The demon did not look back, had he turned to check, he would see that his display of armour was shaking and buckling the knees.

> Remain unmoving and as still as you can. You’ll just have to struggle through it and pray that the barracks are close.
> Take a chance and test your range of motion while the demon isn’t watching. How restrictive are the rune’s powers?
> You can see his head clearly: lift Sarem’s battleaxe and bring it towards the demon’s neck before he figures you out.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 54.png (2.48 MB, 1792x1024)

2.48 MB PNG

> UPDATES?
Between daily and once per two days.
> PREVIOUS THREADS?
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=TPNMSTDGBHK
> MUSICAL SUMMARY OF THE FIRST THREAD?
https://files.catbox.moe/71bjdm.MP3
> OTHER QUESTS?
https://pastebin.com/raw/YJ2k1TuN

>>6081349
>Remain unmoving and as still as you can. You’ll just have to struggle through it and pray that the barracks are close.

>>6081348
> Remain unmoving and as still as you can. You’ll just have to struggle through it and pray that the barracks are close.
I don't like our chances without a flight of stairs to throw him down.

>>6081349
> Remain unmoving and as still as you can. You’ll just have to struggle through it and pray that the barracks are close.

>>6081349
>> You can see his head clearly: lift Sarem’s battleaxe and bring it towards the demon’s neck before he figures you out.

>>6081427
>>6081671
>>6082039
>>6082142

https://files.catbox.moe/1h7d06.mp3

Keeping one’s legs suspended and upright for a prolonged time is quite daunting; so you struggled. You held your body stiff and rigid, not knowing of when the demon might turn his head, and not willing to risk it on a moment of weakness. Frustratingly, as if to spit at and belittle your efforts, he hadn’t looked back even once. He made his way through the sprawling corridors and meandering passageways, pulling your suspended form along. He walked by the Grub Hag’s wineless cellar and then Sarem’s prison cells, taking you further and farther away from the rendezvous point you agreed on with Miranna.

Eventually, he broke his stride and halted, his armor clanging resoundingly in the stillness, the only other sound being the faint crackle of sconces and torches. He turned to his left, and you quickly realised where you were—the massive granite slab that sealed the entrance to the Demon King’s chamber. Waving his hand to let you hover in place and then settle down, he lowered his arm and stepped closer to the monolithic front.

“I’ve sensed the rune on here showing signs of disturbance,” he said, his fingers tracing by the edges and grooves of the slab. “I wonder” —he reached the stone’s corner and found his fingers sinking —“if one was trying to break into my lair, what for?” he mused out loud. “Those fire scars, only the Nettle Harpy could make them. But she is not the sort to steal …”

It couldn’t be! Was he?! You watched from afar, the other side, as the Demon King inspected the granite, a soft amethyst shimmer coming off his gauntlet, slowly filling up the runic incision. You were on the ground, pondering on your next move.

You pondered on the scant time at hand. A streak of white fur swept through your sight, and as you dared to lower your head, you saw Count Whiskers purring at the end of your sabatons. You had—reasonably—assumed that Miranna, after shoving you down the stairs, would’ve carried him back to her chamber and locked him inside. Had she not? Whisker’s purring grew louder, and he also began to claw at at your boots, for whatever reasons. Your breath turned cold; Whiskers, could you not?!

> Attempt to quiet Count Whiskers. Gently but firmly try to shoot him away without drawing the Demon King’s attention.
> Greet and then encourage Count Whiskers to sneak towards the Demon King to cause a distraction for you to escape.
> Grip the axe’s bony handle and prepare to strike if the Demon King takes notices of Whiskers standing there near you.
> With your armour weightless and fixed, grab Count Whiskers by stomach and start running back to where Miranna should be.
> Quickly and discreetly scoop up Count Whiskers and tuck him inside your armour to keep him quiet.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 56-.png (3.49 MB, 1792x1024)

3.49 MB PNG

>>6081671
We have to find them, the stairs, and quick!

>>6082583
>> With your armour weightless and fixed, grab Count Whiskers by stomach and start running back to where Miranna should be.

>>6082583
It's weird that Whiskers isn't afraid of the Demon King
>Just stand still and wait. A cat clawing at an armor doesn't mean anything

>>6082583
>Grip the axe’s bony handle and prepare to strike if the Demon King takes notices of Whiskers standing there near you.
lol. lmao.

File: Demon King's General 55-.png (3.35 MB, 1792x1024)

3.35 MB PNG

>>6082603
Maybe Whiskers is just Mirannaphobic.
>>6082652
roflmao

>>6082603
>Support
We must bide our time and hope we find a flight of stairs long enough along the way. Also, did the grub hag intentionally put us in his path? That bitch.

>>6082583
Assuming Miranna wouldn't be a callous bird-brain? Bold assumption, MC...
> Quickly and discreetly scoop up Count Whiskers and tuck him inside your armour to keep him quiet.

>>6082589
Kek!

>>6082603
Cats are evil by nature, so it checks.

>>6082600
>>6082603
>>6082652
>>6082863
>>6082955

https://files.catbox.moe/dl05ue.mp3

You could not hiss or shoo Count Whiskers away—the Demon King would certainly hear that. You stayed still, letting the white cat to continue scratching at your boots, waiting for when the Demon King might leave you alone or passes by a long stairwell …

“Meow,” Count Whiskers purred, coiling around your foot, his head nudging the metal, the tail sliding and brushing along it.

With the purplish runic engraving in full glow, the stone slab started shifting and grinding against the threshold, creating the passage to the Demon King’s chamber. He let go of the doorplate, traced his fingers along the scorched edge, then pivoted his head, his gaze fixing on your—making you flinch and stiffen—before shifting his gaze down to your feet.
“Meow?” he echoed the sound Whiskers had made.

Spotting Count Whiskers, he lifted his hand, the rumbling door slamming open behind himself and coming to ceased, heavy halt.

Surrounded by the hanging dust, he questioned. “One of those lowly human pets … how did you get here? Who brought you?”

Count Whiskers trilled at the Demon King, his claws leaving scratches before he crouched down between your sabatons, barely peeking out, his vivid blue eyes fixed on the demon.

“I’ll find out later,” the Demon King said, lifting his chin and all his six horns with it. With a hand suspended in the air, he inscribed an airborne rune. “You’re allowed to stay, furry thrall, but you’re appearance needs to change. Stay still.”

He briefly held his hand in the air before slicing it downwards, hurling the rune to where Count Whiskers had made his cover. A violet streak whisked by your feet; Count Whiskers leapt away from the projectile, which slammed and glued itself into the floor instead, fusing with the stone beneath it with a loud burst.

Whiskers sauntered away from your feet and veered left, his head down, ears perked, and tail wagging and twitching. Meandering about, he fixed his eyes upon the Demon King, the black figure reflected in his sky-blue pupils. The Demon King snorted, his breath rumbling like a bull’s, and drew a new glyph. He flung it towards Whiskers again, and yet again, the cat had agilely dodged it.

Turning in his armour, his shoulderplates rising and chiming, the Demon King’s gaze crossed with the cat’s—or so you reckoned. His fingers snapped rapidly as he conjured a new row of runes; he cast them as if skipping flat stones across a lake, and Count Whiskers nimbly avoided each one. The runes slammed into the streaked slate floor, the squared ashlar, and the basalt pedestals supporting adornments of all kinds, hitting everything but the cat.

The tiny runes glinted and shimmered in sync with the candles, embellishing the corner like spilled embers and coals. The Demon King stopped, flicked his fingers at your direction, and elevated you up off and above the floor, the violet-pink glow highlighting the metal surface. You hovered closer to him as he lifted his arm, raising you into the air.

“Your dexterity impressed me, creature,” he addressed the cat, then glanced at your armour. “You had admired this display of armour? Then so be it: it is yours.” He closed his fist and twisted his wrist, as if preparing to throw you at Whiskers.

> Yell out to the Demon King that you, a demon, is inside the armour, and he shouldn’t be tossing you around.
> Call out to the Demon King that you are within this armour, and plead that he doesn't throw you.
> Begin making utterly ghastly noises and unsettling sounds in the hope of startling the Demon King into dropping you.
> At first, let the Demon King throw you at Count Whiskers. Once you had landed, prepare to run and escape.
> [Write In]

>>6082955
But Whiskers is white, fluffy, and good!

>>6084193
>Let out a silent, but deadly fart to distract the Demon King

>>6084195
All cats are great. No cat is good. This is the truth of cats.

>>6084192
>dodging the demon king like it ain't no thing
Whiskers is a better cat than most, admittedly.

>>6084200
+1 if we can do it on command. Otherwise...

>>6084193
> At first, let the Demon King throw you at Count Whiskers. Once you had landed, prepare to run and escape.
No way Whiskers can't dodge our goofy ass, especially if we start flailing as soon as we're released to throw off our trajectory.

>>6084193
> At first, let the Demon King throw you at Count Whiskers. Once you had landed, prepare to run and escape.

>>6084193
>[Write In]
Swang that thang

>>6084193
>> [Write In]
>>Apologize, you got nervous and remained motionless back then.
>>You are a body-hijacking suit of armour and your mismatched nature was because of the natural err, battle that comes with.
>>You are very thankful for this tune-up
>>You promise to tell no one that a human-pet is able to dodge the king of demons
>>Marianna found you in a ditch. She likes shiny things which is why she has a closet full of armour

File: Demon King's General 45-.png (2.96 MB, 1792x1024)

2.96 MB PNG

>>6084605
Interesting write-in. Anyone care to share their thoughts?

>>6084867
I think if we try this, he'll figure us out in an instant if he's not a TOTAL idiot. But it would be funny.

>>6084867
My monstrous demon general can't be this cute

>>6084605
>>6084867
I’ll back it. I’ll even add some more if he asks questions
>We can be taken apart, but it makes us feel really sick if done for too long.
>It took us a while to put ourselves back together when Marianna brought us in. We’d really appreciate not being thrown and scattered since we’re not over that part entirely.
>We don’t want to impose any further. What would the easiest way out of the castle be while we’re avoiding falling apart for the next several hours?

My Fated Slayer Can’t Be This Polite!

>>6084867
Will change from >>6084539 to support >>6084605
Addition of we lost most of our pieces before Miranna found us, but we were able to integrate pieces of her collection. To explain why we are so mismatched.

>>6084605
Oh that's smart. I'll back this

>>6084605
>>6085138
>>6085230
We'll go with this, then. Apologies, no update today. What do you mean by body-hijacking suit of armour? A demon spirit or like some poor demon was consumed by the armour?

>>6085614
the armor is the demon, the demon is the armor.

>>6085692
>the armor unironically can't do shit by itself, it has to wait for a human to wear it.
>no, demon's don't get affected because duh they are demons

>>6084195
>>6084200
>>6084492
>>6084496
>>6084539
>>6084605
>>6084891
>>6084940
>>6085138
>>6085230
>>6085351
>>6085614
>>6085692
>>6085694

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

Your armour trembled with the twitch of his hand.

“Hold, delay that!” you said, trying to imbue your voice with an ethereal echoing. “Royal one, the great Demon King, don’t go throwing me.”

His vast cape fluttered behind him before settling and and coiling around him; he snapped his head back, his helmet’s dark grille lifting slightly.

“You have been there this entire time?” he demanded, turning his spindly body and gesturing with his hand to draw you closer. “You demon … ”

You raised your hands and shook your head. “I’m not,” you contended, desperate to convince him otherwise. You were thoroughly mired here, with not much of a choice left but to improvise. “I’m an armour of my own will,” you claimed, “a demon spirit which possesses the metal.”

He seemed to inch you closer, trying to peer through your visor, Whisker’s sudden mewing interrupting his scrutiny.

