Chapter 22 The Darkness Appears (1/1)
Shrouded in inky black darkness, seated on a throne made of the skeletons on countless long-dead heroes and creatures of legend, sat a shadowy figure contemplating his existence. He'd be granted everything he'd ever longed for, and more. Power beyond compare, a legion of monstrous servants bound to serve his every whim, the ability to bend the cosmos itself to his will... all were his to wield and exploit. Over these past weeks of conquest, he'd toppled kingdoms, slaughtered villages, subdued monsters, and taken to bed every female he'd found a desire for amongst the countless servants of his legion.
And yet, here he was, sitting amongst all of the trappings of his success, the Dark Lord of Demethros, harbinger of the apocalypse, feeling completely bored out of his mind.
Off to the side of his massive bone throne, lit by the faint flickering of torchlight, stood the various heads of noble houses who'd sworn him fealty from his recent conquests. The Grovelsons, the Snivelots, the Cowertons... their armies counted for only a minute fraction of his strength, but he felt a strange sense of perverse pride to have them constantly waiting at his beck and call, waiting with bated breath for him to tell them to jump off a cliff because it pleased him.
All of that said, when God had offered him the chance to become the dastardly villain he'd always dreamed of becoming, and become the god of this new world of his storybook imagination, he'd leapt at the chance. Who wouldn't? But now, having done everything he could think of to do, and with absolutely no challenge to anything he ever did, even moving off his throne long enough to take a shit felt like a tremendous chore.
God had promised him there would be a great hero spawned into this world. His opposite. His equal. His one real challenge to becoming the god of this new world. All he had to do was find and defeat this great hero, and godhood would be his. But in all of his searching, with all of his resources massed to the task of finding this legendary hero, he'd turned up nothing. Every report he'd followed up on about a great hero led to some other random NPC with a big shiny sword and a big shiny smile and a big shiny can-do attitude, and after a few seconds, a big shiny corpse left smoking in a big shiny crater. It was all so very tedious.
The Dark Lord of Demethros snapped his fingers, and as if on cue, three things stepped forward- An executioner with a comically large axe, an entertainer in a fool's cap, and a scantily clad Succubus holding her own leash. He looked from one to the next with a sigh, his cheek resting on the knuckles of his left hand. After a moment's deliberation, he pointed to the executioner, who stepped forward and knelt. Before the other two could step out of sight again, he pointed to the entertainer, who yelped and attempted to run. With a lazy flick of his wrist, the Dark Lord locked the man in place, and compelled him to kneel, leaning with his face down towards the paved tile of the floor.
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Suddenly, just as he was about to give the order to have the man beheaded, a small floating bearded man poofed into the air next to the Dark Lord's throne, and waved at him.
”Dennis! I have good news! I finally found you a hero to face. He just made into the world a few hours ago. He's looking for a challenge. Can I borrow a few goblins?” Frumpkin asked, hopping up and taking a seat on the arm of the skull throne.