The Economic Woes of the Lord of Evilland

Epic#1 - McBurgerprince

The throne room of the Lord Emperor Zhorg stands tall as the seat of power in the realm of Evilland – atop the great throne of iron, adorned with the skulls of the emperor’s enemies, sits the emperor himself: an imposing figure of great size and powerful build clad in black and red armor plate from head to toe – on his back a pair of battle axes with which he cleaves those who oppose his will in twain. Beside the throne is a small end table with only a skull topped with a burning black candle and a single parchment.

Protruding from the throne lies a series of steps – at the bottom a slender female figure of medium stature and small bust size stands clad in gothic attire that seems more fitting for a rave than an audience for a head of state: her black midriff bearing tube top reveals a skull tattoo on her right shoulder and a belly ring – her knee-high boots are adorned with buckles that go all the way their height, terminating with a significant gap between the boots and the skirt. In her hands she holds a folder with papers and her face bears a nervous smile as she gazes upwards towards the figure seated upon the throne.

The large figure in armor gazes down upon the female goth – sizing her up as a potential tool. He mutters something to himself before he addresses her.

“So... Lavinia, is it?” the Emperor inquires. “The Lord of Evilland demands to know what you bring to this realm. Why do you think you are worthy to serve the Lord of Evilland as...

His newest intern?!”

The female goth nervously fans herself with the folder she carries – anxious about the impression she exudes. “I am sorry – I just never stood in the presence of my idol before” she says timidly. Her eyes grow wide with anticipation as she grins with star-struck glee. “I am just the biggest fan of your work! Your slaughter of the elvish towns along the River of Tears is my absolute favorite atrocity!”

“The Lord of Evilland did not ask your impression of him, whelp!” the emperor bellows from atop his seat of power. “What is it that you believe you can do to advance the glory of the Lord of Evilland?”

“Only a strong desire to serve.” she summarizes. “And…” she continues “ Can I have your autograph after this interview?”

Clearly annoyed with the antics occurring before him, Lord Emporer Zhorg scratches his chin and produces the parchment from the table beside his throne – it reads “List of applicants” with only one name on it: Lavinia's.

“Well...” he mutters before pausing, considering his rather limited options in this position. He put out those fliers over a month before this meeting: it’s highly unlikely that anyone else is going to answer the call for new interns in any appreciable amount of time. It seems no one wants to work for the glory of the Lord of Evilland these days… he muses to himself before returning his attention to the freshman in his presence.

“Congratulations are in order for you this day” he boastfully proclaims from atop the throne – “the Lord of Evilland sees that you are fit to join his staff as his aide. You shall fulfill all miscellaneous tasks assigned to you by him regardless of what it may cost you: even up to your very life and soul!”

Hearing this proclamation from her lord, ruler and personal hero the goth girl throws her folder and its contents into the air releasing a squeal of joy – “Yes!” she shouts with great enthusiasm. Out of all the possible candidates, I was the chosen one! she believes in her heart – not realizing that she was the only possible choice.

“Oh thank you, my lord! I promise not to let you down! When do I start?” she gushes with zeal, thoughts racing through her mind about what her first assignment would be. Will I be managing Emperor Zhorg’s torture dungeon? she fantasizes to herself. Or maybe I will be caring for his personal provisions as he massacres elves on the frontlines! Or perhaps even become a member of the emperor’s own harem! she continues on in her imagination before stopping herself. Settle down – you are getting ahead of yourself. That kind of position needs to be earned…

“You begin immediately” the Lord of Evilland declares. “The Lord of Evilland has a budget meeting with Rorgaag the Slayer in a few minutes and is in need of a secretary take down notes. You shall fill that role upon pain of death!”

As Lord Emperor Zhorg finishes his declaration of duty for the new intern, a large orc enters the throne room – a tall figure with a powerful build and large tusks that have been chipped and worn from use, Rorgaag the Slayer is clad in deep green and orange armor of faded coloration from many years of use. In his left hand he holds a tower shield with the relief of an angry orc face that bears its teeth with a look of permanent rage. On his back, a great axe is carried that can sunder most any blade and cleave through any armor.

