Page 3 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

In my final moments of consciousness, I wondered if Wes and Cole would hear about my heroic deed. Maybe they’d finally notice me, the awkward student who became a local hero. But knowing my luck, they’d probably just mark me absent for the next class.

I floated through darkness, weightless and formless. No pain, no hunger—just peaceful nothingness. Was this death? If so, it was surprisingly comfortable. No fire and brimstone, no angels with harps—just the void. I could get used to this.

Then sensation started creeping back. First, softness beneath me—impossibly plush and smooth, like lying on a cloud made of marshmallows and unicorn fur. Next came warmth, enveloping me like a cocoon. Finally, a distant sound—breathing? Not mine.

My eyes fluttered open, and I immediately regretted it. Even the dim light felt like needles stabbing directly into my brain. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust, wondering if heaven came with complimentary sunglasses.

When my vision finally cleared, I froze. This was definitely not my cramped apartment bedroom with its water-stained ceiling and perpetually broken blinds.

I was sprawled across the most massive bed I’d ever seen—a monstrosity that could comfortably fit a family of elephants with room for their extended relatives.

Crimson silk sheets pooled around me, so smooth they practically whispered against my skin.

The bed itself was a four-poster behemoth carved from some dark wood, with intricate designs that seemed to move if I looked at them too long.

Beyond the bed, the room stretched on like some kind of royal chamber from a fantasy movie—one with an unlimited CGI budget.

Towering ceilings arched overhead, supported by elegant columns.

Massive windows draped with heavy velvet curtains lined one wall, while ornate tapestries depicting scenes of battle and conquest adorned another.

A fireplace large enough to roast an entire cow crackled with blue-tinged flames in the corner.

“What the actual…” I muttered, my voice raspy. Had I been kidnapped by some eccentric billionaire with a medieval fetish? Was this an elaborate prank? Or had I actually died and gone to… luxury hotel heaven?

I shifted, expecting pain from my truck-meets-human encounter, but everything worked fine. Better than fine, actually. I felt… strong. Energized. Like I’d finally gotten enough sleep for the first time in my life.

That’s when I noticed him—a figure kneeling at the foot of the bed, head bowed in what looked like reverence. One knee on the floor, the other bent, in that classic “I pledge my fealty” pose.

“Um… hello?” I ventured, pulling the sheets up to my chest, suddenly aware I was wearing nothing but a silky black robe. “If you’re here to harvest my organs, could you at least let me have breakfast first?”

The figure raised his head, and my breath caught in my throat.

If Michelangelo’s David had a hot, brooding older brother with a gym membership and a penchant for gothic fashion, this would be him.

Tall and imposingly built, with shoulders broad enough to carry my student debt and then some.

His face was all sharp angles and perfect symmetry, pale skin contrasting with jet-black hair.

But his eyes—dear God, his eyes. They glowed red, like embers in a dying fire, set deep in his aristocratic face.

He wore what looked like a butler’s uniform, but tailored to perfection, hugging his muscular frame in all the right places.

His expression remained perfectly composed, almost stoic, as he regarded me. But something in those glowing eyes hinted at deeper emotions churning beneath the surface.

“My lord,” he spoke, his voice deep and smooth as aged whiskey. “You have finally awakened. After three hundred years, Iferona once again basks in your presence.”

I blinked. Then blinked again. Clearly, the truck had hit me harder than I thought.

“I’m sorry, what?” I managed, eloquent as ever. “Three hundred years? Lord? Look, I think there’s been a mistake. I’m just Beau, the guy from OpenSesame customer service who got intimately acquainted with the front of a truck. Speaking of which, shouldn’t I be in a hospital? Or, you know, dead?”

The man’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in those unnerving red eyes—confusion, perhaps?

“My lord Lucien,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, “your realm has suffered in your absence. The demons grow restless, the neighboring kingdoms encroach upon our borders, and the forces of light gather strength. Your loyal servants have maintained order as best we could, but only the true Dark King can restore Iferona to its former glory.”

I stared at him, waiting for the punch line. When none came, I pinched myself—hard. Ow. Okay, not dreaming. Maybe a coma? A very detailed, oddly specific coma featuring characters from my favorite game?

“You think I’m… Lucien Noir?” I asked slowly. “As in, the King of Darkness? Ruler of Iferona? That Lucien Noir?”

“You are indeed Lucien Noir, sovereign of the Dark Realm, master of shadows, commander of demons, and rightful heir to the Obsidian Throne,” he confirmed with absolute certainty.

“Right.” I nodded, playing along. “And you are…?”

“Azrael, my lord. Your most loyal servant and steward of your realm during your long slumber.” He bowed his head again. “I have guarded your body and your throne since you fell into your enchanted sleep.”

Azrael. My butler character from Enolyn: Build Your Empire . The NPC I’d designed to be the perfect right-hand man—efficient, deadly, and unwaveringly loyal. Except he wasn’t supposed to be real. None of this was.

“Where exactly am I?” I asked, looking around the room again, noticing details I’d missed before—like how the shadows in the corners seemed to move independently or how the blue flames in the fireplace cast no heat.

“You are in your bedchamber within the Dark Citadel, the heart of your kingdom of Iferona,” Azrael replied, still kneeling. “Would you like me to summon the royal physician to examine you? Your confusion is concerning.”

“No!” I said quickly. The last thing I needed was more strange people poking at me. “No physicians. I just… need a moment to orient myself. It’s been, uh, hundreds of years, after all.”

Azrael nodded solemnly. “Of course, my lord. The disorientation is to be expected after such a prolonged magical slumber.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, half expecting them to pass through the floor and confirm this was all some bizarre hallucination. But no—my feet touched cold marble, solid and real. I stood cautiously, the silky robe flowing around me like liquid shadow.

