Chapter 175: Extraction and Exhibition

In the Demon Lands, in the Crimson Keep, recently the seat of the Crimson Woe herself, dust still lingers in the corners of the throne room where the last of the old regime’s banners once hung, torn down in haste and replaced by the sigil of the Baroness of Greed.

Syraleth sits slouched on Vexena’s throne, looking smaller in it than she probably intends to, one hand pressed gingerly to her still-bruised jaw.

The kitsune twins step into the throne room together, bow low in perfect unison, and announce that they bring a report on the progress of the crystal extraction.

Syraleth leans forward, wincing at the motion. "Get on with it."

One twin produces a small leather pouch from inside her coat, unfolds it with careful fingers, and holds it up toward the throne. Syraleth squints down at it and beckons her closer with an impatient flick of her hand.

The kitsune approaches nervously, head bowed, arm outstretched, and Syraleth plucks the contents free, holding it up to the pale light filtering through the keep’s high windows.

"What," she asks, "is this supposed to be."

"The core-crystal, my lady. As much as we could extract so far."

Syraleth’s face falls flat. What sits in her palm is barely larger than a pebble, dull and unimpressive, yet still radiating with the power of demonic royalty.

"That’s all?! At this rate, full extraction will take years. We have a few months, if we’re lucky. Weeks, if Vexena’s half as resourceful as I know she is."

"We’re exploring alternative extraction methods," the kitsune says carefully, still not raising her eyes. "But the process is delicate, my lady. Rushing it risks destabilizing the crystal entirely, and possibly losing it entirely. Our best alchemists are working around the clock, but delicate work cannot simply be rushed by wanting it to go faster."

Syraleth slams her fist down on the armrest, and immediately regrets it, hissing, both hands flying to her jaw as pain flashes through her skull.

"Ow! Gods damn her." She groans, low and bitter. "Vexena’s beating was so vicious the healers couldn’t set it properly, not even with a full day’s work. And now you’re telling me I can’t even extract the power I’d need to survive a second one."

The kitsune bows lower still, saying nothing, wisely choosing silence over an answer that would only make things worse, her sister edging quietly back toward the door as if putting even a few extra feet between herself and the throne might improve her odds.

A whole continent away from the Crimson Keep’s dust and simmering resentment, the road beneath the team’s boots has long since given way to proper dwarven cobblestone, the air carrying the mineral tang of forge-smoke and hot metal that seems to cling to everything in these lands. Vexena flexes the very fist she’d used to shatter Syraleth’s jaw, turning it over once in the fading light, thinking privately on just how much destruction that hand alone has caused across the very continent she’s now an honored guest in. Then she glances sideways, at the Dwarven princess walking nervously beside her, the two of them approaching the towering main gate of the Dwarven capital together.

Beside her, Virelle skips along, soaking in the new sights, while her generals walk a measured pace behind them, poised, silent, doing an admirable job of looking thoroughly unimpressed with the whole thing. Behind them comes Vuvi and the rest of the team, flanked on both sides by a massive procession of royal guards in gleaming, ceremonial plate.

The great gates swing open onto a long avenue that cuts straight through the heart of the city toward the royal palace at its center, and the street is lined, wall to wall, with hundreds of onlookers. Dwarves mostly, but scattered among them, every other race under Elthrea’s twin suns, banners of every guild color imaginable strung overhead between the rooftops, snapping gently in the mountain breeze.

The entire city gasps as one the moment they lay eyes on the Demon Queen.

Kathoril doesn’t so much as flinch. She simply raises one hand, palm up, toward Vexena. Vexena studies it a moment, then places her own hand gently into the princess’s, and lets herself be led forward through the parting crowd.

They stop at a wide crossing, ringed by murmuring onlookers, where Kathoril calls a servant forward wheeling some kind of brass, horn-mouthed contraption. She pulls a slim pipe free from its side and holds it to her lips. The device whirs to life with a low hum, and when she speaks, her voice booms outward through hidden speakers strung across the entire city square.

"That is so cool!" Vuvi breathes, eyes wide with pure professional delight. "How are they even carrying an audio signal that fast across that kind of distance?"

"I’m just worried about Pip." Penelo pouts beside her.

Vuvi’s grin collapses instantly. "The second we get a chance to slip away, we go find him ourselves. Promise. We’re a little surrounded at the moment."

Penelo nods, satisfied, eyes drifting toward the palace spires in the distance.

Kathoril’s voice rolls on across the crowd as she announces that she brings them a miracle made flesh.

"Delivered by the Prince of Pleasure! Proof of his divine power and his pledge to bring peace to the continent and healing to its people." She raises Vexena’s hand high. "The Prince has even won over the Demon Queen herself," she calls, "who vows to help protect this kingdom, and this continent, against any threat to it, or to him."

The crowd goes silent. Then the murmuring starts, low and uncertain, thick with disbelief. Vexena steps forward with Virelle at her side, and the entire front row of the crowd flinches backward as one.

Virelle bites down a chuckle. "Mortals," she mutters, just for them, "so pathetic."

"I come in peace," she announces instead, louder, gesturing to her generals flanking her. "If I’d wished otherwise, this kingdom would already have been slaughtered by dinner."

The crowd gasps in horror.

"Please forgive my mother!" Veena yells out as she leaps forward. "Diplomacy is a very new skill for her, and she is working on it!" She turns back to the crowd, hands raised. "But I promise you, as Crown Princess of the Demon Lands, we truly do come in peace. I’ve traveled with the Prince for months now. I’ve personally helped him spread his gift across this very continent. And we look forward to bringing it to the great Dwarven Kingdom."

Vexena stops listening entirely somewhere around Crown Princess, her whole face flushing warm with something dangerously close to pride at the thought of Veena one day following in her footsteps.

A voice rings out from the crowd. "Wait, is you the demon-kin who works the front desk at Blackthorn’s House of Pleasure?"

"Yes." Veena groans. "I am also that same demon-kin."

Another voice, more excited. "Is Blackthorn’s House of Pleasure really opening a branch here?"

Veena turns to Vuvi, who steps up at once, hands on her hips, chin high. "You can expect at least two weeks of professional service," she announces grandly. "And that’s a Blackthorn guarantee."

"Is that... is that Vuvela Blackthorn?" someone shouts.

Vuvi’s smirk widens with unfiltered pride. "The one and only."

Maribelle’s mouth slips into a pride-filled smirk as she watches her daughter receive well deserved praise, the crowd erupting into excited chatter, a hundred separate questions about Vuvi’s creations and her manufacturing process all shouted at once.

Kathoril watches, faintly amused, as the entire crowd forgets the Demon Queen exists and dives headlong into an impromptu engineering symposium instead.

"Dwarves get a little obsessed," she admits, "when constructs and engineering are involved."

"I’ve noticed," Vexena says dryly.

Kathoril leads her the rest of the way down the avenue, pointing out landmarks and dropping small facts about the kingdom as they walk, gesturing here and there at towering statues of past kings and long, banner-draped guild halls.

Vexena listens, nodding along at the right moments, though her gaze keeps drifting back over one shoulder, toward her Veena, still cheerfully buried under a growing crowd of autograph requests and increasingly enthusiastic questions about Pip.