(I’m baaa-aack! Didja miss me? I wrote a thing, have fun with it! I still have a Patreon, please support me if you feel like it!)

Everyone kind of just… stares, as Ulged shrinks back to his normal size of ‘big and furry’, instead of ‘huge and furry’, once he’s finished the job of throat-fucking Marika with his teeth. He digs a scrap of cloth out of his pocket and wipes the blood from his muzzle, dropping it on the floor next to Marika’s corpse, heading back to join us as a cleric or priest wanders over to resurrect the dead girl. A few other players thump the gnoll on his back as he accepts their admiration.

As the meeting for planning an attack on the boss continues, Asteria grins, hugging me from behind and I keep my wings out of the way. Gimmel and Harvenhaight are deep in conversation, discussing a few points on the blackboard, and before too long, Trinity jogs over, cackling softly. 

“Well, THAT was entertaining! Anyway, I got your armour ready, if you’re not tooo busy being cuddled by Astie?” They wink, and Asteria elbows them in the ribs. I reluctantly disentangle myself from Asteria’s embrace, heading towards a tent next to the armourer’s stall. Inside, I smile, and begin to change into my new platemail.

ASTERIA’S P.O.V

I watch as Kettrin saunters off to get her new armour. I can’t help it, that angel’s hips are sinful! I could admire them all day; she’s got an amazing figure, even under all that leather and metal. If she looks this good IN armour, I wonder just how delightful she looks WITHOUT it…

  As I fantasize a little about Kettrin, a familiar horned individual enters the camp, a trio of armour-clad soldiers in tow. Brandia Kael’Dornis-Galatea! She smiles at me and strides over, a sabre on her left hip, a matched one on her right. She bows politely, her accompaniment saluting professionally. A couple of people look grumpy at their presence, but the majority seem unfazed.

“Hello, it’s been a little while! It seems that my father’s… decision-making… has caused the Imperial Council to recall him to the capital to answer to an enquiry, which I maaay or may not have had something to do with.” She sniggers, and her soldierly bodyguards look at each other, two of them fist-bumping.

I approach the Andromal captain, before holding up my hand for a high-five, which she returns. I chuckle, “Looks like you managed to avoid getting in trouble for getting caught!” the captain smirks, and nods. “Yeah, I was assigned to take over while my father is… occupied elsewhere.” With a crisp salute, she announces, “my troops and I are ready to march alongside you!”

I hear clanking footsteps behind me, and turn, my eyes widening, jaw hanging open. “K-Kettrin…” the angel before me is clad in black, full-plate armour, form-fitting and gorgeously-made, shining like a beacon. Her sollerets, the metal boots, have hawk-like claws at the toe and heel, trimmed with scarlet. Greaves of the same black metal, feathery patterns embossed in the metallic surface.

Forearm-length gauntlets with the same claw-like protrusions at their fingertips, pauldrons that sweep downward, a breastplate sloped in such an angle that it still has feminine curves while not reducing its protective capabilities at all, and a nasal-style helmet with silver swept-up wings, the nose guard shaped like a hawk’s head. The whole suit is pitch black, with ruby trim that actually glows, thanks to some magical property of the material, her huge greatsword slung at her hip in a simple cradle that snaps free in battle, allowing her to draw that dark blade with ease.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I’m drooling. She looks… incredible! Her silver hair isn’t visible, tucked neatly away, but her white-feathered wings are radiant against the smoky metal, the pure snowlight of her Skyborne gift enhancing the effect. I want to pull her into my arms and hold her, but I also kinda want to kneel before her and ask her to step on me.

KETTRIN’S P.O.V

I emerge from the tent, feeling the armour shift and adjust to fit perfectly, providing comfort as well as protection, as Trinity hands me the greathelm, completing my new look. I clank steadily over towards the Alv girl I’d just kissed, and, when she turns to look at me, her gaze sends a thrill running through me, warming my heart… and other places, too… a long silence stretches out, before several wolf-whistles break the silence, shouts of “Looking good, Sky-Queen!” And “watch out, she’s more badass than ever!” joining the whistling.

I blush a little, glad that my cheeks are hidden by the helmet, or else I’d probably resemble some kind of glowstick. Clearing my throat, I ask Trinity, “What do I owe you for the new gear?” Their catlike pupils narrow in pleasure. “Ah, right to business, I approve! So, if you’re trading in the previous set, I’ll take about 50 ducats off the total, and a further 25 for the spear… I’ll take the total down to… 675D!”

I nod. From what I know, Trinity prides themselves on supplying quality gear at reasonable prices, plus they’re friends with Asteria… I count out the coins, handing them over to the catkin without any fuss.  “Sounds good, I’m glad I can rely on you to hook me up with good equipment!”

As I finish up my business with Trinity, Ulged lopes over, his grin white and unstained, his tail wagging once more, the subtle susurration underscoring his every word. “If ye’re amenable to it, I’d like tae offer a wee summat tae mek oop fer stealin’ yehr duel wi’ yon hussy.” He gestures at the pale-faced Marika, whose hands keep touching her throat and jaw, as if making sure they’re where they should be.

