The looting operation had been a glorious, chaotic, and profoundly satisfying success.
My throne room, a place of imposing crystal and strategic importance, was now filled with the low, rumbling snores of my victorious but exhausted army.
The air was thick with the scent of unwashed Orc, burnt electronics, and the faint, unmistakable smell of victory.
We now owned a fleet of slightly dented pickup trucks, several dozen computers that were probably running on an operating system from the Stone Age, and enough toasters to equip a small nation with a mediocre breakfast.
But with victory came the inevitable, soul-crushing reality of human resources.
I had summoned the instigators of the recent... disciplinary issue... to my throne room.
Chloe, my beautiful, fanatical shadow.
Layla, my sultry, manipulative Lilim.
And Izayoi, my impossibly expensive and perpetually bored Vampire Baron.
My "Fanatic Trio," as I had started calling them in my head.
They knelt before me on the cold crystal floor, their heads bowed in a perfect picture of remorseful loyalty.
They had, during the Reign operation, taken my order to "neutralize all hostiles" a bit too literally.
They had, in fact, vaporized an entire squad of local militia who had been in the process of waving little white flags.
It was a minor diplomatic incident, but it was the principle of the thing. I was trying to build a nation here, not a graveyard. Graveyards don’t pay taxes.
"You disobeyed a direct order," I began, my voice a low, dangerous purr. I let the words hang in the air, heavy with kingly disappointment.
"You allowed your... enthusiasm... to override your tactical judgment. This is unacceptable."
Chloe looked up, her amethyst eyes burning with a terrifying, unwavering devotion that still made my demonic dick twitch, even when I was trying to be angry.
"They were a threat to you, my Lord," she said, her voice a quiet whisper of absolute conviction. "They breathed the same air as you. They looked in your general direction. Any threat to you, no matter how small, must be... erased."
She bowed her head again. "We offer our lives as penance for our failure to adhere to the letter of your command."
Layla and Izayoi, my other two resident psychos, nodded in solemn agreement. Not a flicker of fear in their eyes.
They were ready to die. For me. Because they had been a little too enthusiastic in their murdering.
I ran a hand over my face, a feeling of profound, cosmic exhaustion washing over me.
This was my life now.
Managing a death cult that worshiped me as a god-king and saw tactical nuance as a personal insult.
"Your lives are too valuable to be thrown away on a matter of paperwork," I said, my voice laced with a weary resignation. I needed them. Especially Chloe, for... reasons. Many, many vigorous reasons.
"But your actions must have consequences," I continued, my tone hardening. "A punishment is required. One that fits the crime."
I looked at them, at their readiness to accept any brutal, violent fate I could devise. Whipping? Torture? Being forced to listen to Kevin’s poetry? They would accept it all with a grim, loyal stoicism.
And then, from the back of the room, a voice, deep and guttural and full of a simple, beautiful logic, cut through the tension.
"IF THEY HAD NOT KILLED THE HUMANS," Grak the Unbreakable roared, his voice shaking the entire Spire. He had been trying to figure out how to work a toaster, and the profound mysteries of bread-browning had clearly made him hungry. "THE HUMANS COULD HAVE COOKED US DINNER. I AM VERY HUNGRY."
A terrible, beautiful, and utterly hilarious idea bloomed in my mind.
"That," I said, a slow, wicked smile spreading across my face, "is a brilliant idea."
I looked down at my three kneeling fanatics, their faces a perfect mask of confusion.
"Your punishment is this," I declared, my voice ringing with the authority of a king who had just come with up a truly masterful, passive-aggressive solution. "You three... are excluded from the victory feast."
I saw a flicker of genuine hurt in Chloe’s eyes. To be denied a place at my side was a deeper cut than any blade.
"And," I added, twisting the knife, "for the next month, you three will be on dish duty. For the entire army."
The look of pure, unadulterated horror that washed over Izayoi’s aristocratic face was more satisfying than any execution. The thought of scrubbing goblin-grease off a thousand tin plates had broken him in a way no hero ever could.
With the disciplinary meeting concluded, the far more important meeting could begin.
"We require a feast worthy of our station!" Kevin declared, striking a pose near my throne, his cape swishing dramatically. "A banquet of champions to celebrate our glorious victory!"
"I REQUIRE MEAT," Grak roared, slamming a massive fist on a crystal table, which thankfully held. "RAW. AND BLOODY."
"You are an uncivilized brute," Sarah sniffed from her corner, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "I require something... delicate. Perhaps a nice coq au vin. With a truffle reduction. It is a matter of basic culinary decency."
The argument raged for ten minutes. It was exhausting. It was like trying to get a group of toddlers to agree on a pizza topping, if the toddlers were all legendary, world-ending monsters.
"ENOUGH!" I roared, my voice cutting through the culinary chaos. "I will decide."
I thought for a moment. What did I want?
I didn’t need to eat. My vampiric nature sustained me on a diet of pure, ambient badassery and the occasional, life-draining snack.
But then, a word, a memory, a ghost of a taste from a life I could no longer remember, flickered in the back of my mind.
"We will have," I announced, the word feeling strange on my tongue, "curry and rice."
The feast was held by a riverside on the outskirts of our new territory.