The Dark Lord’s coin. His best friend Kenny. An unexpected sword. The end of all things.

Salvanguish Abner Ordinal strode across the dark marble of his throne room. It was a bittersweet place for him because of all the memories. He’d had some good times in the palace, but they mostly had to do with his grandfather, when the Dark Lord Mood ruled over a vast empire. But then Sal had to deal with his father.

That was the last thing Sal wanted to do. Memories of his father were bitter—nothing but failure and badly cooked eggs. His father never could get the eggs right. Either runny or brown spots, eggs had defied their family for a long, long time.

It didn’t matter now. Eggs were the least of the current Dark Lord’s problems.

There were all these uprisings he had to contend with. Why couldn’t people just accept there was a new Dark Lord in town? They should bow their heads, pay him taxes, and shut the muck up. But no, there were these new Yaniri warriors popping up, descendants of the Menold, the Best of Men. Notice the capitalizations.

The Yanir were supposedly going to topple Sal like they’d taken care of his grandfather, a plucky band of heroes, outmatched, outgunned, and living on a mixture of hope and coffee. Sal’s father talked about the wonders of hope and coffee. Ugh, there he went, thinking about Dad again.

Salvanguish shook away the thoughts. He didn’t like thinking about his father. Better to think about the lengths he and his Gorbin army had taken to ensure the shipping lines and supply chains were intact. If people could get their coffee and eggs in great quantities, they would be less likely to rise up against him. Hence, less uprisings.

The Dark Lord paused in front of the Midnight Throne—the veins in the black marble were an even darker shade of dark, and twin onyx jewels were set into the giant armrests. His grandfather, the Dark Lord Mood, had been over seven feet tall and at least three hundred pounds of muscle, with a BodyWork ranking of 100%. That was basically god-like. He’d carved out an empire for himself, starting on Torment Island, in the middle of the Middle Sea, and it was Grandfather Mood who had first built the throne. He said it had been a gift to himself, after crushing the last vestiges of the ancient Hajawan Empire. Those Animalia—they had literal animal heads—never knew what hit them. For centuries, they’d been the people to beat on Allbreath, and then, suddenly, Mood shows up to bring an iron-fisted order to the chaos of an inefficiency and a bizarrely complex bureaucracy. Those Hajawans were always talking and talking, about everything. In essence, they talked themselves to death.

Mood had conquered the Hajawans easily enough. But he had help.

Salvanguish was dressed in his normal everyday Dark Lord garb—black silks, black velvet, gold cufflinks, and the magical golden necklace he’d had fashioned to make sure he didn’t lose the Deux Coin, which gave him unimaginable power. A gift from his grandfather, though his inept father, had wanted to keep for himself.

Salvanguish had to be honest with himself. His father, Mykorgoth, didn’t exactly want the Deux Coin for himself, but he certainly didn’t want his son to have it. That was the problem. Mickey—short for Mykorgoth—couldn’t make eggs worth a damn, and he had zero strategy. Inept. That was the word.

Salvanguish slipped a hand through an undone button on his shirt and touched the coin. He felt its ancient power. Did he believe all the myths around the coin? He believed about half of them. He’d witnessed the other half directly.

He only had to look at his Diagraff Vitalis to confirm the fact. He pulled it up just for fun.

<<< ۝ >>>

Salvanguish Abner Ordinal

Diagraff Vitalis

Race: Human

Vitalis Type: Multiclass (Sorcerer/Warrior)

Vitalis Path: Deux Coin Dark Lord

Initial Mana Potential: 10,000

Maximum Modified Mana: 41,000

Current Level/DevStep: Level 10, Developmental Step 9

Experience Point Monitoring: 2984/11,000

BodyWork Modifier: 285%

SoulWork Modifier: 310%

BodyWork Proficiencies:

* Black Bone Spikes

* Dark Dodge

* Murk Muscle

* Necrotic Cloth

* Owleyes

* Shade Fist

* Shadow Grow

* Umbra Boost

SoulWork Proficiencies:

* Black Blades

* Black Blast

* Bleak Armor

* Dark Walk

* Dingy Fog

* Gloom Smack

* Obscure Protection

* Penumbra Storm

* Soul Steal

Vitalis Path Proficiencies:

* Aphotic Ascension

* Crepuscular Steal

* Dark Heart Help

* Dusk Pluck

* Midnight’s Last Chance

* Mist Mutilation

* Phantom Philter

* Shade Shield

* Shade Stride

* Somber Study

<<< ۝ >>>

“Sal!” a voice called to him.

In walked Keyneth Kinkaid, Salvanguish’s best friend, best general, best everything. Keyneth was his most trusted minion, and at times, he didn’t even think of Kenny as a minion. Could he use the word friend? Friendships and Dark Lords didn’t exactly mix. Grandfather Mood had insisted that a conqueror couldn’t trust anyone, especially the conquered. Also, you couldn’t trust anyone you paid. Once you gave someone a paycheck, they’d never look at you the same again. Even family was suspect.

