Page 13 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

Her silver eyes gleamed. “The heroes plan to move against us within the month. They believe you still slumber, and they seek to destroy your physical form before you can fully awaken. They have acquired an artifact—the Sunstone Blade—which they believe can pierce your heart.”

Well, that was less than ideal. Like finding out your car insurance expired the same day someone crashed into your parked vehicle.

“Do we know where this blade is now?”

“In the possession of the hero Valorian Lightheart. He keeps it on his person at all times.”

Of course he did.

“Continue monitoring their movements,” I instructed. “I want to know their plans before they do.”

Lady Shadowfax’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “As you wish, my lord.”

Next came a small imp-like demon wearing tiny spectacles perched on his pointed nose. “Lord Taxman, Chancellor of the Treasury, at your service, dread sovereign,” he announced with a deep bow that made his spectacles slip down his nose. “The Department of Eternal Revenue awaits your commands.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Lord Taxman? Really, past-Beau? That was the best I could come up with? I might as well have named him “Sir Accountant” or “Duke Spreadsheet.”

“Lord Taxman,” I acknowledged. “What is the state of our treasury?”

He pushed his spectacles back up with his calculator hand.

“Dire but not catastrophic, my lord. We have sufficient funds for basic operations for approximately six months. Tax collection has been… challenging… with the population decline. However, I have maintained meticulous records of all who owe back taxes.” He patted the ledger lovingly.

“With your permission, I could send the Auditors of Doom to collect.”

“Let’s hold off on the Auditors of Doom for now,” I said. “I’d like to review your books first. Perhaps there are efficiencies we can implement before we resort to doom-auditing.”

Lord Taxman looked simultaneously disappointed and intrigued. “Efficiencies, my lord? A novel concept. I shall prepare the ledgers for your review.”

A demon with translucent skin stepped forward next. I could see swirling patterns of magic moving beneath his skin like luminous tattoos, constantly shifting and reforming. He wore elaborate robes covered in mathematical formulas and made a series of complex hand gestures before speaking.

“Magister Wiggles, Court Sorcerer and Arcane Advisor, at your service, O Master of Darkness,” he announced, his voice surprisingly deep for someone named ‘Wiggles.’ “The Disciples of the Eternal Wiggle stand ready to unleash arcane devastation at your command.”

Oh God. Magister Wiggles. I remembered creating him during a sugar high after consuming an entire package of licorice.

The way his magic swirled under his skin had reminded me of wiggly worms, and the name had stuck.

I was pretty sure I’d giggled for ten straight minutes while designing his character model.

“Magister Wiggles,” I said, managing to keep my voice steady. “How fare our magical defenses?”

He wiggled his fingers dramatically, creating small sparks of purple energy.

“The primary ward matrix remains functional, though at reduced capacity. The secondary thaumaturgic barriers have degraded by approximately forty-two point seven percent. The necro-arcane perimeter alerts are still operational, which is how we detected the heroes’ recent reconnaissance attempts.

” He paused, looking hopeful. “With your return, we could perform the Ritual of Eternal Darkness once more. It has been three centuries since the sky burned black with your power.”

Everyone in the hall looked at me expectantly. Clearly, this Ritual of Eternal Darkness was a big deal. Probably not something you could fake your way through like that time I pretended to know how to salsa dance at my cousin’s wedding.

“Perhaps once I’ve fully recovered my strength,” I hedged. “I wouldn’t want to attempt such a powerful ritual prematurely.”

Magister Wiggles nodded sagely. “Most wise, my lord. The Sacred Art of the Wiggle teaches patience in all things arcane.”

Next came a female demon with bark-like skin and flowers blooming from her hair. She moved with surprising grace for someone who appeared to be part tree.

“Mistress Pokey, Minister of Agriculture and Resources, my lord,” she announced with a curtsy that made the flowers in her hair release a shower of glowing pollen. “The Twilight Farmlands await your guidance.”

Mistress Pokey. I vaguely remembered thinking her thorn-covered arms looked “pokey” and the name had amused me. I’d probably been sleep-deprived at that point in my character creation marathon.

“What is the state of our food production?” I asked.

“Sufficient to prevent starvation, but only just,” she replied, her tone practical.

“The eternal twilight limits what crops will grow. We have focused on shadow wheat, nightshade vegetables, and blood fruit orchards. With additional labor and resources, we could increase yield by perhaps thirty percent.”

