Tired Of Death

The Overlord jabbed at the fire in the hearth with the poker, stirring the flames up to a more acceptable level. He could have just Commanded them to flame higher of course, but he liked to do things the old fashioned way sometimes.

The fire sorted out, he moved over to the table where his cup of coco was sitting, steaming away next to the book he'd been reading. It was a fantasy tale about a land where magic didn't exist. Preposterous stuff of course, but he liked a good yarn as much as the next ruthless tyrant. 

As he picked the mug and novel up, he looked around his lounge. His personal chambers were hidden away in a corner of the Malevolent Citadel, a place where he could cast aside the pressure of work and relax in private. 

The fire flickered merrily in the hearth, making an effort to please, casting its warm glow over the werewolf rug he'd had specially made. He disliked werewolves, those and vampires, but properly skinned they could be quite attractive. The low wooden coffee table just beyond was in the centre of three seats: one sofa and two large armchairs. One of the armchairs was made of a pale coloured skin, the vampire contribution there, with several plump cushions stuffed with the bilious souls of heroes artfully arranged on it. 

The Overlord gave a shrill whistle as he shuffled over and sat down, arranging himself comfortably, hot drink on the small table next to him, book on his l.a.p.

There was a patter of claws, and a black dog the size of a small pony padded up to him, tongue hanging out, panting as it looked at his master with his glowing red demonic eyes. 

"Slippers!" The Overlord commanded in a ruthless tone.

The Hell hound w.h.i.n.ed and c.o.c.ked his head to one side.

"Skippers! Fetch!"

The animal barked, a sound that for many was the last thing they'd ever heard, and turned quickly, bounding away out of the doorway and into the next room. A moment later he returned with two scraps of material hanging from his mouth.

The Overlord scowled as he examined the remains of his footwear. "What did I tell you about chewing the Masters' slippers? Bad dog! No treats for you today."

The demonic creature whimpered, ears flattening on its massive head as it ducked down low. The Overload glared at it for a second, before breaking into smile. "Oh go on then, how can I resist that look? Just one mind." He stretched his arm down behind his chair and brought up a sealed can. Twisting it open, he reached inside and pulled forth a small figure, which cried out in fear as it writhed between his two fingers.

"Here you go boy! Catch!" He threw the diminutive fairy into the air. There was a scream and then a snap, and the noise cut off. 

"Good boy! Now go and sit, the Master wants to relax. Sit. Sit!"

The hound turned and went and lay on the rug in front of the fireplace, walking around in a circle before settling down.

The Overlord lifted his mug to his lips and took a small sip of the hot drink. Sighing with p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e he settled down again and picked up his book, rifling through the pages as he tried to find where he'd got to.

He'd barely started when there was a noise from next to him. He frowned, but ignored it, continuing with his reading. 

A minute later there was a cough, as if someone was clearing their throat as they waited for another person to pay attention to them.

He sighed and put the book on his l.a.p. "What is it?" he said in a resigned voice.

An old man's wavery voice answered. It appeared to be coming from the side of the chair, on the floor near the d.o.g.g.y treats.

"I don't appreciate this you know. I've never harmed you in any way."

"And I'm grateful," said The Overlord. "Now, if you don't mind, it's my day off."

"I though evil never slept?"

"I'm not sleeping," The Overlord retorted, rolling his eyes. "I'm trying to read a book. Now please be quiet." 

Silence descended again, broken only by the intermittent sounds of pages turning and coco being drunk.

"It's just I'm not at all comfortable in here you know. It's very cramped."

The Overlord scowled. Why did you always get interrupted just at the good part? He put a finger on the passage he was reading and looked up. "Look, if your body behaves, I'll put you back. I could have just killed you you know, you should be grateful." He shook his head. "I don't know, some people."

"Yes, well, that's the problem isn't it? Without me, my body's just a stupid teenager. Who knows what he'll say to Dreth?"

"I gave you a choice and you took it. Stop complaining."

"A choice?" the voice w.h.i.n.ed. "Death, or all my memories and experience extracted. What's to choose?"

"It wasn't all your memories, just most of them. And you're supposed to be a seer aren't you? How come you didn't see me coming and bugger off? Not as good as you're advertised if you ask me." 

"We all have our off days," the voice replied petulantly. "Trust me when I say I'm speaking from experience here, because that's pretty much all I am."

"Tough luck," The Overlord said unsympathetically. "Now be quiet, or I'll feed you to the dog."

The voice of the experience of the Seer of Farsii mumbled for a second more, but then subsided back into silence. The Overlord nodded to himself and carried on reading his book. 

~ * ~

"What have you done with the seer? Speak!" Dreth shook the lad, rattling the boys' teeth.

"I... it…it's not… what you… think!" the lad replied between shakes. 

"Let the kid speak Dreth," Tybalt said, putting a hand on his arm. "You can kill him later."

Dreth growled, but slowly put the young want-to-be-seer down. "Very well, talk! And this better be good."

"I am the seer," the youth said. "Someone came and did something to me."

"Did what?" Emerald asked, pushing forward.

The boy blushed slightly when he saw her. "I'm… I'm not sure actually. I think he took my powers away or something. I don't remember."

"Then how do you know he took them?" demanded Dreth.

"Laurence told me."

"Who's Laurence?" asked Percy.

Cuthbert rolled his eyes. "Pay attention at the back there, he's the guy upstairs, the one looking after your many-headed friend."

"Oh him."

"What did Laurence tell you exactly?" asked Emerald.

"He said some heavy duty representatives of the Overlord came a few days ago. When they came out they were carrying something in a small bag and I was like this." The young seer gestured at himself.

"What were you like before?" asked Tybalt.

"Older, I think." The boy shrugged.

"Well, I can see we're surrounded by all the answers we could ever need here," the little devil said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I'm so glad we came."

"Shut up you," Emerald said. She stepped forward and put a hand on the boys' shoulder. "What's your name?" 

"I'm Cedrix."

"Cedric?" Emerald repeated.

"No, Cedrix, with an 'X'. My parents weren't too good at spelling. I thought it was kind of cool myself."

Their discussion was interrupted by footsteps coming down the spiral staircase into the cavern. They looked around to see Laurence, the Gatekeeper, panting from exertion. 

"You've got someone coming," he gasped. "Wizards, or my name's not Fred."

"I thought you were Laurence?" Frumble said. 

"I have many names."

"It's that bloody necromancer," said Dreth. "I'm not hanging around here to get my soul s.u.c.k.e.d out again." He pointed at the seer. "You. Is there a back way out?"

The seer shrugged. "Maybe, I don't know. I can't remember. There's a lot of caverns' back there, could be a way out I suppose."

Dreth turned to the Gatekeeper. "You, Laurence or Fred or whatever your name is. Tell your hydra to attack."

"Not bloody likely. There's only one outcome of that fight, and it's not with us on the winning side. You're on your own." He turned and ran back up the stairs. 

"Chicken!" Dreth shouted after him. He paused and then looked around. "Well, are we ready for a fight then? Together we can take them."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"What?" asked Dreth, as the others bunched together in a group that suddenly looked very distant.

"Well," Cuthbert backed away a step or two. "It's like this you see." He looked around and pushed Percy forward. "You tell him."

"Me? Why me?"

"You're the oldest. I figure you've had the longest life."

"And I'd like to keep it that way thank-you!"

"What is this? Mutiny?" Dreth shouted. His sword hand began to itch and he raised Darkblood.

"No! No! Absolutely not," Tybalt said, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. "It's just that it seems a bit unfair that we're put in constant danger just to help you all the time."

"Amen to that," Frumble muttered.