Plugged In: Reincarnated As A Demon Lord (Now I'll Conquer The World)

The mine tunnel was quiet.

Almost too quiet.

Lucien walked in the middle of their trio, flanked by Serenith at the front, her wings tucked tightly behind her, and Groth, looming silently at the rear in her full, clanking armor.

Their steps echoed off the jagged walls. Dust floated in the stale air. Somewhere far below, a dragon stirred.

Lucien suddenly threw his hands up.

"That's it. I can't take it anymore!"

Serenith spun, alarmed. "What? What's wrong? Do you sense something?"

Lucien jabbed a finger behind him. "It's Groth! The sexual tension radiating off her armor is intolerable! I can taste it in the air!"

Serenith blinked, gobsmacked. "Are you deranged? Groth? Our General Groth? She's not—!"

Before she could finish, a thunderous clank echoed as Groth dropped to one knee.

"My Lord…" Her voice was small and muffled from within the helmet. "Forgive me. I've tried to control it. But hearing the others talk about your… morale boosting methods… I couldn't help but feel…"

She trailed off.

Jealous.

Lucien gasped dramatically and rushed to her, dropping to his own knees.

"My poor Groth!" he wailed. "In my empire-building frenzy, I committed the most unforgivable sin of management… I've neglected my most valuable employee!"

He gently reached up and brushed a gloved hand across her helmet's curved edge. "You wear a magnificent piece of art," he murmured. "Did you forge it yourself?"

Groth nodded, hesitantly.

Lucien's voice dropped, smoky and smooth. "Then you are as brilliant as your creation is powerful."

He rose, then bowed low again, hand over his chest, eyes smoldering with burning intensity. ""I must see you. Not just the armor. But the true you. May I… be graced with seeing the soul beneath the metal?"

There was a tense pause. 

Then… 

Hisssssss.

Steam vented from the armor. Latches clicked, gears shifted. 

Groth's armor released jets of steam as gears clicked and plates unfolded and with a final puff of mist, a small, delicate figure stepped forward from within the armor, like a ghost emerging from a machine.

She was pale, flushed with heat, fire-red hair tousled from the helmet. Slender and fragile, with luminous green eyes that shimmered with nerves.

"Um… hi," she said shyly. "My real name is Veyra Grathalia."

Then she coughed violently before digging a compact gas mask from the armor and strapping it across her mouth. "Sorry," she wheezed. "The Ashland air doesn't… agree with me."

Lucien cooed and helped her step down from her armored shell, holding her like glass. "You're not from the Ashlands, are you?"

Alaria shook her head, blushing. "No… I'm from the Kingdom of the Trees."

Serenith stepped closer, gaze narrowing. "That explains it. You don't carry the scent of demon magic."

He turned to Serenith. "I'm setting up camp."

A fountain of ash erupted beside them, and from it a crate dropped. He kicked it open, tossed the contents aside, and began weaving tendrils of shadow through the air. Within moments, a cozy camp took shape. Tent, fire, blankets, even enchanted cushions.

Veyra blinked. "You carry that in your ash magic?!"

Lucien grinned. "One of the perks of being a dark lord."

He helped her down gently. Halfway to the tent, he paused, apologized for his forwardness before he swept her into his arms.

Serenith groaned, wings twitching. "You're impossible."

Inside the tent, the air was warm and soothing, filled with the gentle flicker of firelight against shadow-woven walls. A plush bed awaited, complete with pillows, fur blankets, and subtle runes of comfort stitched into the frame.

Lucien set her down tenderly, then flipped her onto her tummy.

She yelped, then moaned.

His hands hovered above her back as shadowy tendrils emerged, massaging her tense, overworked muscles with expert pressure.

"I've been a terrible lord," Lucien murmured. "You've carried so much burden in silence… and I barely knew your name."

Veyra whimpered, eyes fluttering.

He continued. "Tell me your story. I want to know you. Why you came here. Why you serve me."

Through breaths and soft sighs, Alaria began. "I'm… a forest elf. I was born in the greenwilds, forests stretching for miles. My people revere balance. Harmony. Natural precision."

Lucien nodded, working her shoulders with rhythmic shadows.

"But me? I built traps. Then weapons. Machines of war. While others were learning forest songs, I was designing siege engines."

Her breath hitched. "They exiled me. Called me a danger to the forest. So I wandered. Until I reached the Ashlands. Here, at least, my skills had some purpose."

Lucien's brow furrowed with sympathy.

"But this land… it hurts me. I'm not meant to be here. So I built the armor to survive. I forged the life support system. This mask too"

She turned her head toward him, eyes glistening. "I was looking for a purpose. And I found you."

Lucien's smile was unusually soft.

From the corner, Serenith sniffled. "That was… actually beautiful."

She walked forward, knelt beside the bed, and took Veyra's hand. "You're not born of darkness. That's why the Ashlands hurt you. But…"

She leaned down and kissed Alaria gently on the forehead. A soft pulse of holy light shimmered through the girl.

"…you deserve to breathe easy."

Lucien blinked. "Wait… she didn't get hurt from your aura?"

Serenith smiled. "My light only harms those born of dark magic. She may be here… but she's not of here."

Veyra reached up slowly… and removed her gas mask. She took a deep breath, filled of ash, dark magics, and new possibilities.

And exhaled with a gentle smile.