At the time, Salvanguish thought his grandfather was being a bit dramatic, but then again, Mood had to deal with Mickey, and that would make a doubter out of anyone.

Keyneth was in his Black Death armor, gripping the pommel of his magic sword, the Destiny Blade. Keyneth liked to call it his Butter Knife. They made a lot of breakfast jokes between them.

Salvanguish frowned and found himself tired. He was over two thousand years old, thanks to the Deux Coin, and he was feeling the years. His joints also reminded him of his advanced age. At one point, he could’ve squashed an uprising before dawn, cast forbidden magic after lunch, and then negotiated with Abyssmuck demons over dinner. Evening would be spent planning new campaigns until midnight. After a few hours of sleep, he’d get up and do it all over again.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

At present, he simply didn’t have the energy. If his grandfather ever felt like he was feeling, the old man never showed it. Not that he would’ve admitted anything. Grandfather saw complaining as a weakness. Weak people were to be either crushed or conquered or both.

Salvanguish thought about climbing up the steps and sitting on the Midnight Throne, but it seemed like too much effort. Besides, Keyneth looked like he wanted to talk. “What do you want, Lord Keyneth?”

His general and friend smiled, which emphasized the scar on his lip. “You don’t know?”

The Dark Lord and his Dark General both had matching face scars, splitting their eyebrows on the right side of their faces and their lips. The history of those scars was…interesting…to say the least.

At times, it was like looking into a mirror, though while Salvanguish had dark features, Keyneth Kinkaid was as blonde and pale as they came. He even freckled in the sunshine. The Dark Lord only became darker.

“I know exactly why you are here,” Salvanguish said after a moment. He wasn’t going to admit he didn’t. Was he slipping? By the Abyssmuck Archdukes, he was slipping. Bad time for it, what with the rise of the Yanir.

Keyneth seemed to grow a bit paler. Was he sweating? That wasn’t good news. The Dark General shouldn’t be sweating about anything. That was Salvanguish’s job.

“Proceed with inquiry, Kenny. Time is fleeting, even for me, and this day will soon be over.”

“The day is pretty much over, my Dark Lord.”

A quick glance to the Grand Midnight Balcony showed that the sun was setting. Where had the day gone? And what was for dinner? Salvanguish didn’t need to eat, exactly, but more and more, food called to him. That was new. He’d gotten used to eating army rations just to keep his physical form going. If he were being honest with himself, which he tried to do, he drank more than he ate. That could be a problem, but the Hajawan wine was tasty. Those cursed Animalia were still so good at so many things, even without their empire.

The Dark Lord waved his maybe friend on. “Why are you referring to me as Sal all of a sudden? I suppose we do not need titles or formalities, given our connection, and I do call you Kenny, which I find rather prosaic. What does it matter? Proceed with whatever news you have for my waiting ears. Is it about the new Yaniri armada? I know about their fleet/ They think I do not, but verily I do.”

“Thank the Sacred Family you do!” Keyneth said with some passion. “They think to land in the Caya Pretty, or so our spies say. Have you talked to Dergle about this? Dergle has a good idea of what’s going on.”

Dergle Driptongue would know. He was an ash-demon, and he had the smoke and ashes to prove it. He could move through darkness, and he was as much of a weapon as the Deux Coin hanging from Salvanguish’s neck.

Salvanguish shrugged. “Dergle has considerable faith in our defenses. We have legions of Gorbins prepared to engage in melee on the beach. And let us not rehash our more naval options. We have most of our flotilla keeping the supply chains protected, and if the wretches we rule do not get their eggs and coffee, there would be the Abyssmuck to pay.”

“How much is the Abyssmuck?” Keyneth said, chuckling. “Like, if we wanted to buy the Abyssmuck, could we? You have the coin for it.” He emphasized the word oh-so dramatically.

Salvanguish should’ve taken it as a warning.

Keyneth crossed the distance between them. “Let’s go out on the balcony. I want to show you something.”

His smile failed a bit.

The Dark Lord sighed. “Very well. I would like to find the end of this conversation quickly. Perhaps Earl is making squab. I do enjoy his squab.”

Ah, Earl—that Gorbin could cook. Generations upon generations of his family had served up squab for the Dark Lords since grandfather sat on the Midnight Throne.

They pair crossed the throne room and walked out upon the balcony to take in Grief City.

Mood hadn’t been too clever when he named his stronghold.

There was Grief City on Torment Island and the various coves called Caya Pretty, Caya Ugly, Caya Sadness, Caya Boring, Caya Roughrock. Grandfather Mood had named every town and cove on the island, which had been just a collection of Hajawan fishing villages before Mood’s rise to power. The Hajawanese names had long since been forgotten.