The orc proceeds to march towards the throne with a steady, thudding pace – the sound of his steel boots reverberating through the hall. Once he comes within ten paces of Lord Emperor Zhorg he abruptly halts his approach and reaches into the cuirass of his armor to retrieve a pair of reading glasses. “My Lord,” he begins speaking with a nasally voice that seems rather unbecoming for a being of his stature. “I’ve been going over the figures for this quarter and there have to be some serious changes to accommodate three simultaneous wars on separate fronts.”

“Three wars?” Lord Emperor Zhorg questions the orc finance minister. “The Lord of Evilland was only aware of two – one against the undead abominations on his eastern borders and one against those elvish bastards to the north of him!”

“Yes, those conflicts continue to rage on my lord” Rorgaag the Slayer answers. “But one recently opened up against the reptilemen in the southern regions after that incident where someone, who shall remain unnamed,” the orc pauses and glances at Lord Emperor Zhorge with a most disapproving look, “defiled the last shipment of sacrificial virgins being sent there…”

“Who dares to defile the sacrificial virgins of the Lord of Evilland?!?” shouts Lord Emperor Zhorg in anger. “The Lord of Evilland will personally see to it that… Oh…” he pauses upon realization that it was none other than himself that committed the deeds that now enrage him. “Uh… It seems that the Lord of Evilland might have had a moment of indiscretion that day.” he says before clearing his throat, pretending that he, at no point, succumbed to his temper.

“Ooooh! My lord, you are such a horn dog!” Lavinia chimes in, giggling with amusement as she wonders to herself just what it would take to please her new master in the realm of carnal relations. I bet that he’s nigh insatiable – a true model of male virility!

“Silence whelp!” Lord Emperor Zhorg commands as he points towards Lavinia. “You have not earned the right to address the Lord of Evilland in council! Besides, this matter is no joke as we have a virgin-dependent economy!”

“I myself and other members of the board have been advising a move towards alternatives to virgin sacrifices…” Rorgaag the Slayer begins, but is quickly interrupted by the Lord of Evilland.

“And restructure the power distribution systems of all Evilland? No, not while the wars wage on!” Lord Emperor Zhorg rebuffs his advisor. This is far from the first time that this matter had come up during these meetings and the Lord of Evilland shall have none of it this day.

“Very well, my lord” the frustrated advisor lets out with a sigh of resignation. “Let’s move on to the proposed budgetary modifications. Currently the treasury’s spending stands as follows…” He reaches behind his tower shield and produces a collapsible stand and some pie charts. The chart in front reads “military budget: 40% Emperor’s personal salary: 60%.”

“But for all these wars to be waged effectively” he continues” “it needs to be modified to look more like this…” The minister turns the page to reveal another pie chart that reads “Military budget: 99% Emperor’s personal salary: 1%.”

Lord Emperor Zhorg, utterly dismayed at the figures being presented to him, hurriedly attempts to justify the figures as they stand. “But…” the Lord of Evilland stammers, “but how will the Lord of Evilland pay for his hellfire chariot? Or the monolithic statues being erected through the kingdom to honor the Lord of Evilland? Or the Death Derbies that entertain the masses and thus distract the public from the wars?”

“I’m afraid that you’ll have to come up with your own solution for those problems as these conflicts take precedence – all non-essential spending needs to be redirected towards the war machine so that you might still have a kingdom to rule next quarter.” the orc finance minister bluntly summarizes the present state of affairs.

“Ooh! Ooh!” Lavinia interjects as she waves her hand in the air to gain the attention of the Lord of Evilland and his finance minister. “I think I have an idea on how to solve this problem, for a while at least…”

“Other than a sudden, substantial infusion of income, like the fabled riches of the Island o’ Shinies my people have spoken of in legends for generations, I don’t see a real solution to this problem other than ending the wars.” the orc minister dismisses her proposal before it was even presented. The empire can no longer indulge the rampant spending of its emperor – something needs to change and soon… he silently muses to himself regarding how grave the financial situation of Evilland has become.

