamented. “Demons such as they are indeed tiresome.”

You pondered— had she meant demons in love? Or if she meant the zealous kind—but then she was one herself.

“Then let’s put her on the Demon King’s bed; it must be the most comfortable one in the castle. Lead the way.”

She nudged her head, poising on one foot, readying to lift herself into the air.

“Hold a second, Miranna,” you said, stopping her liftoff. “How will we move her?”

Her eyelids fluttered in exasperation. “Just carry her in your arms, hero.”

In your arms? In this armour? You were accustomed to your your share of physical tasks, but you weren’t a miner or soldier.

> Don’t disappoint yourself in front of Miranna even more. Try and lift and carry the purple imp in your arms.
> Tell Miranna that your body is aching and in pain after she threw you down the stairs. Tell her to carry her.
> Inquire of Miranna if there’s a way for her to use the cloak to transport the horned housekeeper without the need for her physically touching to carry her. It doesn’t seem like she has much respect for low-ranked demons.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 33-.png (3.69 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6050557
Lewd is good. But on serious not, this is what killed my previous quest so if you want more motivation, add some more personality to Niklos, or heck just outright change the lame name, we can.

>>6052819
>Don’t disappoint yourself in front of Miranna even more. Try and lift and carry the purple imp in your arms.

>>6052819
> Don’t disappoint yourself in front of Miranna even more. Try and lift and carry the purple imp in your arms.
Show some strength so she'll stop trying to 'prove' our heroism. If she keeps this up, she'll kill us. Or Count Whiskers, which is even worse!

File: Demon King's General 24-.png (3.4 MB, 1792x1024)

3.4 MB PNG

>>6052868
Gasp! Whiskers, where is he?!

>>6052819
>Don’t disappoint yourself in front of Miranna even more. Try and lift and carry the purple imp in your arms.
A little imp maid surely can't be that heavy.
Realistically, she needs medical care and rest, and we can only arrange for one of those things. Find a shady nook to put her down in before she wakes up.

>>6052822
I'm not ride-or-die for degen writing, and your AI additions are nice enough flavouring imo. I am just not a huge fan of the 'cringe' theme and reaching for something to relate to.
>>6053079
Pussy quest huzzah

>>6052858
>>6052868
>>6053273

https://files.catbox.moe/lxq1s4.mp3

You paused momentarily, locking eyes with Miranna before nodding. Even with the weight of your armour, how heavy would she, an imp, be? You resettled the helm atop your head, tilting the ill-fitting piece from side to side. With your body aching from the fall, your gingerly slid your hands under the frilly, flouncy dress. The armour strained as you bent your elbows and lifted her, the imp’s nose scrunching as she brushed against your breastplate.

Was she smelling the human on you, or was it grimace born from pain? Treading softly, your steps careful to avoid any bounce, you trailed Miranna through the lit corridors, the chandeliers polished and tended to. A turn took you from the worn cobblestone to floors of slate marble, the sconces’ candlelight casting a purplish hue. Ornate plinths of varied heights, made out of chipped basalt, inched off the walls, posed upon each a craft or a carving such as demon bust or wrought vase.

Miranna halted before massive stone doors, one plate leaning—almost grinding—against the other. Etched deep into the facade were patterns that twisted and spread like violet vines consuming the granite. Her claws gripped into the burnished edge, sculpted raven feathers sprouting out from her plush cloak, her wings unfurling before her. The purple flames flicked and wavered in the sweep of her wings as she grasped the door and pulled it.

The lifeless stone scraped against the floor, revealing a dark crevice wide enough to admit you.

“This is his chamber” you asked, stepping over the crackled threshold. “Does he also open the door the same way?”

Miranna shook her head, her eyes glinting as she watched you carry the imp’s body inside.

“No, he opens it with a weave of his hands and some magic,” she scoffed. “He’s found of using his runes.”

“Runes, huh?” you whispered, the helmet’s visor coupled with the room’s darkness obscuring your vision completely.

Miranna gestured with a flaming talon towards the distant corners of the room, straining to keep the door ajar.

“Just place her there.”

Toss? You wouldn’t even if you could. She was as light as anticipated, yet you were not feeling your best.

Your armoured boots kicked something on the floor, a loud ringing echoing as it rolled away, clanging without pause. You winced at the din, searching for the bed’s silhouette before the imp demon in your arms stirred.

“Where am I—“ she asked in a squeamish voice, drawing pained breaths. “D-Demon King? Is that you, royal one?”

> Speedily find the bed, throw her on it, and then rush out of the Demon King’s room, leaving her on her own.
> Gently place the imp on the bed. With a deep echoing voice, reassure her that she should return to her rest.
> Check of her health, and if it’s nothing serious, spend a few minutes talking with her; pretend to be the king.
> [Write In]

>>6054334
> Check of her health, and if it’s nothing serious, spend a few minutes talking with her; pretend to be the king.

In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.

>>6054334
>Check of her health, and if it’s nothing serious, spend a few minutes talking with her; pretend to be the king.
Interrogation!

>>6054334
> Check of her health, and if it’s nothing serious, spend a few minutes talking with her; pretend to be the king.
Gather intel! What are her duties here? Maybe she knows whereabouts of the other demon generals? Maybe she knows tge Demon King's itinerary? Frame it as a pop quiz to check if her brain's still working after that impact.

>>6054390
>>6054391
>>6054527

https://files.catbox.moe/v1h5qr.mp3

You eased her onto the bed, withdrawing your hands from beneath her. Rasping your tone, you deepened your voice.

Without confirming or denying, you grunted once, then nodded. “I found you unconscious on the floor.”

She winced, her large grey eyes somehow flashing in the darkness, moire drapes keeping the room shielded from the dim, overcast light.

“Does it hurt anywhere?” you asked, clearing your throat, the steel helm thundering your voice.

Her hands sunk into the velvet covers of opulent grandiose bed, its canopy of deep crimson velvet cascading in lush plush folds, enveloping her like water. She cooed tenderly at the surprising softness, then whimpered in pain.

“Just a trifle, royal one. I was on my way down when … I somehow struck my head. I apologise for troubling you.”

“You are no trouble,” you assured her, her eyes widening at your words. “Let’s check your memory, answer my questions.”

She swallowed and nodded, laying there nestled amid cushions and silk, dwarfed by the bed’s size.

“What’s your name?” you inquired.

“I-it’s Rratu, your highness.”

“And where are we?”

“The Banefroth Citadel, the core of your rule.”

“And what are your duties here?”

“I’m your castlekeeper, royal one,” she said in timid tone. “I clean the castle, sweep and mop the grand halls and the staircases, dust all -wonderful- fineries and adornments, furniture, and tapestries. I polish the mirrors, chandeliers, and sconces, and light them at the morning hour and put them down at night. I maintain the personal quarters to each high-ranked demon’s liking. I convey the messages between the demons—”

She yapped on, prompting you to lift your hand, causing her to flinch, fearing a reprimand.

“Di-did I miss, forget anything important?” she stammered, sinking into the cushioned quicksand.

“No, no. That is all correct, Rratu.”

She stared at you, her face tinting a shade of purple, turning almost crimson.

“What is it?”

“I’m surprised to hear you speak my name, royal one.”

Your gaze shifted at the doorway where two red dots—Miranna’s eyes—glowed, the Nettle Harpy humming with impatience.

“Yes, I remember you—“ you lied.

“You found me, and you cared for me“ —her breathing quickened— “into your chamber. Do you truly care for me, your highness?”