He kept you afloat with his demonic sorcery, almost imposing the heavy, oppressive silence. “That cannot be so … ”

You swallowed, surrendering to the fact that he had found out—

“I had rid this Citadel of all the haunted armours months ago after what happened,” he yelled, slamming you to the ground and then lifting you up again. You bit down hard to stifle the pained cry. The armour warped, but immediately fixed itself. He took you at your word, but it hardly felt much of a victory, as the blunt damage from the floor didn’t heal the same way the armour’s did. “You best offer a worthy explanation.”

“O-of course,” you heeded. “My trepidation kept me from speaking, your majesty. A Demon General of yours found me in a ditch, reduced to nothing but a helmet. I must’ve been left behind by the rest of my brethren during the time of our banishment. I can’t say whether it was pity or not, but she took me in” —what were you even saying, you came up with this stuff on a whim!— “but she did, and she repaired me up using all the mismatched pieces of armour she had. I connected with them all.”

He focused on your tale, being not as talkative.

“From those traits, it likely was Miranna,” he said, finally. “It fits, it what she -might- do. Did she conceal you from me in her chambers?”

“I don’t know what she sought after, maybe a sparring partner?”

“She was aware that I had banished the haunted armours to their own enclave,” he said, reiterating, squeezing and unclenching his fingers, your plate and mail twitching with each motion of his fist. He exhaled, less annoyed and more resigned. “Well, it’s not new for her to defy me so; typical of her impulsive breadth.”

“I’m not going to impose. I know we well deserve our exile. I implore you, royal one, let me leave now that I am in one piece, fixed by your grace.”

He snapped his fingers, causing both runes to erase off your armour. As the inscriptions faded, your fell to the ground, landing on your boots.

“Fine, you might as well act as a courier and relay a few messages as well,” he mused, briefly eyeing the entrance to his chamber. Whiskers’s purring drew his attention back as the cat prowled over your arched trembling frame.

“That human’s thrall seemed enamoured by your presence,” he noted coolly, as if becoming wary. “Bring it to me, demon.”

“Are you going to hurt him?”

“Absolutely not,” he assured. “I’ shall let it stay, in a different form.”

> Trust his words and pick up Whiskers to no cause any more suspicion; hand him to the Demon King to avoid conflict.
> Describe to the Demon King exaggerated stories of the annoyance cats cause, and advise that it's best to remove it.
> Carry Whiskers toward the Demon King, 'accidentally' tugging its tail so that the upset cat springs from your arms and runs off—or so is the plan.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 57-.png (3.89 MB, 1792x1024)

3.89 MB PNG

I used a hodgepodge of different suggestions but we passed our [bullshit our way out] test so far.
>>6084891
The Demon King is NOT an idiot.

>>6086336
>Trust his words and pick up Whiskers to no cause any more suspicion; hand him to the Demon King to avoid conflict.

>>6086336
> Trust his words and pick up Whiskers to no cause any more suspicion; hand him to the Demon King to avoid conflict.
Lying to us would be beneath him, since we're just some dumb, cowardly armor-ghost.

>>6086336
>> Trust his words and pick up Whiskers to no cause any more suspicion; hand him to the Demon King to avoid conflict.
Our cat is gonna be heavy metal after the demon king is done with it. Hopefully it will remember us...

>>6086336
>Trust his words and pick up Whiskers to no cause any more suspicion; hand him to the Demon King to avoid conflict.
Demons... not bad?
democratic demon victory lfg

>>6086878
>Demons... not bad?
Eh, they happen to eat humans here and there but who doesn't

File: 'Evil' Count Whiskers.png (3.09 MB, 1792x1024)

3.09 MB PNG

>>6086349
>>6086667
>>6086688
>>6086878
>>6087461

https://files.catbox.moe/uhtf42.mp3

Whiskers twined around your legs. Resolving to trust the Demon King at his word, you stooped low and extended your hands towards the cat. Despite the armoured attire and the demonic miasma clinging to your garments, Count Whiskers recognised you. He scaled onto your leather-clad palms and rested his chin upon your wrist. Cradling him against your chest, you approached the Demon King. Whiskers’ stared at the king of demons and bared his fangs.

Lifting his hand above the cat, the Overlord traced a jagged sigil, the flickering pink-hued glow glinting in the depths of his and Whisker’s eyes. Rather than slamming it downwards, as he did with those on the floor, he let it drift down softly like a falling snowflake. You held Whiskers in a tight embrace, as he eyed the rune as thought it were a bird.

The rune alighted upon his fur, burrowing into it like a mite. Whiskers’ eyes widened, and he struck out with his claw at the Demon King. The ‘royal one’ showed little concern, with enough safe distance between them, meeting the cat’s gaze without flinching. He widened his fingers, and the magic began to weave its hold, lavender streaks cascading over Whiskers like slivers of sunlight.

Whiskers neither recoiled nor hissed: it seemed like the magic was not causing him any physical pain. From the roots of his fur, a black ripple burgeoned, hastily turning the white coat into a chaffed black one. Like a sunset sky, his pupils seared and bleed from pristine blue to crimson red. Whisker’s tongue stretched out, splitting at the end into a serpentine fork. Barbed spines sprouted around his neck, forming a collar-like ring. Flanking the rune were folded leathery wings pressed against the shoulders, the fur covering their tender membranous bones.

“You won’t be an eyesore,” the Demon King said, retracting his hand and stepping away. He then turned towards the entrance of his chamber, resting a hand against the stone-lined doorway.

Uncertain, you lifted Whiskers by his armpits, the Count looking back at you with his new red eyes. He playfully tapped your visor with his paw, seemingly still recognising you. Phew.

“I’ll draft you and the rest of the haunted armours a directive, that you’ll deliver, as well as the map of where their enclave is.” He stated, matter of fact. “Whether the human’s thrall chooses to accompany you or stays, concerns me not.”

Before entering, he paused. “When last did you seen Miranna?”

> Tell him that your memory is a haze and you can’t remember much of anything. Perhaps several days ago?
> Inform the Demon King that you have seen her just recently, and she was on her way to meet up with him.
> Tell the Demon King that you saw her earlier today at her chambers, and that she flew away to somewhere
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 53-.png (1.16 MB, 1792x1024)

1.16 MB PNG

> You can ask the Demon King additional stuff if you dare, like why he exiled the armours or is Whisker’s form permanent.

>>6087461
Maybe some of them do ... is it permitted by the big D?

>>6087908
>Tell the Demon King that you saw her earlier today at her chambers, and that she flew away to somewhere

>>6087908
>Tell him that your memory is a haze and you can’t remember much of anything. Perhaps several days ago?

>>6087908
> Ask about the armour exile
> Tell him that your memory is a haze and you can’t remember much of anything. Perhaps several days ago?

>>6087908
> Tell the Demon King that you saw her earlier today at her chambers, and that she flew away to somewhere

>>6088075
>>6088437
>>6088472
>>6088478

https://files.catbox.moe/3yh9xq.mp3

Your blinked wide at his question, then looked aside.

“I saw her earlier today,” you said, still clutching Sarem’s axe. It was a sort of truth; you’d already said so many lies, it was unwise to layer more atop one already told. “Where I was kept, where she resides, in her chambers. She departed in the early hours, and she spoke not a word to me.” You lingered—feinting contemplation—then added, “She used the balcony, if that’s of any importance.”

The Demon King nodded solemnly as he entered his chamber, gesturing with his fingers to illuminate the chamber you’ve only seen in shadow. It was clean, yet cluttered, with many pristine objects and rich relics, each neatly shelved or set throughout the roomspace. He made way to the grand bed, stopping and leaning to smooth his plated palm over the lavish velvet quilt, straightening it. He adjusted a pair of pillows, setting them in a neater layout.

You noticed again the draped cheval mirror; your saliva thickened in your throat … were Lucia to reemerge, she would expose you, you reckoned. To your relief, it seemed that she no longer was on the other side of it.

“So she left,” the Demon King finally said, his eyes sweeping the sanctuary with a scrutinising gaze. “I had sent an imp to summon her, but neither had returned.” He pressed his hand flat upon a sheet of parchment paper atop a table inlaid with dusky-twilight gemstones, searing a geometric design on it. Words in cursive yet demonic script began to self-write.

He lifted the parchment by its corner, the flowing characters continuing to form even as he held it.

“I’m fine with errors, but if one want things executed properly, one must handle them … personally.”

The concluding dot shimmered as the writing completed itself, folding into a square. He advanced to offer you the ‘letter’, only to hold it just out of your reach. He shook his armoured head and pulled back the letter. He peeled back the rune as one would an old wax seal, and traced a fresh, hallowed rune as its replacement. Infused with new magic, the edges of the parchment curled, and then, like dragonfly wings, began to flutter and soar.

“There’s no need to carry it, or a map, simply follow it,” he said, as the flying letter zipped past you, its ‘wings’ twinkling with demonic arcane.

He turned his back at you, the metal fringes of his heavy cloak clanking against the marble floor in a rhythmic and loud cadence. You nodded, following after the shimmering trail left by the fleeing letter.

The Demon King stayed within his chamber.

Count Whiskers, looking much more like a demon yet with an unchanged cat-like demeanour, followed closely behind. Passing through the now-recognisable emptied hallways, having to walk back and forth the same way. As you both rounded a corner, a windlike shadow swept above you. Shrouding your view with her enormous raven wing, her obsidian plumage smelling like freshly churned air.

“Where did stray to, hero?” her familiar voice rang. Miranna lifted the wing above to smile at you with her skewed teeth.

> Allow the letter to drift away to stop and talk with Miranna; there’s little use to track its flight.
> Attempt to trap the floating letter between your palms—not to squeeze and crush it, but keep it locked in place. Then talk.
> Chase the letter at a fast pace while engaging in dialogue with Miranna, not losing it out of sight.
> [Write In]

> How much do you want to share with Miranna?

File: Demon King's General 47-.png (3.32 MB, 1792x1024)

3.32 MB PNG

Apologize for the break and silence, was in a bit of a malaise. Not much of an excuse but ... yeah.

>>6091248
>Allow the letter to drift away to stop and talk with Miranna; there’s little use to track its flight.
>Everything

>>6091248
>[Write In]
Throw whiskers at it. Perhaps his new wings will give him hunting skills enough to catch enchanted parchment.

Tell Miranna everything, hurry back to the Grub Hag to see if there's still time to fulfill her request.

>>6091248
> Attempt to trap the floating letter between your palms—not to squeeze and crush it, but keep it locked in place. Then talk.

>>6091249
No worries, QM. Been there. You okay?

>>6091248
>Allow the letter to drift away to stop and talk with Miranna; there’s little use to track its flight.
>You will tell her everything
We got an awesome armor now... and I forgorr, did she saw the axe already? Yeah

>>6091311
>>6091492
>>6091624
>>6092869

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

You waved for Miranna to pause, then shifted your attention to Whiskers. Crouching down, your armour clattering with unrest as you ran your hand over his black fur, careful not to disturb the Demon King’s rune. He purred in pleasure.

“Looks like you’ve got a set of wings now, Whiskers,” you said, shuffling them. “Go on, try them out” —you encouraged, nodding towards the enchanted letter— “Think of that as a chick. Do not shred it … -he’ll- probably notice. Just try and interrupt its flight, else, just follow it.”

Whisker’s arched his back, the bones in his new wings popping as they stretched out and then straightened, each sinew and feather shifting into place. He crouched low, his irises narrowing as he targeted the parchment fly.

He leaped upwards, his unfurled wings dragging limply behind him. Whisker’s stomach grazed the floor before he regained his footing, paws sliding as if treading on ice. He tried another leap, his wings catching enough air to hover for a moment, but not enough for a true flight.

