Chapter 412

Slow clapping was a demon invention. Not much of a claim to fame, but I was related to the demon who maybe pioneered it. What an inheritance.

Kobold sauntered toward me, his claps punctuating the air. Lanky in frame, he was no taller than I was, your garden variety green-skinned, pointy-eared, bearded male redcap with a perpetual scowl, dressed in rough, homespun cloth pants and shirt. He snatched up his red pointed hat from the forest floor and slapped it jauntily on his head. The hat was so soaked in blood that it glistened, but the blood was contained to the hat itself. Not a drop intruded into his straggly white hair. He didn't bother glamouring himself around me.

He'd placed some kind of bubble around us. Beyond it, Kane and Ari frantically searched for me, unable to see that I hadn't moved.

"The Executioner, I presume?" I sneered. "Bit of a lofty title for a low-ranking scum like yourself, Kobold."