“That will be a priority,” I said firmly. “A hungry population is an unstable one.”

She looked surprised but pleased. “Indeed, my lord. I shall prepare proposals for your review.”

The final department head was an amphibious demon with webbed hands and feet, luminescent eyes, and skin that glistened with moisture. He made a gurgling sound before speaking.

“Duke Splashypants, Lord of the Murk Marshes, Master of the Moist Dominion, at your service, dread sovereign,” he announced, his voice bubbling as if speaking underwater. “The ancient water dynasty of House Splashypants renews its eternal pledge to your darkness.”

I was going to murder past-Beau. Splashypants? Really? I must have been absolutely hammered when I created this character. Probably during that weekend when my roommate brought home that bottle of mystery alcohol with the snake at the bottom.

“Duke Splashypants,” I acknowledged, somehow keeping a straight face. “How fare the marshlands?”

“Rich in resources but dangerous to harvest, my liege,” he gurgled. “The marshwalkers do what they can, but many have been lost to the deep sinks and the predators that dwell within. With proper equipment and training, we could triple our yield of alchemical ingredients and rare minerals.”

“Prepare a proposal,” I instructed. “The marshes may be key to our recovery.”

He bowed deeply, water dripping from his elaborate headdress. “The Moist Dominion lives to serve.”

I managed not to snicker at “Moist Dominion,” which I considered a personal victory of willpower. My inner twelve-year-old was having a field day.

With the department heads introduced, Azrael stepped forward again. “My lord, your personal companions have awaited your return most eagerly. They are gathered in the courtyard, if you wish to greet them.”

“Of course,” I said, genuinely curious to see what my “companions” were like. In the game, I’d designed several pets and mounts, each with unique abilities.

We exited the Grand Hall through a different set of doors, these leading to a long gallery lined with portraits. Each painting depicted a different demon, all wearing elaborate formal attire and expressions of extreme constipation—or extreme dignity, it was hard to tell the difference.

“The Ancestral Gallery,” Azrael explained. “The noble houses of Iferona.”

I paused before one particularly stern-looking portrait. The demon had six eyes arranged in a circle around his head and was holding what appeared to be a severed human head.

“Lord TBDlater the Disemboweler,” Azrael supplied. “A most loyal vassal until his unfortunate… retirement.”

The way he said “retirement” made me suspect it involved something sharp and permanent.

“And this one?” I asked, pointing to an empty frame with just a black smudge where a face should be.

“Lord FixNameInEditing the Treacherous,” Azrael replied, his voice suddenly cold. “His image was magically erased after his betrayal. As was Lord FixNameInEditing himself.”

I suppressed a wince. Those were definitely placeholder names I’d thrown in during a late-night gaming session, intending to come back and give them proper demonic titles later.

Apparently “later” never came, and now these ridiculous names were part of Iferona’s noble history.

Even worse, the demons probably thought these were ancient, dignified titles passed down through generations.

Also, mental note: don’t betray the Dark King. Bad for your complexion. And existence.

We continued through the gallery and down a spiral staircase wide enough for ten people to walk abreast. The stairs descended at least five stories, passing landings that led to different wings of the castle.

“The eastern wing houses the libraries and arcane laboratories,” Azrael informed me as we passed one landing. “The western wing contains the armory and training grounds. The northern wing holds the guest chambers, though they have been… underutilized… in recent centuries.”

“No surprise there,” I muttered. “Nothing says ‘welcome’ like a fortress called the Dark Citadel.”

“The southern wing,” Azrael continued, ignoring my comment, “contains the kitchens, servant quarters, and various storerooms. Below us are the dungeons, the Chambers of Torment, and the wine cellar, as previously mentioned.”

“Let’s skip the Chambers of Torment tour,” I suggested. “I’m not really in a torment-y mood today.”

Azrael looked almost disappointed. “As you wish, my lord.”

As we walked, I noticed something strange. The servants we passed in the corridors were behaving oddly. Instead of the fearful deference they’d shown earlier, they seemed… hopeful? One small demon with dragonfly wings actually smiled at me before catching herself and quickly looking away.

When I absently said “good morning” to a servant polishing a suit of armor, the poor thing nearly fainted from shock before breaking into a grin so wide it seemed physically impossible for his face.