Mirador, one hundred ninety-three years old this year, liked to call herself the Kiss of Manipulation. As the name suggested, she enjoyed manipulating and toying with every good person who tried to help the weak and possessed kindness, watching their expressions of frustrated anger or profound regret.
She was born in Piltover and had witnessed almost all of Piltover's changes.
In Runeterra, where magic ran rampant, early Piltover was in ruins, requiring many outsiders to build the city. The explosive increase in population brought with it various problems, such as robberies, thugs committing sexual assault, and home invasion murders.
Since the dark side of the city emerged, people naturally yearned for light. They longed for help from kind-hearted individuals, but when reality contradicted this, it would foster a large amount of negative emotions.
These emotions naturally provided ample nourishment for Mirador, who was then a Demon larva, allowing her to instantly ascend to a lower-ranked, titled adult Demon.
That's right, she was the kind of adult Demon that needed to be attached to a higher-ranked one.
And her superior was the long-renowned Pain Embrace, Evelynn.
Because their methods and hobbies were very similar, Evelynn often jokingly called Mirador a master of manipulating emotions, and her good sister.
Mirador particularly enjoyed creating huge fluctuations and contrasts in a person's emotions within a short period, believing that the souls obtained this way were the most delicious.
From this, her most skilled behavior evolved: she would disguise herself as various women in Piltover—perhaps a vagrant, a homeless foreign woman, or a noblewoman.
But she would always choose to go out at night. Only in the dead of night, most people out in Piltover were seeking pleasure, looking to release their desires.
In the middle of the night, if they saw a fragile and beautiful woman fall to the ground, they would inevitably harbor some ulterior motives. They would feign kindness by helping Mirador up, but in reality, it was to satisfy their own desires.
But when they realized that the weak woman they had helped was actually a Demon, they would experience extreme remorse and regret, and some would even become enraged out of humiliation.
During this process, Mirador also encountered some troublesome individuals, for example: she disliked mages. These bookworms, possessing powerful abilities and exceptionally strong wills, were basically unshakeable.
She hated trouble, and she hated these mages for relentlessly pursuing her even more.
Unfortunately, she was a Demon, an existence that defied logic, a special predatory spirit that human magical theories could not explain.
In contrast, Mirador still preferred the wealthy Piltover nobles who tried to portray themselves as benevolent. The souls of these individuals were the tastiest and most delectable.
To satisfy her almost perverse and twisted psychology, Mirador would constantly toy with them using minor Demon tricks, employing a series of demonic abilities like illusions, mirages, and verbal enticements to continuously stimulate the opponent's nerves until their negative emotions reached their peak.
Eventually, their mental defenses would completely collapse. They would kneel, tears streaming down their faces, begging Mirador not to kill them, while loudly promising and declaring their willingness to be her dog, willing to find more people to extract souls from to satisfy her cravings.
Unfortunately, Mirador didn't like that. She preferred to be involved in the process of creating emotions herself, cosplaying various female roles to harvest souls.
To this day, Mirador's trick has always been effective.
Whether it was the Enforcers of the Piltover Guard, the Piltover nobles living in their estates, or the foreigners who dreamed of striking it rich in Piltover, none were spared.
—Except for this Ionian named Durin.
The first time she saw him, she set her sights on this Ionian from the First Land.
Mirador especially loved to consume the souls of Ionians. She believed that the souls of those who had lived in the First Land since childhood were the most delicious and palatable. Their souls were steeped in magic, possessing a strong spiritual world culture.
But a month ago, just as she was implementing her usual routine on Durin, and her verbal enticement was about to succeed, the other party unexpectedly broke free.
This surprised her, but it also made her remember Durin.
Mirador did not immediately arrange for another encounter. After all, Demons have no concept of time, nor do they have a lifespan.
She might as well take her time; she had all the time and opportunities to toy with this Ionian's soul.
As time passed, Mirador finally saw Durin again. This time, she chose a two-pronged approach, using both mental control and verbal enticement, even employing her Demon abilities to make her appearance exude a seductive allure.
But what she didn't expect was that Durin actually understood the extremely obscure and rare Ochnun language, which was a delightful surprise!
This kind of necromancy, full of negative emotions, was like a feast for Demons.
Therefore, Mirador chose to constantly toy with Durin using illusions and phantoms. She wanted to push his unwillingness—that feeling of desperately wanting to kill her but being unable to—to its peak. Only at that moment would the soul she consumed be the most delicious!