How could you convincingly feign the demon you knew so little about? “Why would I not, Rratu? You are diligent in your duties.”

“Y-you say so?!” She began to murmur, “He acknowledged … he remembers … A-and those times you were displeased?!”

You tilted your head, feigning ignorance. “I wasn’t satisfied with?”

She dipped her chin, unable to nod proper in her stance. “With the mirror I cleaned, or the shelves I dusted.”

> Lie that it seems she does have some injury, as you, the Demon King, was never unsatisfied with her work.
> Tell her that you, the Demon King, have an image to maintain and that you only acted that as expected of King.
> Assure her that despite those minor couple of errors, you, as the Demon King, appreciate her diligent work.
> [Write In]

> Please write any other questions you wish to ask her.

>>6055018
> Assure her that despite those minor couple of errors, you, as the Demon King, appreciate her diligent work.

>I am sorry if I can be harsh at times. My position can be taxing on occasion. Thankfully I have those such as you to assist me.

>>6055021
>Tell her that you, the Demon King, have an image to maintain and that you only acted that as expected of King.
> Please write any other questions you wish to ask her.
"You would tell me if any of my generals were not acting as befits them, wouldn't you? I have not the time to investigate their quarters myself, so tell me now, is there anything you suspect I should be aware of?

>>6055021
> Assure her that despite those minor couple of errors, you, as the Demon King, appreciate her diligent work.
Tell her not to make a big deal of it, though. We don't want her fawning over the real DK and getting the headman's axe over over-familiarity.

I second >>6055714 with
>"You would tell me if any of my generals were not acting as befits them, wouldn't you? I have not the time to investigate their quarters myself, so tell me now, is there anything you suspect I should be aware of?
too.

>>6055708
>>6055714
>>6055749

https://files.catbox.moe/yv9yim.mp3

“Yes, those mistakes did happen,” you stated, clearing your voice. “Yet regardless, I value your diligent work.”

Rratu fidgeted, her talons—dulled and smoothed—stretching to extract herself from the sinking comforts of the bed.

“It brings me warmth to hear your praise, royal one!” she exclaimed, multihued flickers shining in her eyes.

You positioned yourself on the bed’s edge, your heavy armour pressing down on the featherbed beneath, the lush valour yielding under your weight.

“So you aren’t mad?” she said.

“Sometimes, I might seem stern, but take no offence. What I say, I only want you to fix a mistake; nothing more.”

She swallowed hard, her larynx edging her chin. “I-I understand.”

“My position is demanding, but, thankfully, I have those such as you to support me,” you said, tapping the wooden frame of the bed before resting your arm atop your knee. “Where might my other Generals be at this moment?”

Her purple hand caressed the back of her head. “I only know whereabouts of those you summoned, royal one.” She waited until your nod before continuing. “Twisted Of Wishes already awaits in the throne room, your highness; she was prompt in her arrival. As for Mountain Eater, I have, as usual, relayed a message to her by the catapult.”

The catapult? You stayed composed with another nod, not to raise suspicion, yet … a catapult?

“And the rest of my generals?” you probed, tapping your helmeted head. “I am still gauging your injury, that’s why I’m asking.”

She hunched her shoulders, her fingers intertwining as she averted her gaze. “I went to summon the Nettle Harpy as you commanded, Demon King. She should be on her way. Chimera Hound, Arboreal Witch, and Astray Slaughterer are still fulfilling their roles outside Banefroth” —she fidgeted slightly— “I believe you have ways of reaching them, royal one.”

“Indeed, I do,” you said, waving her though away with your hand. “But I don’t need them at present. Rratu, would you inform me if any of my generals were to act out of line? Is there anything you suspect I should be aware of?”

Her face flushed her breathing quickening as she met your gaze, your helm mirroring in her eye. “I would tell you—“

Gentle purple glow suffused the Demon King’s chamber, illuminating the stone door’s elaborately etched runes. Miranna yelped as the door slid, crashed, and closed shut, sealing you inside.

As quickly at it had appeared, the purple light dissipated, returning the room to the darkness.

“Demon King?” asked the imp, clutching the sheets up to her knees. “What is happening?”

You turned to respond, but a soft chuckle stopped you both. There, in the corner, stood a wrapped cheval mirror, mocking a laughter.

> Rush towards the door and see if you can communicate with Miranna through it. Hurry her to reopen it.
> Trust Miranna to reopen the door and opt for talking with Rratu, completely ignoring the mirror.
> Trust Miranna to reopen the door with her strength and instead approaching the drape-covered mirror.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 41-.png (2.99 MB, 1792x1024)

2.99 MB PNG

Don't you just love automatic doors?

>>6056441
>Trust Miranna to reopen the door and opt for talking with Rratu, completely ignoring the mirror.
Power move

>>6056441
> Trust Miranna to reopen the door with her strength and instead approaching the drape-covered mirror.

>>6056441
>Trust Miranna to reopen the door with her strength and instead approaching the drape-covered mirror.
Duty calls, little one. Make yourself scarce.

File: The Mirror.png (2.77 MB, 1792x1024)

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>>6056524
>>6056723
>>6056778

https://vocaroo.com/1omTmNdgH7Ru

You got up from the bed, tilting your head to get a better view at the mirror through your visor. The chuckling indeed came from beneath the draped fabric: it was no ordinary mirror. You glanced at Rratu.

“Duty calls, servant. Make yourself scarce.”

Her gaze darted anxiously towards the stone door.

“O-of course, your highness,” she said. “M-might you unseal the door for me?”

You chose not to answer, to act as if you didn’t hear her, or, at worse, ignored her. You approached the standing mirror, seizing the thick fabric with your gauntlet. At your actions, the castlekeeping imp leapt from the bed, ducking behind the tall wooden headboard, squirming to vanish into the background, one hand clasping her throat while the other covered her mouth. With a firm tug, you stripped the drapes away, unravelling it from the lavish frame, revealing the surface, the concealed deep crimson wood engraved in every inch. The fabric cascaded on the floor with a sonorous rustle; an opaque black mirror, without a speck of dust or smudge, gleaming at your gaze.

Reflected within its depths was not your visage but a clear silhouette. The glass quivered from her voice, carrying through a youthful sound. A girl in the freshness of her youth, with braided blonde hair, soft wispy eyelashes, dewy skin, and clear blue eyes. Instinctively, you recognised her: Lucia, no year or day older than she was.

“I’ve heard you hiding there, young King,” she said, her lashes fluttering just like her ears. “Wait-a-second. … Are you?”

> Punch the magical mirror and crack it enough to break it before Lucia gets too suspicious and reveals you.
> Assure Lucia that you -are- the Demon King, you're pressed for time, so she should hurry up and tell you what she's troubling you for.
> Step away from Lucia’s view before she can get a good look at you, then delegate Rratu to speak for you.
> [Write In]

>Who the hell is Lucia?
It seems I removed the name between my own writing notes and the update, but this refers to the memory of girl in this update. >>6038094 Apologies.

>>6057460
>Assure Lucia that you -are- the Demon King, you're pressed for time, so she should hurry up and tell you what she's troubling you for.
That's not the real Lucia, she can't be if she didn't age.

File: Demon King's General 36-.png (4.02 MB, 1792x1024)

4.02 MB PNG

>>6057476
I hope you don't mind me waiting for a few more replies, reader! I apologize for the inconsistencies, something always comes up.

>>6057460
>Assure Lucia that you -are- the Demon King, you're pressed for time, so she should hurry up and tell you what she's troubling you for.
Sorry can't stop to chat. We'll be back for you someday, if you're real.

