Content warning: This arc contains crass humor, mocking of political figures, strong language, violence, implied sexual acts, implied drugs (love potions), Duman, and using cake for negative purposes. Things get weird. Viewer discretion is advised.


"..."Ogron twitched.

"..." Gantlos looked up.

"..."

"Are we there yet?" Duman asked for what must have been the thousandth time, his voice dripping with exaggerated boredom.

Ogron's jaw clenched. "No! For the love of all the gods in the sky, we are not there yet! You will know when we get there," he exasperated out, his voice strained but trying to maintain some semblance of civility.

Duman, ever the provocateur, leaned back, casually lounging as if this carriage ride was his personal playground. "Oh, good. I wasn't sure. Thought maybe we'd gotten lost or something."

Silence hung in the air for all of three seconds.

"I'm boooored," Duman groaned, flopping dramatically across the carriage bench, his head hanging over the edge as he stared up at the ceiling. His mohawk brushed the floor as he shifted positions, restless. "This is torture. I've been bought , and now you're slowly killing me with boredom."

Ogron's hands twitched, his knuckles white as he gripped his knees to keep from lunging across the space. "I understand you're used to performing and entertaining, but please," he said, his voice dangerously calm, "ask me anything else other than "are we there yet". Anything."

Duman grinned. He knew exactly what he was doing. Every question, every sigh of exasperation was like a needle to Ogron's nerves. And it was delicious.

"All right, then," Duman sat up, smirking. "Tell me about this coven of yours. It is a sex thing, isn't it? I mean, it feels like a sex thing. I'm gonna be honest—"

"IT IS NOT A SEX THING!" Ogron barked, his patience finally snapping. His voice echoed in the enclosed space, and for a split second, Duman blinked in surprise, his grin faltering before quickly returning.

Ogron inhaled sharply, forcing his voice back under control. "Please, let's try and save all of our questions for after we get to the castle," he said through gritted teeth, though his tone was anything but polite. He took a deep breath, silently calculating how much longer this ride would take. Surely, there had to be some way to end this torture sooner.

Duman, not missing a beat, resumed his playful tone. "I mean, no judgment. Some people have weird kinks. Like, you with the whole leash thing?" He gestured lazily toward Gantlos, who remained as stoic as ever, staring out the window as if mentally checked out of this entire ordeal.

Ogron closed his eyes briefly, counting to ten in his head. 'I'll have to ask the Circle if he's expendable,' he thought to himself. Just how much more of this could he take? He'd thought Duman would be an asset—a shapeshifter with unmatched skill—but right now, he was seriously reconsidering that decision. Could they really conquer Earth with this clown on their side?

Duman leaned back again, drumming his fingers on the edge of the carriage, glancing between Ogron and Gantlos, his smile never wavering. He was pushing every button he could find, testing just how far he could go before Ogron snapped. It wasn't like he wanted to get thrown out of the carriage—but it was oh-so-fun to see just how close to the edge he could get.

"So, how long is this ride? Hours? Days? Are we circling the whole kingdom just for the scenic route? I don't mind, but you know, it feels like a bit much. Like—"

"ENOUGH!" Ogron thundered, his patience finally giving way entirely. "One more word, Duman. Just one more word, and I swear by all the gods, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Duman grinned, leaning forward. "Kill me? I thought you needed me, your majesty."

Ogron seethed, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. In that moment, he truly considered it. For just a fleeting second, the image of strangling Duman danced temptingly in his mind. But no. He couldn't. Not yet.

Instead, Ogron breathed out sharply, forcing himself to sit back and say nothing more. He had to endure this. For now.

Duman leaned back, satisfied. "Well, this is going to be fun," he said softly, his smirk widening as the carriage continued its journey, the castle still nowhere in sight.

--

The carriage finally pulled up to the grand castle, and Duman was unceremoniously thrown out onto the cobblestone drive. He landed in a heap, briefly sprawled on the ground, taking in his surroundings with a sharp, critical gaze. The castle loomed above him, its imposing facade casting long shadows despite the bright daylight.

Duman stood and surveyed the scene before him. The castle's staff moved about with downcast eyes, their expressions a mix of fear and resignation. There was an air of oppressive gloom, as if an unseen force was hovering over them, threatening their very existence. Duman narrowed his eyes at the scene. Looking around, his eyes then settled on Gantlos, who exited the carriage on all fours. Their eyes met briefly, and Duman saw the flicker of shared understanding in Gantlos's gaze—an acknowledgment of lost humanity, something Duman had experienced firsthand in his own past. True, he was a man who could turn into animals, however, some of his past owners took that a little too seriously, treating him as if he was an animal. There was something else in Gantlos's stare, however, perhaps a fascination.

Next, Duman's gaze shifted to Anagan, who appeared lost in a foggy haze, Duman watched how he clung to Ogron, as if he couldn't take so much as a step without the kings help. Duman smelled a hint of something sickly sweet—

'rosewood', he thought.

The smell of the powder was a telltale signs of a love potion at work. He had seen them be made thousands of times.

Duman quickly pushed these serious thoughts aside as he re-engaged his playful demeanor.

"Wow, nobody looks too excited around here," he commented with a wide grin as they entered the castle. The interior was dim despite the sunlight streaming in through the windows, creating an atmosphere that felt unnervingly dark.

As they walked through the grand doors, Duman's eyes sparkled with mischief. He couldn't resist turning the dreary environment into his own stage. He began by mimicking the grandiose gestures of a court jester, exaggeratedly fluttering his hands and bowing low with an overly dramatic flair. He strutted down the hallway with an exaggerated limp, waving his arms as if he were performing a comedic dance. The servants looked at the man with a strange expression. Not many people were very flamboyant to get around here safe for the king.

"Behold, the mighty king!" Duman declared loudly, dramatically flinging his arms out as if addressing an imaginary audience. Some servants felt their mouths tug upward others were just confused, the king didn't seem pleased with his demeanor. Duman cast a mocking glance at Ogron's opulent attire, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The king of the Magic Dimension, with his resplendent robe and his glittering crown. Truly, a sight to behold!"

He continued with his performance down the hall, his antics growing more outrageous. He flung himself into a pirouette, spinning around and nearly bumping into a bewildered servant. "Oh, Your Majesty," he said in a high-pitched, singsong voice, "is there a royal decree about how many jewels one must wear to be considered 'kingly'? Or does it just come with the inherited title?"

The servants exchanged nervous glances, their eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. Even Gantlos's stoic demeanor cracked slightly as he watched the spectacle.

Duman's antics reached their peak as he made an elaborate show of mockingly scrubbing the floor with an imaginary mop, his movements accompanied by exaggerated sighs and groans. "Such grandeur! It must be exhausting to maintain such a grandiose appearance!"

The entire hall erupted with muffled chuckles and gasps. Ogron's face turned a furious shade of red as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Enough!" he roared, his voice echoing through the hall. "You're walking a dangerous line, Duman. Actions have consequences, and if you insist on being a fool you will know I am just as stern as I am loving."

Duman's grin faded slightly at the word loving, replaced by a serious look. He raised an eyebrow, his tone now sharp with curiosity. "Oh my dearest king, how much of this kingdom did you actually fight for? Or did you inherit it all?"

Ogron's composure faltered, his voice stuttering. "I… I inherited most of it. I'm working to bring Earth to my kingdom —"

Duman cut him off with a scornful laugh. "So, you're not a king at all.

You're just someone with a rich dead daddy."