Morthisal woke feeling refreshed, though sleepy. He yawned and stretched out in Vince’s sweatpants and his new DLE shirt. The night before, he'd spent hours exploring the internet, learning about modern workplace customs to prepare for his first day at work. He had also studied basic hygiene practices in this world, as he’d not cleaned himself since he had landed in this body. The concept of a daily shower particularly intrigued him.

Steam filled the bathroom as he figured out the shower controls. Hot water cascaded over him, and he closed his eyes in pleasure. This was indeed a marvel. It was certainly superior to the cold basin baths of his castle.

"Glorious," he muttered. “My armies could have done with a shower once a month.”

After drying himself with a fluffy towel, another modern convenience he appreciated, Morthisal faced his next challenge: appropriate attire for his first day back at work. However, Vince seemed to lack many of the typical trappings of one who worked in finance. Where were the suits and pressed shirts? The shiny leather shoes and matching leather cases to carry around?

With no idea what to wear, he turned to the one person who might be able to help. He picked up Vince's phone and called Travious.

"Hello?" Travious's voice was thick with sleep.

"I require assistance with my attire."

"Why are you calling me at six in the goddamn morning?"

Morthisal reached inside and felt the faintest remnants of power. He reached out and touched the one binding him to Travious.

"I command you to attend to your dark lord. This is my first day returning to work, and I am uncertain of proper business attire."

Travious sighed, then blinked a few times. “Alright, man. Chill with the power shit.”

“Very good. Now, help me with a very important decision. For my first day at work, I must look the part.”

A chuckle crackled through the phone. "Fine. What are your options?"

"I have acquired a most excellent shirt. It bears the letters 'DLE'—Dark Lord Energy. However, it would be inappropriate to wear today.”

"What?" Travious paused. "Actually, that's kind of brilliant. You should market that. But what does your company do?"

"It is called Corsair Financial Group."

"Yeah, you can't wear that to a financial institution. Let's video chat. I need to see what we're working with."

Morthisal accepted the video call request. Travious appeared on screen, rubbing his eyes. He looked down and said. “Dude. Seriously. Put on some drawers.”

Morthisal looked down and shrugged. He tossed the phone on the bed and rummaged around in Vince’s drawers until he found a pair of underwear and slid them on. He returned to the video chat.

“Better. Show me the closet."

Morthisal turned the phone toward Vince's wardrobe. "Behold."

"Okay, not bad. Pull out that gray sweater, not the darker one. And that light blue button-up."

Morthisal laid the items on the bed. "These garments seem unnecessarily restrictive."

"Trust me. You want to look professional. Maybe the button-up. Do you have to wear a tie?"

"A what?"

"The long fabric strips hanging on that rack."

"Ah, the neck bindings. How curious that modern warriors choose to wear nooses."

"Modern warriors?"

"I have observed that the men and women of this world fight in a different manner. With words and knives in the back. The play-acting drama Succession you recommended has been most stimulating."

“Rich white assholes doing rich white asshole stuff. You'll fit right in.”

"I should say so. I have no idea if a tie is required."

Travious snapped his finger. “You know what? Bring one with you. You can always put it on later."

“Yes. I will do that.”

“Show me the closet again.“

Morthisal turned the phone’s camera on the interior.

“See that light blue shirt? It’s next to a white one. Get that. Now the gray pants. The dark gray ones. You’ll have to look around for a belt.”

Morthisal dropped the phone on the bed again, put on the clothes, picked up the phone, and pointed it at himself. For the next few minutes, he changed in and out of slacks and shirts until they settled on a salmon-colored long-sleeve shirt, which would allow him to roll up his sleeves if it was too warm in the office, an excellent suggestion from Travious. The dark gray slacks were a little tight on Morthisal and had a peculiar scent. Travious pointed out that they might not have been worn in a while.

"That's good. You're ready for your big day."

"Thank you for your help, Travious. I shall return you to your slumber."

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

"Don’t say it like that. A simple ‘bye bye’ is all you need to say."

Morthisal lifted the phone and centered it on his face. "Bye-bye."

He waited.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll hang up.” Travious’s middle finger pointed at the screen, drifted down, and the screen went dark.

Morthisal stood before the bathroom mirror and carefully peeled back the bandage from his head wound. The injury had healed considerably since his arrival in this realm, but a nasty gash remained - perfect for his purposes. He applied antiseptic cream and pressed a fresh bandage into place, smoothing the adhesive edges with care, all the while watching a video on the application called YouTube, because he had 'googled that shit' again.

Though he had seen himself many times, his reflection always caught him off guard. The face staring back was younger and softer, lacking the sharp angles and ethereal grace of his true dark elven form. There were no red eyes or silvered hair—just an ordinary human visage with unremarkable brown eyes and dark hair.

"This temporary vessel serves its purpose," he muttered to his reflection.

Straightening up, Morthisal cleared his throat and assumed an expression of dignified suffering. "The head wound?" he practiced, voice gentle but firm. "Yes, quite severe. The doctors say memory loss is to be expected." He adjusted his tone, adding a note of vulnerability. "I'm afraid vast portions of my knowledge are... temporarily misplaced."

He nodded, proud of himself for practicing the deception before leaving for Vince's job.

All he had to do was actually get to this location.

"Uber," he announced to himself, fishing out Vince's phone. The transportation summoning ritual still confused him, but he had studied it extensively the night before. With meticulous care, he entered the address for Corsair Financial Group. After three attempts, he successfully requested a vehicle.

