Ilmatar and the group of attendants—I counted seven of them, five women and two men, with various skin colors and horn sizes—led me towards a corner of my chambers that I’d paid little attention to before.  Past my collection of torture devices sat a claw-foot tub, black with gold feet, behind a thin screen.

I stepped into the tub and stood patiently while the male attendants fetched buckets of dark, fine-grained sand, and the female attendants poured the sand over me and brushed my skin.  The brushes were made of rough, coarse hairs whose origin puzzled me.  The sensation of my skin being scrubbed raw couldn’t help but feel pleasing, and not in a sexual way.  My thoughts in that regard still lingered on Mona, revealing herself, her wrists bound in flames, her smooth, pink skin barely covered by the lingerie.  Damn her, I thought.  Doesn’t she know I have a hard enough time trying to survive even when I’m not horny?

While they washed me in the sand—one of many weird new things I would need to get used to—Ilmatar made a few comments whenever he deemed one of the attendants was too slow or had missed a spot, but for the most part he stood there silently watching.  It was hard not to flinch when one of the attendants brought her brush to bear on my crotch while another assaulted my ass crack.

Ilmatar pointed out a few places the attendants had missed, which they corrected after quickly nodding to him—they seemed frightened of addressing me directly.  Then he clapped his hands in the air, and the attendants poured buckets of steaming water down my body to rinse me off.  The water must have been hot, but it felt room temperature to me.  Soon I was being dried by three of the attendants, with multiple towels.  At last, one of the attendants took my hand and led me from the tub.

Well, that was fucking weird, I thought.  Thankfully I hadn’t had to say or do anything yet, so I’d been able to focus entirely on keeping a neutral, almost bored expression.  I got summoned here on a semi-regular bicentennial basis, and I needed to act like it.

I was then garbed in what looked more like a black military uniform than anything divine or godly.  But I supposed in Dreadthorn, the church and the military were hard to separate.

I wondered how some of the other places I’d read about functioned, especially the other nations in proximity to the Void, those who had once been members of the Midnight Pact.  Admittedly, the Book had been scarce on those kinds of details.  Its focus had been more about cataloging the grievances of the monsters, and the retribution exacted by Greg-Theryx in their name.  I wondered if there were books that focused on geography or history from a less religious angle—but Mona had warned me against going to the library for some reason.  I would have to ask her why later.

Once I was dressed, Ilmatar walked me towards a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror in the corner of the room, to check for my approval.  At this point, I knew better than to praise him or say anything much at all, but I must admit, my new body looked rather handsome in uniform.  The clothing was precisely tailored to me, and as I stood almost six inches taller than Ilmatar or any of the attendants, I must have looked imposing.

Though I certainly did not feel that way. One of my attendants had placed jewel-encrusted rings on my horns, which were connected by a gold chain that draped between them.  None of the other demons seemed to wear any accessories like this, and I wondered if they symbolized my position.

Looking at myself, I wished that Mona had still been there next to me, that I might have leaned on her and whispered all my countless questions in her ear.  But even though we’d formed an alliance, there was no way she’d always be around to help me.  I would have to figure some of this out myself.

“To your satisfaction, Master?” Ilmatar asked.

I’d spent a little too long admiring myself in the mirror.  Perhaps Ilmatar could tell, because there was a hint of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Adequate,” I said, and nodded at him.

“I am glad, Dark Lord,” he replied, then gestured to the dining table by one of the windows.  Ilmatar walked ahead of me, and when we reached the table, he pulled the chair out and uncovered my meal.  It appeared to be some kind of steak smothered in chunky gravy, and small purple granules that looked like a mutant hybrid of rice and quinoa.  A side of green, fuzzy moss rounded out the meal.  The utensils beside the plate looked familiar enough—a wide, six-tined fork and a pointy, serrated knife with a ruby-encrusted handle.  However, both were made of some kind of obsidian glass-like substance rather than steel.