“He looks different,” Miranna intoned, her red gaze following the bewitched letter and Whisker’s struggles.

“He was changed by one of Demon King’s runes,” you said, watching Whisker’s struggling to maneuver his new wings. You turned to her. “I didn’t leave that spot for no reason,” you added, and proceeded to recount the events that had happened in her absence in thorough detail. She took it in.

“He mistook me for one of those haunted armours … I’ve had to lie about you sheltering ‘me’,” you said, giving in more details. “That letter there is his work, bound for their enclave with orders, but I’m not sure what.”

Pausing, you added. “Do you know what were they exiled for?”

She waved her claw in the air and clicked her tongue. “Haunted armours, indeed; not that I bother to keep up with all the drama in those walls, hero, but I think it had something to do with their inability to get along with the other demons in here.”

You reached under your helm to scratch at your collar. “I see. Well, that matters little. We won’t be going there anyways …”

Miranna smirked. “You’re the future ruler, after all. That choice is all yours.”

“I told you, I’m not—“

“—since you saw the Demon King, why didn’t you just strike him down right there?” She cocked her head, hovering close enough to punt at your shoulder.

“—and I won’t. Are you mad? I was entirely at his eccentric mercy. Is there anything he -can’t- do with those runes of his, Miranna?

“No, they are rather versatile,” she said. “I’ve seen him do some incredible stuff, like trapping wayward demons in canvases, or shrinking a catapult’s boulder so he could catch it. Once he stripped an entire forest bare its leaves to make it easier to find the human King’s forces.” She laughed. “But, hero, you are the prophesied one. That was your moment.”

You decided to ignore her.

“Is this his innate magic? Is it something he can just -do-?”

Miranna lifted her head and scratched at her chainmailed neck with a rusted blade. Tiny eyes, one each of a rat, rattlesnake, hare, hedgehog, goat, fox, protruded like brambles on the handle.

“It’s his powers, for sure. I don’t think it’s an artefact or a borrowed magic” —she blinked, realising and offering you the blade— “Oh, here’s that knife you asked for.”

Were those eyes real? You held the knife by its hilt, slipping your fingers around it to steer clear of the eyes. Yet, you brushed one it was hard to tell if they were with an iron glove.

You had Sarem’s axe on you all this while, but neither the Demon King nor Miranna paid notice to its one-of-a-kind design?

“I found this axe,” you said, deciding to broach the subject.

Looking over the serrated blade with a red-tinted scrutiny, Miranna nodded. “Can’t say you get much of a use from this one, hero, but if you’re finally feeling ready to start slaying some Generals … ”

“Do you recognise it?”

Miranna knitted her brows, puffed out her cheeks, and swirled an imaginary chew in her mouth. She exhaled with a sharp breath.

“No; looks like a senseless design. If you want a good weapon that can cut heads, I’m sure one is hereabouts.”

You shook your head. “No, let’s go find the Grub Hag.”

Upon returning back to the cellar’s bypassed entrance, where the Grub Hag was put to divine in damp darkness, you paused just around the corner. Two imps bickered and squabbled in front of the broken door, each vying to be the first to slip through.

Miranna claw’s sunk into the stone, scraping the surface.

“I thought my order was clear,” she hissed, visibly annoyed.

> Let the vexed Harpy deal with her own subordinates, thought at some point its going to get obvious even to them that something is amiss with how she’s acting … right?
> If there are demons here already, that means they gave up. They’ll only search for so long for someone who isn’t even there. Suggest to Miranna that you leave; you can figure out what and how the knife is to be used on your own.
> Suggest to Miranna that you knock them one each from behind.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 51-.png (3.46 MB, 1792x1024)

3.46 MB PNG

>>6091492
I really liked this Write In. That's right, [Use Pet]!
>>6091624
I'm okay, it's just your regular old weltschmerz.
>>6092869
Well, I wouldn't call it awesome armour ... it's just repaired.

File: Demon King's General 58.png (3.3 MB, 1792x1024)

3.3 MB PNG

Bump.

>>6092925
> Let the vexed Harpy deal with her own subordinates, thought at some point its going to get obvious even to them that something is amiss with how she’s acting … right?
From all I've seen this is pretty much how she acts normally. Well, more annoyed than normal.

>>6092925
> Let the vexed Harpy deal with her own subordinates, thought at some point its going to get obvious even to them that something is amiss with how she’s acting … right?

>>6092929
I know that feel bro. Or sis. Who can say?

>>6092925
>Suggest to Miranna that you knock them one each from behind.
Don't have time for this

>>6093958
>>6093973
>>6094302

https://files.catbox.moe/kcpk6i.mp3

Miranna fixed you with a gaze, thought it seemed not an ask for a permission. You flicked your hand, and she stretched out her wings to soar towards the two demons.

As they caught sight of her, they gasped, stunned yet still entangled at each other’s grasp and armour. Miranna unfurled and lifted her claws, fiery sparks cascading from her splayed talons. The air heated into flames as she swept it above the imps, yelling something indiscernible. The imps looked exchanged a look, then faced her, and answered—or was it a grievance?

Miranna heard them out for less than a second, before letting the fire dwindle and die and grasping both by their chests. She wrenched them apart, lifting them both momentarily before tossing their short forms to the ground. She pointed down the long corridor and snapped an order; the imps scattered.

You waited to make sure it was safe and then emerged from hiding, approaching Miranna by the cellar’s door. Hovering, she locked her arms and slitted her eyes.

“They dared to argue with me,” she said. “It’s not my fault they can’t find the intruder.” She briefly closed her eyes before flashing a smile. “You’re right there.”

You tugged on groaning hinges. “Yes, and the longer we linger, the likelier the chance they’ll succeed with that. I’ve already run into more demons I ought to have.”

“And no harm came!” Miranna beamed, her wings magically folding into a weathered shawl as she alighted on the threshold.

You sighed and shook your head, choosing to delay recounting your meeting with her vampiric sibling.
“I’ll stay here, in case more disobedient demons approach,” she said, half-tossing half-handing you the remaining items: the candles and the smoking herbs.

You slapped at your neck, nodded, and then stepped inside, the damaged door swinging half-shut behind you. Candleless dark made trudging through the cellar an arduous task, and silent Grub Hag gave no guidance. Still, few things cluttered the cellar for you to trip over, and you found your way to the barrel she sat at. She lifted her cloud eyes like a leech stirred to life.

“Here’s the knife” —you placed the knife on the barrel— “and here are the herbs and candles.”

She regarded them over before taking the smoking pipe by the mouthpiece and shank with her spindly fingers, scraping it along the barrel lid to gather the leaves. Pressing the mush inside with her nail, she held the pipe to her lipless edges. “You brought something to light it?”

“No,” you said. “You didn’t ask for it.”

“You should’ve.” She set the pipe down.

You pointed at the door, or where it ought to be in the dark. “I can call the Nettle Harpy to light your smoke, the candles, and everything else.”

A moment of silence lingered as the Grub Hag considered what you said. “Maybe just the pipe. Later.” Her crooked nail traced the rusted blade. “This will answer your queries, by its own; it does not require my powers.”
Her hand seized the edge of the barrel’s lid and pried it open, then withdrawing a live rat by its tail with the other. Alive, the grey vermin struggled. As she released the lid, she pit the struggling rodent atop it, stilling it from writhing by digging her fingers onto its neck.

“Carve it in a single stroke,” she said. “And it’ll give you a clue on what to do to achieve the what you are want to. But ask it, in silence, in your mind.”

The rat’s dark eyes pleaded for mercy.

“Even if it’s against your prophesy?” you asked.

“It’s not for me to dictate … you chose to defy fate.”

> Swallow your hesitation and carve the rat as the Grub Hag instructed.
> Take the knife but refuse to kill the rat. Say you’ll do it when you have time to think on how to form the exact question outside Banefroth Citadel. There will be rats.
> Offer the knife to the Grub Hag and tell her to do it herself. Let her ask the question on your behalf.
> [Write In]

> If you do cut the rat, what’s the exact question you want answered? ‘What am I suppose to do for Miranna to leave me alone?’,’What should I do for Demon King to leave me alone?’,’What can I do so that Miranna stops thinking I’m the prophesied one?’? Or some different way, or a different question?

>>6095430
> Swallow your hesitation and carve the rat as the Grub Hag instructed.
>>Query: How can I survive these demonic shenanigans and live safely to a ripe old age?

>>6095430
>Swallow your hesitation and carve the rat as the Grub Hag instructed.
Ick, but I'm sorry little one
>Which course of action grants me the best odds of survival out of this mess?

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>6095447
>>6096860
I'm going to roll for the question!

>>6095447
>>6096860

https://vocaroo.com/19Zdh6ZYjldo

You gripped the knife and let the mold-laden air coat against your throat. Glancing back at the rat, you whispered a silent apology and raised it above the trembling creature. Its beady-eyed flicked towards you as its pimply tongue darted out, just as the rusted edge pierced into its matted fur. The rat’s glossy eyes quivered, its eyelids sagging into a cross-like shape.

“Which course of action grants me the best odds of survival out of this mess?” you pondered in your head.

You let go of the knife, and one of the eyes on its handle—the rat’s—blinked open and stared back at you. You were cast in fresh new layer of darkness, deeper than before, erasing even the Grub Hag’s presence. A rapid, flashing vision came: like a reflection in a mirror, you saw yourself, slightly crouched before a person wearing farmhand’s clothes. Miranna’s distinct shadow stretched over the coarse dirt. Unmoving. ‘Who was you’ motioned at the farmer, hands moving up and down. Your words echoed like the tolling bells: ‘See? He’s the prophesied hero, not me!’

As sudden as it came, the vision lifted off, returning Grub Hag’s leech-like form to visibility. The eye clouded, the lens turning rigid and solid; it dropped off the hilt and rolled over the lid like a round pebble.

“Is that it? Hey, give me another one!”

“Something interesting?” the Grub Hag murmured, her voice low.

“It gave me an answer, but … “

She leaned in closer. “Not one to your liking?”

“No—“ You bit your lip. Just damn another one, was that it?!

The Grub Hag scraped her finger across the lifeless rat, the dull blade, and the eye-adorned hilt. “You still have answers to get: five.”

“Well, I’m not going to find those in this castle, am I?”

Your eyes shifted to the sealed barrel in vain hope, but the Hag simply picked the rat, curved and twisted the knife to avoid seeping its blood, tossed it into the shadows behind her, and offered you the knife. “You are picky for someone on the edge.”

“Fate’s being unreasonable here too,” you said, scoffing. “Do you want me to ask Miranna to light the pipe and candle, or not?”

She closed her eyes, their pale whiteness vanishing in the darkness. “No, leave it be. Maybe they won’t bother me if it’s like so.”

> Do you have anything left to do in the Banefroth Citadel?

> You’re done here. Get Miranna to use the nearest window to leave this castle behind. Only then you can decided what to do.
> Your hunger is fierce. Maybe you can swipe a quick snack?
> Lucia’s image doesn’t leave your mind. Why did she appear in the Demon King’s mirror, and why did she appear as young as you last seen her? Breaking into Demon King’s quarters twice is absurd and dangerous … But go for it regardless.
> Get back with Whiskers and follow the magical letter to the hamlet of the exiled haunted armours. You don’t have much pathways to follow and set mark on: not your village, and not the castle.
> [Write In]

>>6097199
> Your hunger is fierce. Maybe you can swipe a quick snack?
> Get back with Whiskers and follow the magical letter to the hamlet of the exiled haunted armours. You don’t have much pathways to follow and set mark on: not your village, and not the castle.
As good a lead as any. Maybe we can grab food on the go?