Then, she would use her Demon power to create illusions from the side, and then, from her superior vantage point, enjoy watching Durin fight her phantom to the death like a monkey. Such a scene brought Mirador immense pleasure.
How entertaining it was to toy with someone like this!
However, Mirador's joy didn't last long. She watched with her own eyes as this Ionian named Durin suddenly, for some unknown reason, experienced an accelerated heart rate, followed by rising skin temperature, a flushed face, and increasingly unstable emotions.
Then, she discovered that the arm below this Ionian's left acromion slowly began to mutate. A layer of black and red metal arm armor, as if severely corroded, spread from his upper left arm and covered his entire arm, including all five fingers.
His muscles seemed to swell outwards, and his elbow protruded outwards with a crescent-shaped barbed blade, giving an impression of savagery, terror, and ferocity.
Mirador found it very familiar. The moment her true form was discovered by Durin, she finally remembered: how much it resembled a Darkin bird-man she had once seen, wielding a greatsword, with wings on his back, and an extremely foul mouth!
The heavy black and red armor on that individual was extremely similar to the arm armor on Durin's hand.
Could this guy be a Darkin!?
But Mirador quickly dismissed this ridiculous idea. If the opponent was truly a Darkin, according to their neurotic tendencies, they would probably stab her the moment they appeared. How could they possibly be swayed by her words?
And… they wouldn't be this weak!
So this was just a Darkin Thrall!
Just a lucky human who received a blessing of Darkin Magic.
Upon reaching this conclusion, Mirador's previous pain was instantly replaced by excitement. Because she had never tasted the soul of a Darkin Thrall before!
Would it be sweet and delicious? Or sour and spicy? Or perhaps savory?
The more Mirador thought about it, the more excited she became. Even when Durin, radiating heat, gripped her neck with his left arm and lifted her into the air, she showed no fear. After all, it was just a Darkin Thrall; there was nothing to be afraid of.
Thinking this, Mirador raised her left hand, and an arm blade, solidified from black mist, swung upwards towards Durin's left arm, intending to cut it in two.
But that was not the case. With a loud "clang," the strong counter-shock made Mirador pause.
She felt the rough, broad hand on her neck tighten, and a long-unfelt sense of suffocation gradually filled her head.
Mirador was momentarily stunned. She quickly extended both hands, trying to pull away Durin's left arm, but found that his left arm was as unmoving as if cast in steel. No matter how much strength she exerted, it remained unyielding.
Durin's utterly indifferent face gradually loomed larger in Mirador's eyes, and she completely went mad.
What was happening?
Why... would a mere Darkin Thrall dare to choke her!
Mirador's exquisite face became exceptionally distorted. She raised both hands, using Demonic power to gather black mist into a spiraling orb of arcane energy, then launched it fiercely towards Durin's left chest!
Bang!
When the spiraling orb of arcane energy struck Durin's chest, the force, amplified by its high-speed movement, sent Durin flying like a cannonball. His back slammed hard against the already somewhat shattered wall, then he fell stiffly to the ground, spitting out a large mouthful of blood.
Mirador finally broke free from Durin's grasp. She fell somewhat awkwardly to the ground from mid-air. There was a bruised red mark on her originally fair neck, but it healed instantly in that moment of breath.
She gasped for fresh air as if reborn, rubbed her neck, and coughed a few times forcefully.
But when she looked up, she saw Durin's body, radiating scorching white mist and swaying, getting up from the ground. His clothes were already torn, with only a few tattered and irregular strips of cloth remaining.
Not... not dead?
Mirador was somewhat stunned. Although she wasn't very good at close combat, her previous strike had definitely held nothing back. An ordinary person hit by that would have been pulverized, yet this man in front of her not only wasn't pulverized but actually stood up?!
Mirador's gaze suddenly sharpened, noticing Durin's current state.
The young man's body had undergone a massive change. From his left chest, extending all the way to his entire left arm, he was covered in a layer of black-red armor. The armor's material looked like the keratin of some creature, and its surface was covered with gnarled, rough textures. At his left shoulder, three sharp spikes grew, making him look formidable and terrifying, and his overall appearance sent shivers down one's spine.
Mirador was completely bewildered. Only one thought remained in her mind: Was this Ionian named Durin truly just an ordinary Darkin Thrall?
Why was his appearance so similar to that bird-like Darkin she had seen years ago?
Or was it that she had provoked a genuine Darkin?!
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