“Here we go with this again” Lord Emperor Zhorg interrupts. “The Lord of Evilland wants real solutions, not myths!”

“I’ve been doing some research into the subject” Rorgaag the Slayer replies. “And I believe that there might be more to this than mere legend…”

“The lord of Evilland keeps telling you that's just a myth!” the emperor shouts in frustration as he pulls out an axe and cleaves the table in twain with a single blow. “Whatever this intern proposes is certain to be a better idea than this fabled land. The Lord of Evilland swears to you that her idea has full support over this folly...”

“Really?” the new intern inquires as she beams with pride induced by recognition from her idol. “I am honored, my Lord! I swear to you that by this time tomorrow I will have found you a part-time job to put some extra cash in your pocket!”

“Yes!” the emperor exclaims. “Go forth and find me a...”

“Wait a minute, what?”

***

The Lord of Evilland, still in armor and carrying his axes, stands in front of the service counter of a fast food restaurant – wearing an apron over his armor emblazoned with a logo: one with a golden “MC” that has a crown above it. Beside him is the new intern, also wearing the same apron as the master she serves.

“I can't believe that you talked me into this foolishness!” the Lord of Evilland exclaims in frustration. “I am a conqueror, not a peon! Working at the McBurgerprince is beneath a man of his stature!”

“I know, but what else can you do right now?” Lavinia says in an attempt to console her lord. “Besides, I will be right beside you to assist you in any way required as you go through this transition – I had a few part-time summer jobs to get extra cash while cheering for my high school Death Derby team, so I'll show you the ropes, ok?”

The Lord of Evilland, a man accustomed to accomplishing his will through the might of his axes, lets out a heavy sigh of resignation to his fate as wage laborer. “The Lord of Evilland does have to make payments on that hellfire chariot...”

“Fine!” the emporer-turned-wage-slave exclaims. “The Lord of Evilland will comply with this nonsense for now – but you give half of your wages to the Lord of Evilland for this!”

“So…” the Lord of Evilland changes the subject. “How did you make this happen anyway?” he queried his servant.

“Well…” she pauses. “I know the manager from the time I spent here in high school – so...”

Should she reveal the truth to her lord? That the manager of this establishment was weary of employing her master for fear of his legendary temper and propensity for psychotic rampages? That the only reason he agreed to employ the emperor at all is because she threatened to reveal the secrets of the trade to the world: specifically the horrifying truth behind how the McBurgerprince batter-dipped nuggets are actually produced?

“So...” her mind still struggles to concoct an answer to her lord’s question. “He was... Just really happy to help me out as he owed me a favor.” she finally utters. I swear… she silently contemplates to herself. A few acts of genocide in which populations of entire towns are butchered and most people are too scared to associate themselves with you! This unfair discrimination against up-and-coming lords of darkness needs to end for our society to advance!

“Alright then” her master interrupts. “Let us conclude this day of humiliation that the Lord of Evilland might pay the bills! What must be done”

“Let's start with the fryer” the intern instructs as she leads her lord over to the machine behind the service counter. “This is where the potato crisps are made crispy and delicious” she continues as she picks up a metal basket with a handle. “Just fill up the basket, set the timer and set them in. Easy!” She then hands the basket to Lord Emperor Zhorg, eager to witness his initiation into the working class with his first act as an employee. “You try!”

The Lord of Evilland mutters to himself about the degrading nature of the task before then taking the basket. “How hard can this be?” he assures himself as he takes a bag of potato crisps and pours them into basket. “Now to set the timer and...” he pauses as he pulls the knob of the timer right off.