>>6097199
>You hungry

>>6097199
>> Get back with Whiskers and follow the magical letter to the hamlet of the exiled haunted armours. You don’t have much pathways to follow and set mark on: not your village, and not the castle.

So our best chance is to find the real hero.

>>6097217
>>6097358
>>6097361

https://vocaroo.com/1ERCmSD6QGyE

You placed the key in front of her, then lifted the knife off her cold, layered fingers. Clutching an axe in one hand and the dagger in the other, you pivoted to face the Hag.

“I’d ask you more, but you seem reticent with your answers.”

“You lack the luxury of time to wait until I’m rested—wherever that’ll be, human,” she said. “Denizens wish to hear their prophecies … but no one appreciate those that are honest and true.”

“I like them specific,” you said, withdrawing from the barrel to step towards the door. “The vague ones are annoying at best.” Pausing, you turned and pointed a metal-clad thumb at your chest. “If you’re going to force a prophecy on me, don’t make me riddle over it.”

You pulled at the nonexistent doorknob, managing to pry the door ajar, but before you swung it open fully, the Grub Hag’s detached voice coiled off the soggy floors and damp stone walls.

“Heed a clear one: a clash soon comes that you cannot avoid.”

Spitting out empty air, you flung the door open and then slammed it shut behind you, the hinges buckling and then snapping, causing the wooden door to twist off its frame. A faint twitch creased Miranna’s feathery eyelashes; she took a soft step back, pushed her hands against her sides, and peered at you.

“Are you satisfied now, hero?” she asked, hey smirk laden with smugness. “Now that it’s all affirmed —she clapped her palms, red-hot embers flying from within— “let’s deal with the Generals.”

You brought your hands up to the visor, inadvertently striking the metal with the pommels of both weapons. Despite your assertions, she continued treating you as the prophesied hero; she didn’t listen. Was the vision revealing that there’s an actual true hero out there? Or … to avoid your problems and rid yourself of Miranna, it suggested you scapegoat an innocent farmer? Your question was clean and simple, yet … What -was- it implying?!

You drew a harsh breath, unsure of your next move with Miranna. Hunger gnawed at your stomach, and you lifted a gauntleted hand, unable to quiet it. You turned to Miranna with a pleading gaze.

“Can we grab a bite first?” you said.

She pondered for only a moment before breaking apart her palms and taking your hand in hers—her keen talons weaving above your knuckles—tugging you along.

“I know just the place,” she promised.

As you were yanked, she pulled you ahead—your muscles straining, skin turning taut, and veins growing dark blue. Ahead of your protests, she halted at a wall, a door, the height and width of a chest, turning visible once she shifted a movable alcove in the stones. She lifted the small door from the bottom, motioning for you to crawl through before she followed suit.

A mingling of sugary honey and salty tang surrounded you as you squeezed through the tight space, falling onto your knees and hands before finding the right spot to stand up. Miranna kicked the entrance shut behind her, her finger igniting up like a candle, her long, sharp finger burning like a wick.

The flame filled up the corridor, revealing wax-preserved arrays and stacks of wooden shelves pressing at you from each side. Varying cheeses weighted down each shelves, varying in shape, size, and colour.

In the cramped confines, Miranna nudged closer, her breastplate pushing into your helmeted face as she plucked a scarlet-hued wedge off the highest shelf, lowering back to the unfurnished wooden floor to stand mere inches from you.

“You can eat any cheese here, hero, but I suggest this one,” she said, holding it near your face. “Hellbeckon, is -my- favourite, though,” she said, grinning, revealing dark gaps between her teeth. “And the best part about it?” A loose flame encased the topside of her hand. “It’s superior when melted. Would you like to try?” She offered, extending the possibly fiery treat.

> Thank her but decide on picking the cheese to eat yourself. Start searching for the most normal-looking piece of cheese there. The place is tight so you’ll have to squeeze around Miranna a bit.
> Agree to eat the aged Hellbeckon cheese, but in the form it is—not melted. Take the cheese off her palm and then eat it.
> Let Miranna to melt the cheese and feed it you herself. She is obviously thrilled about it, and what do you have to lose?
> Talk with Miranna. [About what?]
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 48-.png (3.27 MB, 1792x1024)

3.27 MB PNG

The vision was suppose to imply that Niklos would have to frame another person, but it can also mean finding the real hero. It fits both.

A few questions, if you don't mind. Feel free to ignore.
1. Do you listen to the music provided when reading? How well does the music fits the scenes? What was your favourite so far?
2. What is the one thing, besides the update schedule (I know, I know) I can do better or improve upon?

>>6098759
>Let Miranna to melt the cheese and feed it you herself. She is obviously thrilled about it, and what do you have to lose?

>>6098759
> Let Miranna to melt the cheese and feed it you herself. She is obviously thrilled about it, and what do you have to lose?
> Talk with Miranna. [About what?]
>"Whose storeroom is this?"
>"How did you become a Demon General?"

>>6098759
1. Not usually. This music seemed to fit Miranna's chipper mood rather than our somber one but maybe that was intended.

>>6098759
> Let Miranna to melt the cheese and feed it you herself. She is obviously thrilled about it, and what do you have to lose?

This shit is going to be super spicy, isn't it?

>>6098759
> Let Miranna to melt the cheese and feed it you herself. She is obviously thrilled about it, and what do you have to lose?
Just remind her to keep it at a temperature that's not going to scald a human mouth. Birdbrain might forget we're not a hellspawn.
+1 to >>6098856's questions, too.

>>6098763
>1. Do you listen to the music provided when reading?
I often reply on mobile, so only sometimes.

>2. What is the one thing, besides the update schedule (I know, I know) I can do better or improve upon?
I wouldn't mind a liiiittle more forward momentum, but we seem to be getting there now!

>>6098882
Probably. If we're lucky. Can birds even taste spice?

>>6099098
>Can birds even taste spice?

No. Niether can cats if I recal.

File: Hellbeckon.png (3.56 MB, 1792x1024)

3.56 MB PNG

>>6098775
>>6098856
>>6098882
>>6099098
>>6099106

https://files.catbox.moe/sml7qz.mp3

You wrestled with the confines of the tight space, the bulkiness of your armour making it hard to avoid accidentally touching Miranna. Your gauntlet struck her elbow, then pressed against her arm. She didn’t budge, as if not noticing your touch.

“If you’re offering,” you said, shifting your arm to set it atop of the shelf, it fitting firmly onto the featureless, dust-laden stone. “Though, please, not too hot. I’m a human, not a demon. I don’t know much our stomachs differ.”

Pressing her wrist against the iron of your chin, the she-demon nudged your helmet just enough to unconceal your lips, the flame from her nail hovering intimately close, heating the metal skull. With your visor lifted, you could only see what was below your nose: her clawed palm and the melted cheese on it.

“Fear not, hero, I know the perfect meltiness to have it at,” she assured, holding the cheese close to your lips. “It shan’t burn.”

The warmed wedge bubbled over the scarlet casing, embedded specks within crackling and sizzling through the churning amber layer. You opened your mouth to bite a chunk of it, the rich and creamy substance flowing as smooth and effortless as water.

You sensed a sharp tang, a vivid blend of hot spices and unknown demonic ingredients heating your veins and stirring your mind, as well as cleansing your mind. As worry took hold, the stronger warmth eased and cooled. Cold wasn’t a bother, but with it gone entirely, you felt well rested, even unpleasantly so; your warmed blood plead for action.

Miranna chuckled, licking the remnants of the cheese from her palm. “Seems you weren’t too put off by it, hero.”

Feeling hot in the armour, you asked. “Is there magic in it?”

“It just cheese,” she said, sounding almost amused.

You wiggled your arm again to grasp the helmet’s edge and lift it off, seeing Miranna at inch-closeness without the visor obstructing more than half of her. Her amber glow bather her pale features, her glowing eyes and ruby freckles reflecting the fire like sparks in a forge left lantern-less.

You were -too- close. You leaned your head to give yourself space. You face reddened, likely from the Hellbeckon’s effect.

“Whose storeroom is this?” you asked, avoiding her gaze.

Miranna reached for another wedge of cheese, her breastplate barely missing your face by the inches you just made as she moved.

“One of the imps repurposed this unused space,” she said. “They aren’t favoured enough for everyday meals, but now and then, everyone likes a bit of cheese now and then.” She paused, waving the wedge like a crosier. “You want to try one the King likes?”

“No, if there’s a bite in his cheese he’ll punish some innocent demon,” you said, declining with a head tilt.

“Why concern yourself?” she prodded, leaning in further, her knee landing on your head. “And it won’t even be ready for another year.”

You felt her sharp knee, layered in iron, pulling at your hair. “A year?”

“Ugh! I know! And that’s with magic! I -love- Hellbeckon, but it takes eight months to mature! Who has the patience for this?”

You ducked beneath her, bracing your hands under your thighs and above both your knees to squeeze and turn in the corridor.

Feeling the body’s heat, you said, “Don’t you feel hot in that armour?”

She stared at you, and you couldn’t quite tell the expression.

“I-I mean, with the cheese we just ate, it makes you feel hot, doesn’t it?”

She shrugged her pauldrons, her finger poking throgh a blue cheese. “Not particularly … Are you feeling hot, hero?”

> You don’t want to lose conscious here, as unlikely as it is to happen, you better not risk it. Ask her to help you remove the armour. You’ll be leaving the Citadel soon, you won’t need it.
> Admit that you are overheating. With Miranna’s approval, squeeze out of the cheese cellar to catch in some fresh air.
> Lie and say that you’re feeling only a little bit hot as well. A hero would not struggle just because he ate some cheese.
> [Write In]

>>6098856
It's an upbeat lighthearted moment, so in a way, it was intended yes.

>>6099098
>>6099106
There was spice. Do we need more?

>>6100144
> You don’t want to lose conscious here, as unlikely as it is to happen, you better not risk it. Ask her to help you remove the armour. You’ll be leaving the Citadel soon, you won’t need it.

Strip! Strip for the birdfu!

>>6100144
> You don’t want to lose conscious here, as unlikely as it is to happen, you better not risk it. Ask her to help you remove the armour. You’ll be leaving the Citadel soon, you won’t need it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeZZr_p6vB8

>>6100144
>Admit you’re getting toasty

>>6100161
>>6100199
>>6100619

https://voca.ro/12JZE2b3p21F

“Somewhat,” you said, pulling at the collar of your cuirass: the rigid metal was secured too tightly to shift or loosen. A bead of sweat trickled down from your eyebrow along your cheek, almost evaporating. “I think one bite was enough” —you jostled the wobbly armour— “You’re right, it’s uncomfortably hot in this armour.”

Miranna nibbled the cheese wedge until only a tiny morsel remained, then popped it into her mouth to finish it off. She licked clean the melted cheese clinging to the narrow gaps of her plate glove, brandishing a spotless glistening claw afterwards.

Miranna raised a brow. “So, you want to shed the armour?”

You wrapped yourself, knocking your elbows against the shelves, the cheeses sliding and wobbling. “You’d rather they weren’t damaged, even if you don’t fit, right? It’s a tad difficult to maneuver here, but I’ll try the remove the pieces by myself.”

“Don’t fret.”

She slipped a talon under your pauldron, her nail snapping through a strap before a flare of heat seared the rest of the fastenings. The pauldron slid off, landing on the untreated wood below. Miranna slid her other claw into the remaining shoulder guard and smirked, pulling you closer as the snaps and charred sizzle echoed filled the cramped space. “I’ve told you, hero: those were the pieces unsuitable, or which didn’t fit. They’re unimportant.”

