The Lesbian Demon Lord Conquers the World!

The Demon Lord wasn’t particularly given to ostentation; however, as she was the supreme ruler of one-third of Goezia’s landmass, half its oceans and over a thousand different species of demons, some dramatic flair was to be expected. Her castle was towering, wrought in jet black obsidian, and decorated with countless skulls. There were skulls carved into the walls, skull chandeliers aglow with red flame hanging from the ceilings, and all manner of skull-shaped furniture.

None of this was meant to be particularly intimidating, by the way. The Demon Lord simply liked skulls.

Her private chambers followed this theme. The ceiling was fully fifty feet high, so as to easily accommodate giants and ogres, and supported by grand stone arches inlaid with elaborate friezes featuring, you guessed it, skulls. Her bed, which was twenty feet to a side, was supported by six skull-shaped bedposts. And her desk, where she currently sat poring over paperwork, was carved of the finest silverwood from the Screaming Forest and capped by two wrought iron candlesticks which held skull-shaped candles. As the candles burned down they slowly deformed, making it seem as if they bled wax from their eyes.

The first time Nyze saw these chambers, she found them creepy and ominous. However, now that she had spent the past week here in varying states of undress, she came to regard them as oddly charming. Perhaps it was her new demonic sensibilities taking root, or simply all the good memories she had created here in such a short time.

Presently, Nyze was pacing back and forth around the room. Or rather, slithering back and forth, since she no longer had feet to pace with. Psytalla, who was writing a missive to the Nightlands requesting a vampire to perform Frane’s embrace, looked up at her pacing girlfriend with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“Everything alright, Nyze?”

Nyze turned to face Psytalla and slithered over to her. “Yes! No. Maybe?”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Psytalla said gently.

“Well, sure. I’ve been thinking about this on and off for the past week, but… I’m having a bit of trouble adjusting to this new lamia body.”

“In what ways?”

“Well, there are three issues. First of all, I don’t have feet anymore!”

Psytalla raised an eyebrow. “That much is obvious.”

“I mean, I figured out the slithering thing pretty quickly. It came naturally, you might say. What concerns me is my martial training!”

Psytalla instantly understood what she was talking about, but didn’t interrupt.

“I spent twenty years training my footwork. My FOOTWORK! How does that translate to this… this SNAKE TAIL?! I’m not as fast as I used to be, I’m not sure what my combat stances should be… it’s very confusing!”

Psytalla stood up from her chair and strode over to Nyze, patting her gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll figure it out. If it helps, I can send for a lamia swordmaster to come help train you.”

“That… sounds nice.” Nyze responded, a bit reassured.

“So what’s the second problem?”

“Uh…” Nyze blushed furiously and stared at her belly button. “So… you know this already, having seen me naked so many times, but…”

“Hmm?”

“I only have… one hole…”

Psytalla made a mock thinking gesture. “I am aware of your hole.”

“Brat.” Nyze bopped Psytalla lightly on the head. “I mean, there’s just one hole for, you know… three things…”

“You’re not a mammal anymore, dear. You’re reptilian. It’s called a cloaca, a single orifice for sex, u-“

“I GET THE IDEA!” Nyze shrieked in interruption. “It’s just WEIRD, that’s all! It takes some getting used to!”

Psytalla smiled in that evil way only a Demon Lord can. “You think it’s weird now, just wait until you start laying eggs.”

Nyze slithered back a few feet. “Eggs? EGGS?! REALLY?!”

“Snakes don’t give live birth, dear. They lay eggs,” Psytalla said gently.

“Hooooooo boy. HOOOOOOO BOY. THAT’S gonna be an EXPERIENCE.”

Psytalla’s voice grew quiet. “If I may be serious for a moment. Do you think you’re experiencing genital dysphoria?”

“Geni-whatsis?” Psytalla was throwing around terms Nyze had never heard before.

“The feeling that your genitals aren’t right for you. If you want, we can have a shaper mage do some remodeling…”

Nyze waved her hands around frantically. “WHOA WHOA WHOA, HOLD UP! It’s not that the… uh… cloaca is WRONG, per se. And I like my new body a whole lot! All I’m saying is it will take time for me to adjust.”