While waiting, Morthisal stared at the power outlet. He knew what he needed to do, but was reluctant for obvious reasons. No stranger to pain, there was something about the surge of electricity that made him have second and third thoughts. Reaching inside, he found he had little power reserves left. Morthisal was certain he would need to have use of his powers today. There would be so many people to manipulate.

Still, he hesitated. It wasn't just the painful shock that concerned him. He was a being who had conquered entire swaths of land on Mythralon. Conquering a company like Corsair should be quite easy. While it was true it could take days, or even weeks, Morthisal had no doubt he could accomplish this paltry task.

A little residual power remained in his reserves. He used it to touch the veil and found he could part it if needed, but for how long was a mystery.

"Good morning," he practiced, inclining his head at his reflection. "Yes, I am feeling much better, thank you for asking. The doctors believe I should take things slowly. However, I am eager to return to my duties." He paused, considering. "Though I may need some patience as I... reorient myself."

The UberXL arrived on time, a clean black sedan that pulled up to the curb. Morthisal peered through the rain-spotted window to confirm the driver matched the profile picture on his phone, just as he had learned from Travious.

"How does this morning find you, Eddie?" he asked as he slid into the back seat.

The driver nodded, barely glancing in the rearview mirror. "Yeah. Good."

Morthisal settled into the leather seat, which quickly warmed beneath him. The interior smelled of pine. As they merged into traffic, Morthisal pressed his face closer to the window, once again amazed by the towering buildings.

"Behold these magnificent towers." He gestured broadly. "Where I come from, Eddie, we built with stone and bone, blood and whips, but this... this is truly remarkable."

Eddie's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. "Cool, man. Love Game of Thrones, too. Team Daenerys, right?"

"The way they stab the clouds like mighty spears. And all without a single enchantment to hold them aloft." Morthisal chuckled, ignoring the driver.

"Whatever, dude," Eddie muttered.

Rain fell harder against the roof. Morthisal’s eyes followed the wipers as they swept back and forth. "Even your methods of dealing with precipitation are wondrous."

Eddie's knuckles whitened slightly on the steering wheel as he navigated through downtown traffic. When Morthisal caught his eye in the mirror, the driver quickly looked away and focused intently on the road.

"Right," Eddie muttered, pulling up to the curb. "We're here."

"Thank you, Eddie. Five stars," Morthisal enthused, holding out his hand with his fingers splayed, then hopped out of the vehicle.

Morthisal stepped through the revolving glass doors of the Columbia Building. The atrium soared above him. People streamed past him in suits and blazers, faces glued to phones, feet slapping against the stone floor.

He stopped in the center of the floor, tilting his head back to admire the architectural feat. The space reminded him of his grand throne room, though instead of dark stone and flickering torches, this chamber gleamed with modern efficiency. He couldn't help but smile as he imagined himself ruling from such a place.

At the security desk, a woman with blonde hair tied in a neat bun stared at her computer screen, barely acknowledging the steady flow of workers scanning their badges at the turnstiles. She was quite attractive with a pert nose and exceedingly red lips. Morthisal approached, straightening his salmon-colored shirt.

"I have returned to resume my duties at Corsair Financial," he announced. "Would you summon Jack Sweet?"

The woman looked up and her bored expression transformed into a warm smile. "Hey, Vince! Are you back already?"

"Indeed... Jenna," he said, spotting her name tag.

"I heard about the…" She lowered her voice and put her hand to the side of her mouth. "Incident upstairs. How are you feeling?"

Morthisal touched the bandage on his head. "I struck my cranium rather forcefully. My memories are somewhat... askance at present. I assume we know each other?"

"You really don't remember me? Come on, Vince. You're such a joker."

"Ah. Jenna. Yes." Morthisal nodded.

She frowned. "Vince. We've hung out. You owe me a latte from last week."

"A latte. Yes, I apologize, dear Jenna." Morthisal pointed at his bandaged forehead. "As stated, my memory is fractured."

"Okay, then. You could just say you don't want to hang out anymore. You don't have to put on an act."

"Very well. Would you be so kind as to summon Jack Sweet for me?"

"Just go up. Why are you being so weird?"

She shook her head, turned to her computer screen, and typed something in. A moment later, she spoke into the headset. "Hey, Jack, Vince Logan is here." She lowered her voice, but not enough so Morthisal couldn't hear her. "Yeah, he's really out of it. Okay, see you in a minute. He's asking for you."

Jenna touched the headset on the side of her head. "He's on the way. You can wait over there." She dismissively motioned toward a wall opposite her station.

Morthisal's eyes narrowed. He had not handled this situation very well. If he had a little more power, he could have used it to smooth over the situation. But, it had been a good learning experience. He now knew what to expect when he was taken upstairs. Or hoped he knew what to do. Things would need to be handled a little more delicately.

He wished he had used the power outlet at home because he suddenly felt like he was walking into an orc pen, unarmed and naked.

Minutes later, Jack Sweet emerged from an elevator, clutching an ID card. His white polo stretched tight across his stomach, and sweat already dampened his collar despite the early hour.

"Welcome back, buddy," Jack said, handing over the badge. "You, er, you dropped this the other day. Ready to head up?"

"Most certainly."

"I'm sure everyone will be happy to see that you are back."

"Thank you, Jack Sweet. Is my helper here, as well?" he asked and quickly coughed to cover his words. "Apologies. The intern who was to be assigned to help me."

"Wait. You really need that?"

Morthisal had spent hours entranced by the play-acting drama Succession and had used the experience to learn how to speak in the corporate environment he was now stepping into. He looked the man in the eye and said, "Fuck off, Jack. Of course, I do."

"I'm sorry. What did you just say to me?"