>>6057460
>Assure Lucia that you -are- the Demon King, you're pressed for time, so she should hurry up and tell you what she's troubling you for.

>>6057460
> Assure Lucia that you -are- the Demon King, you're pressed for time, so she should hurry up and tell you what she's troubling you for.

>>6057476
>>6058338
>>6058360
>>6058435

https://files.catbox.moe/fzm50j.mp3

The uncanny likeliness to the girl from your village—forever youthful, just as she was the last time you have seen her … ages ago. Through the glass’s surface, her eyes remained fixed on you.

“Arboreal Witch,” Rratu whispered, her voice quivering with fear as her hands flew to cover her lips.

Was she talking about …? You let out a cough, gripping the mirror’s embellished rim.

You went with the flow. “I don’t have time for this, General,” you said, trying your best know-hows to deepen your voice and roughening its timbre. “I have no the leisure for this, General,” you said, “Time presses upon me: I’m due a council -you’re- not here to attend to; speak swiftly. You have but a minute to justify this bothering—“

“That is not your usual voice,” Lucia interrupted. “Nor does the statue seem fitting for our young King. Is there a reason it’s so dark in your room, anyways?” Her arched eyebrows knitted. “That’s all mighty suspicious.”

You bent down, your hands trembling, to lift the dense cloth. “Enough, General. If you don’t have anything—“

Her finger rose, pointing at you. “Immediately tell me something only the Demon King would know, ye’ impostor!”

> Throw the drapery to cover the mirror, and pretend to be annoyed. Tell her you’ll hear her out laterwards.
> Attempt to bluff your way out, telling Lucia’s-look-alike that you have a hidden chamber beneath the Citadel.
> Tell her that the Grub Hag had prophesized that you and her are to be defeated by a human raising chickens.
> Inform her that you know well that Miranna prefers not to be seen bleeding.
> Wait in awkward silence until Miranna opens the door and then use that as an excuse to leave her unanswered.
> Assert dominance, accusing the Arboreal Witch of insolence and demanding respect.
> Tell the Arboreal Witch that you're aware she's been giving logs of wood to peasants.
> [Write In]

>>6058991
> Tell her that the Grub Hag had prophesized that you and her are to be defeated by a human raising chickens.

>I am making plans to prevent this and this is part of one.

>It is dark in room because Rratu fell coming down the steps. I believe she hit her head quite hard, may have had a concussion and excessive light can worsen the condition. I darkened it so I could check on her with out her being disoriented.

>>6058991
> Tell her that the Grub Hag had prophesized that you and her are to be defeated by a human raising chickens.
>I am making plans to prevent this and this is part of one.

Leave off the last bit from >>6059109, though If she hasn't seen Rratu yet, no reason to draw her attention. A show of compassion like that could be out-of-character for DK, and give us away.

>>6058991
>Tell her that the Grub Hag had prophesized that you and her are to be defeated by a human raising chickens.

>>6059109
>>6059144
>>6059152

https://files.catbox.moe/1l2k0x.mp3

You thought carefully before speaking. “There was a recent prophesy from the Hag,” you said, fixing your visor-covered gaze on her. “Of a peasant human who raises chicken, destined to defeat my Generals, including you, and ultimately, even myself.”

Her eyes turned sharp, brows slanting down her nose. “I haven’t heard of such a thing!”

Your sigh echoed through the narrow slits of your helm.

“Yes, it’s quite recent, and it’s the very reason behind me calling for this council.”

She huffed, a strand of blonde hair falling across her forehead. “Well— I don’t know whether to believe that or not!”

You pressed the cloth against the mirror, where her abdomen was visible behind the glassy surface.

“Enough of this, General. You -should- be here, but since you're not … I’ll tell you of it later.”

Lucia leaned in from her side, her blue eye growing tenfold in the clear unblemished glass.

“I’m not satisfied. Tell me something else,” she said, her enormous iris filled with swirling shades of cerulean blue fibres. “Such a prophecy sounds far-fetched! Like something an impostor would come up with!”

The sealed door bellowed, its protests loud against the unmagical manner in which it was being forced open. The grinding noise resonated through the chamber, a deep and painful sound silencing the woman in the mirror and also startling the imp. As the door scraped across the still, the red light from the hallway spilled into the chamber.

“Her—“ —Miranna yelled, her claws digging at and pulling the stone— “I mean, Niklos! It’s annoying to hold; come outside!”

You turned to Rratu, hoping she had not caught the slip of tongue.

“Niklos …?” Lucia whispered. She reclined, her silhouette returning back into full view.

You shook your head, the metal of your helmet rattling. “That’s General Miranna, and she said … ” —you withdrew, shifting to avert your gaze— “’neat claws’ is what she said, General. Yes; she was merely praising her talons.”

“Nettle Harpy is there?” Lucia's query faded to nearly a whisper as you stepped back, as if the sound could only travel so much—a few meters.

As you approached Miranna, you nodded in semi-apologetic manner and, slipping under her arm, exited the chamber.

“Alright then,” Miranna said, smiling, releasing her grip on the stone, leaving holes in the monolithic surface. “Are we done here?”

You peered back into the Demon King’s quarters, where darkness veiled both the mirror and the imp.

“Is it going to close again?”

Miranna tapped her head. “Probably, likely, yes.”

> Was it a good or bad idea to leave Rratu with the mirror, until the real Demon King would come and free her?
> She was in need of more rest, was she not?

> Yell for Rratu to hurry towards you, and outside the King’s chamber. It's better if she doesn't stay in there.
> Shout to Rratu to rest, and nothing else. She’ll be the Demon King’s problem afterwards.
> Call for Rratu to approach while there’s a moment, and tell her to veil the mirror and then take a break.
> [Write In]

>>6059803
>Yell for Rratu to hurry towards you, and outside the King’s chamber. It's better if she doesn't stay in there.

File: Demon King's General 42-.png (2.85 MB, 1792x1024)

2.85 MB PNG

Are you all happy with the writing style? I feel like I'm overediting, searching for the right word and synonym, but I'm not sure if it ends up being worth it.

>>6059803
>Yell for Rratu to hurry towards you, and outside the King’s chamber. It's better if she doesn't stay in there.
Come along now, little one. Your master has need of you and leaving her to the DK just seems mean.

>>6059926
You could vary it up based on who's talking to give them their own styles of speech or thoughts. Nik's a dirt farmer and will use more rough and ready language in their natural speech while others may be more refined and take more care around their vocab.

File: Spoiler Image (98 KB, 1280x720)

98 KB JPG

>>6059802
> Yell for Rratu to hurry towards you, and outside the King’s chamber. It's better if she doesn't stay in there.

Also, 'neat claws' made me think of pic related.

>>6059803
>[Write In]
Honestly couldn't care what she ends up doing, what happens to demons is out of sight out of mind. If she wants to use this opportunity to escape, that's her business. Ignore Rratu.

>>6059803
>Say nothing, and let Rratu do as she will

File: The Line Of Demons.png (4.11 MB, 1792x1024)

4.11 MB PNG

>>6060316
>>6060364
>>6060374
>>6061001

https://files.catbox.moe/3pvr6c.mp3

Would it be wise, or even kind, to leave the imp at the Demon King’s whims upon his return? Did you have any concerns of what he would—might—do to her? She would sit alone, waiting for his unpredictable return, and he would ask many questions.

“Rratu,” you called out into the room, “come out.”