“Damn this machine!” he exclaims as he reaches for his battle axe to punish the kitchen hardware for daring to defy the will of the ruler and lord of all Evilland.

“It's ok!” Lavinia shouts as she rapidly steps in front of her lord. “These machines have always been a little testy – let me fix this.” she consoles as she takes the broken knob from the hand of the furious emperor. After a few moments she manages to replace the knob on the timer, but the atmosphere is now no longer conducive to learning after the outburst of rage.

“This is going to be a long day for the Lord of Evilland…” the emperor sighs in exasperation as his first task ends in failure.

***

The day progresses in a crawling slog as a series of tasks are attempted by the Lord of Evilland without success –at the assembly table Lord Emperor Zhorg attempts to assemble burgers, often forgetting that the burger patties need to be placed inside the buns! His servant easily put him to shame to finishing multiple orders in the time it took for him to figure out the complexities of operating a ketchup bottle!

But surely the Lord Emperor Zhorg can perform a task that’s largely automated, yes? And what is more automated than filling an ice cream cone? And yet the Lord of Evilland finds the flow of the frozen desert from the spigot too much for him as the tasty treat pours onto his boots: as with the fryer before, he nearly destroys the machine in rage just as his faithful intern leads him away before the manager decided to terminate his employment on the spot!

And even the simple act of clean-up proves much more than Lord Emperor Zhorg could handle – tripping over water buckets and breaking tables sullied by customers as the manager looks on from the background with disgust. Not wanting to provoke the rage of the emperor he remains silent as he signals to the servant of the dark lord for her to meet him in the office for an evaluation of his performance in the brief time that the Lord of Evilland has worked in this place.

Not wanting to give her master the impression that anything was amiss, Lavinia approaches her lord and takes him to the counter. “This is not going well…” the emperor states bluntly. “Why have the gods cursed the Lord of Evilland this day?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“What?” Lavinia feigns ignorance. “No! All is fine! Why don't you just stay behind the counter – take some orders? This way you won't have to... You know... Move and... break things...” she stammers as she makes a clumsy attempt to exit the conversation with grace before going to the manager’s office.

“Very well.” he grumbles. “What can possibly go wrong that hasn’t yet?”

Just as Lord Emperor Zhorg finishes griping, the door to the McBurgerprince slides open: an old, decrepit male figure wearing a black hooded cloak and carrying a pendant with arcane imagery on it around his neck comes through the portal – he bears a scowl on his sunken face, bearing his rotten teeth with a grimace. His aura instills fear in those around him as the presence of death emanates from his decaying soul that pulsates with dark magics from beyond our mortal realm.

“The Lord of Evilland is required to say 'Welcome to McBurgerprince – how may I help you.'” mutters Lord Emperor Zhorg as the necromancer approaches the service counter. Without even a moments' hesitation, the practitioner of the dark arts proceeds to give his order to the Lord of Evilland standing but feet away from him.

“Heed my order now mortal – I demand potato crisps that are crispy like no others! Make a large order of them for me this instant or join my legions of the damned!”

Lord Emperor Zhorg, taken aback by the demanding nature of the one who should be his subject, raising up abominations to serve his good pleasure, becomes filled with indignity - “Do you know who you address?” he queries of the mage of terrible power over death itself. “Why should the Lord of Evilland...”

Just as the wrathful emperor began his tirade the McBurgerprince manager emerges from behind the door of his office – his face sporting a frown. The Lord of Evilland, realizing that this hasn't been a splendid first day at his new job and had no desire to put his source of funding in further jeopardy, quickly stifles himself. “Uh… The Lord of Evilland will fill that order immediately.” he proclaims under the manager's watchful eye, causing him to remove himself back into the office as the humbled autocrat heads towards the fryer.

After a few minutes at the fryer, the Lord of Evilland returns with the order placed by the necromancer – the old man reaches out towards the tray to sample the potato crisps, taking one into his maw to be chewed with decaying teeth. “Not crispy enough! Do them again!” he demands of the emperor.

