Page 47 of The Dark Lord Awakens
Thirty demons in one pod? That sounded less like a family unit and more like a college dorm room after the apocalypse. “Then we’ll register them as pods,” I decided, making it up as I went along. “Each living group, whether family or communal, gets supplies proportionate to their size and needs.”
Magister Wiggles nodded enthusiastically, causing the swirling magic beneath his skin to form complex patterns thatmade me slightly dizzy. “Most innovative, my lord! I propose we use magical markers for each registered group. My acolytes can create tokens that glow when the bearer approaches the correct distribution point, preventing duplication and confusion.”
Magic tokens? That sounded way more sophisticated than the “take a number” system I’d been vaguely imagining. “Excellent idea,” I said, grateful that someone in the room actually knew what they were doing. “And speaking of distribution points, we should organize them by type of aid. Food, water, shelter, hygiene—separate stations for each, with clear pathways between them.”
I was basically describing a mall food court, but with emergency supplies instead. And the demons were eating it up like I was presenting revolutionary concepts in logistics management.
General Smashington nodded, the bone ornaments in his armor clinking together like macabre wind chimes. “My warriors can maintain order. I suggest we establish a perimeter with controlled entry points.”
I had a sudden vision of terrified demon families being herded through checkpoints by armored brutes with skull-adorned weapons. “Just don’t make it look like a prison camp,” I cautioned. “These are citizens in need, not prisoners or enemies. Your soldiers should project safety, not intimidation.”
The general looked momentarily confused, as if the concept of nonthreatening security was entirely foreign to him, then nodded slowly. “As you command, my lord. We shall… smile?” The word seemed foreign in his mouth, like he was trying to pronounce a particularly difficult word in a language he’d just started learning.
“Maybe just don’t scowl actively,” I suggested, trying not to laugh at the mental image of General Smashington’s troopspracticing smiles in a mirror. “And no weapons unless absolutely necessary.”
Lady Shadowfax’s form condensed slightly, becoming almost humanoid. “My agents can circulate through the crowds, identifying troublemakers before conflicts arise. We can also identify those with special needs who might be too proud or afraid to come forward.”
Great, so we’d have secret police mingling with the refugees. That didn’t sound dystopian at all. But I supposed in a realm where the previous administration’s management style involved “motivational disembowelment,” this was probably considered progressive policy.
“Perfect,” I said, trying to focus on the positive aspects of her suggestion. “What about the most vulnerable? The children, the elderly, the sick? They shouldn’t have to wait in long lines.”
Duke Splashypants gurgled thoughtfully, the gills on his neck flaring like tiny underwater fans. “The Moist Dominion can establish a separate distribution line for them, ensuring they receive priority care. My subjects are naturally nurturing to the young and infirm.”
I tried not to focus on the phrase “Moist Dominion,” which sounded like the world’s least appealing spa retreat. “Good.” I nodded. “And we’ll need a medical tent for those too weak to feed themselves. Who has healing skills?”
A small, timid-looking demon with moth wings and antennae raised her hand. Her voice was soft but clear. “I am Healer 47, my lord. My team specializes in malnutrition and physical deterioration. We have been… quite busy in recent years.” Her wings drooped slightly.
The understatement of the century, judging by what I’d seen in the city. “Excellent, Healer 47. Set up a medical area in the center of the camp. You’ll receive special nutrition supplements designed for the severely malnourished.”
Her antennae perked up like a cat spotting a laser pointer. “Truly, my lord? Such specialized remedies would be… miraculous. Our current treatments are limited to diluted blood broth and shadow fungus.”
I tried not to grimace at what sounded like the world’s worst soup kitchen menu. “Yes, truly. You’ll have proper medical supplies by tomorrow.”
Mistress Pokey stepped forward again. “My workers can assist with food distribution. They understand portion control and have experience with rationing from the… recent difficulties.” She glanced nervously at Azrael, who remained impassive.
“This won’t be rationing,” I clarified, trying to sound confident rather than terrified that I might be overpromising. “Everyone gets enough. But your experience will be valuable in organizing the distribution efficiently.”
As the planning continued, I noticed something remarkable happening. The demons were… collaborating. Departments that apparently hadn’t spoken to each other in centuries were now coordinating efforts, offering resources, volunteering personnel. The energy in the room had transformed from fearful deference to purposeful excitement.
Lord Taxman was deep in conversation with Duke Splashypants about creating waterproof registration scrolls for the amphibious citizens. Lady Shadowfax and General Smashington were marking security routes on the map, while Magister Wiggles demonstrated his glowing tokens to Healer 47, who suggested color-coding them for medical priorities.
They were actually doing it. They were planning a massive humanitarian operation based on my half-baked ideas and random suggestions. Either I was accidentally brilliant, or they were so desperate for leadership that any direction was better than none. Probably the latter.
“We’ll need volunteers from each district to help with setup and to spread the word,” I said, feeling a bit more confident now that nobody had laughed in my face—at least not yet. “Those who step forward will be remembered and rewarded.”
“I shall announce a call for volunteers immediately, my lord,” Sir Formalitee declared, already scribbling furiously on his clipboard. “Protocol 12D: Recruitment of Civilian Assistance During Non-Combative Emergencies clearly outlines the procedure for?—”
“Just tell them we need help and there’s food involved,” I interrupted gently. My customer service experience had taught me that complex explanations rarely work as well as simple incentives. Free food got people to sit through timeshare presentations; it would probably work for demon volunteer recruitment too.
Sir Formalitee blinked rapidly, like a computer trying to process an unexpected command, then made a note. “Simplified recruitment messaging. Most innovative, my lord.”
A demon with the head of a crow and fingers that ended in quills stepped forward. “Scribe 103, my lord. I can produce illustrated announcements for distribution throughout the city. Many lower district residents cannot read the high demonic script.”
“Perfect,” I said, mentally adding “literacy program” to my ever-growing list of “things this kingdom desperately needs that I have no idea how to provide.” “Keep the message simple: help is coming, go to the Ashen Fields, bring your family, no one will be turned away.”
Scribe 103 nodded, already sketching in the air with his quill-fingers, leaving glowing trails that formed simple pictograms. It was like watching a demonic PowerPoint presentation being created in real time.
“What about transportation?” I asked. “Not everyone will be able to walk to the Ashen Fields, especially the sick or elderly.”
