>>6018500>>6018517>>6018521>>6018954>>6019071>>6019265>>6019302>>6019351https://files.catbox.moe/4a7yn5.mp3 “Do what? Prove you wrong?” you quipped, reaching into your pocket to pull out a fork—always handy to have one. “Look, nothing weird—“ you started, realising the fork was in your left hand. You hurriedly switched it to your right, clearing your throat before locking eyes with the she-demon. “Look, I don’t have any food but let’s pretend there is some on the tip of the spoon.”
With a frown, she closed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
You gripped the fork tightly in your right hand, raising it to your mouth and closing your lips around the wooden dip.
She squinted her left eye and leaned closer, her nails digging into your knees.
“It wasn’t -that- weird but your hand did tremble,” she said.
You ought to have practised more, damn it! “I did not.””
“To me, that just proves the prophesy is true, hero.” She leaned back. “Now, accept and treat me as an ally!”
You grimaced, lips pursing and parting “Will you really betray the Demon King just over some prophecy?"
“Of course, hero! It would be foolish not to! As I already mentioned, prophesies of ‘Grub Hag’ always come true! And I care about my life.”
You rubbed your face wearily. “But what if it's really not me? I think you should continue your searches.”
“The Demon King’s Generals are -destined- to die by hero’s hands. It’s you, but if not, we’ll know when one does fall!”
Great, just … great! To stop being bothered by her, all you had to do is wait it out, and survive for a few days or weeks. As long as no one else mistook you for the prophesied hero, it seemed doable. You just needed to play it smart.
“If you really wish to switch sides, Miranna … then call me by my name, Niklos.”
Miranna puffed out her chest and snarled. “I don’t see the big deal, but fine, Niklos.”
You nodded, shifting your body to lean against the wall and sinking into the bench with a sigh. The pause was brief, a group of half-a-dozen peasants stepping out of the shadows, heading towards your house. Stopping a few feet away, your neighbours bowed their heads, extending their their palms or baskets filled with valuables—family heirlooms, coins, antiquaries, and even well-crafted cooking utensils.
“Oh, great Demon General!” said one of them, the valuables clinking in her palms. “General. Accept our tribute.”
The woman, your next-door neighbour, lifted her eyes, her hood slipping down to reveal her weathered skin and grey hair. As she caught sight of you, her eyes widened, darting down and back up again, as if urging you to show the same reverence to Miranna.
Miranna laughed, lifting her wrist only halfway to her chin, not nearly high enough to cover it.
“You human serfs. I’m not here to collect your taxes, that’s beneath me!” she said. She shook her head and pointed at you, “I’m here for the he—“