After I’d taken a seat and examined the food, I realized it looked surprisingly appetizing to me.  Though my mind was a little grossed out, my stomach growled, and my mouth was already watering.

I had no idea what kind of meat was in the steak and I couldn’t possibly ask.  Whatever squeamishness I still possessed was another part of myself I would need to hide for the time being, possibly for the rest of my life.

Careful of my reaction, acutely aware of Ilmatar watching me expectantly to see what I thought, I cut off a piece of meat and took a bite.

I closed my eyes for a moment, marveling at the texture of the steak as I chewed.  It was impossibly tender, dissolving in my mouth, and the gravy’s burst of umami overwhelmed my taste buds.  I took a moment to collect myself, trying to act unimpressed.  I dug into the purple grain, and as I tasted it, I realized it had a hint of something like saffron and a mild, pleasing flavor.  Even the mushrooms tasted surprisingly good, like a roasted portobello on psychedelics.

As I continued, Ilmatar’s shoulders relaxed from their previously taut position.  Had he been worried I’d take exception to such a fine-tasting meal?  For the moment, I was happy to be eating anything at all.

I found myself wishing the meal had been made for two.  It seemed lonely, I thought, to eat alone while your head butler, or whatever exactly a majordomo was, watched you silently.  “A pity,” I said.  “I would have enjoyed breaking my fast with the High Priestess.”

“Oh?” Ilmatar said, a note of panic in his voice.  He turned as if intending to leave and fetch her.  “I do apologize, Master, but I hadn’t realized—”

I raised my hand.  “I’ll eat with her tomorrow morning, Ilmatar.  Today, sit down and join me.”  I almost said please, but caught myself at the last moment.  Instead, I gestured to a nearby empty chair.  “Food tastes better with company.”

I wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to say, but Ilmatar didn’t seem to think much of it, and complied.  Sitting across from me seemed to make him uncomfortable, however.  When I looked at him, his eyes darted to the table’s surface, where they stayed.

“I hope the meal is to your satisfaction,” he said.

“Yes, it’s … agreeable.”

He nodded.  “I am pleased, my Lord.”

“Ilmatar, I wish to get to know my faithful.  How long have you been serving here in the tower?”

“All my life, my Lord.  I was born in one of the kitchens on a stormy night almost forty years ago.  I have had a variety of positions over the years of my stay here.  Of course, before your arrival, my job was somewhat different.  I have been head of all the servants for a number of years.  The Generals, High Priestess Fell, and other officials also have attendants of their own.  Of course, now that you’re here, Master, you are my first and only priority.  I have delegated my other responsibilities to junior members of the tower staff.”

“As it should be,” I said.  “While I eat, tell me your thoughts on the war, Ilmatar.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly nervous, “I probably shouldn’t—I mean, General Shatterbone and the rest of your military council will brief you—”

“Ilmatar?”

“I—yes, Master.”

“Tell me something.  Who do you serve, General Shatterbone or myself?”

“I, uh, obviously you, Master, I do apologize.  I meant only that I’m not as well versed in military matters, and I do not wish to give you any misleading information.”

“But you’re present during meetings of the military council.  You will be there today,” I said.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Then tell me what you think,” I said.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t tell General Shatterbone what you’ve said.  But I wish to hear something while I eat.  Enlighten me as to the state of our affairs.”

I set myself to the rest of the steak.  It took a few moments for Ilmatar to collect himself.  He began to speak slowly and carefully at first.  “Well, Master, uh, General Shatterbone has assembled a mighty Demonic Legion for you to command.  Recruitment has been incredibly robust, thanks to the Generals’ efforts.”

“Robust,” I echoed.  “Are there numbers behind that word, or is it empty?”

“Twenty-five thousand trained in the pike, about fifteen hundred dreadsteed cavalry, armed with spear and bow.  Five hundred winged legionnaires, greater imps and some cambion, our most elite forces.  Almost fifty pyromancers for long-range bombardment and fire support.”