With barely-controlled frustration, the Lord of Evilland returns to the fryer and produces yet another batch of potato crisps for the master of undeath – once again he returns to the service counter with the order on a tray and, once again, the necromancer finds fault with the new batch of potato crisps. “STILL not crispy enough! Fry them until they are crispy as the bones of the dead!” he shouts in fury as he hurls the potato crisps to the floor.

“You want crispy?” Lord Emperor Zhorg inquires with menace in his voice. “Very well – the Lord of Evilland will show you crispy! These potato crisps will be so crispy that you shall chew them with unparalleled despair!” he bellows out before returning to the fryer one last time to produce one final order: he keeps them in the fryer for much longer than before – they come out blacked with char, seemingly unfit for human consumption by the massive burns and he takes them to the necromancer once more. The necromancer reaches out, takes one in hand and places it in his mouth – and a look of surprise came upon his face.

“This...” He utters with his eyebrows raised and pupils now wide with shock, “Is too crispy! Make them again, but don't take so long!”

“What?” the Lord of Evilland gasps as he hears this unbridled insolence directed towards him. “No! This is the last order that the Lord of Evilland shall produce for you!” he shouts in rage at his decrepit customer just before the door to the restaurant open and a new group of customers arrive: a bunch of young adults dressed in piecemeal armor and carrying home-made melee weapons enter the restaurant – chanting slogans of the greatness of their favorite Death Derby team.

“Yeah, the Road Warriors are gonna kick some ass tonight!” one figure among this mob of Death Derby hooligans bearing leather armor and a baseball bat studded with nails exclaims with zeal for the sport. “They aren't ranked #3 in the Death Derby league for nothing!” another figure from the mob opines – brandishing a metal chain wrapped around his fist, wearing a pauldron topped with spikes.

“It seems that there's no more time to waste on your ridiculous order that no one can satisfy – begone!” Lord Emperor Zhorg commands the necromancer in anticipation of serving the new customers that have recently arrived: there is no pleasing this old bag of bones, so one might as well see if the dregs over there are more reasonable he muses to himself as he dismisses the old man.

“How dare you!?!” the necromancer exclaims in utter indignation of his callous dismissal by the emperor-turn-service industry worker. “You shall rue this day, believe me!” he continues just as the door to the restaurant opens once more and yet another batch of customers enter: they are also young adult males clad similarly to the ones who came just before – also chanting slogans of the greatness of their Death Derby team. But then the two gangs notice one another as the latter advances towards the waiting line for service.

“Wait a minute – what are you doing here? This is Hell Raider country, you bastards!” shouts a hooligan with a red and green mohawk that was carrying a sledgehammer in his grasp upon noticing the gang that had previously arrived. “Get out of here before I bash your skulls in!” another replies in agreement with his confederate as he produces a pair of brass knuckles from his pocket, shaking them in the direction of the rival hooligans menacingly.

“The Road Warriors know no boundaries, shitheads!” the hooligan with leather armor and bat replies with great disdain for the rival gang. “We'll spill your guts right here and add your skulls to our chariots!” adds his companion with the chain as he reaches for a knife from his belt in preparation to engage in mortal combat.

Without any additional posturing, the two gangs proceed to trade blows with one another – bones are broken, blood is spilled and organs are removed in a senseless orgy of violence they did wage upon one another until, in the end that came as hastily as it began, none remained standing as all members of of gangs lay dead or dying on the restaurant floor.

The necromancer observes the carnage unfolding before him and a sinister grin appears upon his sunken face. “Heh heh – new soldiers for my legions seem to have presented themselves to me!” he gleefully cheers. “Arise warriors of rot and damnation!” he cries out as he proceeds to chant his arcane spells: he bodies of the slain hooligans are surrounded by an eerie green light of an otherworldly nature – manifesting tendrils that fill the orifices of the bodies and seem to possess them. Then the bodies rise from the ground – moaning and limping about with barely-controlled movements, searching for warm flesh of enemies upon which to feed once their master commands them. “Now devour this insolent fool body and soul!” the necromancer commands his newly-risen minions as he gestures towards the Lord of Evilland.

