But before the duel between voluptuous blonde elf twins could begin, with one representing a poisonously sweet green apple and the other a demurely sexy pear, a particularly shocking event needed addressing.
Several kilometers away, a drunken woman wearing tattered office lady clothing, including a ripped white blouse and ragged black pencil skirt that revealed parts of her breasts and arms and a hint of her pubic hair, staggered her way down a main road. Her skin was peachy, but there were flashes of moments where a bystander could swear that her skin turned some kind of demonic purple.
She looked quite inebriated just like the elf twins from before, with a drunken blush on her face and a stumbling gait to her step. An army deserter was running down the road, paying little mind to the strangely dressed lady as he prepared to jog past her, himself more preoccupied with fleeing from the behemoth that he definitely did not sign up in the army to fight against. He noted that the woman in strange ripped foreign garb, possibly some kind of foreign fashion statement, was quite attractive, but in his current situation couldn't care less about this woman who seemed more or less harmless.
Right as he was about to pass her, the lady's arm shot out and stopped him in his tracks. The deserting soldier did a double take, blinking in confusion. He was dressed in full leather and mail armor, with quite a deal of momentum to his step due to his jogging speed, and yet this stumbling drunk young lady from some foreign land could just stop him in his tracks, so easily and effortlessly?
Disregarding the scantily clad office lady's strength, any human being stopping a fully armored running man without even getting knocked back a single millimeter was a situation that defied the laws of physics itself. The inertia from his body crashing into her arm should've caused her to recoil and get pushed backwards at least.
And yet, that was not what happened. And even worse, he now felt himself lying scrawled upwards on the ground, the foreign woman's strange shiny red footwear digging into his chest.
In the language from a world known as Earth that resided on a blue planet several universes away, her red footwear was known as a 'high heel', with a long pointed heel section that could be used as a prodding weapon in certain situations. Use of this heel section as a threatening weapon required immaculate bodily control and dexterity as well as strength, which this inebriated office lady displayed a shocking amount of despite her current state.
And the point of the heel hurt too– the pain of the heel digging into the deserter soldier's chest was disproportionate to how much it should hurt given the layers of armor he currently had on. Everything about this encounter with this strange foreign woman was off, and almost dream-like if not downright nightmarish.
"This is Devon. Have you seen him?"
The deserter soldier grimaced and groaned, his eyes still shut in pain.
"Oy, open your eyes!" the office lady known as Hecate said sternly, digging her heel further into the soldier's chest. She waved a parchment with a strangely realistic depiction of a dark haired tall male youth on it. "Have you seen this boy?"
"N-no ma'am!" the soldier shouted. But when he took another look at the strangely realistic magically inked portrait, he did a double take. "H-huh? Isn't that…"
The heel dug in harder, causing the deserter to clench his abdomen and chest in pain.
"Where?"
"U-uh… his face is familiar for some reason… but I can't remember!"
The deserter's mind was in complete disarray from the sequence of fantastically horrific events that occurred today, and he simply could not recall that he saw that particular boy at a battlefield not long ago. He couldn't be faulted for his inability to recall that particular detail, given his current near-maniacal state.
But Hecate was not one to show care from mere mortals, who were far below someone of her stature.
"Then try to remember!"
She materialized a whip out of thin air and struck the groveling man in the face, leaving a darkened bruise.
"Aaah!" he shouted. "I really can't remember!"
"Try again!"
"M-maybe at the canteen?"
Hecate paused for a moment, but her inner sense told her that he was simply spouting nonsense to stop the torrent of pain on his body.
"Worthless mortal!"
Raising her palm towards the groveling deserter, Hecate effortlessly conjured a divinity-level spell of the fire element. A torrent of unimaginable magical energy emitted from her palm towards the deserter, enveloping his chest and burning him to death. Strangely enough, the flames licked his chest but did not cause a normal burning, and the flames themselves showed a hint of purple demonic energy, the same energy that surrounded the Behemoth.
Meanwhile, in one particular young man's inn room…
*Jiggle* *jiggle*
Read 60 chapters ahead at patr eon.com/melonball if you'd like~