Page 20 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

What followed was possibly the most exhilarating twenty minutes of my life—including that time I found twenty dollars in a coat I hadn’t worn in a year.

Azrael might have claimed to be weaker than me, but what he lacked in raw power he made up for in skill and precision that would make a Swiss watchmaker weep with envy.

He moved like liquid shadow, each strike perfectly calculated, each defense seamlessly flowing into counterattack.

My body responded with equal skill, Lucien’s combat experience guiding my movements while my brain provided helpful commentary like “Holy shit!” and “Did I just do that?” When Azrael lunged, I parried.

When he feinted, I saw through it. We were perfectly matched in technique, a deadly dance of blades and shadow that was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

“Your footwork has improved,” I taunted as I dodged a particularly elegant attack. “Been taking dance lessons while I was napping?”

“I have had three centuries to perfect my technique, my lord,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Though I admit, serving as your butler has required more… dodging than dancing.”

The difference was in our power. When I channeled shadow energy into my attacks, they carried force that Azrael had to work twice as hard to counter. When I shadow-stepped behind him, he sensed it coming but couldn’t match the speed. I was stronger, faster, my reserves of magic deeper than his.

But he was cleverer. When direct confrontation failed, he changed tactics, using the environment, creating distractions, forcing me to divide my attention. It was like playing chess and fencing simultaneously while someone shouted math problems at me.

“Your strategic mind remains sharp, my lord,” he commented after I countered a particularly complex sequence of attacks. “Few could anticipate that combination.”

“I’ve always been good at pattern recognition,” I replied, shadow-stepping to avoid a low sweep of his blade that would have introduced my ankles to a world of hurt. “It’s my superpower. Well, that and the actual superpowers. And my amazing hair.”

I reformed behind him, my sword at his throat—only to find his own blade positioned at my side, a mutual kill that would have made for a very dramatic final scene in an action movie.

We froze in that position, both breathing harder than before, the contact points of our blades charged with shadow energy that crackled between us like the world’s most dangerous static electricity.

This close, I could see flecks of darker red in his irises, like garnets embedded in blood.

I could also smell his cologne, which was unfairly amazing—like midnight and spice and expensive things I couldn’t afford in my previous life.

“A draw?” I suggested, not moving my blade. “Or are we going to stand here until one of us gets a neck cramp? Because I should warn you, I’m very stubborn.”

“So it would appear, my lord,” he replied, his voice lower than usual, like he’d been gargling gravel in a sexy way. “Though in a real confrontation, your superior power would eventually prevail.”

There was something in his tone—respect, certainly, but also something else.

Something that made the air between us feel charged with more than just shadow magic.

Something that made me suddenly very aware of how close we were standing and how good he smelled and how his eyes kept dropping to my mouth when he thought I wouldn’t notice.

I lowered my sword first, stepping back with a grin that I hoped concealed whatever my face was trying to do in response to that look. “That was fun. Way better than hitting static dummies. They never look disappointed when you beat them.”

Azrael inclined his head, his perfect composure returning as he sheathed his practice blade. “Combat against thinking opponents will always provide superior training. Your skills have returned remarkably quickly, my lord.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” I said without thinking. “You never really forget how to fall off and embarrass yourself in public.”

His head tilted slightly. “A… bike?”

Shit. Did they even have bicycles in this medieval fantasy realm? For all I knew, the wheel was still cutting-edge technology here. “A metaphor,” I recovered quickly. “From the northern provinces. They’re very… metaphorical up there. Big on abstract concepts. Huge fans of similes.”

Azrael’s expression suggested he didn’t entirely believe this explanation. “Indeed. Your body remembers what your conscious mind may temporarily misplace.”

That was truer than he knew. Throughout our sparring match, fragments of Lucien’s combat knowledge had surfaced in my mind—techniques I’d never learned, opponents I’d never faced, victories I’d never won.

It was like having access to a combat database that downloaded information as I needed it, except instead of “Error 404: Skill Not Found,” I got “Here’s exactly how to disembowel someone with a spoon. ”

“What about combining abilities?” I asked, moving us to safer conversational ground before I accidentally mentioned cars or smartphones.

“In the game—I mean, in my mind, I can see possibilities for using multiple shadow skills simultaneously. Like shadow-stepping while also making shadow constructs or setting things on fire with darkness while also looking fabulous.”

If Azrael noticed my slip, he didn’t show it. “Such combinations were indeed among your specialties, my lord. Your ability to layer shadow effects created unique tactical advantages.”

He moved to the center of the training floor with the grace of someone who definitely knows how to tango but pretends not to at office parties. “Perhaps a demonstration? Attack me using whatever combination of abilities you wish.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? I might not have perfect control yet.”

A small, confident smile curved his lips. “I have survived your training sessions for centuries, my lord. I believe I can manage whatever creative destruction you devise.”

That smile did something strange to my insides—a flutter that felt like I’d swallowed a butterfly sanctuary. I pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the challenge he’d presented, because apparently, I’m a sucker for proving myself to impossibly attractive demon butlers.

Combinations. In the game, certain abilities could be chained together for devastating effect.

Shadow Step into Dark Armory was a basic one, teleporting behind an enemy while simultaneously summoning a weapon.

But what about something more complex? Something that would really make Azrael’s perfectly styled hair stand on end?