Psytalla nodded. “Well, should you ever feel uncomfortable, or have a sense of wrongness about your body, let me know. Nobody should be forced to live in a body that’s not right for them, and demonic magic can easily rectify that.”

Nyze was slowly realizing that the demons had a wholly different understanding of gender and sexuality than she was used to. Demons regarded gender as something fluid, not always strictly male or female, and thought nothing of changing someone’s body around to make them more comfortable. It was antithetical to everything Nyze had been taught in human society, and she found the prospects of exploring this new liberation exciting. She’d have to pick Psytalla’s brain clean, get a crash course on all those new terms she was hearing; stuff like dysphoria, or transgender, or lesbian, or nonbinary.

For the moment, though, she simply wanted to reassure Psytalla. “Look, dear, I’m completely fine with this body. I’m complaining a bit, but it’s just because I’m adjusting. Honestly, I’m happier now than I’ve ever been.”

“That’s good to hear. By the way, what was the third problem?”

Nyze grinned mischievously. Her mischievous grin wasn’t QUITE a match for the Demon Lord’s trademark evil sneer, but she was getting there. “My third problem is my lips.”

“Your lips?”

“Yeah! They’re not pressed up against YOUR lips right now. It’s horrible!”

Psytalla busted out laughing. “You goofus.”

They quickly set about solving that last problem.

*****

Meanwhile, in one of the castle’s cavernous hallways, a staccato clack-clack-clacking sound resonated off the walls.

The baphomet Metokai was storming along the corridor, furious energy driving her hooves into the stone floor. Every step she took, every quiver of her shoulders, betrayed her turmoil. She was very, VERY angry.

Angry at herself.

A storm of self-loathing swirled around in her head. How could she have failed so terribly, so UTTERLY?

She recalled the day she earned the right to serve as the chief general of the Disaster Demon Lord, Psytalla Sidealestes.  It was the zenith of her entire life; she worked long and hard, developed her martial and magical talents to unheard-of heights, and won many battles to claim that honor. Standing by Psytalla’s side, she knew that was where she belonged. She was HAPPY.

Then the Hero came.

The Hero and his hateful party of illogically strong human WENCHES.

Metokai was the final defense. Every lesser general fell, and only she stood between those human WORMS and her beloved Demon Lord. So she fought, harder and more desperately than ever.

She fought and lost, and then died quite painfully.

She was resurrected by the healing mages afterwards, of course. Death was cheap in the Demon Realm. But when she learned the Demon Lord herself had defeated the Hero, her stomach sank. It should never have come to that. The thought of the graceful, perfect Psytalla staining her flawless claws with weakling blood caused Metokai to retch.

She hadn’t been strong enough. She failed. Everything she worked towards was for naught, and it was surely only a matter of time before the Demon Lord cast Metokai from her sight.

She knew it was coming. Since that battle, the Demon Lord had been acting distant. Occupied or distracted, maybe, but more likely she was disappointed. And Metokai had grown weary of waiting for the hammer to drop.

So now she was heading to Psytalla’s chambers. To apologize, but not to beg. To ask for judgement, but not for mercy. To learn whether or not her life was over.

And when she stormed into those chambers without even knocking, what she saw made her jaw drop.

*****

Nyze was coiled tightly around Psytalla, delivering an upside-down smooch to the Demon Lord’s face, when a diminutive intruder charged into the room.

The two of them, caught in an intimate moment, looked guilty. Nyze saw Psytalla’s face blush just a smidge purple, a rare moment of vulnerability for the almighty Demon Lord.

Reluctantly tearing her eyes away from Psytalla’s ever-so-slightly flustered face, Nyze studied at the newcomer. She was a baphomet, humanoid except for goat-legs that ended in cloven hooves, large clawed paws instead of hands, the usual demonic pointed ears, and two goat horns that sprouted from the top of her head and curved backwards. The fur on her legs and paws was golden-brown, as was her hair; her eyes flashed a bright shade of blue. She was also tiny, standing around four foot six if you generously included her horns.