Swallowing, you nodded, feeling another piece of armour get loose. Miranna let her talons trace along your side, scratching the metal cuirass. “This I’ll need to burn off in sections,” she said, humming, stating it as a plain fact-as a forewarning. “It’s all this hassle why I seldom remove my own armour.”

“Not sure you can wash yourself without doing so.”

Her fingertip burned as she began tracing a line across the chestplate, her ember-red nail sinking through the iron as thought it were snow. “I typically just plunge into a lake, or fly through a rain cloud. Works just as well.”
Striving not to move too much and risk her accidentally scorching your skin, you asked, “You’ve never taken a hot bath?” You had … the count reaching dozens.

“It takes too long to heat up a lake,” she said, “and the hot water isn’t good for my wings,” she added. “Never really understood the appeal.”

Miranna made a swift cut across your chest, sending half of the metal torso clattering to the floor. She sharply sliced the remaining portion across your shoulder, lifting it over your head and throwing it down the long corridor. Leaning back, she clapped her hands, letting the embers drift in the air.

“Is that better now?” she said.

With nothing but the thin tunic shielding your skin, the rich, sour air settled on you like a balm, soothing the sudden whiplash of heat. “It is, yes,” you said.

The she-demon gestured towards your belt and greaves with her hand. “So you don’t need me to get rid of those?” she asked, pulling her talons back to her chest.

Miranna … it did not feel like she mocking or teasing you; her question was unambiguous, even so, there was some concern and care. Care for you for all the wrong reasons. She wouldn’t care once she found someone else to fit the hero’s shoes, you’d be left on your own, as you wanted.

She fluttered her hand in front of your face and grinned.

“I assume that’s a no?”

> In a half-joking manner, tell Miranna that if she’s going to be your ally she’s going to have to take baths. At the first chance, you’ll see it happen.
> Try and reach for the top shelf and then grab the Hellbeckon cheese. Show your thanks to Miranna her skilful removal of your armour by offering to feed her like she did you in return.
> You still have your pants underneath the greaves. You don’t plan to fight, and even if you do, the heavy armour will only get in the way. Agree to let Miranna help remove the rest of your armour, but plea her to be careful!
> [Write In]

Thanks for your patience.

I want to upload music to catbox but it keeps dying on me.

>>6102003
> In a half-joking manner, tell Miranna that if she’s going to be your ally she’s going to have to take baths. At the first chance, you’ll see it happen.

Stinky birb girl bath. Bath, bitch bath!

>>6102003
>>Try and reach for the top shelf and then grab the Hellbeckon cheese. Show your thanks to Miranna her skilful removal of your armour by offering to feed her like she did you in return.
cute

>>6102003
>You still have your pants underneath the greaves. You don’t plan to fight, and even if you do, the heavy armour will only get in the way. Agree to let Miranna help remove the rest of your armour, but plea her to be careful!

>>6102003
> You still have your pants underneath the greaves. You don’t plan to fight, and even if you do, the heavy armour will only get in the way. Agree to let Miranna help remove the rest of your armour, but plea her to be careful!
> In a half-joking manner, tell Miranna that if she’s going to be your ally she’s going to have to take baths. At the first chance, you’ll see it happen.
She already ate the demon-cheese, after al.

>>6102003
> In a half-joking manner, tell Miranna that if she’s going to be your ally she’s going to have to take baths. At the first chance, you’ll see it happen.

>>6102018
>>6102041
>>6102043
>>6102187
>>6102245

https://files.catbox.moe/xdbg41.mp3

You followed the trail of her gaze, and after a short swallow, you nodded. Underneath the greaves and the heavy armour, you still had linen trousers; any piece of armour would be a hindrance, expect perhaps the sabatons, chapping at your now-bare feet.

“Let’s get rid of them as well,” you agreed, lifting your arms to keep them clear of her blade-sharp talons.

Miranna flashed a grin, her claw descending to the layered plates and ridged bands encasing your shins and calves. Her finger, aglow with heat, sank into the metal like a curved hook.

“Be careful, if you could? Maybe refrain from using the fire?”

She traced her nail around the thigh-high metal, pressing deeper into the iron. “Like I’ve said before, hero, I know what I’m doing.” Drops of molten metal trickled and cooled on the tongue of your boots.

They were sharp enough without the heat, Miranna! You sighed, thinking of something else to busy your mind with.

“If you’re going to be my ally, you’d better start frequenting hot baths,” you said, a smirk tugging at your lips, lifting your eyes away from the hissing red-hot claw and the oily plumes of smoke. “Believe me, Miranna, they are worth the effort of it.”

The tight metal cracked and split, freeing your legs as sliced and heated pieces snapped off and fell, the buckles shattering to let the rest come loose. Miranna stepped back, sweeping her claw triumphantly through the air.

“See?” she boasted with a cocky tilt of her head. “As for the baths, I suppose I might—

Her irises shrank. You caught a whiff of burning. Alarmed, you stared down at your linen pants, a single perching ember turning into a flame. The fabric smouldered and shimmered, the fibres glowing and curling like wicks as the flames grew, forming a burning ring around your nethers. You slapped at the flames licking your skin, the heat-scorched fabric sputtering under your palms.

In hindsight, it was evident—just as evident as it was how quickly and easily linen starts burning—that this only serve to spread the hot ashes, embers flaring forth and scattering, the voracious blaze eating at the cloth.

Miranna leapt at you, her body pressing against yours as she slid her hands under your belt and—with one powerful pull— tearing away your pants, her nails grazing your calves and drawing blood. You reached for her arms as you began to fall, your back hitting the wooden wood, pulling her down with you. In a swift motion, the Nettle Harpy scrunched your burning fabric into a makeshift fireball and hurled it above you.

You grimaced, watching Miranna’s face illuminating by the burst of explosion and flames, her heavy greaves pining you down as she inhaled a deep triumphant breath. She stared at you, her eyes twinkling red as she looked you over. Then, she averted her gaze, covering her eye with her palm … parting her fingers just enough for a furtive view.

After the silence stretched for too long, you let out a resigned breath. “Thanks. I’m naked now, aren’t I?”

Miranna closed her fingers, the gleam of her eye vanishing.

“You are, hero,” she said, still sitting atop you. “I’m sure I can find you some pants, thought I’m not sure if they’ll be your size.”

> Pose lightheartedly if she can bring you some that are fireproof this time. If not, you’ll be fine with oversized pair.
> Ask if she might fashion you a pair of undergarments by welding the pieces of armour together. You’d rather aim straight to the first window you’ll see once you leave this cheese alcove.
> Take off your tunic and cobble together a makeshift loincloth out of it.
> [Write In]

> Tease Miranna, did she plan this along: setting your pants on fire by accident just to get them off? Stand up nonchalantly.
> Don’t say anything else, unless you say or act in a way that’ll make the situation worse or make you look unhero-like.
> Warn Miranna to be careful next time: those are some dangerous flames, and she is very careless with their use.
> [Write In]

>>6102187
>She already ate the demon-cheese, after al.
There was more! She and you only ate a wedge, so about 1/6.

>>6103413
> Take off your tunic and cobble together a makeshift loincloth out of it.
>Let it go, and reassure her it's fine. We knew she was a bird-brained pyromaniac when we let her pants us. Mistakes were made on both sides.
Don't say the mean parts out loud, though.

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>>6103413
> Pose lightheartedly if she can bring you some that are fireproof this time. If not, you’ll be fine with oversized pair.

Haha fucking ha.

> Tease Miranna, did she plan this along: setting your pants on fire by accident just to get them off? Stand up nonchalantly.

Fuck it.

>>6103413
>Pose lightheartedly if she can bring you some that are fireproof this time. If not, you’ll be fine with oversized pair
>Tease Miranna, did she plan this along: setting your pants on fire by accident just to get them off? Stand up nonchalantly.
Make lemonade out of the lemons. It'll at least be funny to see what colour her face goes.

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>>6103413
>>Take off your tunic and cobble together a makeshift loincloth out of it.
>>Don't say anything else

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6103439
>>6104219
> Take off your tunic and cobble together a makeshift loincloth out of it.

>>6103487
>>6103871
> Pose lightheartedly if she can bring you some that are fireproof this time. If not, you’ll be fine with oversized pair.

>>6103439
>>6103487
>>6103871
>>6104219

https://voca.ro/18vH0YvRncP0

You held the hem of your tunic and slid it over your head, looping the sleeves around your waist to then fasten them into a sturdy knot.

“We’re risking it staying in this castle,” you said, making sure the makeshift-kilt covered your parts. “This will suffice, at least for now. I’d rather be a bit cold than be captured.”

Miranna grin widened as she stood from stomach, her gaze lifting to take in both the shelves and the ceiling. Stepping over you, she reached up on her clawed toes to snatch another cheese wedge.

She lowered to touch you with one. “Wouldn’t want you to be cold, hero. Let’s take some; since it seems it will keep you warm.”

You brushed the bits off your chest, eyeing her sideways. “What, after setting my pants ablaze by ‘accident’ just to get them off, you’re now planning to lick your favourite snack off me?” you teased, rising to your feet and waiting for her answer.

Miranna smirked, as if unfazed. “It makes no difference to me whether you defeat the Demon King naked, while wearing pants, or in armour.” She snapped off a piece of Hellbeckon and flicked it at you, looking at her nail after. “Thought maybe you shouldn’t wear anything flammable near me.” —her eyes twinkled mischievously alongside her crooked grin— “You struggle with the heat.”

It had a sting of a jab, making you pout. Rolling your eyes, you nodded towards the low door, and she—visibly pleased with herself—swiped it open with her foot, just as she had closed it. She crawled through on all fours, and you trailed behind her, returning to the sconce-lit corridor of Banefroth.

Pausing briefly, Miranna tucked the cheese wedge inside the cavity of her chestpiece, clapping her hands together and then dusting off her knees. She then looked to a massive arched window embedded within the heavy stone wall, its blackened grilles twisted like iron vines. The segmented twilight-hued glass fractured the cloud-veiled moonlight struggling to penetrate.

Stepping towards it, Miranna swept her clawed hand underneath the the ragged black coat, the arcane within morphing the fibres into feathers. Grasping the latches hidden beneath the wrought ornamentals, she pried the window open, pushing the two panels wide.

“Since you’re not planning on fighting … where to, hero?”

> Not yours, but a different peasant village somewhere b—
> If Count Whisker’s went after the letter, then the enc—
> You have more questions so, a forest for another anima—

https://voca.ro/1iEL2pL7oXHr

You pondered, but a massive sulphur eye—pupil patterned like head of a daisy flower—appearing outside the window interrupted all your thoughts. The partially visible head to which the eye belonged slowly rose, the scaly green skin and matted brown hair coming into view. Her bushy eyebrows, resembling unstopped mossy growth, arched up.

“Mountain Eater,” Miranna said, her wings blooming behind her.

“Hello, Harpy!” the Mountain Eater, as Miranna named her, greeted, opening her jagged-toothed mouth at the window. Long and curving ivory tusks jutted from beneath her cheeks she spoke in deep, throaty voice, booming with unmistakable joy.

The giant leaned back, causing the walls to the tremble: the dust pouring off the stone slabs as if she was clutching the castle’s walls. She was. Her abyssal green muscles bulged; untanned patched hides crudely wrapped around her waist, barely enough to cover the ribbed abs of her stomach. A capelet of lamellar plates, made from flat granite and obsidian stone—each as large as your hand—dangled around her shoulders and chest.

“Of course the King would call for you as well!” she boomed, pressing a round boulder to her cheek. “Think you can wait, Harpy?”

