The Demons Making their Move

In the dimly lit throne room of the Demon King's castle, Valeria paced restlessly, her dark energy swirling faintly around her. The massive black stone pillars cast long shadows across the cold floor, and the tension in the air was palpable. Astonoroph, her most trusted general, stood nearby, his brow furrowed as he studied a broken rifle laid out on the stone table before them.

"This isn't working," Valeria growled, her voice low and irritated. "We've been trying to produce these rifles for weeks, and yet they keep breaking down after only a few rounds. What's the problem?"

Astonoroph, with his hulking frame and weathered features, looked up from the table. His eyes, glowing faintly with dark magic, met hers. "The materials we're using, my lady. They aren't durable enough. The rifles can't withstand the repeated fire without cracking or warping."