The Throne Room of the Dark Citadel was designed to intimidate.
It was a masterpiece of architectural malice. The ceiling vanished into jagged shadows fifty feet above, where bats the size of hunting dogs roosted in uneasy clusters. The floor was polished obsidian, so dark and reflective that walking on it felt like stepping into a bottomless abyss. Torches burned with cold, blue fire, casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to dance with a life of their own.
At the far end of the hall sat the Obsidian Throne. And upon it sat Valdred, the Demon Lord of the Seventh Realm, the Scourge of the West, the King of Cinders.
He was currently very bored.
Valdred rested his chin on his armored gauntlet, the metal clicking softly against the jaw of his helmet. His eyes, glowing with a dull crimson light, scanned the empty hall. Being a Demon Lord was 10% conquering and 90% waiting for people to try and stop you from conquering.
"My Lord," grunted a large Orc General standing at the base of the stairs. "The report on the grain harvest in the Southern Marshes."
Valdred sighed. The sound echoed like a dying wind through the cavernous room. "Leave it, Grakk. I will review the grain logistics later. Has there been no word from the front lines? No heroes? No crusades?"
"None, my Lord," Grakk said, scratching his tusk. "The humans seem... quiet."
"Quiet is boring," Valdred muttered. "Quiet does not sharpen the blade."
BOOM.
The massive double doors at the entrance of the throne room—reinforced with dark iron and enchanted against siege weaponry—didn't just open. They were blasted off their hinges.
One of the ten-ton doors flew through the air, spinning like a tossed coin, and embedded itself into the stone wall not three feet from where General Grakk was standing. The Orc yelped and scrambled backward, tripping over his own axe.
Valdred didn't flinch. He sat up straighter, his red eyes narrowing. Finally. An assassin? A strike team? The legendary Hero Leo?
Dust billowed from the entrance, obscuring the intruder.
"Who dares defile my sanctum?" Valdred's voice was a deep, resonant bass that vibrated in the chest of anyone who heard it. He allowed his Mana Pressure to leak out, a heavy, suffocating aura meant to crush the will of lesser beings. "Step forward and meet your end."
"Cough, cough! Wow, you really need to dust this place. It's terrible for the pores."
The voice wasn't a battle cry. It wasn't a roar of justice. It was... light. Airy. And distinctly unimpressed.
The dust settled. Standing in the center of the shattered doorway was not a golden-armored warrior. It was a girl.
She couldn't have been more than twenty. She wore the robes of a Human High Mage, but they were hanging off her petite frame loosely, as if she had bought two sizes too big for comfort. Her silver hair was a bird's nest of tangles, looking like she had just rolled out of bed, and she wore a pair of round glasses that were sliding slightly down her nose.
She swatted the air in front of her face, wrinkling her nose.
"You..." Valdred paused, his menacing monologue derailed. "You are small."
The girl looked up. She spotted him on the throne. Slowly, a grin spread across her face. It wasn't a hero's smile. It was the smile of a cat that had just spotted a particularly slow mouse.
"Heh," she chuckled. She started walking forward. She didn't draw a weapon. She didn't chant a shield spell. She just walked across the polished obsidian floor, the tap-tap-tap of her boots echoing loudly.
"Halt!" Grakk roared, recovering his courage. "You stand before Lord Valdred! Identify yourself, human scum!"
The girl didn't even look at the Orc. She flicked her finger in his direction.
Snap.
Grakk was instantly encased in a block of pink, transparent crystal. He was frozen mid-shout, his eyes wide with confusion.
Valdred gripping the armrests of his throne. 'Instant cast? No incantation? Who is this?'
"My name is Elara," the girl said, stopping at the foot of the dais. She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, looking Valdred up and down. Her eyes, a striking violet color, narrowed critically. "So, you're the big bad Demon Lord, huh?"
Valdred rose to his full height. He was seven feet tall in his armor. He towered over her. "I am Valdred. And you, Elara, have made a grave mistake coming here alone. Are you the vanguard of the Hero's party?"
"The Hero?" Elara made a gagging noise. "Ugh. Don't talk about that idiot. I just quit."
Valdred blinked. "You... quit?"
"I resigned. Defected. Walked out." She waved a hand dismissively. "Leo is a toxic narcissist who thinks 'teamwork' means I cast all the buffs while he poses for paintings. I haven't had a weekend off in three years. Three. Years."
She took a step up the dais.
Valdred instinctively stepped back. "Stay back, human. If you are not here to fight, why are you here?"
"I'm here for a job interview, obviously," Elara said, taking another step up. She was now uncomfortably close. Valdred could smell the faint scent of ozone and... lavender shampoo?
"I do not hire humans," Valdred said coldly. "Begone, or I will incinerate you."
Elara stopped. She looked at his hand, which was gathering a ball of black hellfire.
"Incinerate me?" She let out a short, mocking laugh. "Pfft. With that?"
Valdred's eye twitched. "With this."
"That's adorable," Elara teased. She leaned forward, invading his personal space. She was so close he could see his own reflection in her glasses. "You call that hellfire? It's so... wobbly. Look at it. It's shaking."
"It is unstable because it is powerful!" Valdred argued, his voice cracking slightly.