Miranna glanced at you and then back at the giant. “If you want him to yourself, be it so. I was just about to head out—”

Mountain Eater’s eyes widened as she shook her shaggy crop cut overgrowth of hair. “Listen, listen! The guards have said that a human broke in?! I’m helping them look; the King will surely reward me!”

Spotting you, her tone shifted and rolled.

“Oh… You’ve caught him already? Listen, I’ll take him off your hands! Claws! You can go, the King will be pleased, and I’ll get my kiss—we all win!” Her gigantic hand crashed through the window like a hurricane-tossed tree, the frame bending like dry twigs, glass exploding outward in a hailstorm of shards. Her four stubby fingers burst further through, chilling winds pouring inside. Her ivory nails, cracked as thought gnawed on, stretched out at you.

> Try your best to roll out of her way, brandishing both Sarem’s axe and the knife to prepare for a fight!
> Avoid it as best as you can and hope that Miranna will be there to grab you and fly out of her reach.
> Use the knife you got from Grub Hag to stab inside Mountain Eater’s nail, aiming to make it very painful.
> [Write In]

>>6105296
>Use the knife you got from Grub Hag to stab inside Mountain Eater’s nail, aiming to make it very painful.
Dropping her from a wall is kinda akin to dropping her from stairs, isn't it?

>>6105295
> If Count Whisker’s went after the letter, then the enc—

>>6105296
> Use the knife you got from Grub Hag to stab inside Mountain Eater’s nail, aiming to make it very painful.
Retrieve our cat and vamoose! Now!!

Update will be tomorrow.

>>6106364
Alright, thanks for the heads up, QM!

>>6105296
> Use the knife you got from Grub Hag to stab inside Mountain Eater’s nail, aiming to make it very painful.

>>6105325
>>6105335
>>6106513
>>6106529

https://voca.ro/1lG4NTtBO43h

Leaning away, you turned the twisted blade and placed your hand atop the myriad of vermin eyes on its hilt. As the giant’s hand reached out to envelop you, you caught sight of the nail bed and swung to pierce the knife through the yielding skin.

Mountain Eater’s fingers flung open, either from pain or your hubris, lifting you above the floor along with her palm, shaking it as if trying to rid of an ant. You tightened your grip on the hilt and drove it deeper, shedding a trickle of her blood. She lifted her hand higher and then threw it down, dislodging the blade and sending you flying through the hall.

Your back slammed against something solid—Miranna’s chest. She caught you by the elbows, her wings hovering still as if petrified.

“I’ve got you!” she said, shifting her claws for a firmer hold.

The giant slammed her hand further, her fingers breaking through the black marble as she dug in for a firm hold. She pulled herself in, her shoulder bashing against the wall, tremors rippling through the interior, the sconces quivering like one— their flames smothered by the swirling dust. Mountain Eater’s head pushed through the shattered window, her tusks scraping the stone floor and crunching the glinting glass beneath.

She couldn’t fit through without widening the fissure …

Miranna looked at you, silently questioning whether to keep up the charade? You returned a short but hasty nod, looking away.

Her claws dug in just enough to steady you without cutting into your skin.

“I’m going to bring him in myself!” she yelled through the wreckage haze at the other Demon General, her wings flaring wide to capture the winding air. “I was the one who caught him, so it’s only fitting I get to do it!”

“So you want his kiss?!”

Mountain Eater’s bellowed as Miranna took off and soared away. Her wings beat above the ground, each furling drowning out the ricochet of she-ogre’s chase. Darting around the turnpikes and corridors, you and Miranna caught sight of a window facing the opposite side of the Banefroth Citadel; she eased you down to the ground and let you slide, then lowering herself as well to work on the hinges that kept this window shut likewise.

A voice came with a shadow. “There you be” —the vampire breathed in, his webbed wings grazing the floor before snapping open, the veins pulsing like fresh burns— “the thief—!”

Sarem’s bloodshot eyes widened. He pointed a nail towards your throat, his pale lips parting to reveal a crooked and cracked fang: your doing. “You were … a human? I knew you were a suspicious knave!”

You backed away as he stepped the distance, the clang of his steel coat mingling with the scrape of his boots against the granite floor.

Miranna shook her head, a strand of her ashen hair slipping as she turned her ear to the new voice. Pausing on her fiddling with the lock, she looked back.

“Wait, Sarem? You were in Banefroth?”

“Sister?!” —the vampire shifted his attention from you to her— “What are you … doing here?” He wheezed, gasping out one word and then choking over the next. “What do you … mean? Of course I … was here. I’m the Warden … of the prisons!”

“The prisons are in use?” she said, tilted her head innocently.

“Yes and there … will be demons there soon to jail!” Sarem insisted. “And what are you doing … with the human here?” With a sharp exhale, he sliced the air with his hand just inches off your face. “Do you not see … that he is holding my axe?”

Miranna glanced quickly at the bone-hilted saw-edged weapon in your grip. “That is yours?”

Sarem tensed, a loud crack of his bones echoing as he balled his fists.

“I showed it to you … when I had it made! Sister, do you not remember?!”

She scratched her neck and shrugged nonchalantly. “No … Yeah? Maybe?” She leaned against the glass, her wing lifting to wave him away. “Anyways~ Sarem. I’ll be delivering the human to the Demon King now. We can parley at later hour.”

Sucking in the air with a hiss, Sarem latched onto the axe, his fingers wrapping just above your grip. “I don’t think that is what … you are doing, sister. There is a quicker and easier … way to the throne room. What is … happening here?”

> Put the knife in your loincloth and grab the axe with both hands, then sway and push Sarem back, and then towards yourself to use the momentum to try and smash the window with the weight of his body and armour.
> Let go of the axe and apologise for taking it. Try and convince Sarem that, indeed, you broke in and were captured by Miranna—all of it is true.
> Nudge Miranna to engage in a conversation with her brother while you take her place in unlocking the window while she is keeping him distracted.
> Declare aloud that you have earned the axe to challenge Sarem. Keep him busy while Miranna works the window latches.
> Whisper to Sarem if he’s really going to go against the Demon General (and his sister): that’s not a smart thing to do.
> [Write In]

>>6105325
That's like debating with DM whether you get an advantage!
>>6106513
Sorry for not enough of those.

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Bump

>>6107408
Cute!

>>6106863
> Whisper to Sarem if he’s really going to go against the Demon General (and his sister): that’s not a smart thing to do.

>>6106863
>Let go of the axe and apologise for taking it. Try and convince Sarem that, indeed, you broke in and were captured by Miranna—all of it is true.
While he's not quite as much of an idiot as his sister, I think demon IQ might have some genetic influence too.

>>6107425
+1

>>6106863
I'll +1 >>6107591

>>6107425
My fear is that he's got insecurities about being ignored by Miranna and being the little brother. Playing upon them might make him overcompensate and attack.

>>6106864
No worries.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

Let's see ...

>>6107425
>>6107655
> Whisper to Sarem if he’s really going to go against the Demon General (and his sister): that’s not a smart thing to do.

>>6107591
>>6107741
>Let go of the axe and apologise for taking it. Try and convince Sarem that, indeed, you broke in and were captured by Miranna—all of it is true.

>>6107425
>>6107591
>>6107655
>>6107741

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

With a nervous swallow, you leaned closer, your heart racing as the hallway’s chill nipped at your skin. “Warden Sarem,” you whispered, ensuring that Miranna wouldn’t overhear. “Do you truly think it’s wise to oppose your elder sister’s decision? After all, she’s one of the Demon Generals … “

You felt the chill of Sarem’s glare creep into your veins, his hands tightening around the bone-wrapped hilt, the marrow creaking under his strength. With a shove, he pushed you back and effortlessly claimed the axe from your grasp. Pushing the axe head with one hand, he whirled it a short arc between you before taking it in a single-handed grip.

He hit you with the blunt end, forcing you towards Miranna.

“It is not often” —he drew out his words, pausing to breath in the next— “a human breaches the Banefroth. I must know … how he managed it. Alone. Where he got the armour … ?” he said, exhaling. “I understand you want … the glory, sister. Very well, but I shall accompany you—“

Miranna talons raked at the lock, pulling it away. Eerily, she turned to face Sarem, her simple smile absent, replaced by an expression devoid of humour. The crimson in her eyes deepened, burning sharper and redder, casting a consuming glow over her slate-like features.

Sarem recoiled, jumping a foot away before taking a stance.

> If you can avoid a direct fight, that would be for the best. Assure Miranna it’s okay if he joins her, trusting Nettle Harpy to best fast and dexterous enough to lose him in the clouds.
> If you can steer clear of a head-on-clash with him, that would be ideal; but you don’t want him to follow you. Insist that Sarem steps out of the window first, but when his back is turned, together with Miranna, make an effort to toss him out of the window—he has his wings, but that’ll still you give some time.
> See if Sarem departs after that. If not, let him annoy and provoke Miranna further. Don’t get into a fight between siblings.
> [Write In]

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738 KB JPG

>>6107425
That's true! She's very cute as long as she doesn't open her crooked-toothed mouth!

>>6107591
He's the smarter of the two, for sure.

>>6108613
Do not fuck with big sisters bro.

> See if Sarem departs after that. If not, let him annoy and provoke Miranna further. Don’t get into a fight between siblings.


>>6108635
Hey, I don't mind a couple of snaggle teeth.

Also... birb girl... does she have a cloaca or human parts. The masses must know.

>>6108641
+1, to the vote and to the sentiment. Janky teeth can be charming in a hickish tomboy way.

>>6108613

>>6108613
>See if Sarem departs after that. If not, let him annoy and provoke Miranna further. Don’t get into a fight between siblings.
Let's you and him fight

>>6108635
Scary-looking and powerful but deceptively innocent and kinda retarded monster girls are always cute (t. Anofelis and 99 fan).
Also am I going nuts or does she get more freckles whenever I look away? Her depictions have definitely been cuteified a lot since the start.

>>6108641
I guess we'll have to find out then, won't we? For science, of course.
Her having a brother also makes me wonder where her own parents are.

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>>6108716
>Also am I going nuts or does she get more freckles whenever I look away? Her depictions have definitely been cuteified a lot since the start.
You never know with image generator, like picrelated is ... far from what she should be like (-too- handsome), but an interesting take by it. However, she should have a lot of freckles on her face, but its annoying to even get them red consistently, to control the amount is impossible.
>>6108641
Anon is right, no spoilers. Her claws are real but her wings are fake so hmmm ...

>>6108885
Nonsense, she could look like that after a visit to the hairdresser, a nice hot bath and a manicure. Don't listen to the meanie god of our world, dear. He's rude.

She takes her wings off and hangs them up on a coat hook at the end of the day or smth?

>>6108885

>Anon is right, no spoilers. Her claws are real but her wings are fake so hmmm ...

Kek. So be it. Also digging the comfy vibes; had a cold snap and some rain, currently working on a load of chicken and dumplings. Harpy and dumplings... dumping a load of her while calling her dumpling, heh.

Also, TF is wrong with capcha. Loading really slow.

>>6108641
>>6108681
>>6108716
>>6108820
>>6108893
>>6108913

https://files.catbox.moe/ypp5l7.mp3

You freed the gap between Miranna and Sarem, no longer acting as forestalling in their exchange. Miranna pivoted to face him.

“I don’t need your accompanying, Sarem,” she stated firm, pressing her palm against the stained glass to swing the window wide open. The invited winds rushed in, billowing beneath her tattered cloak, lifting the strands as they reshaped into feathers, the wings stretching out and every elongated joint popping. Seizing your hand, she pulled you in, causing you to stumble and fall into her cold plate-encased princess carry.

