Page 14 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

“The Dark Lord spoke to me,” I heard him whisper to another servant as we passed. “He wished me a good morning! ME!”

Beside me, Azrael stiffened, his jaw clenching slightly.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Not at all, my lord,” he replied, his tone perfectly neutral despite the muscle ticking in his cheek. “It is merely… unusual… for the Dark King to acknowledge the lower servants.”

“Well, maybe it’s time for some changes around here,” I said. “A little appreciation goes a long way toward building loyalty.”

Azrael’s expression remained carefully blank, but the temperature around him dropped several degrees. I could practically see the frost forming on his perfect butler uniform.

We emerged into a massive courtyard paved with black stone. In the center was a fountain that sprayed what looked suspiciously like blood into a basin carved with screaming faces. Charming décor choice, past-Beau. Nothing says “relaxing garden feature” like perpetually screaming stone people.

The courtyard was surrounded by high walls topped with gargoyles that I could have sworn moved when I wasn’t looking directly at them. Beyond the walls, I could see the towers of the Dark Citadel stretching toward the perpetually twilight sky, their spires disappearing into low-hanging clouds.

The courtyard was empty except for four figures arranged in a semicircle, each more bizarre than the last.

A massive serpentine dragon with scales black as the void coiled around the fountain. One eye was milky white and blind, the other glowed purple. When it saw me, the dragon reared up, spreading wings that momentarily blocked out the twilight sky.

“Mr. Snuggles awaits your command, my lord,” Azrael announced solemnly.

Mr. Snuggles. The name hit me like a sledgehammer of embarrassment. I remembered creating this fearsome beast during a particularly emotional episode of an animal rescue show, where they’d saved an abandoned kitten that looked at the camera with one good eye.

The dragon lowered its massive head until it was level with mine, its single good eye studying me intently. Then, to my astonishment, it made a sound like a purr and gently butted its head against my chest with enough force to nearly knock me over.

“He remembers you,” Azrael observed. “The bond between a dark lord and his shadow dragon transcends time itself.”

I cautiously reached up to scratch behind what I hoped was the dragon’s ear. Mr. Snuggles— God, that name—rumbled with pleasure, the sound vibrating through the courtyard and causing small pebbles to bounce on the ground.

“He can shrink to the size of a house cat if you wish,” Azrael informed me. “Simply command it.”

“Um, Mr. Snuggles, shrink, please?” I tried.

The dragon’s form immediately began to contract, scales flowing like liquid shadow until what remained was a cat-sized dragon that promptly climbed up my leg and settled around my shoulders like a scaly scarf.

“Convenient,” I remarked, scratching under the miniature dragon’s chin. It purred louder, small puffs of smoke escaping its nostrils. “No more awkward ‘sorry, my dragon ate the neighbor’s car’ conversations.”

A three-headed hound approached next, each head a different shade of black (how that was possible, I wasn’t sure). Smoke billowed constantly from all three sets of nostrils, and its fur seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

“Sir Fluffington III, your hellhound alpha,” Azrael introduced.

The left head looked playful, tongue lolling out. The middle head appeared protective, eyes scanning the courtyard for threats. The right head just looked grumpy, lips pulled back in a perpetual snarl.

“All three heads have different personalities,” Azrael explained. “They are, technically, three separate entities sharing one body.”

“Hi there,” I said, holding out my hand cautiously.

The playful head immediately licked my palm, leaving a warm, tingling sensation. The protective head sniffed my hand thoroughly before giving it a gentle nudge. The grumpy head pretended to ignore me but eventually gave my fingers a reluctant sniff.

“He can also change size,” Azrael added. “From war-hound to lapdog.”

At that moment, a raven swooped down from one of the towers, its wingspan easily six feet across. As it neared, I noticed its feathers shifted between solid and shadow, and its eyes contained what looked like miniature galaxies.

“Captain Sparkles, your nightmare raven,” Azrael announced.

The raven landed on my outstretched arm, surprisingly lightweight despite its size.

