Arola cajola falima hagzaka frajaka. Frikyla byla erakila strakila bu.

What, you don’t speak the Black Tongue of Darkest Evil? Pathetic! It’s a curse which means that if you leave this room your head will turn into a barrel and then you’ll die. So you better stay put. Not that you’d want to leave the almighty presence of your glorious devil-emperor, would you?

I’ve got an important quest for you. Even more important than that time I sent you out for the sugar-mead when Bollo brought me that pomegranate crap. He got the pit of leprechauns for that. Or rather, the leprechauns got him, hahahaha! Oh, where was I? Yes, the quest.

Your quest is to find old Dad and tell him he was wrong. Now listen, and be quick about it. I don’t have much time.

When Gran told me I had darkness in me, I thought she meant that she really had been shagging that troll she was always with. Maybe she had. Maybe that’s where my awesome powers of doom and death came from. But probably not. Gran was old and wrinkly and disgusting. The troll was a pretty decent dude.

Nah, the darkness probably came from the fact that I am of an ancient lineage of evil sorcerers stretching back to the beginning of time. We used to have big brooding castles with dungeons and virgins and shit. Pretty neat. But then the magic skipped a few generations and we lost it all. Dad wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway. Probably just invent a new beer or something.

The important thing is that it hadn’t skipped me, and by the time she came to pick me up from nursery that day to find it burning down with me sat on top of a pile of charred baby bones, I think Gran had started to suspect what I was. So she did something that I could never forgive her for. She told my Dad.

Actually, I did think about forgiving her after the fifth day of the super-slow acid goo bath. But I was having too much fun.

But anyway, she told Dad. Boring, serious, and boring again, old Dad. As soon as he found out, he started going on and on and on about things that were even more boring than craft ale. About how in the century of monotonous peace and dancing and happiness that had passed since my family had lost its power, the forces of good had grown strong. There were nice wizards about now that made fireworks without the blood of starved prisoners in that didn’t even kill half the audience when they went boom. Paladins in shiny armour on massive horses that had hanged Aunty Maureen when they pronounced her curry pasta surprise unholy. He took me out of my new school (we left no witnesses to the nursery thing) and got out the big dusty books he kept in the cupboard under the sink behind the dishcloths. I got home-schooled then, all the ancient family lore about gathering strength and biding time and long spells that took months of chanting to take hold. He told me to hide my powers, lest the eyes of justice found me and I met an untimely end at the edge of a guillotine or trial by warthog. He told me to wait for my moment, that a destiny is built on a thousand tiny steps.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Yeah, and with strength and looks like mine, I should have been drowning in ice-cream and pussy when I came of age. Preferably both at the same time. Instead I read my books and practised my chants, and also devised a pretty innovative tabletop wargame using tiny conjured demons, which still has a strong cult following of, say, ten or twelve in my home village, I’ll have you know.

So that was my life under Dad. Two years ago, I took destiny into my own hands.

Two years. That’s all it’s taken for my extensive list of momentous, earth-shattering achievements. I know you have memorised them all, loyal weakling, ‘cos my surprise exam monkeys would’ve gouged your eyes out by now if you hadn’t. But I’m gonna list them all anyway just in case anyone’s eavesdropping on this riveting monologue of mine. Also, I have a wonderful voice.

Yes, two years since I broke free of the clutches of those insufferable shackles of patience and restraint. Two years since I summoned enough gelato to bury the Fortress of the Holy Fire in an avalanche of stracciatella. In that first winter, I crossed the River Thorne into the golden heartlands, routed the armies of the sun with a perfectly and purposefully timed flying tomato (yes, that tomato, the one in the song) and fought my way through the capital to touch the princess’s boobies.

It was a good winter. I made a fountain of caramel out of the sacred Sourcestone and slurped away my days while I read all of Dad’s letters with their schemes for escape, all the boats and tunnels and forged papers, and his lectures on foolishness and innocence. Well, I was hardly as innocent as he dared hope. I’d already raided the Temple of Maidens for my kingdom-famous bi-nightly strip show. And he had no idea what was in store.

I was bored by Spring, so I hunted the notorious Razorbird of Badrock, used its feathers in a potion to bring a cool clay sculpture to life, and entered it into a fist-fighting championship in the Veiled City. My brother (my late, dragon-nibbled brother, I might add) had always called me a scrawny little wimp, so you see, I just had to prove him wrong by watching my twenty-foot lump of stone kicking people a mile in the air. So that showed him.

I used the prize money to build a massive extension to my plundered castle. Only pretty girls are allowed in so you’ve never seen it, but it’s got mounds of bean bags and trampolines and everything. I enslaved a whole village of octomen to make burgers all day every day, and I sit and eat them while I get blowjobs off the guests. Yeah, I really do get blowjobs. That’s what happens when you’re an all-powerful god-wizard-king of pure evil like me.

And there’s my list. I mean, you can’t get anything else out of life better than burgers and blowjobs. I won’t ever get bored again. So that’s what I do. So you’re dead wrong, Dad. I was ready. I got my destiny, alright, so you can just shut up.

I mean, he was right about some things. I’ve had to stop the party a couple of times this year to boss my big glowing monster-thugs around. Just massacring the mob of starving peasants that broke through the walls, or mopping up assassins at the gates, or telling the knights across the river to go away or else they’d get got. No big deal. I’ve already won. I know what I’m doing.

So I will admit that tonight’s a little scary. I don’t know why those knights persisted when they were told to piss off. I don’t know where my monster armies of unspeakable terror have gone or why they let the army cross the river. They can’t have been banished. I mean, I know there’s some other wizards and other kingdoms and stuff around but I’m the most powerful sorcerer in the world.

So.... aduruk marogolog sarcarepsus borg. There, I’ve released you from the whole barrel head thing. I hope you know what to say. The monkeys will be watching your every move. And here’s a portal out of here. Judging by all the screams below, I kinda don’t think you should use the door.

Do you want some ice-cream? You’ve been okay for a mere mortal. Take as much as you can carry. It’s my favourite, mint chocolate chip. I’m going to eat the rest, just in case. It’s too good for their holy mitts.

Actually, I don’t know what made me say that. So forget it. Just forget it and go and tell him.

Like I said, I’m the most powerful sorcerer in the world. And I’m gonna prove it as soon as they get up the stairs.