I closed my eyes briefly, letting instinct guide me while my brain helpfully suggested, “Do the cool thing from level seventy- two where you made all those shadow clones and the guild chat exploded with people calling you a hacker!”

When I opened my eyes, I was already moving, shadow energy swirling around me like living smoke with serious attitude problems.

First, I activated Void Perception, expanding my awareness to track Azrael’s position with perfect precision.

Then Shadow Step, but instead of a single teleport, I fragmented into multiple shadow forms, each one partially real, creating confusion about my true location like the world’s deadliest shell game.

As the shadows converged, I channeled Abyssal Flames into my blade, the dark fire extending its reach and destructive potential.

The combined effect was spectacular—multiple shadow versions of me attacking simultaneously, each wielding a sword of black flame that made lightsabers look like dollar store glow sticks.

“Surprise!” seven versions of me called out simultaneously, which was both effective and deeply weird to experience from multiple perspectives at once.

Azrael responded with impressive skill, identifying the real me among the decoys and focusing his defense there. But he couldn’t counter all the shadow duplicates, and one scored a glancing hit on his shoulder, the dark fire leaving a smoldering mark on his training clothes.

I immediately dismissed the flames, concern replacing combat focus. “Shit, are you okay? I didn’t mean to actually barbecue you. Medium-rare butler was not on today’s menu.”

To my surprise, Azrael was smiling—a real smile, not his usual controlled expression that looked like he was afraid his face might crack if he showed too much emotion. “Perfectly fine, my lord. Abyssal Flames require direct intent to cause serious harm. You were holding back.”

He touched the scorched fabric, which crumbled to ash under his fingers but revealed unmarked skin beneath. “An impressive combination. Your shadow fragmentation technique has evolved—previously, you could create no more than three duplicates. I counted seven.”

“Lucky number,” I quipped, trying to hide how relieved I was that I hadn’t accidentally turned my butler into demonic toast. “So that worked? Because from my end it felt like trying to watch seven TVs at once while also being on fire.”

“Exceedingly well,” he confirmed. “Though such complex combinations drain magical reserves quickly. In prolonged combat, simpler techniques often prove more sustainable.”

He approached, his movements carrying that predatory grace that seemed to be his default setting. “Your power has grown during your slumber, my lord. The combinations you once found challenging now come naturally to you.”

There was genuine admiration in his voice, and something else—a kind of hunger that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the way his eyes kept drifting over me like I was an all-you-can-eat buffet after a famine.

The look made my pulse quicken, a reaction I wasn’t entirely prepared for because being attracted to your possibly homicidal demon butler wasn’t covered in the So You’ve Been Transported to Another World handbook.

“Well, I had a good teacher,” I said, suddenly aware of how close we were standing. “You know what they say—behind every successful dark lord is an impeccably dressed butler with throwing knives hidden in his sleeves.”

“You honor me, my lord,” he replied softly. “Though I have merely helped refine what was already exceptional.”

The air between us felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes or someone suggests karaoke at an office party.

Part of me—a growing, insistent part—wanted to close that distance, to discover what would happen if I acted on the tension that had been building between us since I’d opened my eyes to find him hovering over me like the world’s most attractive harbinger of doom.

Instead, I cleared my throat, taking a step back because I’m apparently a coward even with level ninety-nine shadow powers. “Same time tomorrow? I want to work on those combinations some more. Maybe see if I can make eight shadow clones. Go for a personal best.”

If Azrael was disappointed by my retreat, he didn’t show it. His perfect butler mask slipped back into place as he bowed slightly. “Of course, my lord. I am, as always, at your service.”

As he turned to leave, I called after him: “Azrael?”

He paused at the door. “Yes, my lord?”

“Thank you. Not just for the training, but for… being patient. With all the changes. I know I’m probably not exactly what you expected after three hundred years.”

Something softened in his expression—so briefly I almost missed it. “Change is the nature of existence, my lord. Even for beings such as ourselves.”

With that enigmatic comment, he was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering sensation of shadow magic dancing across my skin like caffeinated spiders.

I created a small construct in my palm, watching it take the shape of a sword before shifting into a flame, then a shield—forms responding to my idle thoughts like the world’s most deadly fidget toy. The power felt natural now, an extension of myself rather than a foreign tool.

“Well, Beau,” I murmured to myself, “at least if I’m stuck in a demon lord’s body, it’s one that knows how to kick ass and look good doing it. Definite upgrade from dying in a call center.”

The shadow in my palm formed a question mark before dissolving into smoke.

There were still so many mysteries— why I was here, what had happened to the real Lucien, and what exactly was happening between me and my increasingly intriguing butler who looked at me like I was a dessert he was considering devouring.

But for now, I had shadow powers, combat skills, and a kingdom to rebuild. The rest would have to wait.

I sighed, looking at the training room door.

Tomorrow, I’d have to venture beyond the castle walls, see the city for myself.

No more hiding behind paperwork and meetings.

These were my people now, as weird as that concept still felt, and they were suffering.

If I was going to help them, I needed to understand exactly what they were facing.

Just another day in the life of an accidental dark lord—now with added sexual tension and the ability to create shadow duplicates. Definitely an upgrade from customer service, where the only thing I duplicated was my soul-crushing despair.