Chapter 666 - 665- A Demoness Confusion

Chapter 666: Chapter 665- A Demoness Confusion

Mira looked at her.

The naked woman — the walking catastrophe, the goddess of war, the mother who had given birth minutes before destroying an army — looked at the kneeling demoness. At the ash-grey hair. At the crimson eyes. At the barely-contained body. At the smirk.

She tilted her head. Her green eyes — still burning, still luminous — traveled down Nora’s body. The strips of fabric. The heavy breasts. The flat stomach. The strip between her thighs.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Are you good at getting fucked?"

"HEHH?"

Nora’s crimson eyes went wide. The composure — the heavenly demon composure, the three-thousand-year-old composure, the ’I-am-above-everything’ composure — shattered. Her mouth opened. Her jaw dropped. The blush — the same pink blush that had appeared when Viktor had made her lick his cock — returned. Fiercely. Across her cheekbones, her ears, her neck, the upper swell of her barely-contained breasts.

"WHAT—?!" she sputtered. "I — what — how is that — WHY would you—"

Mira’s lips curled. The perverted MILF — the woman who had been screaming ’I’m a bitch for my husband’s cock’ against a mirror minutes ago — was back. The power, the authority, the god-level abilities — all of it was a shell. Beneath it, Mira was still Mira. Still perverted. Still vulgarity incarnate. Still the woman who measured the world in terms of fuckability.

She looked at Nora’s body. At the demoness’s thick, barely-covered form. At the outfit that was designed for combat and accomplished nothing except making the wearer look like a slut.

"My husband likes thick women," Mira said. Her voice was conversational. The Voice of Dominion made every word land in Nora’s chest. "You’re thick. You’re demon-kin. You have long nipples." She squinted. "I can see them through that excuse for a top."

"THESE ARE COMBAT GARMENTS—!"

"Sure they are." Mira’s smirk widened. "And I’m wearing the sky."

Nora sputtered. Her mouth opened and closed. Her crimson eyes burned — not with power, not with rage, but with the sheer, overwhelming, ’how-dare-this-naked-human-woman-critique-my-wardrobe’ indignation that was, somehow, worse than being made to lick a cock.

Because at least the cock thing had been forced. This was just... rude.

Mira looked at her. The smirk softened. Not to warmth — to calculation.

"As my Contracted Demoness..." Mira said, already aware that most of his other wives were pregnant, he would soon after leave the moment they both gave birth.

To at least keep him busy here for a few more days, she needed this woman, who looked beautiful, gorgeous, and good enough, going against the limit of a human.

A body that will not exhaust and will keep getting fucked, stopping Viktor’s cock from finding more holes.

As Mira gave this demoness her first order, she said, "I order you... MILK MY HUSBAND’S COCK WHENEVER IT GET HARD!"

"HEHH?"

Nora’s crimson eyes went wide. Her mouth opened. Her jaw dropped. The composure — the heavenly demon composure, the three-thousand-year-old composure — shattered like glass under a hammer.

"WHAT?! What are you saying?!"

Mira raised an eyebrow. The left one. Slow. Deliberate. The gesture of a woman who had just been asked a question so obvious that the answer was beneath her.

She held up her right hand. Thumb and forefinger. Formed a circle. The diameter was generous — wider than a coin, narrower than a fist. She brought the circle down to her own pussy — the shaved, puffy, post-birth slit between her thick thighs — and moved it up and down. Slowly. The stroking motion of an imaginary cock going in and out.

"Don’t you know?" Mira said. Her voice was innocent. The Voice of Dominion made the innocence land like a melody.

Nora’s face went from pale to pink to red. The blush traveled from her cheekbones down to her neck, across the upper swell of her barely-contained tits, visible above the strips of dark fabric.

Then Mira switched. The circle dissolved. Her middle finger extended. She brought it to her pussy — the entrance, the pink, swollen, slightly-gaping entrance — and pushed it in. One finger. In and out. The motion slow. Deliberate. Demonstrative.

"I know, I know, I KNOW — don’t show it!" Nora’s hands flew up, palms forward, her crimson eyes squeezing shut. "Master, WHY are you acting like that?!"

The demoness was shaking. Not from fear. From shock. Pure, unadulterated, ’I-have-lived-for-three-thousand-years-and-I-have-never-seen-a-human-woman-do-THIS’ shock. The heavenly demon — the being who had commanded armies, who had destroyed cities, who had been above every mortal impulse — was watching a naked human woman finger herself in a field of corpses to demonstrate what "getting fucked" meant.

"I — you — how can a human — this is not — masters don’t — DEMON KINGS don’t even—"

Mira pulled her finger out. Examined it. It was wet. She wiped it on her thigh.

"My bad," she said. The cough that followed was entirely unconvincing.

She looked around. The battlefield — what remained of it. The fires that had been burning in the scattered camps. The ruined supply wagons. The broken weapons. The mud. The blood. The evidence.

She snapped her finger.

WHOOMPH.

The fires vanished. Not extinguished — ’erased.’ The flames went out as if they had never existed. The smoke dissipated. The embers cooled instantly, the heat sucked from them by the World Tree Sovereign’s communion with natural forces.

The dead were already gone — absorbed into the summoning vortex, their bodies compressed and fed to the portal that had birthed Nora. But the remnants — the armor, the weapons, the cloth, the leather, the personal effects, the supply crates, the scattered belongings of ten thousand men — remained.

Mira snapped again.

CRACK.

The ground rippled. The mana circles — the hundreds that had embedded themselves in the earth — pulsed once. A wave of energy expanded outward from Mira’s position, washing over the valley floor like a tide. Everything it touched dissolved. The armor rusted to nothing in seconds. The weapons crumbled. The cloth disintegrated. The wood rotted. The leather peeled. Everything — every trace, every scrap, every molecule of evidence that ten thousand men had ever existed in this valley — was erased.

The ground was left bare. Scorched. Blackened. A perfect circle of barren earth, half a mile in diameter, the grass burned away, the soil baked hard. The mana circles left faint, glowing imprints in the ground — geometric patterns, rune-inscribed mandalas, the residue of ninth-circle magic that would take decades to fade.

A message. A signal. A warning to anyone who came near: ’a ninth-circle archmage lives here. Do not test her.’

Nora watched. Her crimson eyes tracked the erasure — the casual, ’oh-let-me-just-clean-this-up’ erasure of an entire army’s worth of physical evidence. The demoness had seen destruction. She had caused destruction. She had witnessed the Demon King’s armies annihilate cities.

But she had never seen someone ’clean up’ afterward like it was housework.

"Follow me," Mira said. She turned. Her naked body — the thick hips, the wide ass, the heavy tits, the post-birth belly — pivoted with the natural, confident grace of a woman who had forgotten she was naked. Her black hair caught the wind.

Nora gave a single nod. Then hesitated.

"But Master," she said. "What are you saying? How can I — without a human — I am a demoness. A general. I cannot simply follow a—"

"What?"

One word. One syllable. Mira didn’t turn around. Didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t snap. Just — ’what.’ The tone was flat. Cold. The temperature of the air around Nora dropped six degrees.

The killing intent hit.