Her silhouette wavered, little feet scuffling across the room, unlike you, nimbly avoiding anything on the floor. Sconces’ crimson fire flickered in her grey eyes as she emerged, her posture hunching under your gaze.

Her lips parted as if to question, but she halted, eyes snapping wide at the sight of Miranna.

Your iron gauntlet nudge her chin upward. “Listen, Rratu. Are you feeling well enough to walk?”

The imp swallowed nervously. “Yes, royal one … y-yes. I can resume my duties immediately—“

You lifted your hand to stop her. “No,” you said. “What you need now is rest. Return to your lodging and have a good sleep.”

She fiddled with the folds of her apron. “As your Highness commands,” she replied, casting a way glance at Miranna.

“Something wrong, imp?” the she-demon asked, her talons lifting and clicking together before resting on her armour.

“No! I was just … curious why the Demon King’s armour looks so different!” she said. “I’m aware it’s not my place t-to ask!”

Bowing her head, her eyes fixed on the reflection in the slate marble, her grey eyes the only feature visible; she curtsied. Her eyes closed, her hands trembling as she lingered in place, unsure if she could leave without a response.

“Next time we meet, I’ll be back in my usual armour,” you promised, your voice resounding. “Now, hurry and rest now.”

Rratu nodded, whirling around and then scurrying across the lit hallway, soon disappearing around the corner bend.

Miranna harrumphed, elbowing at your armoured side. “Well, that was all a colossal waste of time,” she said, stiffing a yawn.

You glanced towards the door, watching for it to shut … unsure of when it would, but not wishing be startled when it happens.

“Maybe not,” you said, turning towards her. “She told me some of the whereabouts of either of the Generals …”

You paused, reckoning whether you should ask Miranna about the Arboreal Witch. That was Lucia, was that not? Why was she a …

You gestured with your head at the distance. “You’re right that we shouldn’t squander any more time. Let’s go.”
Miranna peered at you suspiciously, then her features relaxed. Her cloak whipped into the air, morphing into wings and lifting her off the ground; it seemed that she had a genuine distaste of walking. You followed her through the winding passageways and vast corridors of the citadel, which seemed to to expand and grow ever larger, your one-room dwelling easily able to fit inside, and then be forgotten in the immense interiors.

It wasn’t long before you came upon a commotion: a line of demons, imps, and others demonkin, standing in orderly queue, one behind the other, chattering and waiting.

“Is that … is that normal?” you whispered, peeking behind the corner wall.

Miranna scoffed, then shook her head. “The prisons are that away, but there’s no reason for a line to be there.” She cracked her neck, the bones snapping loudly. “I’ll get them to scatter, hero. Then we can pass.”

> It’s best for a Demon General not to raise a commotion. Approach the end of the line yourself and ask what is going on, and what are they all in wait for?
> Let Miranna handle the line of demons … even if might it do in her own physical way.
> Stop Miranna and instead propose to fly you over the queue; who’s going to complain about General doing that?!
> [Write In]

File: Spoiler Image (3.69 MB, 1792x1024)

3.69 MB PNG

>>6060364
Steamed hams?

>>6061243
>It’s best for a Demon General not to raise a commotion. Approach the end of the line yourself and ask what is going on, and what are they all in wait for?

>>6061243
> It’s best for a Demon General not to raise a commotion. Approach the end of the line yourself and ask what is going on, and what are they all in wait for?

>>6061263
Well I've lived in the Cursed Forwst of the Demon King all my life, and I've never heard the expression "steamed hams"!

>>6061263
One of the cutest pics yet. I have my issues with AI but damn if it isn't fun some times.

>>6061243
> It’s best for a Demon General not to raise a commotion. Approach the end of the line yourself and ask what is going on, and what are they all in wait for?

>>6061346
>>6061412
>>6062490

https://files.catbox.moe/xoxryb.mp3

You halted her. “No, wait,” you said. “Let’s keep things calm, we don’t want the fact that you’re here near the prisons to reach the Demon King.”

She looked down at you and harrumphed, raking her claws across her armour. “Then what?”

You pressed the helm down, securing it more, cautious to lose it while speaking with a demon.

“I’ll try to find out what’s going on, first,” you said. “Then we decided what to do after that.”

“You’re ever so cautious, hero,” she drawled, flipping mid-air to hover upside-down, hair sweeping the stone floor.

How can you not be? You pushed your hand against your chest, inhaling the sultry air. “Just wait, Miranna.”

You heard her grumbling as you walked off, approaching the last demon in the queue. He towered over you by a head, his hair wild and bristly like a hedge of thorns, each quill long, sharp, and distinct in hues of brown, black, and white. A line, off-centre horn protruded from underneath the hair, adding more to his stature.

You lowered your voice, a growl resonating from deep within your chest. “What’s everyone waiting for?” you asked.

The demon turned, his stiff elongated spines rustling like decorative fronds. A single red eye surfaced from within.

“Are you unaware?” the demon asked, his pointed tail trailing the ground. “The Grub Hag is divining fortunes!”

The iron of your gorget chafed at your neck as you swallowed. “She always did that, had she not?”

The demon’s eye, veiled by the spiked mane, gleamed a red hue. “A personal prophecy, for every demon who asks.”

“A personal prophesy?” you echoed, to which the demon affirmed with a nod. “And how fast is the line moving?”

“The Demon King said he doesn’t mind us taking a respite from our tasks for this,” he said, not quite addressing your question.

You shifted your shoulders, turning to retrace your steps to where Miranna awaited.

“Are you not interested?” the demon probed, suspicion drenching his tone.

“Oh no, I’d -love- to hear what kind of prophecy she has for me,” you said, chuckling awkwardly. “I’ll come back right away.”

“If you hate waiting, you should, a lot of other demons will be here soon,” he warned, thought without real care.

You nodded briefly in thanks, rushing your stride to duck and turn behind the pillar and reunite with Miranna.

She shifted her head to the side, still flying upside-down, her eyes—a brilliant ruby—fixated on you.

“I asked. Apparently, the Grub Hag is telling everyone their own personal fortunes.”

Blinking, she repositioned and righted herself, gripping the edge of the wall and peeking around it. “She is?” she muttered

“That’s what they are saying.”

“Weird. It had been months since her previous prophecy, until the one she made today. It happens infrequently.”

“And those prophecies often involve the Demon King himself?”

“Most often than not, yes. And he insists on being apprised of each.”

“We won’t be able to see her with all those demons around … this will take all night.”

Miranna tapped her talon against her tooth. “I can find them some work to give you time, say there’s an invader.”

> Go along with Miranna’s plan. Have her cause a fake distraction, and then slip in to meet the Grub Hag.
> Give in, as there is no choice, and have Miranna use her statues as a General to skip the quaeu with you.
> Not much you can do. Go and leave the Citadel.
> Use the opportunity while you are in the Citadel to do something else.
> [Write In]

>>6062547
>Give in, as there is no choice, and have Miranna use her statues as a General to skip the quaeu with you.

File: Demon King's General 44-.png (3.7 MB, 1792x1024)

3.7 MB PNG

>>6062490
I'm just trying to use it for flavour, but yes, one of the fun uses is to put the character in any situation.

>>6062547
> Go along with Miranna’s plan. Have her cause a fake distraction, and then slip in to meet the Grub Hag.

>>6062547
>Go along with Miranna’s plan. Have her cause a fake distraction, and then slip in to meet the Grub Hag.

>>6062557
>>6062864
>>6063238

https://files.catbox.moe/4h73lw.mp3

You nodded. “Let’s do that. Provided we get away before Demon King finds out, we should be fine.”

