Void Lord: My Revenge Is My Harem

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"You already have a whole forge named after you. Don't push it."

"I want a giant version of me, mouth open, fire pouring out, maybe some gems for the eyes."

"I'll give you a sock puppet if you keep talking."

Fizz crossed his little arms under his furry body. "One day, they'll call this place Fizzland… The City of Glory and Minor Explosions."

Back at the firepit, a few more miners were trying to mimic the successful dagger, pushing their luck. They worked carefully, and John watched as one tried mixing crushed crystal into the molten blade. Fizz leaned over and dropped a tiny nugget of charcoal into it without the miner noticing.

The blade hissed as mana surged and cracked the mold.

The explosion was minor, more of a loud pop, and the miner fell backward with a shriek, covered in soot but otherwise unharmed.

"Fizz!" John yelled. "Stop your pranks."

"What?! I was helping with artistic expression!"

"That's not how crafting works!"

"Tell that to Picass."

"Who?"

Fizz blinked. "Never mind. Wrong world."

John sighed deeply and turned back to the miners. "Alright, that's enough forging for today. If you've got a blade like this one then lock it up and tell me in the morning."

Laughter followed as the men gathered their tools and retired to their makeshift homes. Gael approached, carrying a ledger and a half eaten roll.

"Three blades were sold to the villagers from the first slopes today," he said. "Five silver profits already."

John raised a brow. "That's fast."

Gael nodded, flipping open a rough edged ledger made from stitched-together parchment. "They heard about your magic table. Word spreads fast down in the village. Especially after lord Fizz cooking event this noon. Many villages saw the dagger at that time. Also… in the afternoon, Lord Fizz tried to sell one of the daggers by threatening a discount or a bite."

John's head snapped toward Fizz, who was currently trying to toast a worm on a stick over a tiny campfire made of toothpicks and elemental breath.

Fizz looked up, absolutely unfazed. He shrugged. "It worked. One guy screamed and dropped his wallet. Technically still a sale. Technically still ethical. Technically still awesome."

"You robbed him!" John shouted, hands in the air. "Fizz, these are poor villagers! They're the ones who gave us land to live on. Shelter. Trust. You can't go around... extorting people!"

Fizz fluttered up into the air like a righteous soapbox gremlin. "First of all, I offered a discount. I said and I quote 'Buy now and I won't chew your kneecaps off.' That's incentive, not extortion. That's business with charm."

"That's terrorism with teeth."

"He said thank you," Fizz replied smugly, doing a loop in the air before landing on John's shoulder with the grace of a slightly drunk squirrel. "He literally bowed and said 'thank you, merciful flame spirit.' Then he gave me his wife's sweet bun. I gave it to Gael. He said it was delicious, but not good like my cooking."

John blinked. "Wait. What kind of sweet bun?"

"Cinnamon, with raisin cores and a light sugar crust."

John groaned. "I haven't even tasted those yet…"

Fizz gave a wide, smug grin, all pointy teeth and puffed chest. "That's the cost of doing business with the gods, John. My services come with perks."

"You mean perks from scaring people?"

"And mild cardiac episodes for everyone else. A balanced trade."

Gael cleared his throat awkwardly. "He really did thank Lord Fizz. Though it may have been out of fear. Or religious confusion. Or both."

John massaged his temples. "Okay, okay. No more… threatening villagers. I'll make a sign."

Fizz clapped his tiny wings. "Ooooh, make it gold. With flames on the corners. 'Lord Fizz's Bargain Bites: Where Your Kneecaps Are Optional.'"

"I'm putting that sign on your forehead," John muttered.

Fizz grinned and licked sugar off his claw. "Branding, baby. We're gonna be rich."

John turned to Gael. "Good work. Tomorrow we start charting safe paths to the river. I'll help."

Gael nodded and walked off.

Fizz fluttered down onto John's shoulder. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"

"I am."

"You're building something."

"I know."

"You're starting to smell like success. Or maybe that's the mushrooms I burnt earlier."

John chuckled, the sound low and tired. He looked out over the lit up forge area, the clustered homes, and the people who now laughed where once they had only survived. It felt… right.

He walked back to his house, opened the door, and stepped inside. Fizz flew in behind him and landed on the windowsill.

The forge fires outside were gone. Lanterns were snuffed one by one. A chorus of crickets began singing in the distant woods.

John exhaled slowly, laying back on his bedroll and staring at the wooden ceiling. He closed his eyes.

Fizz's voice echoed in the darkness. "Hey, John."

"Yeah?"

"When we conquer the world… I want a throne made of the strongest stones. I need people to worship me."

"Go to sleep, Fizz."

"I'm just saying. It could work."

John chuckled again.

Outside, the wind stirred gently through the mist that still clung to the valley. Tomorrow would bring more forging, more trade, and perhaps more trouble, but tonight, they had made something beautiful.

And for now… that was enough.

It was well past midnight when the wind carried the soft sigh of sleeping breath across the village. The temple stood quiet at the far edge of the settlement, blanketed in the night's mist that clung to its stone base like sleeping spirits.

Fizz crept through that mist with the stealth of a sugar-addled squirrel, whispering dramatic lines to himself as he flitted around the edge of the temple wall.

He pressed one fuzzy paw to the altar, sniffed the stone like it owed him something, then gave it a curious lick.

"Yup. Old dust, mysterious secrets, and a hint of ghost sweat."

He skittered up onto the altar, eyes twitching, wings wiggling, then his eyes darting around.

"Come on, old building. Give me the goods."

His fur brushed a small groove hidden along the inner edge, and the stone shuddered softly beneath him with a click that echoed down into the dark.

Fizz froze. Then grinned. "Well, well, well. What have we here."

The altar cracked open, revealing a narrow spiral staircase leading into a pit of blue glowing stone veins.

Fizz hovered over it, eyes gleaming like a raccoon who had just found the cake at a wedding. "This is it, baby. This is where the good stuff lives."