“So let me get this straight,” I said, pacing the room, trying to process. “I’m Lucien Noir, the Evil Overlord of Iferona, who’s been asleep for hundreds of years, and now I’m back to… what? Reclaim my throne? Fight the forces of light? Attend evil overlord conventions?”

“To rule, my lord,” Azrael said simply, rising gracefully to his feet. He towered over me, at least a foot taller, but maintained a respectful distance. “Your enemies know you were defeated and fell into magical slumber. They will tremble at the news of your awakening.”

I ran a hand through my hair—which felt silkier than I remembered—and caught sight of my reflection in a nearby mirror. I froze.

The face looking back at me was… mine, but not.

Still pale but enhanced in ways that made my real-world self look like a first draft.

My reflection showed sharp features and sapphire eyes that seemed to glow against milk-white skin.

Silky silver-white hair framed my face, short and perfectly styled—exactly how I’d designed Lucien.

I was still shorter than I’d designed Lucien to be in the game—I’d made him a respectable six feet tall, but this body seemed to be about five foot seven, a strange compromise between my real five-foot-five frame and my fantasy avatar.

And where I’d been scrawny before, this body was toned and graceful, with lean muscle definition that I’d never achieved despite years of wistful gym memberships.

I looked exactly like I’d imagined Lucien Noir would look.

“Holy crap,” I whispered, touching my face in disbelief.

“Is something amiss, my lord?” Azrael asked, appearing behind me in the mirror, his imposing figure making mine look even more delicate by comparison.

“Just… taking inventory,” I said weakly. “So, Azrael, catch me up. What’s been happening while I’ve been, uh, napping for centuries?”

Azrael’s expression remained impassive, but I swore I saw a flicker of relief in those eerie red eyes.

“The realm has maintained its borders, though not without difficulty. The demon generals have grown ambitious in your absence. The humans in the surrounding kingdoms have expanded their territories and strengthened their armies. And the heroes…” He paused, his jaw tightening slightly.

“The heroes believe you will sleep for centuries, my lord. They grow bolder with each passing year.”

“Heroes,” I repeated.

Something dangerous flashed across Azrael’s face. “They are not spoken in your presence, my lord. They are your sworn enemies, the ones who—” He stopped abruptly. “Forgive me. I should not speak of such unpleasantness upon your awakening.”

My mind raced. This was insane. I was somehow inside the world of Enolyn, living as my character, with my NPC butler treating me like I was actually the Dark King.

Either this was the most elaborate coma fantasy ever, or I’d somehow been transported into the world of my favorite game.

Neither option seemed particularly likely, but here I was.

“Azrael,” I said, deciding to test the waters, “what’s the last thing you remember about me? Before I fell into this… magical sleep?”

Azrael’s brow furrowed slightly. “You were preparing for battle, my lord. The heroes had breached our outer defenses. You were summoning a great spell to destroy them once and for all, but something went wrong. The magic backfired, and you collapsed. The heroes saw you fall into slumber, but they underestimated how quickly you would return.” I could sense your life force, faint but present.

I secreted you away to this chamber, warded against all intruders, and have guarded you ever since, waiting for your return. ”

Well, that didn’t match any gameplay scenario I remembered.

In Enolyn: Build Your Empire , the game was exactly what it sounded like—players built their own domains and ruled them however they wanted.

My character, Lucien Noir, was just one of thousands of players developing territories across different realms. I’d spent years leveling up to ninety-nine and turning Iferona into something I was proud of, all while watching the legendary Ironstriders guild take down the toughest challenges from a safe, admiring distance.

The game was ongoing, with regular updates and new content, not some linear storyline with a predetermined ending.

“And you’ve been waiting all this time?” I asked, genuinely touched by the fictional character’s loyalty. “For hundreds of years?”

“I would wait millennia if necessary, my lord,” Azrael said with such conviction that I almost believed him. “My existence is bound to yours. My purpose is to serve you.”

Great. No pressure or anything.

“Well,” I said, clapping my hands together and immediately regretting the loud noise, “I suppose I should… get back to evil overlording, then? Is there a manual? A daily agenda? Evil Overlording for Dummies , perhaps?”

Azrael’s lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. “There are pressing matters requiring your attention, my lord, but nothing that cannot wait until you have fully recovered. Perhaps you would like to bathe and dress first? I have taken the liberty of preparing your chambers.”

As if on cue, my stomach growled loudly—apparently dimensional travel worked up an appetite. Azrael didn’t react, but I swear I saw that almost-smile again.

“And perhaps breakfast?” he suggested.

“Yes, definitely breakfast,” I agreed eagerly. “Food first, evil schemes later. That’s my motto.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Azrael bowed deeply. “I shall have the kitchens prepare your favorite dishes.”

As he turned to leave, a thought struck me. “Azrael? One more thing.”

He paused, looking back at me expectantly.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “For, you know, waiting for me. For not giving up.”

Something shifted in Azrael’s expression—a softening around the eyes, perhaps, or a slight relaxation of his rigid posture. For just a moment, I glimpsed something beyond the perfect butler facade—something almost… human.

“It is my honor to serve you, Lord Lucien,” he said quietly. “Always.”

As the door closed behind him, I sank back onto the bed, my head spinning.

Somehow, I’d gone from being hit by a truck in New York to waking up as an evil overlord in a fantasy realm.

My butler was a demon who’d waited centuries for me to wake up.

And I was expected to rule a kingdom of darkness when I couldn’t even manage my student loan payments.

“Well, Beau,” I muttered to myself, “looks like you’ve finally found something worse than customer service.”