Page 14 of The Dark Lord Awakens
“For ordinary beings, perhaps. For the Dark King, even bathing is a sacred act.”
Of course it was. Evil overlording was apparently a twenty-four seven job with no casual Fridays.
Azrael continued washing me, his movements clinical and precise. I tried to relax, telling myself this was just like getting a massage at a spa.
“Lean forward, my lord,” Azrael instructed, and I complied automatically. His fingers worked through my hair, massaging some kind of shampoo into my scalp. It smelled amazing—like a forest after a thunderstorm.
“What is that scent?” I asked, closing my eyes despite myself. The massage felt too good to maintain proper evil overlord dignity.
“Shadow laurel extract,” Azrael replied. “It stimulates the mind and strengthens magical abilities.”
“It smells like rain and pine trees,” I murmured. “Reminds me of camping trips when I was a kid.”
The fingers in my hair paused for a fraction of a second. “You went… camping, my lord?”
Shit. That probably wasn’t very dark lord-ish. “For, uh, ritual purposes. Sacrificing forest creatures. Very dark. Very evil. Lots of… blood and… stuff.”
“I see,” Azrael said, though his tone suggested he very much did not see. “Rinse, please.”
I dunked my head under the water, partly to wash out the shampoo and partly to hide my flaming face. When I emerged, sputtering slightly, Azrael was waiting with a towel.
“Are we done?” I asked hopefully.
“Unless you require additional services, my lord.”
The way he said “additional services” made me choke on nothing. “Nope! All good! Very clean now. Squeaky clean. So clean you could eat off me. Wait, no, that came out wrong. I mean?—”
“As you wish,” Azrael said, mercifully cutting off my babbling. He held out the towel, clearly expecting me to stand up.
Great. Round two of naked humiliation. I rose from the water as quickly as possible, snatching the towel and wrapping it around my waist before Azrael could do it for me.
“I can dry myself,” I said firmly, grabbing a second towel for my hair.
Azrael looked like he wanted to object but nodded stiffly. “Very well. I shall prepare your attire for the power demonstration.”
As he turned to leave, I called after him, “And remember—comfortable! Nothing with bones or spikes or… whatever those pointy things were on the other outfit.”
“As you command, my lord,” Azrael replied, with just the slightest hint of disapproval in his tone. Apparently, evil overlords weren’t supposed to prioritize comfort over intimidation. Too bad. This evil overlord had spent too manyhours in uncomfortable call center chairs to sacrifice comfort for aesthetics.
Once alone, I studied myself in the ornate mirror, surprised by how quickly I was getting used to the face that stared back. After the bath, my skin seemed to have a subtle luminescence that I hadn’t noticed before—almost like it was lit from within. The dark lord aesthetic suited me better than I cared to admit, though ironically, with my silver-white hair and glowing pale skin, I looked more like an angel than a demon king. I turned slightly, examining my profile, still adjusting to the strange feeling of inhabiting a body that was simultaneously mine and not mine. The magical bath had left me feeling refreshed, my muscles responding with a strength and precision my original body had never possessed.
“Well, Beau,” I muttered to my reflection, “at least you got an upgrade in the physical department when you dimension-hopped. Even if I’m the least threatening-looking dark lord in the history of evil overlords.”
I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of testing my powers. If I really could command shadows and summon demons… well, that was a significant upgrade from my previous special talent of de-escalating angry customers who’d been on hold for two hours.
Maybe being a dark lord wouldn’t be so bad after all.
4
Lucien/Beau
“These should be suitable, my lord,” Azrael said, presenting me with an ensemble that struck a reasonable balance between “fearsome dark lord” and “won’t chafe in uncomfortable places.” Black pants and a midnight-blue shirt with minimal skull motifs—practically business casual for the aspiring world dominator. As I dressed, the fabric darkened beneath my fingers like a mood ring having an existential crisis.
“Did the cloth just… move?” I asked, staring at my sleeve like it might bite me. Just what I needed—sentient clothing. Because regular laundry wasn’t complicated enough.
“Your garments are woven with shadow essence, my lord,” Azrael explained with the patience of someone talking to a toddler discovering their own reflection. “They respond to your power, even unconsciously.”
Fantastic. I was one emotional breakdown away from turning my underwear into a black hole. Talk about a wardrobe malfunction.