"It's shaking because you're nervous," Elara whispered, her voice dropping to a sultry, teasing tone. "Are you nervous, Demon Lord-sama? Is a little human girl scaring you?"
"I am not nervous!" Valdred roared. He extinguished the fire and crossed his arms, trying to regain his composure. "I am simply baffled by your insolence. You claim to want a job? As what? My jester?"
Elara pulled back, her grin widening. "Your Head Mage, obviously. My resume is impeccable. I can nuke a mountain range, rewire the leylines of a continent, and I make excellent coffee."
"I have no need for coffee," Valdred scowled. "And I have plenty of mages."
"Your mages are trash," Elara stated flatly. She gestured to the frozen Orc. "Look at that trap alignment. Amateur work. The ventilation in this castle is inefficient. And your defensive wards? Please. I walked right through them. I didn't even have to pick the lock; I just knocked."
Valdred felt a vein throb in his temple. She was insulting his castle. His fortress. "These wards were designed by the Ancient Liches!"
"Then the Ancient Liches are senile," Elara retorted. She poked his chest plate with her index finger. Poke.
Valdred stiffened. Nobody poked the Demon Lord.
"Hey, Demon Lord-sama," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "You're stiff as a board. You really need to relax. Maybe that's why you haven't conquered the world yet. You're too uptight."
"I am a conqueror of worlds!" Valdred shouted. "I demand respect!"
"Then earn it," Elara shot back instantly. Her playful demeanor vanished for a split second, replaced by a terrifying intensity. Mana began to swirl around her, lifting her hair. The air in the room grew heavy, heavier than Valdred's own aura. The torches flared green.
"You want to see what I can do?" Elara asked. She held out her hand. "Watch this."
She snapped her fingers.
Above Valdred's head, the space cracked. A massive, swirling void opened up, revealing a chaotic dimension of pure energy. A meteor—a literal flaming rock the size of a carriage—began to crown through the rift, descending directly toward the throne.
Valdred stared up. It was a Ninth-Tier Cataclysm spell. And she had cast it with a snap.
"Stop!" Valdred shouted, hand reaching for his sword. "You'll destroy the tower!"
"I can stop it," Elara said calmly, looking at her fingernails. "But... I don't feel like it."
The meteor descended further. The heat was already singeing the banners.
"What do you want?!" Valdred yelled.
Elara looked at him, that smug, cat-like grin returning. "I told you. I need validation. My magic is fueled by praise. If you want me to cancel the apocalypse, you have to tell me how good I am."
"What?" Valdred looked from the meteor to the girl. "That is absurd!"
"Five seconds, Demon Lord-sama," she sang. "Tick tock."
"Fine! You are... powerful!"
"Boring," Elara yawned. The meteor was now ten feet away.
"You are incredibly skilled!"
"Generic. I get that from everyone. Try harder. Be specific."
"You..." Valdred panicked. The heat was blistering. He looked at the girl—really looked at her. He saw the intelligence in her eyes, the effortless control, the sheer audacity of barging into his home. "You have a command of mana that rivals the gods! Your technique is flawless, elegant, and... and..."
"And?" Elara leaned in, cupping her ear.
"And you are the most terrifyingly competent mage I have ever met!" Valdred shouted. "I would be a fool not to hire you!"
Silence.
Instantly, the meteor vanished. The rift zipped shut with a soft pop. The oppressive mana pressure evaporated, replaced by a gentle, warm breeze that smelled like flowers.
Valdred stood there, panting, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Elara stood before him. But she wasn't grinning anymore.
She was glowing. Literally. A soft, golden light radiated from her skin. She was looking down at her boots, fidgeting with the hem of her robe. Her face was a bright, burning shade of red.
"H-huh," she stammered, her voice much smaller than before. "You... you think I'm elegant?"
Valdred blinked, confused by the sudden shift. "I... well, yes. The spell structure was quite... beautiful."
"B-beautiful?" Elara squeaked. She pulled her oversized hat down to cover her eyes. "Don't just say stuff like that! You idiot! You're trying to flatter me!"
"You asked me to praise you!" Valdred argued, throwing his hands up.
"I asked for validation, not... not flirting!" Elara shouted, though she was smiling behind her hand.
"I was not flirting!"
Elara peeked out from under her hat. The smugness was slowly returning, fighting against the blush. "Heh. You sounded pretty desperate there, Demon Lord-sama. 'Oh, Elara, you're so amazing, please save me!'" She mimicked a pitiful voice.
"I did not sound like that!"
"You totally did." She poked him again. "But... I guess that was acceptable. For a beginner."
She turned around and hopped onto the armrest of his throne, sitting there casually as if she owned the place.
"So," she said, swinging her legs. "I'm hired. I expect my own office, full dental, and at least three compliments of that quality per day. If you slack off, I might accidentally drop a meteor in the kitchen. Understand?"
Valdred looked at the frozen Orc, then at the repaired door, and finally at the small, terrifying woman perched on his throne.
He realized, with a sinking feeling, that the Hero was the least of his problems now.
"Understood," Valdred sighed.
"Good boy," Elara teased, patting his helmet with a condescending rhythm. "Now, entertain me. Tell me your plan for world domination. And make it interesting, or I'll get bored."
Valdred groaned internally.
This was going to be an eternal nightmare.