Sarem growled, a guttural air fleeting his chest; he lowered the axe and lingered you with a final gaze.

“Let it be as you say, sister,” he said, sinisterness encasing his voice. “When the Demon King is satisfied … with your caught, I ask you to bring him … to the prisons—if the royal one doesn’t mind. There are many questions … that should be asked.” He brought the clenched axe atop his shoulder, balancing it against his collarbone. “And I shall ask him of them.”

Miranna scooped you up in embarrassingly manner, her arm slipping beneath your knees. “For sure,” she responded, her voice not there: an obvious lie. She clambered atop the window sill, her clawed toes gripping at the altitude-beaten wood.

She leaned out, the draft whirling around her, he wings snapping open to seize the wind and arrest the plummet. With each churning stroke, the currents softened until she was in control.

Miranna ascended, each new inch turning crisper and sharper on your exposed skin; you were missing the clothes -and- the armour! Sarem leaned out of the window, his eyes tiny like two distant stars, his gaze scrutinising until Miranna vanished of his view.

Soaring above the Banefroth, she put herself to the same height as the highest slate-tiled crenellated roofs of the citadel.

“Your brother is … an interesting one,” you said, putting in the effort to distract yourself from the cold.

Heat coursed through Miranna’s iron armguards, welcoming warmth chasing away the chill spread through you before-so. She shrug her shoulders. “He’s the common sort of sibling, nothing remarkable,” she said. “Yet, his defeat is still your triumph, hero!”

You chewed on your cheek, unsure on how to respond. It wasn’t so much you but the staircase that overpowered her brother.

Jerked away, your chin struck the rough metal as the she-demon thrashed her wings to avoid a massive boulder hurtling past, nearly the size of you both. On one of the highest gabled tops, bending the stone beneath her, was the Mountain Eater—an enormous silhouette visible and tall even from afar. One of Miranna’s claws unfurled, heat dripping from her talons.

“So it’s a fight she wants?” she mused, her teeth shimmering from the breached in the clouds. “She can be your first, hero.”

You looked around, but you couldn’t spot Count Whiskers anywhere—nor was runic glint of the letter. Would you need to return to the castle to find him, if he was still there? Or maybe he had already ventured outside, following after the letter?

> Ask Miranna to fly to a different peasant village, you don’t feel like fighting the Mountain Eater (or ever).
> If Count Whisker’s went after the letter, or will, it’ll be best to await him in the haunted armours’ Enclave. Go there.
> Whiskers will be fine, he’s a smart kot. You’d like more answers, so ask Miranna to help you hunt a critter in a forest.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 67-.png (3.12 MB, 1792x1024)

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That's right, younger brother. Listen to your sister even if she's a filthy traitor (presumably).

>>6108893
Her wings turn back and forth between wings and a cloak, but she doesn't take it off or wash it.

>>6108913
She's comfy. I had that problem with captcha too.

If you have a pose and a situation and a place you'd like to see the randomized AI generated Miranna to be in, fell free to request.

>>6110708
>If Count Whiskers went after the letter, or will, it’ll be best to await him in the haunted armours’ Enclave. Go there.
I trust that he'll be a good boy. And I'd rather you be my first, Miranna~

>>6110710
So she's a convertible? But that sounds ick, you dirty birb. She is having a bath whether she likes it not now, even if we have to strip her, drag her into the tub like a yowling Count Whiskers and wash her ourselves.
I do like depictions of her with a small hint of crazy in the expression and hair.

First thing that came to mind for a request was her being perched on a power line like a bird along with a few other birds in the pouring rain looking sodden and miserable. Sorry Mira, but you've been comfy for too long.

>>6110708
> If Count Whisker’s went after the letter, or will, it’ll be best to await him in the haunted armours’ Enclave. Go there.
No cat left behind. Besides, who knwos what these demonic brutes will do of they find him! Even all spooky-looking as he is, will they feed him? Pet him? Brush him?

>>6110710
Miranna in an old timey swimsuit, in a comically undersized bird bath.

>>6110725
>>6110848

https://files.catbox.moe/s9o0hg.mp3

Drawing your knees up to your chest for comfort, you scrutinised the Citadel’s vast expanse. “Miranna,” you began, trying to conceal your reluctance for a fight, “can you spot Count Whiskers anywhere below?”

The Nettle Harpy angled her wings, drifting beyond Mountain Eater’s sight, to where the chapped clouds were within reach. She gaze down, the deeper crimson of her eagle eyes shrinking to dots. After hovering in place for a moment, she shook her head.

“Your pet is nowhere to be seen,” she concluded. “Let’s forget about it.”

Carrying Count Whiskers around was proving a problem, and in his new form, and with the Demon King’s promise, the castle could perhaps become his new domicile. Yet you also bid him to follow after the letter; beyound the castle walls lurked demon brutes, and beyound that, the haunter armours: what would they do to him?

“We can’t.”

“Why not, hero? Is this ‘Whisker’s of yours truly so essential?” Miranna lifted her leg, curling it to scratch at the back of her neck with clawed toes. “In order to defeat the Demon King, he seems of little use to me.”

“It’s not about him being of use.”

She blinked her wild white lashes. “Then what is it about?”

“I’m his caretaker. I’ve had him since he was a kitten.”

Miranna rolled her eyes, her wings raising higher to cut the ashen shroud. “So you have no actual use for him? In that case, hero, you’ll have plenty of time to tend to him later.” A faint smirk crept in. “The cat is a burden for you, you ought not—“

“Miranna” —you glared at her— “you agreed we’ll do this -my- way.”

She narrowed her eyes before sighing. “Fine, but it’s not here.”

Maybe he remained in Banefroth, or he began to pursue the letter towards … “Do you know where the haunted armour’s enclave is at?”

She paused, her arm pulling you harder against her cuirass as she raised the talons to her chin. “I can’t say I was made aware, or paid attention.”

Her wings cleaved the clouds, then pounded to lift you higher. As you rose, the cloudy lines brushed your skin like a wet thatched roof, sending a shiver through you before the water turned to mist.

“It would make sense—if it was a true exile—they would dwell on the fringes of the Demon King’s territories. Is there such a place?”

“There are a few, but if he really wished them gone, I know the most forsaken one,” she said, grinning at you as she breached the thicket. The sheltered sun came into view, greeting you at the zenith of its warmth and shine. “Is that where we’re going, then?”

You nodded. “Let’s, but keep an eye out for Whiskers. If we can find him along the way, all the better.”

“Nonsense! If you’re bound for the Enclave, it’s an opportunity you can’t just waste, hero! The haunted armours are likely discontent with their banishment, if there’s anyone who’ll easily turn on the Demon King and join your side, it’s them!”

Not as easy as you did, Miranna.

She soared even higher into the skies—the sun cleansing her wings of moisture and grime—then flew onwards, leaving the Banefroth Citadel behind. Mountain Eater and Sarem were aware that the Nettle Harpy departed with the human: they would piece it together.

Not long after, she asked:

“Say, hero, why did you not slay the Mountain Eater right there?” she asked. “You chose to flee, but that doesn’t make much sense, now that I think about it.” She gazed at you, your reflection flaming up like kindling in her burning eyes. “Do you still doubt the prophecy? Your knife drove in so effortlessly!”

You recalled that the Grub Hag foretold the hero defeating the Mountain Eater with a dagger—were you back then at -that- moment?

> Tell her the details, about the weapons of insult to defeat the Demon Generals and the King: you didn’t have the right ones on you. It’s a knife, not a dagger—there’s a difference!
> Lie to Miranna that the Grub Hag told you the exact order of defeating the Demon Generals, and Mountain Eater was not the first.
> Admit to Miranna you are still not certain about the prophesy and your role, and you were not ready for the direct confrontation.
> You’re not going to kill any of the Generals, but if you want the rest of them to surrender, you need to gather those that will turn on the Demon King the way Miranna did first. At least three.
> Tell Miranna you wanted to see if she would leave you to fight the Mountain Eater or respect your decision to flee. You were testing her loyalty as an ally.
> [Write In]

File: Demon King's General 68-.png (3.51 MB, 1792x1024)

3.51 MB PNG

There'll be an update tomorrow, I promise.

The requests are taken and I'll work on them.

>>6112505
>Tell her the details, about the weapons of insult to defeat the Demon Generals and the King: you didn’t have the right ones on you. It’s a knife, not a dagger—there’s a difference!

>>6112505
>Admit to Miranna you are still not certain about the prophesy and your role, and you were not ready for the direct confrontation.
Killing a demon general is hard! We were foretold that and how we would do it, but not when - a direct confrontation will require training and preparation.....

>>6112563
>>6113247

https://files.catbox.moe/md5wz9.mp3

You breathed in the crisp wind, its chill biting at your lips.

“The Grub Hag shared one more detail,” you said, averting your gaze from hers. “She imparted much of what you told me, but added that each General—and the King as well—would be defeated by a weapon of great mockery.” You squeezed the knife between your fingers; were you to place it in loincloth, it would likely fall out. “She alluded to only one specific instance in her vision: the hero defeating the Mountain Eater with naught but a dagger.”

Her eyes widened as she curved a talon to the blade. “Like this one?” she asked.

“No, that’s a knife.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well- I don’t know … when she recalled the prophecy, she said ‘dagger’, when she asked to bring this blade, she said ‘knife’.”

Miranna jostled you in her arms. “I think you’re being overly nitpicky here, hero.”

You coughed, debating internally whether to lean closer into Miranna for warmth or lean away to be remain dignified in the chill. “I didn’t want to be squashed in her fist in case the prophecy has a cruel sense of humour, Miranna,” you said, choosing to do neither. “Regarding the less, you are well acquainted with them, are you not? Then perhaps some ideas on what kind of weapons they would be the most humiliated to be defeated by?”

Miranna hummed, wrinkling her freckles in thought. “I suppose, if that’s part of the prophecy. It would indeed be more grandiose for you to slay them so. It’s correct, the Mountain Eater would feel humiliated if beaten by a short human” —she looked at you, the split between her teeth widening— “I’m not saying you’re short, hero, but compared to her … she was vexed when I bested her. She adores colossal things, like the Dragon-Beast Pyrathor the she keeps trying to tame; she wants her battles to leave scars on the landscape.”

“Yet she’s in love with the Demon King? He’s not -that- tall.”

“He got a rune that can make him her size, turn him into a giant, thought he rarely uses it—to her great frustration.”

“He’s really got a rune for every situation,” you said.

“Yet no rune will save him from your blade! Or … hm … fork?”

You squinted, shooting her a glance. “Anyone would be humiliated if they were killed by a fork, Miranna.” You sighed.

Below, past the thinning clouds, you spotted a shadowed meadow, ash clinging to the ground like snow. Remnants of the battle littered the landscape: shattered weapons laid half-buried in the mud, a tangle of dented shields and gnarled armour; trudged patches where once was grass—now a dull brown; tattered banners of the Old King—blue with a golden throne emblazoned—strewn across the field by the wind, with no one left to wave them. A little few wildflowers peeked through the desolation, like a lone worthless coin attempting to cheer up a beggar.

If the Demon King’s army suffered any losses, they were nothing compared to the Old King’s defeat … and it was just one of many. Just as you were about to look away, the hole in the clouds glinted off a figure: a man-at-arms wearing armour with golden embellishments, alive and moving through the war-forged field. The battle seemed to have occurred months ago, so why was he there?

> Alert Miranna of the soldier wearing the Old King’s armour, and advise that it’s better if you ascends higher, away from his sight.
> Tell Miranna nothing and let her continue to fly past the battled field, and away, ignoring the lone man-at-arms below.
> Warn Miranna of the man-at-arms below and ask her to lower you to him. Besides the human, you can maybe find new clothes … yuck.
> [Write In]

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>>6113247
Apologies OMnJ8E5Y, but you're post was a bit too late.

