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You grabbed Miranna's hand.
“Wait,” you said, “let is not be hasty.”
“Why not?” —she squinted— “he’s a scout; why else would he be in the skies here alone? He was not. Should we let him go, the Demon King will know our whereabouts.”
You turned to Mwaus, his clawed hands continuing to wave around, bewildered as to why the Nettle Harpy was not responding in kind.
“I don’t think he remembers anything of his task, even if he was sent out to scout out the place,” you whispered. “Right now, he’s convinced that he’s the Demon King’s sole heir. We can make use of this.” Seeing Miranna lift an eyebrow, you added, “I don’t desire the Demon King’s throne. Once all the Generals and the King are dealt with, we shall let this demon have it.”
Miranna’s ashen lips silently shaped the words: ‘Are you kidding?’
“He’s an imp, hero! Or might as well be one,” she craned her neck, the tangled of white, messy hair veiling to cover her ears and forehead. “Do you have any notion of the chaos he could unleash with such powers? Or how the other demons might react?” As you reached to shed the wings, Miranna grasped your shoulders. “Think again, hero! Imagine the power you could wield as the Demon King, ruler of all?”
“Miranna,” you said, staring deep into her inflamed eyes. “It’s not what I want. You promised to regard my wants. The prophecy doesn’t mention the throne.”
“And yet!—“
“We aren’t crowning him today, you realise? It’s going to take a while. We’ll have ample time to prepare him,” you said, tendering a reassuring smile. “Unless … Miranna, you’d want the throne for yourself? Sure, if you wish—“
Grimacing, the Nettle Harpy retracted her talons and spread them wide before her. “Not I, hero. Being trapped in Banefroth, with every imp, demon, hound, and spirits needing something from me, no matter how trivial and annoying. I’d go crazy with all the responsibilities,” she said. “I’m content where I’m now.”
“Where you were.” You reminded, scratching at your ear. “For the prophecy not to harm -you-, I’ll have to rename your new title, perhaps a Demon Lord?” you asked. “Neither you or I desire the burdensome role. We shall leave it to him.”
“What are you two talking about!?” Mwaus walked between you, like a neglected child forgotten by his parents. Blood dripped from a fresh claw mark on his hand.
Miranna eyes fluttered in annoyance. You cleared your throat.
“I promised to cook you a proper roasted hare, didn’t I? Let me keep my promise.”
Mwaus pressed his other hand to hide the gash. “The human shall prepare us a meal? Do so, then. And see that it is impeccable, I’ll accept nothing less.”
Miranna grabbed Mwaus by the back of his collar, dragging him violently off the ground. Her irises sizzled like red coals until only flaming dots remained.
“You called me a Nursemaid? Is that what I am?”
“Wait,” you said, “let is not be hasty.”
“Why not?” —she squinted— “he’s a scout; why else would he be in the skies here alone? He was not. Should we let him go, the Demon King will know our whereabouts.”
You turned to Mwaus, his clawed hands continuing to wave around, bewildered as to why the Nettle Harpy was not responding in kind.
“I don’t think he remembers anything of his task, even if he was sent out to scout out the place,” you whispered. “Right now, he’s convinced that he’s the Demon King’s sole heir. We can make use of this.” Seeing Miranna lift an eyebrow, you added, “I don’t desire the Demon King’s throne. Once all the Generals and the King are dealt with, we shall let this demon have it.”
Miranna’s ashen lips silently shaped the words: ‘Are you kidding?’
“He’s an imp, hero! Or might as well be one,” she craned her neck, the tangled of white, messy hair veiling to cover her ears and forehead. “Do you have any notion of the chaos he could unleash with such powers? Or how the other demons might react?” As you reached to shed the wings, Miranna grasped your shoulders. “Think again, hero! Imagine the power you could wield as the Demon King, ruler of all?”
“Miranna,” you said, staring deep into her inflamed eyes. “It’s not what I want. You promised to regard my wants. The prophecy doesn’t mention the throne.”
“And yet!—“
“We aren’t crowning him today, you realise? It’s going to take a while. We’ll have ample time to prepare him,” you said, tendering a reassuring smile. “Unless … Miranna, you’d want the throne for yourself? Sure, if you wish—“
Grimacing, the Nettle Harpy retracted her talons and spread them wide before her. “Not I, hero. Being trapped in Banefroth, with every imp, demon, hound, and spirits needing something from me, no matter how trivial and annoying. I’d go crazy with all the responsibilities,” she said. “I’m content where I’m now.”
“Where you were.” You reminded, scratching at your ear. “For the prophecy not to harm -you-, I’ll have to rename your new title, perhaps a Demon Lord?” you asked. “Neither you or I desire the burdensome role. We shall leave it to him.”
“What are you two talking about!?” Mwaus walked between you, like a neglected child forgotten by his parents. Blood dripped from a fresh claw mark on his hand.
Miranna eyes fluttered in annoyance. You cleared your throat.
“I promised to cook you a proper roasted hare, didn’t I? Let me keep my promise.”
Mwaus pressed his other hand to hide the gash. “The human shall prepare us a meal? Do so, then. And see that it is impeccable, I’ll accept nothing less.”
Miranna grabbed Mwaus by the back of his collar, dragging him violently off the ground. Her irises sizzled like red coals until only flaming dots remained.
“You called me a Nursemaid? Is that what I am?”
