The morning sun glistens over the broken hills of the eastern frontier as Lucien tightens the straps of his travel cloak. Beside him, Valgereth finishes devouring a roasted thigh of something unidentifiable and tosses the bone over his shoulder with a grunt.
"Alright," Val growls, adjusting the sleek pack slung across his back, "let's get this cursed road trip over with before something delays us again."
Lucien stretches his glowing limbs lazily, muscles flexing like a showpony. "Aw, don't be so grumpy. We've got two weeks of fresh air, diplomatic strategy, and male bonding ahead of us."
"I already regret this," Val mutters.
Above them, Serenith hovers in the sky, shimmering wings glinting in the morning light. "I'll keep overwatch. Try not to start any border wars without me."
Lucien flashes her a thumbs up, then turns to Val as they begin to walk. "So. Let's talk trade routes."
"Finally something useful from your mouth," Val grunts. "We'll establish a supply hub just past the ridge. We need to secure safe passage through these lands or no one's investing another coin."
Lucien nods, but halfway through Val's next sentence, his steps begin to falter. He winces, a strange heaviness settling over his frame.
"Ugh. What is this feeling?" Lucien groans.
Val squints at him. "You alright?"
Lucien looks down at his arms just as his glowing skin dulls. His muscles visibly shrink. His once-glowing tattoos fade like chalk in the rain.
A message shimmers across his vision briefly before fizzling away.
[WARNING! Leaving Ashland territory. All Demon Lord abilities temporarily disabled]
"My abs!" Lucien gasps, patting himself down frantically. "Where are my radiant abs?!"
Val bursts into laughter. "Oh no. You're de-demonizing. We left Ashlands territory. Your powers don't work here, remember?"
Lucien's horns shrink into tiny nubs on his head before disappearing completely, his demonic aura fizzles, and his gorgeous silk-black hair becomes annoyingly normal.
His voice cracks with despair.
"WHY DID NOBODY WARN ME THIS WOULD FEEL LIKE A MAGICAL COLONOSCOPY?!"
Serenith swoops lower, laughing openly. "This is glorious. I haven't seen you look this average…ever. You look like a sassy elf intern now."
Lucien flops dramatically onto a nearby boulder. "I feel like someone replaced my soul with a wet sock."
"Oh, stop whining," Val says, barely containing his glee. "It's only until we return. Besides, no one's around to witness this travesty."
"I swear if the twins were here, I'd exile myself."
By midday, the trio reaches the rocky eastern ridge. The wind has picked up, blowing dust over the jagged hills. As they trek upward, Serenith suddenly halts in the air, wings stiff.
"Wait. I hear something. Screaming. Female."
Lucien stands straighter. "Where?"
Serenith points toward the far side of the ridge. "Down there!"
Val scowls. "Ignore it. Borderland business. We're here to establish trade, not rescue every screaming villager."
Lucien steps forward, eyes narrowing. "If doing my job means turning my back on a woman in need, then I don't want to be king."
Val rolls his eyes and mutters a curse, but follows as Lucien sprints ahead.
They crest the ridge and peer down into a shallow basin, sun-baked and littered with loose rocks that crunches underfoot. There, a group of demonkin thugs are sauntering down a dusty path, laughing amongst themselves. The largest of them, a mountain of a man with a cracked horn and bone tattoos, carries a burlap sack over his shoulder. Muffled yells come from inside, the sack twitching and bucking with every step he takes.
The leader grins when he sees them.
"Ashlanders!" he says with a wave. "You out here raiding too? The new Demon Lord's rules are no fun, right. Gotta get our kicks elsewhere now."
Lucien stiffens.
Serenith's voice echoes softly beside him. "Your reforms pushed the rot outward, Lucien. You created this vacuum."
Lucien runs a hand down his face. "I was trying to stop raiding in my lands, not export the problem like cheap knockoff swords."
The demonkin tosses the sack to the ground. A bruised and bloodied wolf-kin woman spills out, snarling.
She glares at Lucien with fire in her gold-flecked eyes. "Let me go, you bastards!"
Lucien crouches before her, bowing his head. "On behalf of my kingdom, I'm deeply sorry. You have every right to hate us."
Val slaps him upside the head. "Incognito, you idiot!"
The woman blinks, confused. "Wait, you're royalty?"
Lucien smiles sheepishly. "Lucien. Technically, Demon Lord Lucidius, though, uh, don't let the lack of horns fool you."
The thugs burst into laughter.
"You? Demon Lord? Ha!" The big one snorts. "Let's kill him just for the joke."
Lucien stands up slowly and points at them. "You have one chance. Leave this land and never return."
They step forward, cracking knuckles and drawing blades. "Or what, you'll give us another apology?"
Lucien turns to Val. "You'll back me up, right?"
"Nope." Val grins. "You got into this mess. Time to learn how to be a powerless ruler."
"Traitor," Lucien hisses.
Lucien swallows hard, straightens his non-intimidating elf-like posture, and chuckles nervously.
"Okay, gentlemen, how about we discuss this like reasonable adults?"
The big demonkin cracks his neck, dark magic flickering from his horns and eyes, the air around his knuckles shimmering with heat. "I love to talk," he growls. "With fists."
The demon's fist flares with magic.
"Ah… I'll take that as a maybe." Lucien mutters.