He draws his hammer, and taps the head against the centre of my breastplate. A white glyph shaped like a shield emblazons itself onto the metal, glowing faintly. “In case ye take a real nasty hit. That rune’ll tek the brunt of the blow. Ah’ve nae idea if yeh’ll need it, but better tae ha’e it and not need it, aye?”

I thank him gratefully. Even with my new armour and my increased stats, I’d prefer to avoid taking unnecessary risks. Turning back to the strategy meeting, I dive into planning, and, after about an hour, it’s decided. Captain Brandia will take command of our melee fighters, Dr Francois will head up the medical force, Asteria will lead the mages, and, for some reason, they want ME to be in charge of our aerial units.

As far as I can tell, only Harvenhaight and one other person here have wings. Clawdette grins and she flaps her batlike wings, having chosen them instead of a stat-boost when she levelled up. Instead of her daggers, she’s carrying a huge- in comparison to her- repeating crossbow, a bandolier of quarrels slung around her slim hips. Gimmel elects to place himself and his dwarves at my command, too, which I can only accept.  

With plans laid out and a chain of command established, we set off, delving deep into the ancient subterranean ruins around us, two of Gimmel’s men taking point. Since they arrived, the dwarven pathfinders have been scouting the farthest reaches, drawing maps and leaving guiding marks everywhere, making navigation so much easier.

The passageways and halls are dusty, but with the signs of recent footsteps, a couple of undead enemies lying crumpled at intersections and in doorways. Deep gouges in the stone walls look pretty fresh, compared to the worn rock of the passage. Up ahead, there’s the sound of steel on steel, ringing out. Looking around, we all make eye-contact, then speed up, approaching the din of battle, bursting into a large antechamber, several bodies scattered across the flagstones.

In the centre of the room, surrounded by zombies, a suit of dark bronze-coloured armour stands, some lingering will driving it, gripping one of the walking corpses by the throat, its greatsword embedded in two more, like some horrible kebab. Lifting the blade, the animated armour swings, catapulting the undead off its sword, hurling them against the wall and splattering them over the stone, before powerbombing the corpse-machine in its fist into the floor, shattering tiles and mechanisms with an ear-wrenching crash.

It turns to look at us, as we form up and begin cutting through the massed undead between us, before resuming its bloody work, carving through a trio of zombies with deft swings. It wields that immense blade as if it weighs nothing at all, the bloodstained and nicked sword tearing through flesh and metal through sheer brute force. In only a couple of minutes, we’ve managed to clear the antechamber of the remaining undead. Over my shoulder, I can see Clawdette, her legs braced, as she blitzes a single zombie with her giant crossbow, leaving the unfortunate target looking like the unlucky offspring of a porcupine and a pincushion. The last one meets a brutal end as it attempts to grapple the armour.

Instead of making contact, the armour catches it by the wrist, flipping it over the armour’s back and sending the undead sprawling. Before it can rise, the bronze armour presses a metal foot to its chest and begins applying pressure, springs and sprockets letting out despairing squeaks and groans, the mechano-zombie thrashing weakly, as its chest cavity is caved in, inch by inch, before a mighty flick of a metallic boot sends it sailing up towards the ceiling, where a candelabra’s iron spikes halts it’s flight.

Harvenhaight clears his throat. “Does… does anyone have a quarterstaff? I think our armoured pal here made us a piñata as a sign of friendship.” Gimmel snickers, watching the merrily-swaying candelabra with its fleshy burden, before reaching into his pack and drawing a greatsword in perfect condition, proffering it, hilt-first, to the silent metal sentinel. It looks from the dwarf, to the worn, damaged blade in its gauntleted fist. Slowly, it lets the sword fall, a dull clang echoing briefly, before accepting the gift from our dwarven companion.

Turning, the animated armour clanks away, its footsteps receding as we watch it go. “Well, that was entertaining!” Clawdette cheers, hefting her oversized crossbow. Honestly, that thing is more of a hand-cranked ballista than anything, but she’s lugging it around like it’s nothing, grinning up at me as I sheathe my sword at my hip, snapping the fasteners closed. The little Ashiga bounds around, collecting her bolts from the corpse she’d savaged, her whip-like tail slashing through the air as she whistles gaily, her clawed hands tugging her ammunition out of the new undead colander she’d made. Gimmel’s crouched by the abandoned greatsword, examining it closely. I approach the stout dwarf, kneeling beside him.

“What’s so interesting about this sword?” I ask quietly, as he runs a hand over the hilt. He chuckles, “Nothing. It’s just a sword, but, when that knight had ahold of it, it was hacking through meat and metal with nary a sign of effort. This blade must’ve been sharp, once, before time and tribulation reduced it to this sorry state.”

I look down at the rusted, battered greatsword, and a strange pang of melancholy echoes in my chest. Almost reverently, I scoop it up and open my inventory, carefully storing it away. In my storage, this weapon is named the ‘Blade of the Fallen King’, and has somewhat decent stats, even in this condition. I have something planned for it, though, and I close my menu. “Right, should we get a move on? I have a feeling that we should follow that armour. It seems to be moving with purpose.”

Gimmel nods. “Aye, I don’t see why not. We don’t have any other option, since it’s heading right the way we need to go. If we keep going this way, we’ll run right into the boss arena, straight into Jemistra.”