Page 58 of The Dark Lord Awakens
And Lord Lucien, rather than punishing such impertinence, merely nodded encouragingly and moved on to the next group of citizens.
Azrael’s hand twitched toward the blade concealed beneath his tailcoat—a reflexive response to such a breach of protocol. He had removed the faces of demons for lesser offenses. The collection of preserved expressions in his private chamber included seventeen different variations of “inappropriate familiarity,” each meticulously labeled and arranged chronologically.
But his lord seemed pleased by the imp’s response, which meant Azrael could not punish it. The realization was… frustrating. Like being presented with a perfectly composed symphony and forbidden from hearing the final note.
By midday, the camp had transformed from an organized collection of tents to a functioning community. The initial terror of the citizens had given way to cautious gratitude as they received food, water, and medical attention. The void provisions were having their expected effect—even a single meal was visibly strengthening the weakest demons, bringing color back to gray skin and light to dimmed eyes.
Azrael watched as a group of children devoured cup noodles with the reverence usually reserved for sacred rituals. Their parents looked on with tears streaming down their faces, many tasting the “Bread of Vitality” for the first time and marveling at its soft texture.
“Hey, Azrael, have you eaten anything today?” Lord Lucien’s voice startled him from his observations.
“My lord?” Azrael blinked, confused by the question. No one had inquired after his well-being in… centuries, perhaps. The concept was so foreign that he struggled to process it.
“Food. You know, the thing that keeps you from keeling over? You’ve been running around since dawn.” Lord Lucien was holding out a cup of steaming noodles, offering it to Azrael as if he were any common servant in need of sustenance.
Azrael stared at the cup, momentarily speechless. The dark lord was serving him? The natural order of the universe seemed to be inverting itself before his eyes. This was wrong, inappropriate, a reversal of the sacred hierarchy he had maintained for centuries.
And yet… the gesture sent a wave of heat through his body that had nothing to do with hunger. To be the focus of Lord Lucien’s concern, to be seen by those sapphire eyes, to be offered sustenance from those perfect hands… it was intoxicating.
“I… do not require nourishment at this time, my lord,” he managed finally, his perfect composure threatening to crack beneath the weight of unexpected emotion.
“Everyone needs to eat, even scary demon butlers with perfect hair,” Lord Lucien pressed the cup into his hands. “Try it. The void magic stuff is pretty wild.”
Unable to refuse a direct command, Azrael accepted the cup with a slight bow. “As you wish, my lord.” The cup was warm against his palms, the heat seeping through his gloves—gloves he had specially crafted to ensure no unworthy object ever touched his skin directly. But this cup had been touched by Lucien. It was, by extension, worthy of direct contact.
He removed one glove with precise movements, tucking it into his pocket before accepting the cup again with his bare hand. The sensation was… intense. Heat and texture against skin that rarely felt anything but the finest fabrics or the handle of a blade. He could feel the subtle imprint of Lucien’s fingers where they had held the cup moments before.
He consumed the noodles methodically, expecting nothing special despite the reactions he had observed in others. Azrael’sself-discipline was legendary; no mere food could affect him as it did lesser demons.
The first taste proved him wrong.
Warmth spread through his body like liquid fire, not burning but invigorating. He could feel his magical reserves expanding, power coursing through pathways long established but suddenly enhanced. His senses sharpened, colors becoming more vivid, sounds more distinct. Even his thoughts seemed to crystallize, achieving a clarity that was both exhilarating and disorienting.
But more than the physical effects, it was the knowledge that Lucien had given this to him—had thought of him, had concerned himself with Azrael’s well-being—that sent waves of pleasure cascading through his system. This cup, this simple offering, was more precious than all the treasures in his private collection.
“Good stuff, right?” Lord Lucien asked, watching him with that same half smile.
Azrael composed himself with effort. “It is… potent, my lord. The void energies are indeed remarkable.” An understatement so profound it bordered on dishonesty, but to express the true depth of his reaction would be inappropriate.
Lord Lucien nodded, satisfied, then turned his attention back to the camp. “We’re making decent progress. First batch of people is getting settled, and the next groups should be here soon. Healer 47 says the supplements are working even better than she expected on the really sick ones.”
Azrael followed his gaze, noting with surprise that many of the citizens who had arrived skeletal and barely conscious were now sitting upright, consuming food and water with growing strength. The transformation was happening faster than should have been possible, even with magical intervention.
“The void provisions exceed all expectations, my lord,” Azrael acknowledged. “Your mastery of interdimensionalresources is… unprecedented.” And arousing, though he kept that observation to himself. Power had always been the most potent aphrodisiac, and watching Lucien wield it with such casual efficiency sent heat pooling low in Azrael’s abdomen.
Lord Lucien made a noncommittal sound, his attention already shifting to a new group of arrivals being escorted into the camp. These demons were in even worse condition than the first wave—many had to be carried on stretchers, their bodies wasted to the point of near-dissolution.
“Healer 47!” Lord Lucien called, striding toward the new arrivals. “These folks need help, like, yesterday!”
The moth demon fluttered forward, her four arms already reaching for medical supplies. “Yes, my lord!” Her wings vibrated with anxiety as she assessed the new patients. “These are from the lowest levels of the eastern district. They’ve been without food for… weeks, possibly months.”
Lord Lucien’s expression darkened, a flash of the old Lucien’s terrible anger briefly visible beneath the surface. “How did they even survive this long?”
“They’ve been consuming shadow essence directly, my lord,” Healer 47 explained, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It sustains basic life functions but causes severe deterioration over time. Many are beyond—” She stopped herself, antennae drooping.
“Beyond saving?” Lord Lucien finished for her, his voice soft but intense.
“With conventional methods, yes, my lord,” the healer admitted. “But these void supplements…” She gestured to the specialized nutritional formulas they had set aside for the most critical cases. “They might have a chance now.”