Miranna flashed a grin and rounded the corner, soaring above the line of demons, her wide-spread wings drawing out the candle flames as they unfurled. Her sudden shadow cleaved through demons’ leathery flesh, capturing their attention.

“What are you all doing?!” Miranna yelled out, her voice shattering the jabber.

The demons turned one after the other, some expressing confused, others: fear.

“There has been a breach in the southern crenellations, fiends! See to your duties!”

The demons exchanged glances, the most demonic and towering of them questioning the she-demon. “Now? We haven’t heard—“

“Am I your General or not!?” she demanded, branding her talon towards the left side. “March and defend the citadel!”

The demonkin shared furtive glances, reluctant yet compelled, they started dispersing, their faces etched with uncertainty. Miranna remained aloft until the crowd of demons thinned out, then eyed your concealed spot and flashed a crimson wink.

She flew behind the imps, wraiths, foliots, and the devilings, vacating the corridor, leaving it deserted and strewn with scattered foot- claw- and hoofprints. You waited for seconds to make sure none of the demons lingered before stepping out from behind your hiding place. Leaning on the stone wall for support, as the helm was still a nuisance to deal with, you headed to the place where the queue was forming towards before.

You approached the entrance to the prisons: an arched corridor heavily reinforced by hammered wrought metal. Thick chains draped off the strained cracked ceiling in marred coils, the tangled links clattering with each step you took. The shadow-filled corridor you walked through was lined by feeble light, crushing portcullis barring the confinements.

Yet, the Grub Hag, or anyone else, for that matter, was nowhere to be seen. You took another look: the cells appeared utterly vacant. Was the line not meant to lead here? Had you made the wrong turn? Feeling your neck itching, but unable to scratch underneath the layered armour, you tilted your head back. A shadow crept above you.

> Pretend you did not see it and cautiously leave the prisons to look for Grub Hag elsewhere.
> Yell in the direction of the shadow, announcing that you are aware of its presence and demanding to show itself.
> Quickly find the nearest wall to lean your back against, not get caught off-guard, and prepare to be attacked.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 28-.png (3.92 MB, 1792x1024)

3.92 MB PNG

Uh oh ... you walked into the wrong neighbourhood.

>>6063905
> Quickly find the nearest wall to lean your back against, not get caught off-guard, and prepare to be attacked.

>>6063905
>Yell in the direction of the shadow, announcing that you are aware of its presence and demanding to show itself.

>>6063905
> Yell in the direction of the shadow, announcing that you are aware of its presence and demanding to show itself.

Fuck it we ball.

>>6063905
>Yell in the direction of the shadow, announcing that you are aware of its presence and demanding to show itself.
The most battle-ready thing about us is this mismatched, ill-fitting armor. We either avoid a fight or we die.

File: The Warden.png (3.08 MB, 1792x1024)

3.08 MB PNG

>>6064014
>>6064079
>>6064322
>>6064416

https://files.catbox.moe/gl5cv9.mp3

“I see you there!” you shouted, lifting your vambraces to shield your chin and throat. “Who are you?!”

The shadow flickered across the ceiling, wavering and changing before melting into the larger darkness. From there, a figure swooped downwards, guided by a fierce wind behind its bat-like wings.

“Who” —he breathed in— “am I?” he said, breathing out, plunging onto the rough-hewn prison floor, his landing stirring the sludge that filled the crevices between the stones.

“That’s the question … I will be asking!”

He rose, his wings as expansive as Miranna’s, though of a different look: leathery and webbed, stretching out like murky, weather-beaten drapes. They covered you like a roof, their jagged veins pulsing as if filled with scalding blood. His eyes burned were aglow with unsettling, red refulgence, his appearance distinctly male.

“Who” —again, he inhaled— “are you?” he ended, the final words leaving as he exhaled.

His face was pale, and his fangs, hooked and sharp, grazed his lower lip, trembling with apparent hunger.

You stepped back, tilting your head to align his silhouette with the slit in your helmet’s visor.

“What were you” —he questioned, his breaths punctuating his speech— “sent here for?” he finished, continuing to draw breath in the middle of his sentences.

You could discern a steel coat of mail and a blood-red chainmail, peeking beneath the armour, with cloth-wrapped wrists and a white featureless tabard, as well as padded leggings with iron platting, and hobnailed boots.

“For theft? Or for damage? Disobedience? Or maybe, disrespect?” he said, his voice raising as he brandished a heavy, curved one-handed axe lined with serrated, tooth-like edges. He gripped the bone-wrapped hilt, his fingers clenching around it.

“I don’t really care … at long last … I have someone to watch over!"

> Tell the demon vampire that you are here with the Nettle Harpy, so he best back off.
> Apologise, it seems like you made the wrong turn, you were searching for the Grub Hug.
> Slam his head with the top of your horned helm, and then see where will that lead you.
> [Write In]

>>6064822
> Apologise, it seems like you made the wrong turn, you were searching for the Grub Hug.
Woops, must have made a wrong turn at Albuquerque! Ended up in YouAndYourHusbando's realm!

>>6064822
>Apologise, it seems like you made the wrong turn, you were searching for the Grub Hug.

>>6064822
> [Write In]
"I was not 'sent here' by anyone, honored jailkeeper. I came to receive prophecy from the Grub Hag, you see, a commotion of fools were waiting above on the promise of exactly that. I simply came to investigate the veracity of such outlandish claims, they seemed certain enough of it to leave their duties derelict. Surely you know the truth of the matter?"

>>6065632
That's a bit flowery for Niklos but I'll use it, considering it works alongside the "> Apologise, it seems like you made the wrong turn, you were searching for the Grub Hug" prompt.

>>6064822
> Apologise, it seems like you made the wrong turn, you were searching for the Grub Hug.

>>6064832
>>6064835
>>6065632
>>6066253

https://files.catbox.moe/8p71wy.mp3

You cast your downwards to his axe, noting each meticulously honed scallop.

With a swallow, you said, “I wasn’t sent here by anyone, jailkeeper. I’m innocent of wrongdoings.”

“Warden Sarem,” he said, his breath drawing heavily. “And no one enters these prisons … by mere accident.”

“I assure you, warden Sarem, I assumed this was where the Grub Hag would be at.”

He pressed the axe’s dull end against your armour, shoving you backward.

Baring his vampiric fangs in a snarl, he questioned. “What business would that old crone be having -here-?”

A single slice from that axe, and you’d bleeding out to death. Again, you deepened your voice, feeling it begin to strain. “A row of demons had gathered above to receive a prophecy from the Grub hag. It seem they all bought into it and formed a line, waiting. I joined in with them, but it seems I ended up in the wrong place.”

He took a moment, then leaned closer, his sharp fangs catching the fleeting light.

“No demon came here … how did you arrive here … if you were following them?” he pressed.

“That” —you lifted your hand to drift above the tempered steel— “is not exactly right. This is where they told me to go, but evidently, I was deceived.” The barren walls echoed the vampire’s metal armour.

His bloodshot eyes narrowed. “You are quite easy … to deceive. You didn’t know … where the prisons were?”

You shook your head, your helmet clattering slightly. “I’m a new recruit, that is why.”

He bloodied you with his gaze, his tongue flicking across his fangs; he tightened the grip on his axe before ultimately lowering it. “It’s true that I … haven’t seen you before.”

The chains rattled in tone with your departing steps. “My apology for the disturbance, warden Sarem.”

