Just an Average Day for the Demon Lord by J. Mauceri

just an average day for the demon Lord

By: Joseph Mauceri

A banging sound resounded throughout the entire castle, rousing its master from his slumber. “Cade!” the master shouted, still groggy as he rolled out of his bed and onto the floor. “Ow! Cade! Where are you!”

The figure of a tall man, with long, golden hair and wide-rimmed glasses, appeared out of thin air next to their master. They patted down their white and turquoise cloak, as if to iron out any wrinkles. They seemed groggy themselves.

“Yes, master?”

“What is that incessant banging?” the master answered.

The servant pushed up their glasses from sliding down. “It appears as though some of the nearby townsfolk have started a revolt. They’re currently trying to break down the

door with a wooden battering ram.”

“Wood?” The master got to his feet, waddling over to his dresser to take out a long robe. “This castle is made of Blackrock. They should know that a simple battering ram won’t break it down.”

“No sir, but it is rather annoying.” The servant’s eyes suddenly transformed from pale blue with a white backdrop, to red with a black one. “Would you like me to take care of them for you?”

“Cade, why do you always feel the need to resort to murder?”

“I apologize, master.” The servant’s eyes returned to their original color.

“Just take me to the front gate.”

“Right away, master.” He placed his hand on his master’s shoulder, and the two disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The act of everything around you blurring and shifting as you suddenly appear somewhere else would ordinarily be a little jarring, at least to a normal person, but the master had taken part in this method of transportation so many times, that the initial nausea he felt no longer occurred.

They were behind the crowd, the banging now combined with the sounds of men and women shouting and the crackling of flames on torches.

The master turned to his servant. “You can go ahead back in—this’ll only take a second.”

The servant nodded his head and disappeared.

The crowd still hadn’t even noticed the master’s presence. They were too focused on breaking down his door. He sighed at their ineptitude. “Time to get their attention.” And he released his power.

It washed over the mob with the strength of a wave, but the gentleness of a mist. They froze in place from the strength of the evil energy, the only sound now being the crackling of torch flames and one more thud as the mob dropped the battering ram.

They all slowly turned towards the source of their dread, practically in unison, to the see the figure of a tall man in a black robe, with a calm smile on his face.

“Hello,” he said, the dread the mob felt suddenly being alleviated. “What’re you doing here tonight?”

The mob shuffled uncomfortably. A few murmured. Obviously, they hadn’t thought this through.

“We’re here,” one called, “to stop you!”

“Yeah!” a few others agreed.

“Stop me from doing what?”

More murmurs.

“From taking over the world!”

“Yeah!” More agreeing. One person even clapped.

“From taking over the world?” the master repeated. “I’ve been here two weeks—you don’t think I could’ve done that already?”

The mumbling continued but was even quieter than before.

“It doesn’t matter!” a third voice called, “You’ve hurt too many people! You must be held accountable!”

The master pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Look, I know I had to do some terrible things to get a body, but you try living as a vapor cloud that can’t smell, taste, or touch anything!”

The master took a moment to compose himself, taking in a few deep breaths. “For all the lies and deception I did, I’m sorry. For all the limbs Cade broke trying to resurrect me, I’m sorry. And for the very small number of actual deaths I caused, most of which weren’t actually good people to begin with, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m not asking you to never form an angry mob to try and kill

me again, I’m just asking that you don’t do it while I’m asleep. You’re not breaking through a Blackrock door with a tree. It’s just annoying and wakes me up. Do we have a deal?”

The crowd mumbled to themselves. They didn’t give him a straight answer, but quickly dispersed. The master began rubbing his eyes, walking back to his castle, still immensely tired, when he realized, there was one man that was still there. He carried no pitchfork or torches. Instead of the enraged or disgruntled look of the others, his was instead sad and dejected.

“Can I have my daughter back?” the man asked.

The master let out a sigh. With every bit of air that seemed to exit his lungs, the more he seemed to shrink. His short hair grew, falling down his back. In just a few more moments, the glamour charm he had placed on himself was lifted, and he took on the appearance of a little girl.

“Sure,” said the master, still with the deep, booming voice of his male form, “as long as you can find me a replacement host.”