“Captain Sparkles, Herald of Doom, reporting for duty, my liege,” the raven announced in a surprisingly deep voice. “The aerial reconnaissance division awaits your orders.”

I blinked in surprise. “You can talk.”

“Indeed, my lord. I can also mimic any voice I have heard, a skill most useful for infiltration and psychological warfare.”

Captain Sparkles. I’d named it that because of its galaxy eyes, thinking they looked “sparkly.” The military title had been added as a joke during a late-night gaming session when everything seemed funnier than it actually was.

The final companion slithered forward—a serpentine creature with crystalline scales that radiated cold. It left a trail of frost on the stones as it moved.

“Lord Popsicle of the Frozen Wastes,” Azrael introduced with perfect seriousness.

The ice wyrm rose up, frost patterns forming in the air around it. “It is ice to see you again, my lord,” it said, its voice tinkling like ice chimes. “The court has been frozen in anticipation of your return.”

Oh God. The ice puns. I remembered programming those in during a particularly punchy late-night session when I thought I was the wittiest person alive. I’d been wrong. So, so wrong.

“Lord Popsicle can compress to bracelet size,” Azrael informed me. “Many enemies have been surprised when your ‘jewelry’ suddenly expanded into a thirty-foot ice wyrm.”

“That’s… handy,” I said, holding out my wrist.

Lord Popsicle immediately coiled around it, shrinking until it resembled an ornate bracelet of living crystal. The cold was noticeable but not uncomfortable.

I stood in the courtyard, a miniature dragon around my shoulders, a talking raven on my arm, a three-headed hellhound at my feet, and an ice wyrm around my wrist. This was definitely not how I’d expected my day to go when I woke up in my crappy apartment that morning, dreading another shift at the call center where the highlight would be if the vending machine didn’t eat my money.

A small crowd of servants had gathered at the edges of the courtyard, watching with undisguised fascination. When I glanced their way, they immediately dropped their gazes, but not before I caught expressions of wonder and—surprisingly—hope.

“Why are they looking at me like that?” I asked Azrael quietly.

“They are not accustomed to seeing you so… approachable,” he replied, his tone carefully neutral. “The Dark Lord they remember was more… distant.”

“Distant as in ‘busy with important dark lord business’ or distant as in ‘would set them on fire for looking at him wrong’?”

Azrael’s silence was answer enough.

Great. So I’d designed myself as a total tyrant in this game. No wonder everyone seemed surprised when I thanked them or asked their opinion. They were expecting me to demand their firstborn children as sacrifices, not engage in constructive management practices.

“Things are going to be different now,” I said, loud enough for the gathered servants to hear. “Iferona faces challenges that require all of us working together. I expect loyalty and competence, but those who provide it will find me… fair.”

The word ‘fair’ seemed to ripple through the crowd like a physical force. Whispers broke out, and I caught snatches of “changed” and “different” and “chance for us.”

Beside me, Azrael’s expression remained perfectly composed, but the temperature around him dropped several degrees. The mini-dragon around my shoulders hissed softly in his direction, picking up on something I couldn’t perceive.

“Shall we continue the tour, my lord?” Azrael suggested, his voice smooth as silk despite the frost forming on his perfect butler uniform. “There is much more of the castle to see.”

As we walked away, Captain Sparkles leaned close to my ear. “The butler is not pleased with your new approach, my liege,” the raven whispered. “He preferred when your attention was… more exclusively focused.”

I glanced at Azrael’s rigid back as he led the way. Oh, so my demonic butler apparently had some possessiveness issues. That was something to file away for future reference—right under P for “Potentially Problematic” and cross-referenced with M for “Might Murder Anyone Who Gets Too Close To Me.”

For now, though, I had a kingdom to save, heroes to avoid, and apparently, a whole menagerie of ridiculously named magical creatures to reacquaint myself with.

Just another day in the life of a dark lord. I was almost starting to get used to it.

Almost.