Upon seeing the risen dead lunge towards his position, Lord Emperor Zhorg draws his axes from behind his back and prepares for combat with the mindless horde. “Now this is what the Lord of Evilland lives for!” he exclaims gleefully as he cleaves a zombie in twain. “Once these...” he pauses his statement to strike at another undead fiend, “...Mindless... “ he continues as he sends another animated corpse back to the grave, “...Minions of yours...” he continues further as he dismembers still even more undead horrors, “...Are dead again...” he pauses once more to see that the zombies lie in pieces around him, “You are next!” he finally cries out victoriously gesturing towards the master of the dark arts.

“Fool! That was but the beginning!” the necromancer replies with a malicious confidence in his voice – once more the master of death magic begins his chanting, causing an eerie glow to come from the slain zombies: the destroyed flesh of the slain reconstituting into a large, asymmetrical blob of flesh – limbs with weapons protruding from folds skin, random mouths and heads appearing in places no mortal creature should have them and from those mouths great tendril-like tongues spring forth to lash about aimlessly in search of anything to feed upon.

***

In the manager’s office at the back of the restaurant tension brews between the emperor’s new intern and the manager of the McBurgerprince establishment as the future of the latest employee of the fast food giant is discussed. “Well, it seems that your idol hasn't destroyed this place... Yet...” the uneasy man behind the desk cautiously utters as he considers the events leading up to this moment: after all, nothing short of a threat to reveal the dark secrets of the batter-dipped nuggets could make him consider the prospect of hiring the Lord of Evilland!

“He's just...” Lavinia pauses to select her words. “You know...” She is unable to find the proper words as she struggles to justify the continued employment of her master she fails to present even one task that Lord Emperor Zhorg had accomplished properly throughout the entire shift and must resort to abstract claims of trainability. “Not used to being a worker – give him some time and I'm sure he can pick up the tasks!” she desperately argues as she is unable to justify his continued employment in any other way shy of more threats and those can only carry her so far in this conversation.

“He better – I counted no less than three times that you managed to avert a psychotic rampage from this beast today!” the manager counters: the potential for a massacre at McBurgerprince has the potential to overshadow the PR nightmare of even the darkest secrets of the monolithic corporation – making those revelations the more desirable option should events continue to unfold as they are now.

“He's a bit temperamental, but that's what makes him such a great conqueror!” Lavinia retorts, offended by the implication that these traits she has come to admire would be considered as negative in any context. After all, if those qualities make one the ruler of society surely those same qualities make one fit to fill any role within as well, yes? Surely that must be the case for the value system of a culture to be rational and consistent, and what culture has a more rational and consistent value system than Evilland itself?

“Great conqueror doesn't mean good worker!” the manager contradicts Lavinia’s argument. “If his attitude doesn't improve...” the manager trails off as the sounds of a violent confrontation can be heard coming from the front of the restaurant. “What the hell is that?” he blurts out: his eyes becoming wide with concern upon realizing that his fears are being made manifest just outside the door.

“I – I'm sure it's nothing! Let me go check out front...” Lavinia hastily states as she makes for the door – knowing that the situation is surely far more grave than even the manager knows: the Lord of Evilland is famed for the slaughter of entire towns over the smallest of perceived slights – given the nature of fast food customers, the potential for an apocalypse in the McBurgerprince storefront is so high that only her immediate intervention can possibly curb the wrath of her lord…

***

The asymmetrical flesh blob has nearly reached the zenith of its size and power as it now fills nearly half the floor space of the front end – using its tendrils to quickly dispense with the room’s furnishings as its mass sprawls about. And yet the Lord of Evilland is unimpressed with the monstrosity that now stands before him: “Is that all you can do, magician?” Lord Emperor Zhorg taunts – “The Lord of Evilland has seen ogres make better summons than this!”

