Brelth, Demoness and best chef in the Abyssal Palace, along with all the Monsters who could be spared from the war and all the palace staff, went to the funeral.

The funeral of the Monster Lord, Andregel, He Who Smothers All Radiance. Their leader was dead. Their ruler. The strongest of them. Their dear, dear Lord. He had fallen in battle honorably. He had spent all of his mountains of Essence and strength holding off an advance into the Dark Forest, saving the lives of all of his subjects. It took thousands of Adventurers to slay him, even in his weakened state.

He was buried under a field next to the palace, one of the few large clearings within the Dark Forest. Due to his immense height, the Monsters had needed to dig up almost the entire field to give their Lord a proper burial. But how could they not, for the one who had sacrificed and led and ruled for so long?

The grave was covered in tributes. The entire field, at least fifty meters across, was embellished with a layer of coins, trinkets, and memorabilia. Gold, necklaces, bracelets, swords, axes, paintings of the Lord himself, engraved pendants, Essence stones, and all manner of wealth were piled upon the final resting place of Andregel. What was the cost in money, in the face of showing final respect to him? The clearing was glittering and shining from all the tribute upon it. But none of the treasures would bring back the Lord.

And so Brelth, along with all her peers, fellows, and palace staff, wept. Wept for their Lord, their savior, their beacon of darkness in the face of burning light. Never again would his roars of protective rage embolden the warriors on the battlefield. Never again would his creations, wonders of Essence, grace the armory or gallery. Never again, would they hear the gentle laugh of the soft-hearted Devil that lay beneath the stalwart leader.

What would they do? What could they do? The Adventurers pressed closer with each passing day. The Dark Forest had begun to be purged of its safety by the seemingly undefeatable spread of light. Cold, cruel, and never-relenting light.

The demoness pondered all of this and more as her mind spiraled deeper and deeper into despair. There was no hope. Had there ever been? They would die. The greedy Adventurers who had the gall to call themselves Heroic of all things, would strip them down to the bone, and then take the bone as well, all for profit. Reagents, catalysts, and trophies. That was all that would become of them.

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At some point, the weeping procession entered the Throne room. The Throne of their Lord was massive, just as he was, with all the beauty their Lord deserved. Precious metals, gems, and Essence stones dotted the seat. None of it had been crafted or added to the Throne. The Throne was an extension of the Lord, and the opulence of this one showed just how amazing Andregel had been. But the Throne was cracked. Massive rents spidered across it, and the Essence stones had lost their inner luster. Even as they watched it began to crumble and break apart.

No Lord, No Throne.

Which confused them all the more when the crumbling stopped. And then started again, all at once, far faster and smoother, dragging the materials inward. Compressing the stone, even as the adornments of Andregel vanished. Making the Throne anew. It shouldn't have been possible. The shortest period in recorded history between the death of a Lord and the gifting of a new one from the spirit of the Dark Forest was three centuries. Andregel had died two days ago.

But the Throne was made anew despite it all. The tears stopped. The sobs and wails petered out. A small, almost non-existent spark of hope ignited in Brelth's seven eyes.

The Throne stopped at about two meters tall and one and a half wide. It was made of the pure dark stone that all Thrones started as, a representation of the bulwark against light. But it didn't stay that way for long. Cracks, this time of purest gold, wound their way across the stone until they covered at least a third of it. Gold, which on a Throne represented wealth gained, was wrapped around the seat of power. Andregel had been incredibly proud when a tenth of his Throne was golden.

And then, standing before his seat, the new Lord formed. He wore clothes that conformed to his body with a fit that would make any tailor within the forest scream in envy, all made of materials of the purest white and black, completely unmarred and without holes or scratches. Brelth recognized it from a sketch she had seen, of something wealthy Adventures wore to feel better about themselves. A 'suit'. But those were patchwork and obviously ill-fitting, while the Lord looked like the epitome of grace.

And he looked human. How ingenious was this Lord, how raring to strike at the enemy's spirit was he, to take the form of the very ones they destroyed, mocking them with his very appearance?

He sat on his Throne without a care, declaring dominion over the Dark Forest. Brelth felt it as the spirit of her home accepted eagerly. Eagerly, like the primordial being that had existed for as long as anyone could remember was impatient to get the Lord officially in charge.

As the spirit accepted, Brelth felt the knowledge of his title enter her mind. Her Lord's title.

Monster Lord Melvin, The Bane of Dawn.