Nyze grit her teeth. She recognized this baphomet; it was the one she and the Hero’s party killed on their way to confront the Demon Lord.

“Metokai, hello,” Psytalla said, regaining her composure with practiced ease. “Is there something I can do for you?” Nyze uncoiled herself from Psytalla and cautiously slithered towards the baphomet.

“SORRY! SORRY! I DIDN’T MEAN TO INTERRUPT!” Metokai screeched. “I’ll just go and… WAIT! YOU!”

Nyze shrank back a bit and twiddled her fingers. Metokai had clearly recognized her, despite her species change.

“YOU’RE THAT BITCH FROM THE HERO’S PARTY!” Metokai screamed, pulling her halberd out of hammerspace and swinging it at Nyze with killing intent.

Moving so fast she seemed to teleport, Psytalla stepped directly in front of Metokai and caught the halberd barehanded. “Metokai. Stand DOWN.”

“B-But Your Majesty! She’s one of the Hero’s companions! She’s one of the WRETCHES who attacked you! You can’t possibly…”

Psytalla rose to her full height, and her eyes burst into red flame. She spoke in a voice that seemed to carry a legion’s worth of willpower and threat, despite its eerie calm. “I. SAID. STAND. DOWN.”

Her voice was so powerful both Metokai and Nyze found themselves knocked to the floor. It was if an irresistible pressure had suddenly shoved them down, and all willpower deserted them. The sheer difference in power between themselves and the Demon Lord was made nakedly evident in that moment, with four simple words.

Nyze felt intense wonderment, but no fear. Psytalla hadn’t used this tone when facing Diarn. Did she consider a threat to her girlfriend a more serious matter than confronting the Hero? Her heart fluttered at the thought, even as her body refused to obey her commands.

Metokai, on the other hand, was shaking like a leaf. As the object of the Demon Lord’s focus in that moment, she bore the brunt of that ephemeral, insidious intensity. Even when the flames in Psytalla’s eyes evaporated and she assumed a more casual posture, Metokai still lay there with wide eyes staring into the middle distance. Nyze, upon regaining control and standing up, kind of wanted to poke the tiny baphomet with a stick.

“My apologies, Metokai. Please listen to what I say before acting rashly next time.” Psytalla said without sounding terribly contrite.

Metokai finally, shakily, rose to her hooves. She still looked like a frightened animal, but steeled herself nonetheless. “With the deepest apologies and respect, Your Majesty, what exactly is going on here?”

Nyze and Psytalla looked at each other.

“…It’s a long story.”

Metokai folded her arms over her chest. “I’m all ears.”

*****

The story wasn’t THAT long. Psytalla had just been trying to avoid an awkward conversation because she knew how Metokai would react. And sure enough…

“With all due respect, your Majesty, are you FUCKING CRAZY?!”

Psytalla rolled her eyes. “At least you said ‘with all due respect,’ I suppose.”

Metokai pointed a shaky finger at Nyze. “She killed me! She TRIED to kill YOU! And now you’re… you’re… SMOOCHING her?! It hasn’t even been a week! THIS IS ABSURD!”

Psytalla shrugged. “Love at first sight?”

“This isn’t a fairy tale! She’s an enemy soldier! She can’t be trusted!”

“See, because you didn’t say ‘with all due respect’ that time, you came off rude.” Psytalla said smugly.

“GAH! How can you JOKE about this?! I’ll… I can’t…” Metokai started muttering to herself, her hooves nervously clacking against the floor.

Nyze decided to try and help. “Look, Metokai, if I were really an enemy infiltrator, why would I allow myself to be turned into a demon? That’s, like, a big no-no from the Church’s perspective. Eternal damnation kinda stuff.”

Metokai’s glare made it apparent Nyze’s comments did not have their intended helpful effect. The baphomet pointed her paw directly at Nyze and stood ramrod straight; at her height, the effect was not impressive.

“I challenge you, Nyze! I will never accept you as Her Majesty’s lover! Prove your strength to me in battle!”

