The Cafeteria of the Damned was exactly as appetizing as it sounded.
It was a cavernous hall located in the bowels of the Citadel, illuminated by torches that burned with a sickly green flame. The air smelled of sulfur, boiled cabbage, and wet dog. Long stone tables were packed with the diverse and terrifying infantry of the Dark Army: Orcs tearing into raw shanks of meat, Goblins fighting over scraps of bread, and skeletons... well, the skeletons just sat there pretending to eat, pouring soup through their ribs onto the floor.
In the center of this chaotic, violent, carnivorous mosh pit sat Elara.
She was the only human in the room. She was also the only person eating a sandwich with the crusts cut off.
"Mistress Elara!" a small Goblin squeaked, rushing up to her table. He was holding a tray of gray sludge that wobbled menacingly. "Please! Take my sludge! It has extra gristle today!"
"No, take mine!" an Orc roared, shoving the Goblin aside. "I have a roasted bat! It is crunchy!"
Elara chewed her sandwich calmly, adjusting her round glasses. She looked at the terrifying monsters clamoring for her attention like puppies.
"Down, boys," she said, waving a hand. "I brought my own lunch. But..." She pointed at the Goblin. "You. Your ears are very floppy today. Good job."
The Goblin gasped, clutching his ears. "She... she likes my ears!" He fainted from sheer joy.
"And you," she pointed at the Orc. "Your tusk is shiny. Did you polish it?"
The Orc blushed, a terrifying sight involving green skin turning purple. "Yes, Mistress! I used grave-dirt polish!"
"Cute," Elara smirked.
The Orc roared in triumph, turned around, and punched another Orc in the face out of pure excitement. A brawl instantly broke out, tables flipping, food flying.
Elara didn't flinch. She just sipped her tea (summoned from thin air) and watched the violence with a satisfied smile. This was much better than the Hero's party. There, lunch was a silent affair where everyone counted calories and judged her posture. Here, it was dinner and a show.
"You have disrupted the social order of the mess hall in less than ten minutes."
Elara looked up. Lilith was standing there, holding her tray (which contained a single, perfectly ripe pomegranate). The Succubus looked exhausted.
"I didn't do anything," Elara said innocently. "I'm just boosting morale. Look at them."
She gestured to the pile of brawling Orcs. One of them was holding a chair and shouting, "SHE CALLED ME CUTE!" before smashing it over a troll's head.
"That is not morale," Lilith sighed, sitting down opposite Elara. "That is a riot."
"Same thing," Elara shrugged. "So, where's the Boss? He's late. I saved him a seat." She patted the empty spot on the bench next to her. "I wanted to see him eat. Does he take off the helmet? Or does he mash the food through the grill?"
"Lord Valdred is not coming to lunch," Lilith said, slicing her pomegranate with a dagger. "Today is the Broadcast."
Elara tilted her head. "The Broadcast?"
"The Annual Intimidation Declaration," Lilith explained. "Every year, on the winter solstice, the Demon Lord must project his image via the Great Crystal to the Human Kingdoms. He must deliver a speech reminding them of his power, threatening their borders, and generally keeping the fear of darkness alive. It prevents them from getting complacent."
"Ooh," Elara's eyes lit up. "A speech? Like a villain monologue? Is he practicing?"
"He is in the Chamber of Reflection," Lilith said. "He is... preparing."
"Preparing," Elara repeated, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. She stuffed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, dusted off her hands, and stood up.
"Where are you going?" Lilith asked, though she already knew the answer.
"To help!" Elara chirped. "I'm the expert on villains, remember? I used to work for the Hero. I know exactly what scares humans."
"Elara, do not disturbing him while he is—"
"Bye, Lilith-chan! Enjoy your fruit!"
Elara vanished in a swirl of sparkles, leaving Lilith staring at the empty bench.
"I hate teleportation," the Succubus muttered.
The Chamber of Reflection
The Chamber was a circular room at the very top of the highest tower. It was dominated by a massive, floating purple crystal—the Omni-Lens.
Valdred stood in front of a full-length mirror, his cape billowing in a magical wind he had conjured for effect. He was pacing back and forth, muttering to himself.
"People of the Light... tremble. No, too cliché."
He cleared his throat. He deepened his voice until it sounded like gravel grinding in a mixer.
"Humanity! Your time is nigh! The shadows... the shadows are... really dark!"
He stopped. He slumped his shoulders.
