Hoglah stood atop her speeding mimic castle, if she had to guess how fast they were going she’d guess Castle Tongue’s top speed was roughly 100 kilometers, which Hoglah had learned from when she helped a German girl in 1964 Olympics during her demon years, travel is a very important part of competition. She also knew a horse can go 80 kilometers a day roughly, The Marquis had a good week on her, she could make her little mine detour and spend roughly two days recruiting this Gold metal spirit, but anymore and Delacroix castle would be reached by the Marquis first who may warn the church with signal flares or fires. She had a plan on how to handle him once she inevitably had to pass him on the road, but it would involve something Hoglah hated, relying on other people completely.
She sighed and smiled, enjoying the wind jiggling her fat and genitals. Still, she needed proper clothes and jewels! She was an Empress with no clothes! Sure she had a few baubles and some jewelry from the Lanshire estate, but those dresses and clothes weren’t exactly made with the rotund glory of a mobin in mind, to do that they needed manufacture! To pass her time she distributed communication pearls and trained her Moblins in getting accustomed to their massively altered forms. In a day and a half they had come upon the procession of the marquis.
Hoglah greatly enjoyed how her massive and mutated body nearly knocked a crusader knight off the carriage and gave him more than a slight blush. Ignoring the burning arrows and spears the process used to turn her into a pin cushion. She ripped open The Marquis' carriage door to find him-GONE! She had known she’d lose her fight with him handily, but that was part of the plan!
“Lucifarian beast! You will never reach the castle before our lord! His scourging hooks guide him even as we-” Hoglah folded his kettle hat over his head with one hand, poked two holes in it for his nose and threw him through an open window in Castle Tongue which was plodding along beside the carriage. She then blew a snot bubble and floated into the air, arrows and spears simply rippling off the surface of the bubble and were sent clattering, mucus covered, to the ground where the soldier smartly left them. Hoglah gave herself a shake as the weapons stuck in her body fell off having never even pierced her flesh, but simply having become stuck in her fat. They fell through the bubble with a ripple.
From her elevated position she could see just how much she had angered God with learning to see true names, God himself was now putting his thumb on the scale. A ray of pure white light shone on the praying figure of the marquis through a sky of near pitch black and purple lightning filled clouds.
It shone on the praying figure of The Marquis as hundreds of 5 inch thick, hooked and golden wires tore apart the landscape to propel him at the staggering speed of…probably around sixty five kilometers. Hoglah chuckled to herself, she laughed that even God could only push a person so far outside an area of their expertise. The Marquis was all about ruthless, fast, hard to read and devastating attacks. Trying to boost his speed could only get him so far. “This is a perfect time to dislodge two thorns from my ass!” She snorted and guffawed while running in her bubble to spin it like a hamster wheel toward the Marquis with Castle Tongue speeding up to stay near but out of sight, The Marquis' procession ignored.
“Round two Prick, let’s g-” was all Hoglah could eke out before an entire Itano circus of golden wires poured into her chest and tore her heart to pieces. The largest piece of which The Marquis took from the wires and crushed with his bare hand. The wires retreated from the clearly dead husk of the Moblin Empress. The castle seemed to have retreated as soon as she died. The voice of God boomed praises in The Marquis’ ears as it retreated into the sky and the heavy cloud cover began to lift. The procession arrived and wanted to take pieces of the Moblin Empress' carcass as proof, but found her blubbery skin too tough to cut and too heavy to lift as a single piece. The Marquis found too distasteful to try and help them in their endeavors. The procession left with The Marquis for the castle with not even The Marquis curious about his newly acquired habit of scratching his perpetually itchy hand…