Directly below them was the Dark Lord’s Square, a bustling marketplace with a central fountain. Kenny and Dergle both had paid for the statue of Salvanguish in the center, and it was a good likeness, with the scar and everything. The Church of the Sacred Family was down the way, and it was a grand cathedral, surely, but it was dwarfed by the Palace of Despair, imported marble, crafted by the darkest magic.

Salvanguish sighed. Grandfather Mood might’ve been the most powerful entity to ever walk the stones of the world, but he certainly had a dour disposition when it came to naming things.

“What did you want to show me?” the Dark Lord asked.

“First, can I see the Deux Coin again? You know I like to look at it.”

Salvanguish could’ve help but grimace. “I find your fasciation strange, Kenny. Verily, I do. However, I suppose such fascination is understandable. It was one of the coins used to buy the entire world.”

Kenny grinned nervously. “Before, there was nothing, and then, the gods managed to collect seven coins to buy the world. Which god did it come from again?”

The Dark Lord drew the Deux Coin out of his clothes. The Stoneskin artisans done a good job with the piece, making sure the magic wouldn’t fail, and the coin wouldn’t fall out of the setting.

The gods—known as the Sacred Family—were always losing their coins, sometimes through their own bad luck, sometimes out of greed, sometimes out of any of the other seven major sins. Salvanguish liked all the various stories, but there was no way that he was going to lose it. Never.

“This was Alikor’s, or that’s what my grandfather said.” Salvanguish went to put the Deux Coin away.

Keyneth pointed. “By the Sacred Seven, Sal. Look!”

The Dark Lord turned to see the Yaniri armada’s ships, hundreds of vessels, with their red and black flags flying. The armada wouldn’t be landing at Caya Pretty. No, they’d changed course.

And Salvanguish had missed it. Thinking too much about Earl’s squab, probably. What in the muck?

Keyneth reached out and snatched the chain, pulling Salvanguish forward.

The Dark Lord tried to pull up one of his many, many spells, but there were so many to choose from? Could he Dark Walk away? Could he kill his friend with a Black Blast? He could Shadow Grow into a giant and smush his friend with a foot, but did he really want to do that? This was Kenny, and yes, he could be a bloodthirsty devil, but they had so much history together.

In the end, it didn’t matter. The Dark Lord froze, not being able to choose from his astounding number of spells.

A second later, Keyneth had the necklace, with the Deux Coin dangling. “Sorry, Sal. But this is my chance.”

“Chance at what?” the Dark Lord stuttered.

“Immortality, friend,” Keyneth burst out laughing. “Come on, you’ve had your two thousand years. I want mine!”

“Wait!”

But it was too late. Keyneth drew the Destiny Blade, crafted by Stoneskins as well, and imbued with enough magic to destroy continents.

A second later, Salvanguish found himself with the sword in his chest. Probably should’ve cast Bleak Armor, you know, for protection, but then again, he could’ve gone with Dark Dodge, or he could’ve become used Phantom Philter to become a ghost.

What was wrong with him?

“Kenny, you betraying dog,” the Dark Lord spat as his vision narrowed. His breath was full of blood. That wasn’t good. What was that spell he had that gave him a second life? Something like Midnight’s Last Chance? He hadn’t really looked at that magic in a long time. He probably should’ve spent more time studying his Vitalis Path Proficiencies. He even had a spell that helped him focus—Somber Study.

“Not a dog, boss,” Keyneth said. “Just a guy, holding the Deux Coin. First thing I’m going to do is rename everything. Come on, who wants to live on Torment Island?”

“Despite the name, it is pleasant, and there lies the irony!” Salvanguish protested. He tried to say more, but all the blood and betrayal had gotten to him.

The Yaniri armada launched their first catapults of burning tar and rock, and it crashed through one of the towers protecting the harbor. The cries started, the screaming and burning and the gnashing of the teeth.

Keyneth whipped his sword out of the Dark Lord’s chest. “This is where I confirm the kill, boss. Just like we always said. No coming back from the dead to get me. Goodbye, Sal. It’s been real.”

The second before the Destiny Blade swept Salvanguish’s head off his shoulders, he felt a shadow over him. The Dark Lord glanced up.

In the sky was spear the size of the entire Palace of Despair, dropping from the twilight sky, full of pink clouds, reddened by the sunset. It was all very pastel pretty, except for the spear, though that was pretty as well, polished hickory by the look of it. The front edge was a bright blade of steel that had to have smelted in heaven because there wasn’t a forge on Allbreath big enough to craft something that big.

The steel point struck the top spires of the palace, sending stone and glass raining down.

Keyneth didn’t seem to notice as he slashed the Dark Lord’s head off his shoulders.

Salvanguish’s last thought? At least that spear would kill Kenny. The butthead.

Then it was a thousand years of fire and torment—a thousand years, more or less.

To be honest, when you’re being tortured in unimaginable hells, you generally focused on the more rather than the less.