Page 17 of The Dark Lord Awakens
The sensation was indescribable—like being everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. I could feel every shadow in the chamber as if it were part of my body. I could sense the darkness between stars, the shadows cast by mountains hundreds of miles away. It was like suddenly growing a million new limbs, each one touching a different patch of darkness in the world.
Power surged through me, intoxicating and terrifying, like chugging ten energy drinks while riding a roller coaster during a lightning storm. In the game, this ability had made Lucien untouchable for thirty seconds. In reality, it felt like I could tear the castle apart with a thought, rearrange mountains for better feng shui, or carve my name into the moon just because I could.
That realization sent a jolt of fear through me sharper than the time I’d accidentally sent a meme to my boss instead of my friend. What if I couldn’t control this? What if I lost myself in the darkness? What if I became the magical equivalent of that friend who gets one sip of alcohol and suddenly wants to fight everyone in the bar?
My panic broke the connection like a record scratch at a dance party. The shadows retreated, leaving me gasping on my hands and knees in the middle of the chamber, feeling like I’d just run a marathon while being chased by bears. My entire body trembled with residual energy and something that felt uncomfortably like withdrawal—the magical equivalent of a sugar crash after demolishing an entire birthday cake.
“Okay,” I wheezed, my lungs burning like I’d just inhaled fire instead of air. “Definitely saving that one for emergencies only. Or the apocalypse. Or never again.”
As I struggled to my feet with all the grace of a newborn giraffe on ice, I became aware of the state of the training chamber. Half the dummies were destroyed—some sliced apart, others partially consumed by lingering shadows like someone had taken bites out of them and decided they weren’t tasty enough to finish. A section of wall had been transmuted into something that looked like solid darkness, as if someone had cut a hole in reality and forgotten to patch it up. The floor was cratered in several places, and a significant chunk of ceiling had collapsed, raining debris like the world’s most dangerous confetti.
“Redecorating, dark lord style,” I muttered, surveying the damage with the dawning horror of someone who’s broken something expensive at a friend’s house. “Azrael’s going to have an aneurysm. Or make me have one.”
As if summoned by the thought (and knowing my luck, he probably had some kind of “my master is destroying things” radar), a hesitant knock came at the chamber doors. “My lord?” Azrael called, his voice managing to sound both deferential and deeply concerned at the same time. “Is everything proceeding as intended? There have been some… concerning vibrations throughout the lower levels.”
I glanced at a training dummy that chose that moment to collapse into dust like it had just remembered it was well past its expiration date. “Everything’s fine!” I called back, trying to sound dignified rather than like someone who’d just discovered they could accidentally level a building. “Just reconnecting with my powers! Very successfully!”
There was a pause long enough for me to imagine Azrael counting to ten in his head. “I see. The eastern tower gargoyleshave… relocated themselves to the kitchens. Would you like me to have them returned to their proper positions?”
I winced. Apparently, my power testing had effects beyond this chamber, like the magical equivalent of turning your music up too loud and annoying the neighbors. “Yes, that would be great! Just normal dark lord stuff happening in here!”
“Of course, my lord.” I could almost hear Azrael’s raised eyebrow through the door, a skill he’d clearly perfected over centuries of dealing with whatever the real Lucien had put him through. “The department heads have assembled in the Grand Hall for your inspection, as we discussed. Shall I inform them you will be delayed?”
Right—the meeting with the generals and other castle staff. The actual running-a-kingdom part of being a dark lord that I’d been trying not to think about.
“No, no,” I replied, brushing shadow residue from my clothes like it was just lint and not the physical manifestation of cosmic darkness. “I’ll be right up. Just… finishing up here.”
“Very well, my lord. I shall await you at the entrance to guide you to the Grand Hall.”
Once I was sure he was gone, I sank down onto a mostly intact bench, exhausted but exhilarated, like I’d just gotten off the world’s most terrifying roller coaster and immediately wanted to ride again. These powers were nothing like pressing buttons in a game—they were wild, intuitive, and responded as much to my emotions as my intentions. Using them felt like speaking a language I somehow knew but had never practiced aloud, or like remembering how to ride a bike if the bike was made of existential dread.
“Well, Beau,” I murmured to myself, creating a small swirl of darkness above my palm just because I could, watching it dance like a miniature galaxy of pure void, “at least being stuck in a demon realm comes with some perks.”
The shadows danced between my fingers like living smoke, responding to my thoughts with an eagerness that was both thrilling and unnerving. I had a feeling I’d barely scratched the surface of what these abilities could do, like opening the first page of a book only to realize it contained the secrets of the universe.
Now I just had to figure out how to meet my department heads without accidentally turning one of them into a shadow puddle if they annoyed me. Business Administration 101 definitely hadn’t covered “magical impulse control” in the leadership section. Though, to be fair, most corporate executives probably would have loved the ability to literally disappear problematic employees.
I stood, brushing myself off and taking a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to calm my jangling nerves. Time to face my kingdom’s leadership and pretend I had any idea what I was doing. At least now I knew I had the power to back up my position—even if I was still figuring out how to use it without destroying the castle. Fake it till you make it, or until you accidentally transform the conference room into a void dimension.
5
Lucien/Beau
Ifollowed Azrael through the winding corridors of my castle—my actual, honest-to-goodness castle—trying not to gawk like a tourist who’d stumbled into the royal palace. The hallways stretched on forever, tall enough to accommodate giants and wide enough for a parade of elephants. Everything was carved from gleaming obsidian that somehow managed to be both pitch-black and sparkly at the same time, like the world’s most gothic jewelry box had exploded and formed walls.
The tapestries lining the walls depicted various scenes of conquest and battle, though most were faded and dusty enough to qualify as archaeological finds. One showed what I assumed was me (or at least Lucien-me) standing atop a mountain of corpses, looking dramatically into the distance while lightning crackled around my perfectly coiffed hair. Past-me apparently had a flair for the theatrical that would make professional actors jealous.
“This place is massive,” I said, before catching myself. “I mean… my domain is… impressively scaled.”
Azrael’s eyebrow twitched slightly. “Indeed, my lord. The Dark Citadel contains over two hundred chambers, seventeentowers, twelve dungeons, and the Pit of Eternal Screaming, which I had renovated into a wine cellar during your absence.”
“Good call on the wine cellar.” I nodded. “Eternal screaming probably gets old after the first century or so.”
“Quite,” Azrael agreed, with the faintest hint of what might have been humor. “The acoustics, however, proved excellent for proper wine storage.”
We passed what seemed like dozens of servants, each more demonic than the last. Some had too many limbs, others not enough. Some floated rather than walked, while others scuttled along the ceiling like oversized spiders wearing butler uniforms. Every single one dropped whatever they were doing—sometimes literally, with an expensive-sounding crash—to press themselves against the wall and bow so deeply their foreheads practically touched the floor.
“Do they always do that?” I whispered to Azrael. “The whole forehead-to-floor thing? Seems like an injury waiting to happen.”