He waited, but then with a piercing snarl that whistled through his teeth, he called out. “Wait …”

You halted at the base of the steps, not having it in you to turn to face him. “Yes?”

“She is delivering prophecies, you say?” Sarem thumped the axe against his shoulder. “I desire a prophecy as well.”

Was there a way to disinterest him? “Certainly, we can go together!” you said tentatively, not willing to provoke him.

The vampire brushed past you, setting his hobnailed boot onto the stone stair. He peered back, lifting and lowering the axe, as thought to contemplate a thought, slicing the air just a foot from your face, your horn-adorned helm reflected on the blade.

“It’ll take but a few minutes, at most,” he mused, turning his gaze at the empty cells.

You matched his height by taking an extra step. “Are you expecting someone to be brought here?”

The vampire demon tensed and flinched. “Arrivals are unpredictable and rare. And they don’t stay long.”

“Why is that?” you asked, beginning to make your way to ascend the uneven steps out of the foul-smelling dungeon.

“The Demon King is quite forgiving … of his servants’ failures. We seldom get one … who I was -asked- to kill.”

“And the humans?”

“The humans?” —Sarem inhaled within a laughter— “Never. No human ever entered … the Banefroth Citadel. No human has ever been imprisoned … in the Banefroth prisons. Do not speak of humans … before the Demon King, newcomer.”

Was the Demon King’s hatred for the humans that profound? You couldn’t say that you had experienced any of it personally—

Something fell from your leggings, clattering off the stone steps and rolling downwards before Sarem snatched it up.

It was the runic stone you happened to take with you from Miranna’s room—by accident—one that sang the magical music.

He recognised it too, lifting it close to his eye and lowering his tone. “This is Miranna’s,” he said, his eyes flickering crimson. “Why … do you … have it … demon?” His breathing grew tense but controlled.

> Let him know she's your sweetheart, your beloved, and it was a gift from her.
> Tell him that she gave it to you because the song was not to her liking.
> Claim that you found it on the ground and chose to pick it up on a whim.
> [Write In]

>>6066404
>Claim that you found it on the ground and chose to pick it up on a whim.
"Who is Miranna? Are you two... together?"

>>6066404

>>6066419
+1. She's a birdbrain who just handed thes eto us willy-nilly. She carries them around for battle music. It's all very plausible, methinks.
I suspect he's her brother, rather than a lover, but that just makes it funnier.

>>6066419
Supporting

>>6066404
>>6066419
Support.

He may actually fancie her, just because they both are flying demons.

>>6066419
>>6066483
>>6066559
>>6067801

https://files.catbox.moe/h642x1.mp3

“This?” You traced his gaze to the stone in question. “I found it,” you said, “lying on the ground; someone must’ve lost it.”

Sarem studied you, his eyes skimming across your form. “You want to tell me that … Miranna lost it?”

You brought up your shoulders, shrugging, ramping up your pace up the steps. “Who’s Miranna?”

His massive shadow drifted across the steps under your feet, his winged silhouette passing over your head. He landed forcefully, his studded soles cracking the stone as he faced you, his cold gaze lifting.

“You don’t know” —he wheezed— “who Miranna is?” he said, his voice laced with incredulity.

He pressed his hand against the wall, preventing you from passing.

“What kind of demon are you … to be ignorant of the Nettle Harpy?”

His suspicion grew palpable; you really couldn’t thank the helmet enough for hiding your expression.

“Oh … the Nettle Harpy? Of course I know of the Demon General,” you stammered. “I-I just didn’t know that other name.”

He looped the axe around your neck, reeling you closer. “No?”

“No,” you said, stiffing your panic. “I don’t even know what that thing does.” You eyed the stone with carved runes.

He gripped the rock, then tucked it into the folds of his tabard. “I’ll keep it. I’ll take it to her.”

You noted exactly where he stashed it. “Are you two … together?” you asked, long before feeling unsure of the question.

“Together we are not,” he said. “Nor are we friends. We are of the same blood.”

“I can see the resemblance.” You tried to nick your neck back, but the axe forbid. “So … um … the Grub Hag?”

“-I- will be going,” he said, before baring his fangs. “But you, demon trainee, I might yet incarcerate for thievery.”

“Thievery? I told you, I found it!”

“And that armour looks awfully familiar.”

“This is what I was given!” you said. “I’m telling the truth.”

“There’s a way for me to know that’s the case … I’ll need a taste of your blood. Let’s not make it painful.”

He leaned in. Was he going to take off your helm? Were his fangs strong enough to bite through armour? Would he smell Miranna on you? What was you suppose to do?!

> Pretend Miranna is standing upstairs, and call her out. Then rush up the stairs once Sarem is caught off-guard.
> Wait until Sarem reached for the bite, then seize his neck and head, and tumble down the stairs with his.
> Grab his arm and bite the hand holding the axe over your head instead. Use the opportunity to escape from him.
> Let him bite you, say it tickles.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 26-.png (3.92 MB, 1792x1024)

3.92 MB PNG

>>6066483
Good guess!

Relationship steps: meeting up with her relatives, check.

>>6067854
>Wait until Sarem reached for the bite, then seize his neck and head, and tumble down the stairs with his.
We've had a good record throwing demons off stairs

>>6067887
Secret technique: Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff no Jutsu!

>>6067854
> Wait until Sarem reached for the bite, then seize his neck and head, and tumble down the stairs with his.

>>6067854
>Wait until Sarem reached for the bite, then seize his neck and head, and tumble down the stairs with his.
It's a proven strategy!

>>6067887
>>6067890
>>6068418

https://files.catbox.moe/dslwyy.mp3

You feigned the pretence of surrender, lifting your arm and raising up your fist. The vampire welcomed it with delight, loosening the axe’s pressure against your neck before reaching for your collar. Wondering about his method, but seeing his confidence in his fangs, he simply moved to pierce them through your armour. As the metal collar gave way like thin parchment and his teeth sunk deeper, you took hold of his head and trapped his neck between the elbows. Arching your back, you fell backwards before Sarem could realised.

Your armour clanged sharply as you slammed against the steps, the blunt edges warping the steel; the weight of your fall jarred your grip, making you clutch the vampire even tighter. His bat-like wings, throbbing with reddish veins, stretched wide, the translucent leather creaking as it grew taut, beginning to lift you both. Leveraging the momentum, you lifted, barely, then pivoted and rolled over, forcing his wings to scrape and slam against the rough pitted walls.

Feeling the blunt strike of each step, you plummeted and rolled with Sarem locked in your grasp, him quickly joining in the agony, enduring half of it as which body got hurt switched with every turn.

The steps finished quick, the staircase being considerably shorter than the vaulting stairway of Miranna’s. Yet, it was Sarem who bore the final fall, his his striking the floor with a loud resounding bang, one that echoed through the desolate prisons.

Breathing heavily, you felt the sting and pain coursing through your even-more-than-before battered armour. Shaking your head to clear it, your legs trembling and unsteady, you pushed yourself upright with a jarred motion, using your wrist to push up the obscuring helmet. Sarem sprawled motionless at the foot of the stairs, his mouth agape—one of his fangs crooked and askew.

Had you unwittingly become adept at using staircases as a weapon?

> Carry the demon vampire into one of the cells, and find a way to lock him inside.
> Grab either the axe or the runic music stone (or both—specify) and then escape the prisons.
> Leave the vampire as he is now, and rush up the steps to search for the Grub Hag.
> [Write In]

>>6069353
> Leave the vampire as he is now, and rush up the steps to search for the Grub Hag.
>Take the axe and runic music stone, though.

