The Corporate Diplomat (And The Fantasy Date)
With the terrified commander still standing awkwardly by the door, Kniya suddenly clasped his hands together. A massive, entirely uncharacteristic beam of joy spread across his face. He completely ignored the apocalyptic wasteland outside and turned to his Head of Production.
"Malesh," Kniya began, his voice taking on a highly professional, entirely fake diplomatic tone. "I think the absolute best thing we can do right now, before he attacks our borders, is to simply have a talk with him. We can establish better communication! We can ask him to stop this war. Why do we have to fight? We will offer him cheap manufactured goods, highly subsidized infrastructure, and loans at much lower interest rates. There are a lot of things we can offer to build a great trade deal instead of fighting with each other. What do you think about it?"
Filoska leaned over the console, raising a highly skeptical eyebrow at the Managing Director.
"A diplomatic talk?" Filoska asked, her voice dripping with absolute disbelief. "Since when do you actively want to negotiate with the locals? Kniya, you literally just dropped a nuclear bomb on an empty wasteland ten minutes ago purely for your own entertainment. Suddenly you are a pacifist?"
Malesh crossed his arms, staring dead into Kniya's eyes. A dark, extremely cynical sneer formed on his lips.
"Yeah, Kniya. I understand. I really, really understand exactly why you want to meet him," Malesh said, his voice dripping with heavy, venomous mockery. "Why can't we just destroy him from here? We literally have intercontinental ballistic missiles! But no, you want to go meet him face-to-face so you can suck his dick, na?"
The commander by the door violently choked on his own spit, his eyes widening in pure horror at the way the corporate executives spoke to each other.
"I know exactly what this is!" Malesh shouted, aggressively pointing an accusing finger at Kniya. "You want to be his fucking life partner because of those stupid, trashy fantasy novels you used to read! Go ahead, suck his dick, Kniya! You just want to meet him because he is the ultimate dark-lord trope from your books, and now you are finally going to meet one in real life! You are risking our entire corporate monopoly just so you can go on a romantic fantasy date!"
Kniya didn't even look insulted. In fact, his smile only grew wider, his eyes practically sparkling with unhinged, delusional excitement.
"Well, Malesh, you will never understand the true value of the mightiest and greatest Demon Lord," Kniya declared proudly, adjusting his suit jacket. "You are just one of the fools who think Demon Lords aren't really that powerful. You need to understand the importance of meeting him! He is a highly powerful entity! We should first have a talk with him, experience his dark majesty, and then... if he doesn't agree to our trade deals, we will just completely destroy him. It is a win-win!"
Salesh, who had been quietly calculating the projected financial losses on a small leather-bound notepad, finally chimed in.
"Actually, Malesh, I think Kniya is absolutely right in his position," Salesh said, snapping his notepad shut with a sharp thwack. "We really need to understand the importance of meeting him from a purely different perspective!"
Malesh looked at Salesh like he had grown a second head. "Are you seriously defending his fantasy delusions right now?"
"I am defending the bottom line," Salesh corrected, his tone shifting into pure, cold bureaucracy. "In this method, the absolute minimum amount of people will be killed. The Demon Lord is bringing a huge army. If we deploy a huge battalion of our corporate troops to intercept them in a full-scale war, we are going to severely endanger the lives of thousands of our employees. Do you have any idea how much administrative paperwork is involved in processing mass casualties? The life insurance payouts alone would bankrupt our quarterly profit margins! Furthermore, a massive loss of troops leaves us vulnerable. If our military presence drops, the peasants might actually think they have a chance to rebel! We need those soldiers alive to maintain corporate discipline, Malesh!"
Filoska immediately nodded in agreement, casually filing her nails.
"Salesh is entirely correct," Filoska added, sighing heavily. "The logistical overhead of a ground war is a complete HR nightmare. And don't even get me started on the collateral damage. Do you know how much capital we spent paving those highways and building those factories? If a giant monster steps on my new toll booths, I am going to lose my mind. I do not want to spend my entire weekend drafting civilian casualty spreadsheets and paying for structural repairs. Let the man have his little fan-meet. If the Demon Lord says no to the trade deal, we can just nuke him on Monday when the insurance paperwork clears."