Nyze looked over to Psytalla, and the latter shrugged again.

*****

Demons LOVED fighting. With their powerful healing magic, every injury from a tiny paper cut to total dismemberment was easily treated. Even death held little sway over them, save when it came from senescence. So what a human might call a gory, intense and tragic battle to the death… demons simply called ‘Tuesday.’

In this sort of society, the primary method of resolving interpersonal conflicts was, of course, fighting. This was not done with the idea that the martial victor would always be in the right; rather, demons simply believed that the best way to understand someone, to strip away all the pretensions and niceties and reveal the true character of the person underneath, was to fight them. With both parties exposed thusly, a new understanding could be reached. That was the general idea.

This is not to say that demons would come to blows over something as petty as an argument over wyvern parking spaces or differing tastes in music. No, fighting was reserved for more serious conflicts, such as telling off your boss for giving you a bad schedule, or challenging the chef of a restaurant to an honor duel after they served a poorly prepared meal. And of course, Metokai seeing her beloved Demon Lord kissing an ostensible usurper to her throne clearly counted as a serious enough transgression to call for a knock-down, drag-out brawl.

Psytalla initially stopped Metokai’s attack because the latter was charging in without a full understanding of the situation. After the explanation, she had no reason to refuse Metokai’s request further. The three demon girls headed to one of the castle’s many battle arenas and prepared for Metokai and Nyze’s big fight.

To be honest, Nyze’s heart wasn’t in it. It wasn’t that she disliked fighting; she LOVED it. She was just unsure how this would improve her relationship with Metokai. She honestly felt terrible about killing the little baphomet earlier, and didn’t really see how killing her again (or getting killed by her) would help solve things. Still, if this is what Metokai wanted, she was willing to reluctantly indulge.

The other major issue was her new body. When Nyze fought Metokai before, she was still a human and alongside three other powerful human combatants. And they had needed every advantage; despite her tiny frame, Metokai had strength rivalling that of an ogre, insane speed and powerful demonic magic. Although Nyze was now physically stronger than her old human self, she was still in an unfamiliar body and she would also have no backup. Nyze thought she had about a 1 in 5 chance of winning.

The two combatants took their positions at opposite sides of the arena, and Psytalla blasted a lightning bolt towards the ceiling to signal the start of combat. A second later, Metokai charged towards Nyze, closing the fifty feet between them in under a second.

Their blades met, Metokai’s halberd against Nyze’s longsword, and the resounding boom caused by the impact smashed into the protective wards on the walls, sending rippling waves of force-field magic racing around the room’s perimeter. Each subsequent strike was similarly cataclysmic, and the healing mages stationed in the corner of the room cowered in fear; this was a battle between beings who could decimate armies or destroy cities singlehandedly if they so desired. Watching a former companion of the Hero face off against the top general of the Demon Realm’s armies was a legendary spectacle, sure to awe any mere mortal who witnessed it.

Neither one of the combatants batted an eyelash, nor did the Demon Lord.

The initial exchange of blows confirmed the basic disparity of the battle. Nyze matched Metokai’s strength, but not her speed. Still unused to her tail, her movements were slow and deliberate and her strategy defensive. She was a skilled enough swordswoman to hold her own for a while, but in a battle of attrition she’d wear down. Which meant she needed to resolve this quickly, using the other weapon at her disposal.

Magic.

Like any battle mage worth her salt, Nyze precast about twenty spells every morning and held them in reserve for situations just like this. She reached out to the divine mana of the Pink Moon, sensing its distant thrum in the heavens, and channeled that mana through her body. When she had the proper amount, she released the spell.

“Release Magic: Target-Seeking Laser Barrage!”

An orb of pink magelight formed before her and a dozen spell circles manifested around it. The spell circles were encoded to function like lenses, concentrating the magelight into narrow beams. Deadly rays of magical pink laser light shot out from the lens-circles, targeting Metokai.

Now, fast as Metokai was, she couldn’t move at lightspeed. A few of the shots singed her before she managed to put up a barrier. She shook off the injuries and grinned.