>>6069353
>Leave the vampire as he is now, and rush up the steps to search for the Grub Hag.

>>6069408
>>6069534

https://files.catbox.moe/vu7sgc.mp3

You squirmed from pain, unable to reach beneath the armour to soothe the sore spots. You hoped not, as that would be quite esoteric, and you’re ending up hurting yourself as much as the demonkin you battled. And beyond the Citadel, towering stairwells were scarce … Why were you deliberating on this now? Sarem twitched; you retreated a step, making sure he was remained unconscious. Seemed so—but for how long? You had no reason to linger and find out.

He took something that wasn’t his to take, so you, with soft gesture, reached to his pocket and nicked Miranna’s etched stone. Your gaze lingered on the serrated axe before deciding to take it with you, to defend yourself against any other demon. Grabbing the bone-wrapped hilt, you hefted and heaved the axe, staggering momentarily before steadying yourself. You knew little of demon magic, but felt no trace of it here: no warding magic tried to drain your soul.

Was this act thievery? For sure. Did it count if the stolen good were from demons? You would argue. You were not a hero yet, not until the oracle of the Demon King validated the Nettle Harpy’s ill hunch. With every ascending step, you cast a look at the vampire to check, worried and ready for him to reawaken. He did not. Luckily, he wasn’t as sturdy as his sister; Miranna would not have been felled by mere stairs.

Exiting the prisons’ precipice, you returned into the corridor washed in scarlet-indigo hues, the magical light smouldering the shadows like damp powder. How would Miranna react were she to see you with her brother’s axe? You pondered this, as you scoured the spaces adjoining to the prison entrance. A small door, slightly ajar with its hinges misaligned, had you nearly miss it, but the scent of smoky herbs seeping through the door gap gave it away.

Pushing against the door with your shoulder, it opened wide, revealing a dimly lit descent into a clammy cellar; an abandoned one, with barrel indentations etched into the worn wooden floorboards, the casks long removed. A single candle, set in a holder with ornate obsidian base and sculpted leeches coiling around the handle, illuminated the musty mildew and the cobwebs.

Near the centre stood a solitary barrel, its staves warped and askew, yet miraculously left upright. Atop it, together with the candle, was a divination orb—not that you’ve ever came across one before, but it matched all the traits: crafted from an opaque gemstone, its surface, polished to a high gloss, marred with swirling white patterns, glowing and pulsating with the heavy, tired breaths of the figure beside it.

The embers inside the demon’s black pipe flickered, but you couldn’t quite make out her features.

> Take off your helm and present yourself to the Grub Hag. Reveal yourself to be human Miranna called prophesized.
> Walk up to the table, posing to be just another demon, and ask her to provide you with a simple prophecy.
> Stay hidden and observe from the shadows, waiting for her to act first. She must’ve seen you enter, right?
> [Write In]

> Should you lock the door behind you by jamming the frame of it with the axe, or should you keep it?

>>6070636
> Walk up to the table, posing to be just another demon, and ask her to provide you with a simple prophecy.
> Should you lock the door behind you by jamming the frame of it with the axe, or should you keep it?

File: Demon King's General 20-.png (3.27 MB, 1792x1024)

3.27 MB PNG

I apologize, and I shall return to often updates eventually, and most likely, shortly. I appreciate and thank you for playing and participating.

>>6070638
> Walk up to the table, posing to be just another demon, and ask her to provide you with a simple prophecy.
>Keep hold of the axe.

>>6070642
The pace so far is pretty good. You expecting a major delay?

File: Grub Hag.png (2.77 MB, 1792x1024)

2.77 MB PNG

>>6070641
>>6070713

https://files.catbox.moe/u9ltf3.mp3

You regarded the axe and the door, weighting whether to use it to jam the wooden frame. You chose to keep the axe, not because you were anticipating a battle with the Grub Hag, but because of how suspicious it would even look. You reached the end of the damp steps, your boots scuffing over the traces of the absent barrels as you approached the obvious presence. Stopping at the makeshift cask-turned-table, you brought your gauntlet’s fingers to hover above the cracked wood.

The senior, yet still distinctively feminine figure shifted, the hood settling back against her head. In the candled flame, her inky black skin gleamed, with her protruding hair formed out of long black tendrils. She lifted a hand above the orb, then exhaled, spiralling striation branching across her spidery fingers, her nails murky and sludgy-wet. Drawing on her herbal blend, she raised a weary eye amid the uneasy quietness.

“That was quick,” she said, her voice measured yet worn, firm yet raspy. “They said there was an invasion. A human.”

You gravelled your voice, pushing your throat into the metal collar. “Yes, they did,” you said. “Can I get a prophesy?”

She rubbed the pipe bowl against the tangled forelocks. “What is there to foresee? Tomorrow will mirror today for you, as it always does …” she said, sweeping her hand over the orb without sparing it a glance. Abruptly, her hand quivered.

“What? What did you see?”

She looked at you, her sullen eye nearly translucent. Taking another whiff, she shook her head, and tried once more.

And again, she froze, gripping the orb as if it were the skull of a loathed enemy. “Twice, I cannot be mistaking.”

“Huh?” you said, playing along. “Will I break my leg? Or lose out on my promotion?”

“Worse,” she said, her oily lips parting to unveil a double row of sharp, needle-like teeth. “You will be captured, beaten, and dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. You should not have come here.”

You gnawed your lip in frustration. “Is that all I’m going to get from you?” you asked, your voice raising like steaming pot.

“I only describe the visible,” she said. “The more I push, the more it muddles and clouds. Perhaps, ask a different time.”

> Wield the axe to shatter the divination orb, smashing it into pieces.
> Tell her you are here only to convince Miranna that you aren’t the hero. Ask her to assure you that you are not.
> Recall to Grub Hag what you remember of Miranna’s words, and request to hear more details on the real prophesy.
> Threaten the Grub Hag with the axe, demanding she provides more useful information on the prophesy.
> Insist that the Grub Hag reassess her prophesy and convinces the Demon King that she made a mistake.
> [Write In]

>>6070713
>The pace so far is pretty good. You expecting a major delay?
What I meant by that is that I hope to return to daily updates. There's no necessity for a break yet.

>>6071791
>Recall to Grub Hag what you remember of Miranna’s words, and request to hear more details on the real prophesy.

>>6071791
> [Write In]
>"I'm going to be 'dealt with swiftly and mercilessly.' A different time doesn't seem like a viable option."
>"How often are your prophesies wrong? Has one ever been avoided? Would there be any point in trying?"
Might as well get a second opinion

> Recall to Grub Hag what you remember of Miranna’s words, and request to hear more details on the real prophesy.
Whole reason we're here. If the Hag could assure us we weren't the Hero, she likely would have with that prophecy just now.

>>6072060
+1

>>6071791
I'm >>6069408 on mobile.

There's be a period of two days with no updates because I'm flying around. Any additional responses are still welcomed.
>>6072129
Hell, 6069408 on mobile!

>>6072060
+1

File: Prophesy Globe.png (2.75 MB, 1792x1024)

2.75 MB PNG

>>6071870
>>6072060
>>6072129
>>6073708

https://files.catbox.moe/abkr68.mp3

“A different time?” you exclaimed, throwing up your hands and flailing them above the divination orb and the barrel. “I’m going to be ‘deal with swiftly and mercilessly’, as you just said! A different time doesn’t seem like a viable option, does it?”

