Page 21 of The Dark Lord Awakens
As we walked, I noticed something strange. The servants we passed in the corridors were behaving oddly. Instead of the fearful deference they’d shown earlier, they seemed… hopeful? One small demon with dragonfly wings actually smiled at me before catching herself and quickly looking away.
When I absently said “good morning” to a servant polishing a suit of armor, the poor thing nearly fainted from shock before breaking into a grin so wide it seemed physically impossible for his face.
“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 withpleasure, 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.