“Still using moon magic, eh? How very HUMAN of you!” she said tauntingly.

Nyze stopped the attack. “I’m sorry, could you not do that?”

“Huh?”

“Refer to me as a human. I made a very deliberate decision to abandon my humanity, so I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from belittling that,” Nyze said coldly.

Metokai narrowed her eyes. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? About joining the demon side?”

Nyze nodded.

“Fine. I will apologize for mistaking your intention. I see the truth of your words, Nyze the DEMON. Now show me your passion!” Metokai charged again.

Nyze resumed firing with the lasers, but the ball of magelight exhausted itself before Metokai’s barrier did. As Nyze prepared to unleash another spell, she was interrupted by spikes of earth which shot up from the floor and impaled her in three places.

Metokai hadn’t been just dodging and swinging her halberd; she was preparing a spell of her own, an elementalist earth-aspected attack. And Nyze, still being slow on the ground, wasn’t good at dodging it. Metokai's spell put Nyze on the back tail.

Nyze pulled herself off the spikes and beat a hasty retreat, releasing another of her precast spells as she went. This time she focused mana from the Teal Moon, which twisted through the spell circle and healed her wounds. Not even a second after her spell completed, Metokai’s blade swung towards her once more; she barely managed to block it.

“I won’t give her up to you,” Metokai growled. “I’m the one who should be by Psytalla’s side.”

“It’s not like I’m trying to monopolize her, Metokai,” Nyze responded, trying her best to be reasonable.

Flecks of spittle flew from Metokai’s mouth as she shouted angrily. “And yet she has eyes only for you! Who the hell are YOU to march in and take everything I’VE EVER WANTED?!”

“Uh…” Nyze responded helpfully.

“If it wasn’t for you and your damn Hero, I wouldn’t have failed! I wouldn’t have humiliated myself and DIED! My shame will NEVER go away until I grind you into the DUST, vile serpent!” Tears formed in the corners of Metokai’s eyes as she spoke, and her strikes grew wild and furious.

This is what demons meant when they said battle revealed truths that would otherwise be hidden. The heightened emotions, the intensity of mortal combat, the adrenaline and pounding hearts caused people to be more honest. Everything was bared in that moment; Metokai’s insecurities, her true desires, her RAGE. Nyze realized that Metokai wasn’t angry at her, not really. She was angry at herself, and Nyze was just a convenient external target for that.

It might have been a bit unsporting of Nyze to surreptitiously cast a spell while Metokai was having her emotional outpouring. But, as they say, all’s fair in love and war. Nyze whispered something under her breath, and her body was wreathed in black lightning. A second later, she vanished with a cacophonous double thunderclap.

“Teleportation?!” Metokai quickly turned around, expecting Nyze to appear right behind her, and saw nothing. “Where…?”

Suddenly, Metokai felt a sharp pain at the top of her head, then stopped feeling anything whatsoever as her brain was cut in half. Her body followed, and she was neatly bisected across her vertical axis. The two halves of her corpse slumped to the ground, leaking blood and entrails.

Nyze had teleported ABOVE her, then let gravity do the rest. She couldn’t move very quickly on the ground, but she could fall with the best of them.

The healing mages rushed in and did their thing. Nyze watched in fascination as the two halves of Metokai’s corpse kneaded themselves together, good as new. When Metokai opened her eyes, she glared daggers at Nyze.

“SHIT! That was some trick, serpent. I commend you.”

Nyze shrugged, then slithered over to the prone baphomet and kneeled over her. She whispered so Psytalla couldn’t overhear.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Metokai didn’t answer, but her eyes darted over to where Psytalla was standing and a faint blush appeared at the tips of her ears. That was all the answer Nyze needed. She held her hand out to Metokai, grinning.

Without the slightest hesitation, Metokai took her hand and rose to her feet.

“So,” said Nyze with far too much optimism, “can we be friends?”

“…You proved your worth to me in battle, serpent. I shall consider you to be my foremost rival.”

Psytalla, who had walked over to the two combatants, smiled mischievously. “For a demon, that’s basically the same thing.”

