As I look around the shattered, dilapidated, once resplendent throne room, The fallen crystalline chandelier, painstakingly made with the labor of the now extinct elvish nobility under a compulsion lay shattered on the castle floor. Glittering remnants of innumerable Mana stones, now dim and lifeless rest in the warped remains, a pale imitation of their original luster.

The carpet, made from the tireless effort of a single elder druid held in captivity. Years worth of regrown unicorn hair, now burnt and ripped, scattered haphazardly about the floor amongst the rubble.

Muffled booms of yet another hero battering away at the oversized entrance door echo through the desolate throne room like a steady heartbeat.

The grand portal splinters and shakes, the being on the other side battering away at the stalwart defender. Bound to the last true Treant beneath the castle, the door regrows at a singularly unmatched pace. Mocking the assault upon it, its regeneration far outstrips the damage.

This hero must be a Barbarian.

How do I know?.

Well, the door is not even locked. If one would simply pull, rather than mindlessly bash away, one would find their progress unhindered.

The complete lack of a wall surrounding the door is another clue, the entire side of the room reduced to rubble from a misaimed spell.

In my defense, Heroes rarely dodge.

One could step slightly to the side and freely bypass the obstacle, if one had more brain power than a bag of rocks.

Finally wising up to the futility of the assault on the poor wooden door, the Barbarian sheepishly climbs over the collapsed wall beside it, his entourage following behind like lost sheep. The looks of exasperation, resignation and disappointment makes it clear this is not the first time such an obvious solution has been disregarded.

My heart goes out to you, poor unwitting support staff. I wish you better luck in your next life.

A standard group, this time.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

A Priest, a Spellcaster and the Sneak, who has already started looting. The chandelier? Do you even know what those are?.

Or are you just helplessly attracted to shiny objects?.

The years pass and yet some things remain entirely the same. No, please, take as much as you can, don't pay attention to the other bags full of shards just to your left.

I am sure the last three thieves left them behind by mistake.

Rogues.

Truly, self awareness is the real ultimate spell.

Oops, the Hero is making his grand speech, I should probably pretend to pay attention.

Hmm, indeed, great evil, a dawning of the light, something something freedom. I should compile all these speeches into a book, though with how similar they all are, it likely wouldn't be worth the paper used to create it.

Would it kill them to be honest?. You want my stuff. Say that.

Wait.

Wait just a second.

Is….is he using an actual paper script?.

Must maintain composure. Goddess, I bet the Mage wrote the speech for him. I am genuinely amazed he can read.

~“That is not how you pronounce Overlord, you buffoon”~.

….and the Fool is charging. Without his party. No buffs, no preparation.

Nothing other than his giant axe and a warcry.

Is he really that stupid?. Honestly, that was barely an insult.

A glance over to the party as they stand in stunned horror is answer enough. The heroic assault halts at the foot of my throne, one of the many defensive runes turning his forward momentum against him.

Clever enchantment, that. Are you stronger than yourself? Likely not.

The dragon that taught it to me now only exists as a skull in my vault.

With the barbarian helpless, I slowly stand, all 3’6” of my imposing undead glory on display.

With a dismissive flick of my fingers, a probing mind dart punches through the nonexistent mind defenses….

Wait.

Nonexistent?

None?

This ~Hero~ has nothing to protect himself from mental assault? Is this a joke?

This must be a trap. There is no way he would be unprotected like this.

With the smallest possible mental nudge, I superimpose my own image over the support party, the illusion taking root in his defenseless mind.

Watching in disbelief as the barbarian immediately turns and starts hacking his own party apart like an over-excited lumberjack brings me only feelings of disappointment.

Really, one wonders why I bother to be Evil when the true threat to the planet will forever be the incompetence of the Good..