Page 33 of The Dark Lord Awakens
Azrael hovered nearby, his disapproving gaze tracking each morsel I failed to consume like a disappointed parent counting vegetables left on a child’s plate. Mr. Snuggles, sensing my lack of appetite, made a concerned warble and pushed the bowl closer to me with his snout.
“You appear to have lost your appetite, my lord,” Azrael said with thinly veiled concern. “Most unusual, given your customary… enthusiasm for meals.”
“Hard to enjoy breakfast when my stomach is doing aerial acrobatics,” I replied, pushing away the bowl. Mr. Snuggles immediately pounced on it, lapping at the contents with gusto. “Besides, isn’t the whole ‘higher demons don’t need food’ thing supposed to be one of my perks? Consider this me finally embracing my demonic heritage.”
“While it is true that beings of your stature can subsist on minimal physical sustenance,” Azrael conceded, watching as Mr. Snuggles cleaned the bowl with impressive thoroughness, “you have always maintained that regular meals are essential to your… particular magical constitution.”
Translation: Lucien had apparently been a foodie even before my arrival. At least that was one trait we shared.
“Food later. Bath now. City tour after,” I said firmly, standing up. Mr. Snuggles looked up from the now-spotless bowl, his snout covered in dark oatmeal. “That’s the schedule. My stomach can resume its regular programming once we’re done inspecting whatever horror show awaits us out there.”
Azrael nodded and led the way toward the bathroom. As we walked, Mr. Snuggles trotted alongside us, occasionally weaving between my feet in a way specifically designed to maximize my chances of face-planting onto the stone floor.
“Someone’s clingy this morning,” I muttered, trying not to trip over several pounds of affectionate dragon. Mr. Snuggles responded by rumbling innocently and rubbing against my ankles.
“Mr. Snuggles appears particularly… attached today,” Azrael observed with the careful neutrality of someone commenting on an ugly baby. “Perhaps he senses your apprehension about the city tour.”
When we reached the bathroom door, Azrael made a subtle gesture with his hand, creating a barely visible shimmer across the entrance. Mr. Snuggles bounced off it with an indignant squeak, then sat back on his haunches with an expression of profound betrayal. He pawed at the barrier, making a series of increasingly pitiful sounds.
“Is the magical dragon-proofing really necessary?” I asked, watching as Mr. Snuggles continued his dramatic performance, flopping onto his side and staring at me with his single eye widened in what I could only describe as draconic puppy dog eyes.
“After the incident, I believe precautions are warranted,” Azrael replied diplomatically.
“It was just a little splashing,” I said, though even I had to admit that “splashing” was a generous description for what had looked like a miniature tsunami contained within four walls.
Mr. Snuggles flopped down dramatically outside the door as it closed, his tail thumping against the floor in what I was learning was his version of a sulk.
Inside the bathroom, I found the massive obsidian tub already filled with what appeared to be liquid midnight, but darker and more intense than previous days. The steam that rose from the surface carried an exotic scent that reminded me of thunderstorms and dark chocolate, with an undertone of something more potent.
“Enhanced shadow essence,” Azrael explained, noticing my hesitation. “Harvested from the deepest reaches of the void realms. Even rarer and more potent than our previous formulations.”
“It’s not going to make me grow an extra head, is it?” I asked, eyeing the dark liquid suspiciously. “Because I’ve only just figured out how to style this one, and I don’t have the bandwidth for head number two right now.”
“It will merely intensify your natural dark radiance, my lord,” Azrael assured me. “Though I should warn you that the sensation will be considerably more… intense than our previous sessions.”
That didn’t sound ominous at all.
I stripped and slipped into the tub without preamble. The moment the liquid touched my skin, I gasped. This was nothing like the previous baths. It felt like being submerged in carbonated silk—effervescent, cool yet somehow warming, with a tingling sensation that danced across my skin like static electricity, ten times more intense than before.
“Holy mother of—” I bit back a curse. “That’s… something else entirely. Like taking a bath in Pop Rocks and lightning on steroids.”
“This particular essence is responding more strongly to your innate darkness,” Azrael said, his gaze professionally neutral as he prepared various bottles and cloths nearby. “It recognizes its master more readily than the diluted versions we’ve been using.”
The tingling intensified, spreading through my body like wildfire but without the burning. It felt like every cell was simultaneously being massaged and charged with electricity. Not unpleasant, exactly, but overwhelming—like stepping from a quiet room into a rock concert where the bass is so loud you can feel it in your teeth.
“Is it supposed to feel like I’m being gently electrocuted by a very considerate lightning bolt?” I asked, my voice embarrassingly breathless.
“The sensation varies based on one’s connection to the shadow realms,” Azrael replied, moving behind the tub with a bottle of what I assumed was magical shampoo. “For a being of your power, it should feel… invigorating.”
Invigorating was one word for it. “Borderline inappropriate” might be another, but I wasn’t about to share that observation with Azrael. Some things are better kept private, especially when your demonic butler already has boundary issues.
Azrael poured something dark and shimmering into his palm. His fingers slid into my hair, and a fresh wave of tingling sensation cascaded down my scalp. It was like someone had replaced my brain with a sparkler—all fizz and pop and bright sensations.
“Sweet merciful caffeine,” I muttered, my eyes falling closed despite myself. “That feels like my brain is getting a deep tissue massage.”
“The essence purifies as it energizes,” Azrael explained, his voice closer to my ear than I’d expected. “It removes impurities while restoring magical pathways.”
He worked in slow, methodical circles, applying pressure in a way that was somehow both clinical and intimate. The contradiction was very on-brand for Azrael—everything he did existed in that uncanny valley between professional service and possessive devotion. As his hands traced patterns across my shoulder blades, spreading the essence with firm, confident strokes, each touch sent fresh waves of tingling energy cascading through me. I bit my lip to keep from making sounds that would definitely complicate our professional relationship.