Just as the monstrosity arrays it tendrils for a focused strike on the Lord of Evilland Lavinia emerges from the back office – a forced smile present on her face to mask the dread she feels at what she is about to witness. “What's all the commotion? Are you having some issues with the...” her words trail off as the abomination of dead flesh looms into sight. “Customers?” she forces herself to finish the thought, having just realized how irrelevant it truly was to the situation at hand.

Just then, the strike intended for the emperor collided with the goth freshman – the young intern feels the tentacle of the beast wrap itself around her waist: effortlessly hoisting her into the air as the constricting force cracks her vertebra and pelvic bones – she screams in pain and terror as the undead flesh pile flings her to and fro as a doll in the hands of a child experiencing a tantrum! After a few moments that seem an eternity to the faithful servant and greatest fangirl to the Lord of Evilland, the beast releases her in mid-air – allowing her to soar towards the back of the restaurant and into the frying oil of the potato crisps. She flails wildly upon plunging face-first into the fryer until she expires: meeting her end where the conflict began.

“Now you've done it…” the emperor mutters angrily. “No one slays the minions of the Lord of Evilland but the Lord of Evilland himself!” Lord Emperor Zhorg dives straight into the writhing mass before him: hacking and slashing at the tendrils before him as the creature’s gore splatters over his armor – finally reaching the center of the abomination’s being, he lets out a shout of great exertion as he brings his axes to bear for one swift strike. The beast is rendered in twain, the two halves fall to reveal the Lord of Evilland victorious as the stands in the center of the remains of the abomination.

“I can give new life to this mass and have it come at you again and again.” taunts the necromancer. “From death life and from its life new death! You will see and know this day the true power of...”

The ranting of the decrepit old man is cut short as the singing blade of an axe removes his head from his shoulders. “You talk too much!” shouts the frustrated emperor as the head hits the floor: never to demand potato crisps from the Lord of Evilland again.

The pendant around the neck of the of the decapitated Necromancer begins to glow with an eerie green light – one that forms into a sphere that hastily flees from the room. Perhaps the Lord of Evilland will encounter this mage again... the emperor muses to himself briefly. Well, I will just slay him again and enjoy it all the more next time! Demand potato crisps of the Lord of Evilland, does he? The insolence of this!

At this point, the musings of the emperor are cut short as the Manager emerges from the office in the back – a look of horror and complete dismay comes upon his face when he sees the results of the battle that recently transpired in his restaurant. Lord Emperor Zhorg takes notice of the Manager's entrance and approaches him. “Look upon this glorious victory! This fool mage will plague you with undead horrors forged from the flesh of your customers no more!” the Lord of Evilland boasts of his display of raw might: the only real accomplishment that he has achieved during his entire career in the fast food industry – one not accounted for in the job description to boot!

“Victory?” the manager sarcastically inquires. “I'm ruined! I was just one promotion away from being able to afford to move out of my parents' attic!”

“But –“ the emperor stammers. “But the Lord of Evilland has removed a great menace from your midst! You should be grateful to him – bow to your hands and knees and offer thanks unto the Lord of Evilland for this favor he has shown you!”

Favor? Keep your goddamn favor!” the manager rants in reply to the demand for gratitude from the Lord of Evilland. “You're fired! Get out – and take your pale-skinned freak of a fangirl with you!”

“Fine! This work is beneath the Lord of Evilland anyway!” the emperor shouts as he casts aside his apron bearing the golden MC logo – a garment that he had worn for but a few shameful hours that were unbecoming of a dark lord.

“Come minion, let us leave this place...” he commands as he turns his attention towards the fryer before taking a brief pause of realization. “Oh... You're dead...” he mutters to himself as he recalls the fate of his faithful servant.

