Page 55 of The Dark Lord Awakens
I suppressed a smile at the thought of opening what was essentially a 7-Eleven in a demonic realm. “The Void Emporium will have to wait, however. For now, our priority is the relief camp.”
I raised my voice to address the courtyard at large. “My loyal subjects! The void has provided for us today, but this is merely the beginning. Follow the distribution plan we have established,and soon all citizens of Iferona will feel the benefits of these provisions. Go forth and prepare the Ashen Fields!”
The demons cheered, many still glowing or vibrating with their newly enhanced energies. They set to work with unprecedented efficiency, loading wagons and forming organized lines without a single squabble or power struggle—a minor miracle in itself.
General Smashington stepped forward. “Your orders, my lord? Shall we begin transport to the Ashen Fields?”
I nodded, trying to look like this was all according to plan rather than a completely unexpected magical side effect. “Proceed as discussed. Security teams first, then setup crews.”
The demons leaped into action with surprising efficiency. Soldiers began loading supplies onto wagons, while others rushed ahead to prepare the relief site. The courtyard transformed into a hive of purposeful activity.
“I must say, my lord,” Azrael commented as we watched, “your strategic acumen has grown as impressive as your magical prowess. To think of establishing a relief camp outside the city… most innovative.”
“Just practical problem-solving,” I replied, trying to sound modest rather than terrified by the weight of responsibility I’d just taken on.
“And to manifest not only food but shelter, hygiene supplies, and medical equipment… all with such potent magical enhancements…” Azrael’s eyes had taken on that unsettling glow again. “Your power has evolved beyond anything in our recorded history.”
I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “Yes, well… a Dark Lord must be versatile.”
“Indeed,” Azrael murmured, his gaze lingering on me with an intensity that made me acutely aware of how close he was standing. “Most versatile.”
I quickly changed the subject. “We should go to the Ashen Fields. I want to oversee the camp setup personally.”
“Of course, my lord. I shall have your shadow steed prepared immediately.”
Shadow steed. Right. Because a normal horse would be too mundane for a dark lord. I just hoped it wasn’t another pet I’d named something ridiculous like “Sir Gallopsalot” or “Hooves McGee.”
As we left the balcony, I glanced back at the courtyard, now bustling with purposeful activity. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt like I might actually be able to do some good here. It wasn’t what I’d expected from being a dark lord, but maybe that was the point.
Maybe being a dark lord wasn’t about terrorizing the populace and cackling maniacally from atop a throne of skulls. Maybe it was about using whatever power you had—whether magical abilities or just an interdimensional shopping app with unexpected magical side effects—to help those who needed it.
Or maybe I was overthinking it, and I should just enjoy the fact that I now had demons bowing and scraping and calling me the “Master of the Void” because I could order magic-enhancing cup noodles in bulk.
Either way, I had a relief camp to set up and forty thousand demons to feed. Dark Lordship, it turned out, came with a surprising amount of administrative work—and apparently, a side business in magical fast food.
14
Azrael
The rabble swarmed across the Ashen Fields like insects, their bodies bending to tasks they had no right to perform in the presence of divinity. Azrael watched them from the shadows of a newly erected tent, his crimson gaze cataloging each movement, each failure, each moment that could—should—have been punished with exquisite pain.
And yet his master allowed it. Encouraged it, even.
Lord Lucien stood at the center of this chaos, silver hair catching the morning light like a beacon. He gestured animatedly, explaining something about water distribution to creatures so far beneath him they should have been honored merely to breathe the same air. His perfect hands—hands Azrael had preserved through centuries with oils pressed from rare flowers that bloomed only in moonlight—were smudged with common dirt.
The sight sent a tremor of distress through Azrael’s perfect composure. He would need to prepare a special cleansing ritual tonight—perhaps the midnight bloom essence that had always made Lucien’s skin glow with such ethereal beauty afterward.
“No, the water tanks need to be higher up,” his lord was saying, pointing to a natural rise in the terrain. “Trust me,gravity is your friend here. Water goes down, not up—basic physics. Or magic. Whatever you guys call it.”
The workers nodded eagerly, their eyes shining with something other than the terror they should rightfully feel. Instead, they looked… grateful. The wrongness of it scraped against Azrael’s sensibilities like a blade against bone.
For centuries, Azrael had cultivated fear like a precious garden. Fear was clean. Fear was efficient. Fear ensured that no hand would ever reach toward his lord without trembling, that no eye would ever meet that sapphire gaze without immediately lowering in submission. He had personally removed the eyes of seventeen servants who had dared to stare too long at Lord Lucien’s beauty. Those eyes now floated in crystal vials in his private collection, preserved at the exact moment their owners realized their transgression.
Now these common laborers were smiling at his lord. Smiling.
He could have their lips removed. It would be simple enough—a quick slash of his blade in the night, a whispered warning about proper respect. He had done it before, during the early years of Lord Lucien’s reign, when the court needed to be taught proper etiquette. The resulting collection of preserved lips had been quite artistic, arranged by shade and fullness in a special display case.
But his lord would not approve. Not this new Lucien, with his strange ideas and stranger compassion.