>>6113255
> Warn Miranna of the man-at-arms below and ask her to lower you to him. Besides the human, you can maybe find new clothes … yuck.

>>6113255
>Order him to become your Helper for the new colonies

>>6113255
>Warn Miranna of the man-at-arms below and ask her to lower you to him. Besides the human, you can maybe find new clothes … yuck.
Time for an awkward encounter! The best introductions are made at swordpoint.

>>6113286
>>6113368
>>6113798

"Miranna.”

“Ayep, hero?”

You inclined your head towards the ground below. “There’s someone down there amidst the debris—looks like a soldier.”

Miranna gaze dropped, her eyes sharpening as they locked onto to the man-at-arms. “Someone’s moving …”

“Will you lower me to them?”

“Weren’t we in haste?” Miranna teased, her smirk evident as she drew you closer. “Why does that human draw your concern?”

“Not really a concern, but isn’t it odd that they down there all by their own?”

Miranna flicker her tongue across her cuspids, then bunched her lips. “A bit, but is it our problem?”

“Just a moment to inquire, maybe ask them a few questions,” you said.

Miranna sighed, rolled her eyes, and acquiesced. Her large wings unfolded and beat, the abrupt shift sending you to plummet. She glided with the wind, her feathers shivering like leaves caught in the gust.

The soldier, clad for battle, spotted the Harpy and, instead of seeking a place to hide, readied and lifted a crossbow. The bolt’s head glinted before they nocked the quarrel against the string, their fingers pulling back the mechanism before, with a sharp motion, the string snapped, propelling the bolt straight at you.

The iron arrow sliced the corner of Miranna’s wing, fraying feathers and leaving a small tear. She didn’t flinch—the wings weren’t really a part of her body; the torn edges coalesce into tufts of black cotton, twinning the hole.

Miranna glared at the hubris; her wings tucked and furled as she straightened her body, diving down like a thrown javelin—the wind wailing in your ears. Within a blink, Miranna crashed on top of the armoured soldier, her wide claw clamping around its helm. The impact impaled the soldier into the wet earth, their armour echoing the clash as Miranna’s weight and yours forced their head down into the mud. Their cries were muffled by the helm as they struggled half-buried in the soil.

> Ask Miranna to climb off the man-at-arms. Let them keep the crossbow, as they won’t have the time to reload it.
> Climb off Miranna’s arms while she pins them down and then kneel in front of the soldier, asking them what they are doing here.
> Take away the soldier’s crossbow and then ask Miranna to step off their head and check if the soldier isn’t a part of a bigger group. Meanwhile, talk with the soldier one on one.
> [Write In]

>>6115154
> Take away the soldier’s crossbow and then ask Miranna to step off their head and check if the soldier isn’t a part of a bigger group. Meanwhile, talk with the soldier one on one.
Safest bet. It won't put him as at-ease as if we let him keep the crossbow, but conversely we're less likely tonget shot if he's NOT put at-ease.

We can return it when we're done.

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>>6110725
Your one miserable Miranna, sir.

>>6115154
> Take away the soldier’s crossbow and then ask Miranna to step off their head and check if the soldier isn’t a part of a bigger group. Meanwhile, talk with the soldier one on one.

>>6115178
>>6115233

At first struggling in Miranna’s hold, you finally climbed down when she eased her grip. Your metal boots—the only piece of armour you her left—sank into on the ground. With your left hand, you pried the crossbow from the soldier’s weakened grip: thought the mechanism was unstrung and no new bolt was loaded, you decided to be on the cautious side. You have seen a crossbow before … once.

“Miranna,” you said, looking as she pinned the soldier’s dithering head to the mud. “Could you release them?”

The Nettle Harpy’s gleaming grin faded; she dug her bottom talons deeper into the helmet for a forewarning, then let go, stepping away as you had asked. She lifted and braced her claw, gazing at the man-at-arms with preluding malice.

You interrupted. “There might be more of them here, armed with similar crossbows. Could you check?”

She looked away from the soldier to you, then nodded. “For sure, he— Niklos.” Her wings beat as she ascended above the ground, veering a circle towards the battlefield’s far side, staying close but not close enough to overhear you speaking to the soldier.

The man-at-arms brought up their head, struggling to pick themselves and their heavy armour off the mire. At closer view, he seemed unusually short—was that Old King so desperate for soldiers? You would offer a hand, but both of yours were taken by weapons, so you stood there and waited until they regained their footing. The soldier groaned, his youthful, unpolished voice straining. A man … no—a boy. His bluish eyes flashed behind the visor, before he reached for his handbow, but you stepped to be out of his reach.

“What’s with you?” he asked, his slightly oversized armour weighting him down. “You’re nearly naked. Wait” —he turned his head to where Miranna hovered— “that’s the General of the demons. Isn’t she? Are you with her? Did she capture you?!” He paused, confusion grating his voice. “I don’t know why she listened to you, but you must hand me over my bow: I’ll have a clear shot!”

> Firmly explain that a crossbolt will not be enough to injured Miranna, and will only get him killed. You’re trying to avoid bloodshed, and that it’s best to listen to what Miranna tells him and you to do.
> Tell him you’ll answer all his questions once he answers yours, and not before.
> Tell the man-at-arms that you working for the Demon General not out of your own volition. Promise that she won’t harm him—you can convince her—if he tells you everything she (in reality You) wishes to know.
> Threaten to hand him over to Miranna if he doesn’t speak to answer your questions, or she’ll get her claws on him.
> [Write In]

>>6116417
>Explain that a crossbow bolt will only piss her off, and if he wants to live he should listen to the two of you

>>6116417
>>6116459

Support.

>>6116459
+1

>>6116417

>>6116417
>Firmly explain that a crossbolt will not be enough to injured Miranna

May want to archive soon, QM.

>>6116459
>>6116477
>>6116522
>>6116808
>>6118401

“That would be unwise,” you uttered. “You said yourself—and I know it as well—that she is a Demon General: a crossbow bolt will only anger her further.” You glanced at the quiver slung at his side, his fingers brushing the iron-fletched bolts; even with a crossbow in his claim, Miranna would be at his face long before he could even reload. “She’ll leave you be if you do as she says.”

“Why would I hold any trust in the words of a demon?” he asked, jabbing his gauntlet at where she hovered. “As if they are devoid of deceit? They are spawns of it!”

“One thing I know for sure: if you don’t answer her questions, and attempt to flight, nothing good will come out of it,” you warned. “You are in no position to bargain, and all she wants to know is why are you here? Are you a survivor?”

He lowered his helm, visor dipping as he looked at the parched grass in search. “And you’re asking in her behalf? Are you working with her, then? If so, I wish not to speak with a -traitor-.”

You surrendered a breath, following his gaze before stepping closer, your heel resting upon a shattered blade. “You don’t seem to be a survivor of this place,” you said.

The man-at-arms scoffed, bringing back his glare. “What gave it away? That it happened two months ago? If you’re unaware even of that … you must be rather oblivious. Yes, I wasn’t part of this fight—my father was. And that General damned him and others.”

“She?” You pointed at the sky.

“No, I don’t believe it was her,” he said, his words laden with spite. “I don’t know her name, I don’t know who she was, but I came here seeking any answers. All he sees at night are nightmares; he’s unable to rest, weary all day, exhausted to even work the fields.”

“So you came here from afar?”

The soldier paused, clenching his fists before giving you an answer. “Our village is not far; is that enough answers for you?”

> Convince the soldier that if it’s something another Demon General has done, then Miranna would be the one to ask first … but would he? Or will that only convince him not to trust you?
> Perhaps you can make a detour, and follow the man-at-arms back to his village. There you can have a better look at the cursed ex-soldiers. You have your knife, if you can find a vermin you can ask a question to help them.
> Tell the man-at-arms that you might have a way to assist, but only if he’ll be willing to bring you -and- Miranna to the village.
> [Write In]

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>>6118401
You're right, time for a fresh thread!

Hey all. Just a tad of transparency about the gaps between updates. It's not because I don't care or because I'm losing interest, but because I've been having problems with the writing process herself; despite my best efforts, it's been tough to get things flowing. I appreciate your patience and value your participation. Thanks for sticking with me--I'll have more updates soon.

>>6118608
> Perhaps you can make a detour, and follow the man-at-arms back to his village. There you can have a better look at the cursed ex-soldiers. You have your knife, if you can find a vermin you can ask a question to help them.
Miranna won't know shit, she's super inattentive to what's going on in the world with her prophecy-focused tunnel-vision. She didn't know what her brother was up to, what happened with the haunted armours... Total bird-brain.

>>6118609
No worries, writer's block happens. Thanks for sticking with it!

>>6118608
>Perhaps you can make a detour, and follow the man-at-arms back to his village. There you can have a better look at the cursed ex-soldiers. You have your knife, if you can find a vermin you can ask a question to help them.
oh look a mystery

>>6118650
>>6118746

“That shall suffice,” you said, nodding, your fingers tracing the eyeballs-decorated hilt. “What do you hope to find here? Maybe I could help you look?”

He kicked at the dirt, the withered grass crumbling in the air. “Maybe? I don’t know -exactly- what I’m hoping to find … But where else would I look? I tried asking those who fought here who she was, but they can only say that the demon was cloaked up.”

“Then you should stop. I can follow you to your village and—“

“And what good would that be?” he said, pointing at your chest. “You think you know some holistic remedies that’ll work? If you think you do, spare your efforts—we have tried them all” —his voice faltered— “It’s not something that can be healed so easily.”

But you had your knife of answers … the dirk of insights? Whatever name it were, you could use it—but not before looking into the situation yourself. “Trust me, I can help; you have nothing to lose, do you?”

The man—at-arms regarded the scene. “Fine. She’s not coming with you, however. The villagers had suffered enough, don’t you think?”

As you readied to answer, a shadow engulfed you from above, a downwash air whipping up and scattering the dust, debris and dry grass, sending a shiver across through your flesh. Miranna swooped into the whirling cloud, her claw finding its way onto your shoulder.

“No one else is here,” she joyfully declared, her malformed teeth splayed in a grin. Her ruby eyes ignited as she stared forth.

> Explain to Miranna that there’s something you wish to do here—don’t tell her exact fact as you don’t know if she’ll appreciate you stopping to help a random village. Ask her if she can fly to the enclave to check on Count Whiskers while you’re busy here.
> Push Miranna out of the man-at-arm’s earshot and explain to her what you heard. Tell her you want to help the bewitched soldiers of the village and you want her to fly in the skies of their eyeview. You’ll call at her once you’re done here … or if you need help.
> Tell the man-at-arms you want Miranna by your side—if he wants your help that’ll be part of the deal. Miranna will probably be able to cover her pale face and glowing eyes with the cloak her wings turn into … that’ll look human, right?
> [Write In]

Okay, one more, there's still page 10!

>>6119609
>> Tell the man-at-arms you want Miranna by your side—if he wants your help that’ll be part of the deal. Miranna will probably be able to cover her pale face and glowing eyes with the cloak her wings turn into … that’ll look human, right?
Beggars can't be choosers.

>>6119609
> Explain to Miranna that there’s something you wish to do here—don’t tell her exact fact as you don’t know if she’ll appreciate you stopping to help a random village. Ask her if she can fly to the enclave to check on Count Whiskers while you’re busy here.
It's a great show of trust, sending this bird to retrieve our cat. And a "future Demon King" should know how to delegate, right?

>>6119711
>>6119824

As they say, new thread new me.

>>6120773
>>6120773
>>6120773