Lord Emperor Zhorge calmly walks over to the fryer and casually lifts the body of his servant out of the oil, throwing her over his shoulder before heading back towards the counter – he stops near the corpse of the Necromancer: he stoops down to remove the pendant around his neck and lifts his coin purse from a pocket in the cloak. He looks the Manager, still standing over the remains of the battle with a horrified look on his face, straight in the eye to give a final thought before storming out the door in disgust. “The Lord of Evilland will take these as payment for the services he has rendered unto you this day, ingrate!”

***

It was a long but fairly uneventful walk back to the fortress of the Lord of Evilland – the sight of his figure carrying a corpse upon his shoulders turning many heads along the streets as he trod towards his place of refuge: many staring with a mix of horror and curiosity, but none daring to question what they beheld as they were fully aware of the reputation of their lord. But now the emperor is finally home and ready to engage in some spellcraft!

The Lord of Evilland opens a door to a descending staircase leading into a basement level – at the bottom lies a great cauldron atop a roaring fire into which he casually flings the body of his slain servant. As the Lord of Evilland waits for the cauldron to do its work, a process that will take some hours, he busies himself with a few errands outside the fortress before returning to the cauldron to examine the progress made: the corpse had been reduced to the essential salts of the victim and now the ritual can commence.

Upon collecting the essential salts of the goth intern, the emperor takes them into another room in the basement – one lit by black candles that burn with a green flame and a stone alter in the center decorated with arcane glyphs and sigils invoking the power of foul, blasphemous deities from beyond all human conceptions of time and space. Beside the alter was a cage with a live chicken who is unaware of its purpose in this unholy place: the Lord of Evilland opens the cage, tears off the head of the bird and pours out the blood of the animal on the alter in the shape of a pentagram with what seems like one smooth, well-practiced motion – upon the blood pentagram he pours out the essential salts of his minion before he reaches in the pockets of his armor, producing from it a book with the title “Necronomicon: Pocket Edition.”

After spending a few minutes flipping through the pages, he comes upon the proper ritual and begins to chant the Rites of Yog-Sothoth...

Y'AI'NG'NGAH,

YOG-SOTHOTH

H'EE-L'GEB

F'AI THRODOG

UAAAH

The stone alter is engulfed in a strange, red glow – bolts of electricity spew forth from the center of the pentagram as the essential salts become flesh once more: the strange energies dissipate as quickly as they came – leaving the body of Lavinia fully-formed on the alter. With a deep, sudden gasp of breath she rises up from the alter in a state of shock. “Wha - Where am I?” she stammers upon becoming conscious of her surroundings.

“Rejoice minion, for the Lord of Evilland has seen fit to restore you to the realm of the living once more!” the emperor proclaims as he boasts of his power over death, as well as his generosity toewards those loyal to him. “It was either that or post more ads for interns.” he adds before tossing the newly-resurrected Lavinia a robe to cover herself. What a world we live in when it's easier to bargain with dark powers than hire new interns... he briefly ponders to himself. “Come! There is much work to do!”

“Yes my lord! But, what about McBurgerprince?” the intern queries as she throws on her robe. “Did you convince the Manager of your worth?”

“The Lord of Evilland does not concern himself with that place any longer!” the emperor retorts. “Besides, the items taken from that intolerable mage provided the funds to make the payments of the hellfire chariot. Now, come with me so that the Lord of Evilland might plot his move towards conquering his financial problems!”

“Oh yes my lord – hearing this good news makes it totally worth my soul being nearly devoured by demons in the realm beyond death!” the goth girl intern blithely states – as though the incident that nearly erased her being from existence was but a mere afterthought.

“That's good that you are so devoted to your lord, minion!” the Lord of Evilland exclaims. “From this day forward the Lord of Evilland swears never to seek another one of these...“ he pauses to make air quotes with his fingers... “'part-time jobs' ever again! No more will he debase himself in that manner!”

But little does he know that fate has a different path in mind for evil emperor – one filled with more struggles against the forces of economics and financial woes that lie ahead for the Lord of Evilland...