Page 4 of The Dark Lord Awakens
The man’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in those unnerving red eyes—confusion, perhaps?
“My lord Lucien,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, “your realm has suffered in your absence. The demons grow restless, the neighboring kingdoms encroach upon our borders, and the forces of light gather strength. Your loyal servants have maintained order as best we could, but only the true Dark King can restore Iferona to its former glory.”
I stared at him, waiting for the punch line. When none came, I pinched myself—hard. Ow. Okay, not dreaming. Maybe a coma? A very detailed, oddly specific coma featuring characters from my favorite game?
“You think I’m… Lucien Noir?” I asked slowly. “As in, the King of Darkness? Ruler of Iferona? That Lucien Noir?”
“You are indeed Lucien Noir, sovereign of the Dark Realm, master of shadows, commander of demons, and rightful heir to the Obsidian Throne,” he confirmed with absolute certainty.
“Right.” I nodded, playing along. “And you are…?”
“Azrael, my lord. Your most loyal servant and steward of your realm during your long slumber.” He bowed his head again. “I have guarded your body and your throne since you fell into your enchanted sleep.”
Azrael. My butler character fromEnolyn: Build Your Empire. The NPC I’d designed to be the perfect right-hand man—efficient, deadly, and unwaveringly loyal. Except he wasn’t supposed to be real. None of this was.
“Where exactly am I?” I asked, looking around the room again, noticing details I’d missed before—like how the shadows in the corners seemed to move independently or how the blue flames in the fireplace cast no heat.
“You are in your bedchamber within the Dark Citadel, the heart of your kingdom of Iferona,” Azrael replied, still kneeling. “Would you like me to summon the royal physician to examine you? Your confusion is concerning.”
“No!” I said quickly. The last thing I needed was more strange people poking at me. “No physicians. I just… need a moment to orient myself. It’s been, uh, hundreds of years, after all.”
Azrael nodded solemnly. “Of course, my lord. The disorientation is to be expected after such a prolonged magical slumber.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, half expecting them to pass through the floor and confirm this was all some bizarre hallucination. But no—my feet touched cold marble, solid and real. I stood cautiously, the silky robe flowing around me like liquid shadow.
“So let me get this straight,” I said, pacing the room, trying to process. “I’m Lucien Noir, the Evil Overlord of Iferona, who’s been asleep for hundreds of years, and now I’m back to… what? Reclaim my throne? Fight the forces of light? Attend evil overlord conventions?”
“To rule, my lord,” Azrael said simply, rising gracefully to his feet. He towered over me, at least a foot taller, but maintained a respectful distance. “Your enemies know you were defeated andfell into magical slumber. They will tremble at the news of your awakening.”
I ran a hand through my hair—which felt silkier than I remembered—and caught sight of my reflection in a nearby mirror. I froze.
The face looking back at me was… mine, but not. Still pale but enhanced in ways that made my real-world self look like a first draft. My reflection showed sharp features and sapphire eyes that seemed to glow against milk-white skin. Silky silver-white hair framed my face, short and perfectly styled—exactly how I’d designed Lucien. I was still shorter than I’d designed Lucien to be in the game—I’d made him a respectable six feet tall, but this body seemed to be about five foot seven, a strange compromise between my real five-foot-five frame and my fantasy avatar. And where I’d been scrawny before, this body was toned and graceful, with lean muscle definition that I’d never achieved despite years of wistful gym memberships.
I looked exactly like I’d imagined Lucien Noir would look.
“Holy crap,” I whispered, touching my face in disbelief.
“Is something amiss, my lord?” Azrael asked, appearing behind me in the mirror, his imposing figure making mine look even more delicate by comparison.
“Just… taking inventory,” I said weakly. “So, Azrael, catch me up. What’s been happening while I’ve been, uh, napping for centuries?”
Azrael’s expression remained impassive, but I swore I saw a flicker of relief in those eerie red eyes. “The realm has maintained its borders, though not without difficulty. The demon generals have grown ambitious in your absence. The humans in the surrounding kingdoms have expanded their territories and strengthened their armies. And the heroes…” He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. “The heroes believe you willsleep for centuries, my lord. They grow bolder with each passing year.”
“Heroes,” I repeated.
Something dangerous flashed across Azrael’s face. “They are not spoken in your presence, my lord. They are your sworn enemies, the ones who—” He stopped abruptly. “Forgive me. I should not speak of such unpleasantness upon your awakening.”
My mind raced. This was insane. I was somehow inside the world of Enolyn, living as my character, with my NPC butler treating me like I was actually the Dark King. Either this was the most elaborate coma fantasy ever, or I’d somehow been transported into the world of my favorite game. Neither option seemed particularly likely, but here I was.
“Azrael,” I said, deciding to test the waters, “what’s the last thing you remember about me? Before I fell into this… magical sleep?”
Azrael’s brow furrowed slightly. “You were preparing for battle, my lord. The heroes had breached our outer defenses. You were summoning a great spell to destroy them once and for all, but something went wrong. The magic backfired, and you collapsed. The heroes saw you fall into slumber, but they underestimated how quickly you would return.” I could sense your life force, faint but present. I secreted you away to this chamber, warded against all intruders, and have guarded you ever since, waiting for your return.”
Well, that didn’t match any gameplay scenario I remembered. InEnolyn: Build Your Empire, the game was exactly what it sounded like—players built their own domains and ruled them however they wanted. My character, Lucien Noir, was just one of thousands of players developing territories across different realms. I’d spent years leveling up to ninety-nine and turning Iferona into something I was proud of, all while watching the legendary Ironstriders guild take down thetoughest challenges from a safe, admiring distance. The game was ongoing, with regular updates and new content, not some linear storyline with a predetermined ending.
“And you’ve been waiting all this time?” I asked, genuinely touched by the fictional character’s loyalty. “For hundreds of years?”
“I would wait millennia if necessary, my lord,” Azrael said with such conviction that I almost believed him. “My existence is bound to yours. My purpose is to serve you.”