She took another draw from her pipe, sampling it like one would a caramel confectionery. “Yes. That’s true.”

“So I need all the answers now,” you said, thrusting out your chest. “Do you you know how difficult it was to get here?”

“I don’t think that is important,” she said, waving her pipe and allowing the glowing embers to fall onto the barrel’s wooden crown. “What I can say for certain is that you don’t have much time, so, go ahead and pose your questions.”

“You know who I am, right?”

She shifted her gaze away from glassy orb and sighed wearily. “Yes, I think. Having answered so many questions from the raucous bunch, what I want now is a moment of peace and quiet. Yet, their absence is merely temporarily, and here you are, disturbing the short-short break I lucked into getting.” She offered you the smoking pipe, but you refused it. “I know this much: you are a human, brought here by Miranna.” Her leech-like teeth caught the light of the candle as she turned her head.

“Since you’re not alarmed at all that I’m here, that means I’m not the hero of your prophesy, and she made a mistake.”

“I didn’t say that,” she cut you short. “But my genuine, far-reaching prophesies surface on their own, without force.”

“And now you’re tired.”

“I am tired,” she acknowledged, leaning onto her palm.

You sighed, squatting down beside the barrel and the crone with the glossy black skin. “And buzzed from your flowers.”

“No, those are to relax; otherwise, I’d be at my wits’ end,” she said.

“Whatever. I’m going to remind you of the prophesy,” you said. “One would appear soon to slay the Demon King and his generals,” you recited, echoing Miranna’s earlier words. “From the dirt, with a distinct mark. With black hair, brown eyes, chicken herder who smells like hay and lives on his own, with a weapon of great …” you paused, realising Miranna hadn’t specified.

“—of great insult,” she finished. “Meaning, something the King and the Generals will be insulted to be defeated by.”

“Such as?”

“The voice of the prophesy spoke those words. The vision showed the hero’s silhouette defeating the Mountain Eater with merely a dagger.”

Impossible for you. You waved your hand. “Tell me, how often are your prophesies proven wrong?”

She eyed you with her vacant, fogged-over eyes, opaque and devoid of gleam. “Those that come on their own … shouldn’t be.”

“So you can’t recall a single time when they were wrong?”

She shook her head. “That is the sole reason the Demon King keeps me at his side.”

“Am I the hero from the prophecy?”

"Does yourself align with the details in it?”

“Black hair and brown eyes are common enough,” you countered. “And every farmer tens to chicken and reeks of straw.” You struck your gauntlet knuckles against your steel hand. “Not as many live alone, but I know a few! I don’t have a weapon …”

The Grub Hag lifted her chin. “And the mark?”

“You could call anything a mark, couldn’t you? I’ve got a scar left by a wolf’s bite, and a bruise that’ll heal in a few weeks!”

“Well, it is true that you are missing a weapon … but everything else aligns and fits.”

You placed your hand over the crystal globe, the cask beneath it groaning and creaking.

“Just look into that orb of yours and see whether Miranna is wrong … or wrong.”

“That’s just for show,” she said, waving her hand above the sphere. “Visions come at random, or when forced to.”

“Then force them.”

“I wish I didn’t have to. The more I force the visions, the more exhausted I become, the less important and less clear they turn out.”

You lingered, then withdrawing your hand off the glass. “That’s the Demon King’s demand, isn’t it? But why?”

Her jagged teeth lifted and edged. “He wishes me wearied, so I don’t reveal anything else. Anything important.”

You stood up, striking your iron greaves—making them rattle a cacophony—and then slamming your arms down in frustration.

“Then all of this was a waste of time!”

The old hag eyed you sharply, rotated the pipe, and flicked the singed ashes onto the floor before putting it aside.
“Do you -wish- to be the hero mentioned in the prophecy?” she asked, neither with intent nor passion.

“No? No. Why would I? I don’t have any real beef with the Demon King. Nor the generals. Nor any demon.”

She probed further. “None have wronged you?”

You shook your head. “Not really, not anything that defeating them would remedy. Old king did worse.”

She hummed, picking up a design-rich cloth to drape over the globe. “You’re quite the peculiarity, human.”

“I don’t want be a ‘peculiarity’” —you kicked the barrel— “I want to avoid the prophesy. How can I convince Miranna?”

“One way would be for you to die,” Grub Hag said bluntly. “Another? Would be for you to lose to a Demon General, for a true hero of the prophesy would not.”

“How do those differ?”

“You might survive the latter.”

Sweltering and discomfort boiled up inside your helm.

“Once you are rested, could you get a vision with more details about the hero? Specifics that could help?”

“It is possible, of course, but merely that. However, I doubt the Demon King will allow me such leisure anytime soon.”

> Press her on. Ask different questions [what?] while you have the time … do you?
> Count her useless: you learned as much as she is willing to give. Escape before the other demons return.
> Ask why she is entertaining you while being the Demon King subordinate. Is she not on his side?
> Suggest if there’s a place outside the Banefroth Citadel you can take her to rest and replenish her prophetic powers.
> [Write In]

>>6072540
Thanks, for keeping us looped in, QM!

>>6074296
>Count her useless: you learned as much as she is willing to give. Escape before the other demons return.

Oh, hey, we're back!

>>6074296
> Ask why she is entertaining you while being the Demon King subordinate. Is she not on his side?

>>6074296
>Ask why she is entertaining you while being the Demon King subordinate. Is she not on his side?
"You said I was peculiar when I complained about the human king, but here you are complaining about the demon king. From one peculiarity to another, is there any way you can help me?"

>>6074313
>>6074314
>>6074315
>>6074365

https://files.catbox.moe/o59w3l.mp3

“What else can you possibly predict that makes the Demon King so anxious?” you asked.

The Grub Hag took a moment, her tentacled strands lifting and curling as if in a shrug.

“That is only his to know. Even I do not know what I could say. Perhaps he fears the details of his own demise.”

With a groan as your response, you lifted the metal helm up to your chin to let the moist air flow inside.

“Tell him he shouldn’t worry,” you muttered, before quickly adding. “I didn’t say that. Don’t let him know I was here.”

She angled her head, her neck curving like a writhing worm’s. “Nothing I say will interfere with destiny.”

“I wish you weren’t so self-assured of your powers,” you said, sighing. “You said I was peculiar, as I had complains towards the human king, yet here you are, voicing concerns about the Demon King.” You joined your gauntleted hands together, resonant clang emerging from the clap. “Since we’re both such peculiarities, is there -any- manner you could help me out?”

She looked in silence at the hollow-stemmed pipe, withholding an answer.

“Are you on his side, or not?”

“I am, of course I am neither a serf nor a thrall. Alerting him of your visit will not change what is fated.”

“Do you realise that this all doesn’t make a lick of sense? If I’m suppose to defeat him, how could I also be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly? Those two prophecies are inconsistent, they contradict each other, see? I’m not the hero, we can put a wax seal there.”

“Verily, you may be an inconsequential human who erred to come here. But my lesser prophecies you can avoid …”

The candle’s faint flame quivered, flickered, and then went out with a fading thread of smoke, plunging the cellar into darkness.

Wildly darting eyes from the pitch-blackness on either side, you stepped in to grope the outlines of the barrel, reining down.

“It’s reassuring to hear that, at least. I wouldn’t want such fate,” you said. “Listen, I’m sure you don’t want the ‘hero’ to end up slaying all the Demon Generals and the Demon King. You serve him, and you reside here; what would become of you and the kingdom if they all perished? Just like so. Help me out here, Hag.”