"The shadows are really dark?" he whispered to his reflection. "Pathetic. Valdred, you sound like a weather report."
He shook his head and slapped his helmeted cheeks. "Focus. You are the Scourge of the West. You are the King of Cinders."
He struck a pose, raising one gauntlet to the sky, fingers curled like claws.
"COWER, MORTALS! FOR I SHALL DRINK YOUR—"
"Pfft."
Valdred froze. He knew that sound. It was the sound of his dignity evaporating.
He slowly turned his head.
Elara was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated amusement.
"Continue," she said, grinning. "You were going to drink their what? Their milkshakes? Their bathwater?"
"Elara!" Valdred lowered his hand, his cape going limp as he lost focus on the wind spell. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to hear that 'shadows are really dark' line," she giggled, walking into the room. "Wow. That was rough, Boss. I gave it a 3 out of 10. And that's generous."
"I am rehearsing!" Valdred snapped defensively. "It is not easy! I have to strike the perfect balance between terrifying and regal. If I am too scary, they mobilize a Crusade immediately. If I am not scary enough, they send settlers to my borders. It is a delicate geopolitical dance!"
"It looked more like the Macarena," Elara teased. She walked a circle around him, inspecting his posture. "You're too stiff. And your voice... you're trying too hard. You sound like you have a sore throat."
"Oh? And I suppose you are an expert on intimidation?" Valdred scoffed. "You, who wears bear slippers to war councils?"
"I am terrifying," Elara stated flatly. "Ask the Goblin whose mind I broke with a compliment. But seriously, Boss. You need help. If you go on air with that material, the humans are going to laugh at you. Leo will definitely laugh at you. Do you want the Hero to laugh at you?"
Valdred stiffened. "Leo... watches these?"
"Group watch party," Elara nodded solemnly. "Popcorn. Drinks. Usually a drinking game. Every time the Demon Lord says 'Doom', they take a shot."
Valdred groaned and covered his face. "This is a nightmare."
"Lucky for you," Elara said, stepping in close and poking his chest plate, "you have a new Director. Me."
"Director?"
"I'm going to coach you," she announced. "I'll make you the scariest thing they've ever seen. But..." She paused, looking up at him through her lashes. "You have to do exactly what I say. No arguing."
Valdred looked at the Omni-Lens, then at his reflection, then at the small, smug mage. He had twenty minutes before the broadcast. He was desperate.
"Fine," he grumbled. "What do I do?"
"First," Elara said, "fix the posture. You're hunching. You want to loom." She reached up, grabbing his shoulders. Her hands were small and warm against the cold metal. "Shoulders back. Chest out. Like you own the place. Which you do."
Valdred straightened up.
"Good," she murmured. "Now, the hands. Don't do the claw thing. It's tacky. Just... relax them. Rest one on your sword hilt. It implies you're ready to kill, but you don't need to."
She took his right hand and placed it on the hilt of his massive black blade. She lingered for a second, her fingers brushing his gauntlet.
"Better," she whispered. "Now... the laugh."
"I have a great laugh," Valdred protested.
"Let's hear it."
Valdred inhaled. "MWAHAHAHAHA!"
Elara stared at him. Dead silence.
"No," she said. "Just... no. That sounds like a constipated walrus. Try something lower. Slower. Like you know a secret that's going to kill everyone."
"Heh... heh... heh..." Valdred tried.
"Creepier," Elara coached. "Come on, Valdred. Look at me. Imagine I'm a helpless little human who wandered into your castle. What do you do?"
"I ask you if you have an appointment," Valdred said honestly.
Elara face-palmed. "You are hopeless! Okay, new tactic. We need to use magic."
She stepped back, her eyes glowing with that familiar violet mana.
"I can cast a Presence Amplifier on you," she said. "It's an illusion spell. It'll take whatever menace you have and multiply it by ten. It'll add shadow tendrils, glowing eyes, the works."
"That sounds perfect," Valdred said, relieved. "Do it."
"Ah, ah, ah!" Elara wagged her finger. "Not so fast. My magic has a cost, remember?"
Valdred sighed deeply. "Validation."
"Bingo," she winked. "If you want me to make you look like a god of destruction, you have to praise my directing skills. Right now. And make it good. I'm feeling very artistic today."
"Now? We have three minutes!"
"Tick tock, Demon Lord-sama. The camera doesn't wait." She tapped her foot.