Upon seeing the Demon Lord right in front of her, Metokai’s expression fell and she dropped to her knees, pressing her head against the ground. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty. For the second time, I have failed you.”

“What do you mean?” Psytalla responded.

“First, I failed to stop the Hero and his party, and they visited harm upon your inviolate personage. Then, I failed again to prove myself against Nyze after issuing a challenge. I am clearly not worthy to be the commander of your armies. I await your judgement, my Demon Lord.”

Psytalla frowned and balled her left hand into a fist, resting it against her cheek. “Metokai, stand up.”

Metokai complied but kept staring at the ground.

“Metokai, LOOK at me.”

Slowly, the baphomet raised her eyes.

“You and I have been friends for, what, two centuries now?” Psytalla asked.

“228 years, yes.” confirmed Metokai.

“In all that time, how often have I lost fights?”

“Er…”

“Dozens, perhaps hundreds. I’ve suffered many humiliating defeats during my rise to power. Just as you suffered two defeats recently.”

“That’s…”

“You are unused to losing so maybe you don’t understand this, but the outcome of a single battle, or even a DOZEN battles, does not determine your strength. What matters is how you react to your defeats, whether you find the determination to pick yourself up afterwards and keep striding towards your goal. The willpower and drive to not give up… THAT is true strength, Metokai.”

The Demon Lord looked quite noble as she was speaking, her gaze fixed on the horizon beyond the castle walls, and both Metokai and Nyze let out dreamy sighs.

“You command my armies because I trust you. And you will ALWAYS have a place by my side. As for what you take away from this battle, that is entirely up to you. I, for one, hope you choose to continue striding forwards.”

“Y-Your Majesty…” Metokai said, tears once again forming in her eyes.

“And another thing. Stop calling me ‘Your Majesty.’ Please just call me ‘Psytalla’ like everyone else.”

Metokai nodded, too choked up for words. Nyze, fighting an urge she had been resisting for some time, placed her hand atop Metokai’s head and started patting her.

A serene expression crossed Metokai’s face, but she quickly banished it with a scowl. “What are you DOING, serpent?!”

“Headpats. You seemed like you needed them.”

“Remove your hand from my head at ONCE! This is unbefitting the dignity of a demonic general!”

Psytalla watched the two bickering demons and her heart filled with warmth. Reluctantly, she interceded. “Settle down, you two. Let’s go out for a drink.”

*****

If there was one thing the demons loved more than fighting, it was drinking. There was no pleasure more appropriate for decompressing after a rousing, raging battle than taking leave of one’s senses by imbibing in a drop (or seven tankards) of the creature.

The Demon Lord’s castle had several bars, some quiet and calming and other rambunctious with pounding death metal music. Psytalla’s preferred dive was one of the latter, a bar called The Iron Maiden which was themed after a dungeon and decorated with torture implements… and skulls, of course.

The Iron Maiden was staffed by a sentient mathematical equation named Gary, who expressed his calculations in a levitating orb of liquid hydrogen that swirled with every color imaginable, and several unimaginable. As the three girls took their seats, he floated over and spoke in a bassy voice resembling honey put through a wheat thresher.

“Psytalla, Metokai, welcome. And who’s the newcomer?”

“This is Nyze, my girlfriend.” Psytalla explained, “Nyze, this is Gary. He’s the bartender here.”

Nyze looked at the floating orb which resembled a miniature, time-lapsed gas giant planet. “You’re a he?”

Metokai shot Nyze an acid glare. “That’s a rude thing to ask, serpent.”

Gary chuckled, which sounded like an elephant being killed by a cheese grater. “I don’t mind. As a being of pure mathematics encoded in hydrogen, I get that question a lot. I don’t TECHNICALLY have a gender, but I choose to identify myself as male. It helps me better relate to you odd fleshy water-bags.”

Gary took their orders. Nyze and Metokai both had the house ale, whereas Psytalla ordered something called a “Lava Bomb” which turned out to be actual lava mixed with vodka. It was served in a metal cup that glowed red-hot. Psytalla grabbed and downed the drink without a second thought, then began to eat the actual cup itself with large bites.

