Page 48 of The Dark Lord Awakens
General Smashington gestured to one of his lieutenants, a muscular demon with the lower body of a horse. “Commander Hoofcrusher’s cavalry can provide transport for those unable to walk. They are… gentle when required.” The last part seemed to be added reluctantly, as if “gentle” was a shameful weakness for a warrior to possess.
Commander Hoofcrusher saluted with a clash of metal gauntlets that made me jump slightly. “We shall convey the infirm with the utmost care, my lord! Not a single elderly demon shall be trampled under our watch!”
I decided to take that as the reassurance it was presumably meant to be, though the specific promise not to trample the elderly suggested a concerning history that I didn’t want to explore right now.
“What about shelter arrangements?” I asked, trying to envision how to organize a camp for thousands of demons with wildly different physiologies and social structures. “The tents will need to be organized logically.”
A tall, thin demon with skin like parchment and eyes that glowed with geometrical patterns stepped forward. “Architect 17, my lord. I suggest we arrange the tents in concentric circles around central facilities—food, water, medical. This creates efficient traffic flow and defensible space.”
Concentric circles? That sounded way more sophisticated than my vague plan of “put tents where they fit.” This demon had clearly thought about this more in the last five minutes than I had in my entire life.
“Good thinking,” I agreed, trying to sound like I was evaluating his suggestion rather than latching on to it like a drowning man to a life preserver. “But let’s also ensure thereare community spaces between tent clusters. People need to socialize, especially during hardship.”
Architect 17 looked momentarily confused, then nodded. “Social… interaction. Yes. I shall incorporate… gathering areas.” He said this as if it were a novel concept, which made me wonder just how dystopian life in Iferona had been before my arrival.
By the time we finished, we had a comprehensive plan: establish a relief camp at the Ashen Fields, move the most vulnerable citizens there first, set up distribution systems based on family or pod size, create a registration process to prevent hoarding, and position guards to maintain order without intimidation.
I was simultaneously impressed by how much we’d accomplished and terrified by how much could go wrong. This wasn’t like planning a company picnic where the worst-case scenario was running out of potato salad. People’s lives were at stake, and I was in charge despite having absolutely no qualifications beyond a business degree and extensive experience with resource management video games.
“One last thing,” I said as we prepared to conclude, trying to sound wise rather than panicked. “This is emergency relief while we develop longer-term solutions. In the coming days, we’ll need to address the city’s infrastructure, food production, and housing. But for now, let’s focus on keeping everyone fed, hydrated, and sheltered.”
Sir Formalitee raised his hand tentatively. “My lord, shall I schedule a follow-up strategic planning session for three days hence? That would allow time for initial distribution while providing a framework for long-term developmental discussions.”
I nodded, impressed by his foresight and grateful that someone was thinking ahead, because my planning horizon currently extended about six hours into the future. “Excellentsuggestion. Three days from now, same location. Please prepare reports on the most urgent infrastructure needs in each district.”
The meeting dispersed with remarkable efficiency, each demon hurrying off to fulfill their assigned tasks. Azrael remained by my side, his expression unreadable.
“Your… management style is different than before,” he said finally.
“Different good or different bad?” I asked, genuinely curious. I’d been making it up as I went along, guided by nothing but common sense and vague memories of disaster relief documentaries.
“Different… effective,” he replied carefully. “Though I admit, I expected more threats of disembowelment. The previous administration found that motivational fear improved productivity.”
“I find collaboration works better than intestinal removal for most administrative tasks,” I said dryly. “Positive reinforcement tends to yield better results than terror.” Thank you, Management 201: Organizational Behavior. Who knew that class would actually come in handy?
“Indeed, my lord. Most innovative.” Azrael’s tone was neutral, but I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something like approval in his crimson eyes. “Though I must confess, your ability to remember all these demons’ designations is impressive. The previous you often referred to everyone as ‘you there’ or ‘insignificant worm.’”
I hadn’t actually remembered their designations—I’d just been responding to whoever spoke. But I wasn’t about to admit that. “A good leader knows their team,” I said, trying to sound wise rather than completely out of my depth. I was pretty sure I’d read that on a motivational poster somewhere, probably next to a picture of an eagle or a mountain climber.
“Indeed, my lord.” Azrael bowed slightly. “Shall we inspect the Ashen Fields before the supplies arrive? It would be prudent to familiarize yourself with the terrain.”
“Lead the way,” I said, grateful for the suggestion. I needed to see this place for myself before hundreds of tons of supplies and thousands of desperate demons converged on it. Plus, I needed to get out of this room before someone asked me a question I couldn’t bluff my way through.
12
Lucien/Beau
As we left the war room, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of terror and exhilaration. I was completely unqualified for this job—managing a call center had hardly prepared me for organizing humanitarian relief for an entire city of demons. It was like being promoted from “guy who occasionally waters office plants” to “person responsible for saving the rainforest,” except with more leather outfits and fewer environmental activists.
Maybe this Dark Lord gig wouldn’t be so bad after all. At least the demonic middle management seemed competent, if a bit overly formal. And they’d actually listened to my ideas without questioning my authority or pointing out that I was clearly making everything up on the spot.
Of course, that might have had something to do with Azrael’s introduction painting me as some kind of messianic void wizard, but I’d take what I could get. If being the “Fulfiller of Prophecy” meant these people would get fed, so be it. I’d been called worse things at the call center. “Customer Service Representative” still topped the list of soul-crushing titles.
“How do we get there?” I asked as we walked through the vaulted corridors that seemed designed specifically tomake people with my height feel like hobbits at a basketball convention. “Horses?” Please say horses. Nice, normal horses. Not some six-legged nightmare fuel with acid breath and a taste for human flesh. The bar for “normal transportation” had gotten dangerously low in my new reality.
Azrael’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, the kind that made alarm bells ring in my head. “I thought perhaps a more… expedient method, my lord. Mr. Snuggles could provide an aerial view of your domain.”
The dragon perked up at the mention of his name. His tail swished with excitement, nearly knocking over a decorative suit of armor.
