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Better to stop screwing around, then. He had to concentrate hard in order to bring Grigozo's mind under control.

Another iron assault arrived, and Banda decided to avoid this one instead of trying to devour it. As much as he like adding materials to the brew, that last meal had been a bit too spicy for his tastes.

His powerful wings allowed him a magnificent degree of control in the air, and the ability to become one with his own smoke made attacks trivial to dodge. If he couldn't get out of the way, he could instead just let it pass right through him.

Moreover, the smoke would make it easy to infiltrate the castle and have a quick look around. It would've helped even more if Grigozo's reaper senses could give him some advanced warning of what was down there, but unsurprisingly, the place was guarded against that. No doubt, Darksteel had someone constantly reinfusing it with soul power, assuming he wasn't doing it himself.

He just had to find the way in.

What the hell was up with these aboveground structures, anyway? If he hadn't been told ahead of time that Warrenhold was an underground castle, he probably would've mistaken these things for the main location.

Ah, but wait. There it was again. That smell. Old and familiar. With regard to whose memory, though? Banda's or Grigozo's?

Well, it must've been Banda's, of course. Grigozo was a reaper. He hadn't smelled anything in millennia. It was silly to even humor--

Banda stopped in midair, his slit-eyes widening suddenly as the realization struck him.

No. It was Grigozo's memory.

Of a wrobel.

He smelled a wrobel.

Madness. If he hadn't been using both pan-rozum and his Chaos form at the same time, he never would've picked up on it. Access to Grigozo's memories was necessary, as was this monstrous sense of smell from his elongated snout.