Chapter 65 Punishment.

Chapter 65: 65 Punishment.

She sighed. "Is it about my boobs?"

"What? No!" I said, eyes widening. "I would never challenge the majesty of—I mean... I wouldn’t..." I gulped audibly. "Anyway, no, my question is... what are you, exactly?"

To my relief, she seemed amused rather than offended. "A fair question. My people are what you might call demonkin, though that term carries certain negative connotations that aren’t entirely accurate when you compare us to the fiends of other worlds using that term. On Antheria, we’re an extremely varied race, and largely friendly toward our neighbors these days."

She gestured to her body. "Only our facial features, hair, eyes, and skin tone are strictly hereditary. My mother looked entirely different from me beyond those details—no snake aspects, no wings. My grandmother had four arms and scaled skin from head to toe, but walked on legs like yours."

"So there’s no easy answer to my question," I concluded. "No convenient label, anyway."

"Not really," she agreed. "What I can tell you is that I come from the Blasted Lands, the third kingdom of Antheria’s central continent. I was the final destined heroine to join Elsa and start the Hero’s Party, and eventually..." She looked at me, a slight blush coloring her dark cheeks that made her red eyes pop. "Eventually meet you."

"Do all Hero’s Parties in the history of your world have a multiversal component?" I asked, genuinely curious.

She shook her head. "No, we’re actually the first. It was Seer Morvain who helped us determine the oddness of our destinies taking us outside our realm. Previous parties have all operated within Antheria alone."

I turned the burner down and leaned against the counter. "Are there humans in your world?"

She nodded. "Yes, they exist in large numbers in Elfhaven, Elsa’s kingdom. Many of them wear prosthetic ears and makeup to appear more elven. It’s something of a status symbol there." Her lips quirked in amusement. "The working class humans—peasants, essentially—look much like you. Just... less powerfully built and strapping."

I chuckled. "I wasn’t always built quite this well. It mostly came after connecting to the System. My face even got more sculpted when the fat melted away and turned into muscle."

"Were you always so absurdly tall?" Juniper asked. "I’ve never seen a human or an elf of such stature. You’re more like an orc of lower rank in height."

"I’m a bit on the taller side, sure, but I’m not breaking any records by a long shot," I admitted. "Six-three is tall, but not freakishly so around here. There are folks way taller. I do like to say that I’m ’comfortably tall’. I’m about as tall as it’s convenient to be."

The timer dinged, and I realized all the food was ready. "Breakfast time," I announced, plating up the feast.

I speared a sausage link with a fork and held it up for Juniper to take. She misinterpreted my gesture, blinking in surprise before blushing slightly. "Oh! I suppose, there’s no reason for me to be prudish if you insist," she murmured, leaning forward. She brushed her crimson hair aside and opened her mouth, delicately taking the sausage from the fork, sucking it gently between her lips until it disappeared behind them. Once she bit down and chewed, her eyes rolled back in an expression of pure bliss.

"This is... exquisite," she breathed. "What’s in it?"

I felt my ears burning at the unexpected intimacy of feeding her. In the end, it was probably a good sign that she went along with that, even if it was unintended, so I smiled once I processed what had happened. "Um, just some mass produced and cured ground pork and pork byproduct, I guess. Probably some artificial dyes and preservatives in there, I dunno. Nothing special."

"I beg to differ," she said, eyeing the remaining sausages hungrily. "It’s like your food culture has adapted specifically to utterly maximize the decadent potential of even an item as simple as sausage."

"Yeah, that’s American food. We’re a proudly fat nation. Anyway," I said, clearing my throat and handing her a full plate, "why don’t you take this and get started? I’ll go fetch the other girls."

When I returned with two sleepy-eyed heroines trailing behind me, Juniper had already made herself comfortable at the dining table, halfway through her plate. Elsa rubbed her eyes drowsily while Ayra yawned wide enough to show her sharp canines.

"I made breakfast," I announced redundantly, as they could clearly see and smell the spread.

Both women immediately perked up adorably. Their lethargy vanished almost instantly at the sight of my cooking. Elsa rewarded me with a quick kiss on the shoulder, the highest spot she could easily reach on her tiptoes, before following Ayra, who immediately scampered toward the spread of breakfast delights. I joined them all at the table.

"Grey, my darling, feed me a bite," Elsa purred, opening her mouth expectantly as she clung to my arm.

"No, me first, Master!" Ayra countered.

I sighed and speared a piece of pancake, offering it to Elsa first, then preparing another bite for Ayra. Across the table, Juniper watched this display with obvious confusion.

"How did you two become so..." She gestured vaguely at the scene before her. "Smitten? So quickly? It has only been maybe a couple of weeks at most, yes? I get that Grey is attractive and nice, but... Well, I suppose it might have been hard for me to track time accurately from my side."

"It didn’t start quite this intensely," I explained as Ayra nuzzled my neck as she chewed on her food. "But once Ayra arrived, things accelerated due to the competition, I think. They’re constantly trying to one-up each other when it comes to getting attention from me."

Juniper frowned, setting down her fork. "Ayra," she said sternly, "Elsa is the First Maiden. In party hierarchy, that should be respected. You shouldn’t try to force yourself into Grey’s heart at the expense of the First Maiden."

Elsa looked absolutely thrilled at this support. "Thank you, Juniper! At last, someone with wisdom has arrived to set things right in this household!"

Ayra gasped dramatically in a performative way that made it clear she didn’t give half a shit about their opinion. As part of this show, her ears flattened against her head and she pressed the back of her hand to her brow. "You’re right, Juniper! Master, I’ve been unforgivable!" Without warning, she stood, turned around, bent over, and lifted up the shirt she was wearing, presenting her bare bottom. "I demand immediate punishment! Though I loathe the idea so much! Pah-tooey!"