Valdred looked at the crystal. It was starting to hum. The connection was establishing.
He looked at Elara. She was grinning, but he could see the anticipation in her eyes. She needed this.
"Elara," Valdred started, his voice rushing. "You are... annoying."
"Bzzt. Wrong answer."
"But!" Valdred corrected loudly. "You are also... incredibly perceptive. You saw through my insecurities instantly. You possess a social intelligence that is frightening."
Elara's grin wavered. She smoothed her skirt. "Go on."
"And..." Valdred took a step toward her. "The way you took charge just now. It was... commanding. You have the soul of a Empress. You make me want to be better, just so I do not disappoint you."
Elara stopped breathing for a second.
The soul of an Empress.
Her face went from smug to nuclear red in 0.5 seconds. The mana around her flared up like a bonfire.
"E-empress?!" she squeaked. "You can't just drop the 'E' word like that! That's way too heavy for a Tuesday!"
"Is it enough?!" Valdred yelled. "The crystal is glowing!"
"Yes! Yes! It's enough!" Elara shouted, panic and happiness warring in her voice. She threw her hands out. "Okay! Illusion Magic: Nightmare King Protocol!"
A blast of violet energy hit Valdred just as the crystal flashed white.
The Human Kingdom – The Royal Pub
The pub was crowded. Heroes, adventurers, and drunkards were all staring at the magical projection screen above the bar.
"Here we go," sneered a blonde man in golden armor. It was Leo, the Hero. He swirled his ale. "Time for old Bucket-Head to make his empty threats. Drink every time he says 'Darkness'."
The screen flickered. Static cleared.
And then, the room went silent.
The image on the screen was not the usual Demon Lord standing stiffly in front of a curtain.
It was a vision of absolute terror.
Valdred sat on his throne, but he seemed fifty feet tall. Shadows writhed around him like living serpents, whispering in tongues that made the viewers' ears bleed slightly. His eyes were two burning suns of crimson hate.
But the worst part was the sound.
He didn't shout. He didn't roar.
He chuckled. A low, resonant sound that vibrated the floorboards of the pub three kingdoms away.
"Humanity..." Valdred's voice came through, distorted into a chorus of a thousand doomed souls. "I have watched you. And I find you... boring."
Leo lowered his drink. His hand was shaking.
"Do not worry about war," the Demon Lord continued, leaning forward, the shadows swallowing the camera. "War implies you have a chance. Instead... pray. Pray that I stay bored. Because the moment I decide to play..."
The screen went black.
Dead silence in the pub. A glass fell off a table and shattered.
"That..." a random bard whispered. "That was... actually really scary."
Leo stared at the black screen. He frowned.
"Wait," Leo muttered. "That lighting... the angle of the shadows... the audio mixing..."
He recognized that style. He recognized the dramatic flair.
"Elara?"
Leo crushed his tankard in his hand, ale splashing everywhere.
"She's with him?!"
Back in the Chamber of Reflection
The transmission cut. The violet mana faded.
Valdred stood there, blinking. The illusory shadows evaporated. He was just a guy in armor again.
He looked at Elara. She was slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor, panting. She was glowing so brightly she looked like a radioactive lightbulb.
"Did... did it work?" Valdred asked, checking his gloves to make sure they weren't actually made of shadows.
Elara gave him a thumbs up. Her hand was trembling.
"Work?" she wheezed, a goofy smile plastered on her face. "Boss... that was... a masterpiece. You looked so cool. Like, illegally cool."
She covered her burning face with her hands.
"You said I had the soul of an Empress," she mumbled into her palms. "I think I'm going to pass out. My heart is going too fast. This is a workplace hazard."
Valdred let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He walked over to her and knelt down. He awkwardly patted her head. Her hair was soft and warm from the magic.
"Good work, Director," he said softly.
Elara peeked through her fingers. The smugness returned, just a flicker.
"Heh," she whispered. "Head pats? You're getting bold, Demon Lord-sama. Be careful. If you keep this up, I might never let you go."
"I fear," Valdred said, helping her stand up, "that I am already stuck with you."
"Damn right," Elara grinned, leaning heavily on his arm as they walked to the door. "Now, carry me to the cafeteria. I need a juice box. Being an Empress is exhausting."
"I am not carrying you."
"Please? I'm tiny."
"No."
"I'll tell the Orcs you sleep with a teddy bear."
"...Fine. But only to the stairs."