Strange as this sight directly in front of her was, Nyze’s eyes kept drifting around the room. All manner of demons partied here, and Nyze was seeing several of these species for the first time. One group in particular caught her attention: a small swarm of flighty human-sized bee girls, who were buzzing around a wood fire, inhaling the smoke while giggling and looping around in the air.

Nyze poked Metokai. “Hey, what are THEY doing?”

“Getting drunk.” Metokai responded.

“They look like they’re just huffing wood smoke, though!”

Metokai looked askance at Nyze. “That’s how bees get drunk. Don’t you know that, serpent?”

“Oy, I’ve only been in the Demon Realm for a week, remember?” Nyze protested. She pointed at another group of demons, who had humanoid upper bodies and a mass of sucker-lined tentacles instead of legs. They were currently standing motionless in a large circle, facing a large purple cube that pulsed with light. Their wide eyes stared at the cube, unblinking.

“What are THEY doing?”

Metokai took a sip of ale before responding. “Better if you don’t know. The truth drives most people mad.”

Nyze, upon realizing Metokai wasn’t joking, dropped the subject.

In that oldest of drinking traditions, the flowing liquor loosened lips and soon the three girls began regaling each other with stories. Metokai heard ALL about Diarn and his awfulness, agreeing wholeheartedly that Nyze, Frane and Rylmedy made the right choice in abandoning him to join the demon side. After that, Metokai began to tell tales of her early travels with the Demon Lord. One story in particular arose because of a curious question from Nyze.

“Why are you called the ‘Disaster Demon Lord’ anyway, Psytalla?”

“OOH! OOH! I know that answer to that one!” Metokai said, waving her hands around. All her inhibitions had vanished long ago, a happy side-effect of the alcohol.

Psytalla, head in her hands, looked despondent. “Please. Not THIS story.”

“Yes, THIS story!” responded Metokai, giggling.

“Now I’m even more curious! I want to know!” Nyze complained.

“Patience, serpent. I’m getting to it! So this all happened 187 years ago, back when Psytalla was a regional magistrate, right? She and I were walking through the city of Tsundar one day when this leggy blonde elf lady passed by, and Psytalla’s head whipped around so fast you could practically hear her neck snap! While her gaze was locked on the blonde, she walked smack into the city walls, and then straight THROUGH them!”

Metokai drove her fist into her open palm to emphasize the point. Nyze gasped, and Psytalla grumbled.

“Even back then, Psytalla was a force to be reckoned with. Her impact collapsed one of the load-bearing pillars, and half of the city’s walls came crashing down!”

“SERIOUSLY?!”

“Seriously! It was a HUGE disaster! Psytalla literally caused a disaster by being such a hopeless lesbian, so I started calling her ‘disaster lesbian’ as a joke. Well, the nickname stuck, and when she ascended to the rank of Demon Lord she needed an official title. ‘Disaster Demon Lord’ just seemed most natural.”

Nyze dissolved into peals of laughter, slapping the table. Psytalla glared at her and Metokai.

“You know, Nyze,” said the embarrassed Demon Lord, “you’ve got disaster lesbian tendencies yourself.”

“Huh?” Nyze wiped laughter-tears from her eyes. “How so?”

“Remember after we sparred for the first time? You were so enamored with watching sweat drip down my thighs you forgot how to speak.”

“HAH!” Metokai chortled. “Is that true, serpent?”

“Guh… I… I couldn’t help myself! Psytalla is just so pretty!” Nyze said indignantly.

Metokai nodded sagely. “On that point, serpent, we agree.”

Psytalla looked back and forth at the two drunk girls, grateful that they were bonding but also feeling a bit self-conscious that their point of common interest was HER. “You know, I’m happy you two are getting along, in your own weird way. I’m going to need both of your talents very soon.”

“Why is that?” Nyze asked, tilting her head.

The Demon Lord smiled viciously, her fangs bared. “Because, my dear Nyze, we’re going to war.”