https://files.catbox.moe/fb9rgr.mp3

You swallowed hard and nodded, your gaze skittering towards the monstrous figures closing in. The Demon King’s guard dogs were embellished with twisted marble horns, sharply tapered ears, and snouts etched with wrinkles, and weathered crevices filled with white moss.

Count Whiskers hissed in fear, the gargoyle silhouettes appearing in and then engulfing whole his wide cerulean eyes. You rocked in Miranna’s one-hand-grip, watching as she spread her wings wide and swooped towards granite beasts. Her scorching nails tore through the bewitched stone, sinking within and pushing the scarlet light out of every of its cracks. Her claws carved through the stone chest and neck, scooping out and hurling chunks of vermilion rubble into the air as if casting aside molten embers, as well as the beast itself. With a wild cackle, she plunged downwards, creating distance between herself and the two stone monsters.

You hesitantly shifted one hand from Whisker’s fur to slowly grip Miranna just above her waist. She snapped her head, but before you could retract your hand, she grasped it, pressed on it, urging you to hold tighter. The clouds melted away, bursting and vanishing into a shimmering silver-gilt mist as you soared and broke through them.

“You might need to hold on tighter,” Miranna said, fleeting smirk crossing her face as another gargoyle appeared behind her.

“You said their only interest are humans? They we have to make them think I’m not one!”

“That -would- make things easier, but how are you going to do that?”

“You don’t know?”

She shrugged mid-flight, her expression one of nonchalant apology. Damn. Maybe? Your squeezed your eyes, hoping for a miracle solution.

After a moment of tense silence, broken only by the whoosh of Miranna's wings and the distant crumbling of stone, you reopened your eyes, the wind trashing your hair, to find a granite monster snapping at Miranna’s heels.

"I thought maybe if they couldn’t see my eyes... but no luck,” you said, awkwardly.

Brandishing her claw, the flames licking the air, she said. “Don’t sweat it, hero. I’ll aim for their wings, let’s see—”

Your fingers slipped from Miranna’s plated waist as stone hands seized your legs, pulling you backwards. You clutched to hold Count Whisker with one hand, the cat burying its head in your sleeve and digging its claws into your arms; Miranna’s black wings slammed against the air, beating frantically, coming to an abrupt halt, with crack of her wing-bones and feathers scattering like splintered wood. Like irons, the stalwart’s hands gripped your ankles, pulling you up towards it.