Malesh looked between the three of them. He was completely outvoted by a delusional fanboy and two heartless bureaucrats who just wanted to protect their infrastructure and avoid doing paperwork. He let out a long, deeply exhausted groan, aggressively rubbing his face with both hands.
"Okay," Malesh grumbled, his voice hollow and defeated. "Fine. Guys, I guess we don't have any other options left. Let's go meet your fucking boyfriend."
Kniya immediately turned around, flashed a massive, shit-eating grin, and proudly held up a rigid middle finger right in Malesh's face.
"Jealousy is a really bad look on you, Malesh," Kniya laughed, waving the finger around. "Just make sure your tie is straight for the wedding."
The terrified commander quickly stepped forward, practically slamming a heavy, leather-bound map onto the console to interrupt them.
"O-Okay, s-sirs!" the commander stammered, his hands trembling as he aggressively unrolled the thick parchment across the table, pointing a shaking finger at a heavily marked grid. "Here is the map, and here are the exact, verified coordinates of the Demon Lord's vanguard camp! Have a safe trip!"
Without waiting for a single response, the commander immediately turned and sprinted out of the watchtower as fast as his legs could carry him, the heavy steel door slamming shut behind him.
The Corporate Arrival
Filoska snatched the map off the console. Her eyes scanned the coordinates for a fraction of a second, committing the spatial data to memory.
"Alright, gather around. Hold your breath, this is a long jump," Filoska ordered.
Because the Demon Lord's army was stationed on the far edges of the corporate territory, Filoska couldn't cover the massive distance in a single leap. She activated her spatial magic. The air inside the watchtower violently warped and bent, the light fracturing like a shattered mirror.
Zzz-crack!
The four executives vanished from the watchtower in a blinding flash of purple light.
A second later, they materialized in the sky above a dense forest. Before gravity could even pull them down, Filoska initiated the second cycle.
Zzz-crack!
They appeared over a jagged mountain range, the freezing wind whipping their designer clothes for a split second before they jumped again.
Zzz-crack!
After four rapid, violently disorienting teleportation cycles, the space tore open one final time.
They dropped seamlessly out of the spatial rift, their expensive leather shoes landing perfectly on the soft, muddy grass. The sudden shift from the sterile watchtower to the humid, heavily wooded wilderness was jarring.
But not as jarring as what was standing directly in front of them.
The four corporate overlords had teleported directly into the absolute center of the monster encampment. Thousands of heavily armored orcs, terrifying shadow mages, and massive beasts instantly froze, their weapons completely drawn.
And sitting just ten feet in front of them, resting on a massive throne carved from the bones of a dragon, was the Demon Lord himself.
The Disappointing Dark Lord
The sudden arrival of four humans in business attire sent a massive ripple of shock through the monster encampment. Thousands of heavily armored orcs, terrifying shadow mages, and massive beasts instantly froze, their weapons completely drawn.
Sitting just ten feet in front of them, resting on a massive throne carved from the bones of a dragon, was the Demon Lord.
He was towering, clad in spiked black armor, with glowing red eyes and a dark aura of pure malice radiating from his body. To anyone from this world, he was the ultimate, terrifying embodiment of evil.
Malesh shoved his hands into his pockets, slowly looking the Demon Lord up and down with an expression of pure, unadulterated disappointment.
"So... this is the shit-ass guy you are all calling the Demon Lord?" Malesh scoffed loudly, turning to Kniya. "From the looks of his face, he looks like absolute shit. I was expecting a legitimate, high-level threat to our profit margins, and instead, he just looks like a depressed cosplayer who hasn't showered in three weeks."
Thanks to Salesh's unique magical ability to instantly translate any spoken word into the listener's native language, the insult carried perfectly to the throne.