“Good,” I replied, searching my memory, trying to remember what the Book of Grievances had said regarding the size of the Demonic Legions in ages past.  Though it had been vague on exact numbers, it had described pivotal battles of each crusade.  “Greater than last time.”  I think.  The Book better have—

Ilmatar nodded.  “Indeed, Lord.  It is fortuitous.”  He looked slightly nervous, as if there was something else he hadn’t told me, something that might put a pin in my already thin confidence.

“Next time I ask you a question, don’t make me explain myself.”

His eyes widened.  “Yes, of course.  I’m terribly sorry.”  He bowed his head against the table.  “Would you like my knife, my Lord?” he asked me softly.  I could hear the fear in his voice, feel a trembling in his spirit.  I didn’t even know why he had offered it, if he was so afraid I would take him up on the offer.  Maybe he thought it would be worse if I had to ask.

No, I thought, but then another idea popped into my head.  Perhaps a foolish one.  But the truth was, there only so many times I could do nothing.  Perhaps it was time to try something else.  “Yes,” I said.  “I think discipline will be necessary.”

Ilmatar reached under the table, pulled out a ceremonial dagger similar to the one Mona had offered me, and held it in front of him across the table.  I stood up from my now finished meal and took the knife from him.  I held it in my hands for a moment, looking over at Ilmatar, feeling the weight of the blade.

Greg’Theryx really did a number on these people, I thought.  For a moment I wondered, why did the demons even follow him?  Why subject themselves to all this?

But I knew the answer.  As I’d read in the Book, in the end, he fought for them.  Every time, no matter whether he lost or not.  Out of all the gods, he was the only one who had come to the aid of any of the Void-touched, so-called “monstrous,” races.  He was the only one who had aided them against the “holy” crusaders.  And in return, this was the obedience and mindless sacrifice he demanded.

I admired the knife’s edge, shining red like blood under the dawn light.  It reminded me of when Mona stabbed me in the hand, a moment which seemed like the true start of my new life—not the moment of my awakening, but the moment I was found.

“Ilmatar, when I ask you a question, I need your honest and immediate answer.  I don’t intend to play politics—not with you.  I understand you might be worried that something will happen to you, that this knife will find you if you tell me something that I do not wish to hear.  But as long as you are honest and faithful, I will not forsake you.  Having said that, I’m afraid that a punishment is deserved.”

In one smooth motion, I raised the knife and slashed it across my other hand, releasing a trickle of blood onto the table next to Ilmatar.  He stared up at me in shock, and I handed the knife to him, handle first, as the blood dripped from its blade.  He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“You hold an esteemed position here.  Are you aware of this?”

His eyes widened.  “Yes, my Lord, and I am eternally grateful for the opportunity I have been given to serve.”

“Good,” I said.  “Remember that if I ask you something, it’s because I don’t care what Shatterbone or whoever has to say.  I want to know what you have to say.  If you do not answer me faithfully, you wound me.”  I held my palm down, allowing more blood to drip on the table.  “You might as well be the one cutting me with this knife.”

In truth, I felt no pain.  If last night was any indication, my hand would be perfectly healed before long.  It was no great sacrifice on my part, yet his face was in utter shock.  For a moment, I wondered if I had overplayed my hand, if I had gone a little too crazy for even the demons.  But then he bowed his head and began to sob.  Red tears fell from his eyes, and his body seemed to be shaking.  “I understand, my Lord.  You honor me.  Thank you.”

“I’ve finished my meal,” I said, and headed for the door.  As I walked, I caught my reflection in the mirror again.  I couldn’t argue—I looked every bit the Dark Lord with my red skin, gleaming horns, and intimidating military dress.

Suddenly, I had a new goal, to survive long enough for Mona to see me wearing this uniform.  Which meant it was time to convince a room full of warriors that I belonged among them—that I, of all people, could lead them to victory.