Of Megalomaniacs and Monsters
Ash and wind whip through the air as two dark shapes thunder across the wasteland.
Lucien and Groth atop their mighty steeds, galloping with devastating grace over scorched earth and blackened stone. Bugatti snorts fire and sparks with every step, her flaming mane trailing like a comet across the sky.
Beside him, General Groth, an oversized greatsword slung across the back like a badge of defiance. Black armor catches glints of twilight flame as her warhorse kicks up clouds of cinders behind them.
Above them, wings spread and hair fluttering, Serenith flies in smooth silence, keeping pace as her robes flutter like banners in the wind.
The wind roars, but Lucien speaks clearly. "Status report, Groth. How’s our subjugation coming along?"
Groth adjusts the enchanted reins of her mount. "We’ve secured all the towns along the eastern border. Minimal resistance. Most surrendered the moment they heard you were back. Word is spreading fast. No one dares to challenge the Demon Lord."
Lucien clicks his tongue. "Pity. I was hoping for some resistance. I’m eager to try out a little diplomacy. See what politics are like out here in the ashlands."
"Try it on the dragon." Groth snorts.
"It’s a wild animal, Groth." Lucien blinks. "Not exactly dinner conversation material."
Groth turns her head slightly, a single golden braid trailing behind her helm. "You might be surprised, my lord. Elder dragons are just as intelligent, if not more so, than most sentient beings. You could try talking it out of the mountain. Although..."
Lucien raises an eyebrow. "Although?"
Groth shrugs. "The only reason an elder dragon would nest deep in a mountain like this is if it’s protecting a hoard."
Lucien’s eyes light up like a child spotting his birthday cake.
Groth continues, unaware of the chaos she’s sowing. "And dragons never part with their hoards. Not even under threat of death. You’d have better luck separating a newborn from its mother."
Lucien grins. "You’re telling me I have a chance to sweet-talk a dragon out of a mountain of treasure?"
"I’m telling you it’s impossible." Groth shakes her head.
Lucien cackles, flames dancing in his eyes. "I’ve smooth-talked gods, Groth. What’s one overly possessive lizard?"
Serenith swoops in close, her expression stern.
"You’re powerful, Demon Lord. Sly, charming, and insufferably good at getting your way. But you’re not immortal. There are creatures in this world that can kill you. Elder Dragons being at the top of that list."
"I’ll be careful." Lucien assures her, brushing off her concerns with a wave of a hand. "I’d never do anything to jeopardize asset number one."
Hours later, they reach the base of the black-cragged mountain, home of a sprawling mining operation buzzing with cursed energy. Tents, cranes, scaffolds, glowing ore carts, and veins of magma-like stone pulsing with corrupted magic in every direction.
Above the chaos flies a squadron of succubi in dominatrix gear, barking orders and lashing whips at shirtless, muscle-bound laborers.
"Work harder or Lord Lucidius will personally incinerate your balls!" one of them screams to a group of Orc.
"Okay." Lucien winces, "I definitely need to establish an HR Department... and a PR Division while we’re at it. I’m not trying to be the evil kind of evil."
Groth chuckles as they ride along the perimeter toward a cluster of stone buildings. "You’ll need a bureaucracy if you want a sustainable dictatorship, my lord"
"Empire," Lucien corrects with a grin. "And mine’s gonna have sewers and social benefits."
They stop outside the mine’s administration hub where Lucien kisses Bugatti on the head and dismounts, his cloak fluttering dramatically behind him.
A bored guard slouches at the door, barely glancing up. "Foreman’s not seeing anyone. She’s—"
Lucien steps into the light and the guard blinks, twice.
Then he yelps, trips, and nearly impales himself on his own spear.
"M-my lord! Apologies, my lord! Right this way!"
Inside, the room is chaotic.
Stacks of scrolls, crates of reports, and ledgers fill every surface. At the eye of the storm sits a short, bespectacled half-demon, half-dwarven woman with wild curls and an even wilder panic in her eyes. She mumbles furiously, tearing through documents.
"I swear, if production doesn’t go up, he’s going to behead us all! Why does he need so much ore all of a sudden? For what, a throne made of swords and gold!?"
Lucien casually drops into the chair across from her, legs crossed. "Not a bad idea, actually."
The woman shrieks and flails backwards, only to dive back into her work. "Whoever you are, I don’t have time, I’m trying to not die, so if you could kindly—"
Serenith floats in, arms crossed, while Groth ducks inside behind her, greatsword thumping to the floor.
The forewoman glances up.
She sees Groth first. She gulps.
Then Serenith. She yelps.
Then Lucien. She shrieks.
"Please don’t kill me! I’m valuable! I swear I’m valuable!" she pleads as she dives under her desk.
Lucien lets out an exhausted sigh and leans forward. "That’s not a very polite way to greet your Lord."
Sniffling. Then crawling. Then sobbing. She emerges between his legs, clinging to his knees, nose running.
"Please! Don’t execute me! I’m efficient! I only cry during breaks!"
Lucien chuckles. "Groth, gather the workers. I want to make an announcement."
The general gives a stiff salute and steps out.
Lucien returns his gaze to the trembling woman and strokes his chin thoughtfully and she quivers then yelps again.
"What’s your name?" He laughs as he reaches down, gently taking her hands.
"S-S-Sila." she hiccups.
"Well, Sila," he says, helping her up, brushing the dust off her shoulders, "you’re adorable. And I bet you’d look even better without the tears."
She flushes crimson as he grabs her around the hips and lifts her onto the desk, sets her down gently, then leans back in his seat with a confident grin.
"Now... give me the 101. Who are you, what do you do, and why is my mining operation run by a woman on the verge of spontaneous combustion?"
Sila gulps. "I’m the senior administrator for this site. I’ve managed this mine for seventy years. It’s been practically dead for the last century... only sporadic activity during wars."
Lucien nods. "That tracks. I’m rebuilding a kingdom, though. So why are we stalling?"
She shudders. "A month ago, we started getting massive orders. We had to ensla... um... recruit people from all across the wastes to keep up. We just opened a deep vein overflowing with ore and gems. But..."
"But?" he leans in, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.
"There’s a dragon. An elder one. Ancient. Smart. Arrogant. Won’t leave. We’ve lost thirty workers, and even more soldiers, trying to breach the lair."
Lucien leans back, contemplating. "Smug, proud, and stubborn. Sounds like you’re describing me."
Sila giggles nervously before he claps his hands and stands, startling her again.
"Relax. You’re my head of mining now. An integral part of my empire. We’re going to be great friends."
"Careful." Serenith snorts, "All his female friends end up in his bed."
Sila gasps and her eyes sparkle. "R-Really?!"
Lucien shoots Sila a wink, and she swoons, knees weak, grabbing the desk to balance herself.
Serenith shakes her head with a defeated sigh, while outside, the murmurs of a crowd grow louder by the second.
Lucien emerges onto a high platform overlooking the site, and from the railing, he gazes down into the yawning pit of the mine. Hundreds of dirty, tired, and murmuring miners, overseers, and laborers await, packed into the massive yard below the administration building, all of them buzzing with curiosity.
He claps his hands and a deep boom echoes through the quarry like thunder.
Everyone freezes.
Heads turn.
Gasps echo.
Whispers ripple like wind through grass.
"That’s him..."
"The Demon Lord..."
"He’s beautiful..."
Lucien turns to Serenith with a grin, and she sighs, rolling her eyes.
"Well, what are you waiting for, Demon Lord?" she says, arms crossed. "Go on... blow their minds."