Demon Lord Read Online Free

think he will
grant power to a pack of fools raping a dead woman? He has no time
for gobbledegook! He wants blood! Death! Souls to torture!" He
paused to let that sink in, then added, "And you will not disturb
my rest with your infernal racket!"
    Dead silence, broken only by the
shuffling of retreating feet and paws, answered him. He swung to
face those behind him, causing them to surge back with gibbers of
terror. "Today, you kill! You drink blood! You torture, maim and
make them suffer! You burn, pillage, loot! That is what he
wants!"
    A muted growl of assent greeted
this. Bane flicked a finger at the corpse. "You will not waste your
time with corpses. Use a live woman, or go without! She cannot
suffer, you fools!"
    Bane spun, and a dozen gnomes
ran for their lives. Ignoring them, he marched back to his tent, a
full half-league away. Removing his cloak, he flung it across a
chair and unbuttoned his tunic's high collar. The headache beat at
his skull even though the annoying drums had stopped. He groaned as
he sank onto his bed, rubbing his temples in an effort to relieve
the pain. Why did his father allow him to suffer like this? He
cursed and shouted for Mord. The troll entered warily, his twisted
black face a picture of trepidation.
    Bane snarled, "Make my potion!
Hurry!"
    Mord scuttled out, and Bane
clutched his throbbing head. The headaches had started when he was
sixteen, and had mastered the great arts of magic. The more he used
it, the worse the headache that followed. At first they had been
mild, a mere irritation, but now they annoyed him immensely, making
his life a misery at times. His father, the Black Lord, had been
unsympathetic, blaming it on his weak human body. Maelle, a fire
demon, had given him the drug that soothed it, but warned him not
to take too much. The demon's sly grin had angered Bane, and he had
tested the potion on a human captive before taking it himself. He
knew better than to trust a demon. He tried to take the potion as
little as possible. Only when the pain became unbearable did he
resort to it. He had not used the dark power since yesterday, and
the pain had been building since then.
    Mord returned with the infusion,
putting it gingerly on the table before scuttling out again, to
wait within call. Bane slugged back the foul-tasting brew, then
threw the cup out of the tent flap and lay back. His father was
well pleased with his work so far. His visits to Bane's dreams had
been filled with praise and encouragement. The army had grown and
advanced, almost unimpeded by the puny forces sent against it.
    The Overworld had no great
monarch to unite it. The land was split between many nobles, barons
and lords, petty kings and princes, each guarding their demesnes
with jealous fervour. Each had called upon their people for an
army, but none had raised one large enough to do more than delay
Bane's march. The battles had been mere entertainment, a
distraction from his true purpose, though he did enjoy them. As
some nobles had fallen, so others had fled, removing their armies
from his path. Now they marched through empty lands, but he would
catch up with the people when they reached the sea, for then there
would be no escape.
    Bane thought about the headaches
again. He was sure the things he had been made to eat and drink in
the Underworld had caused them. As a young boy, demons had forced
foul black concoctions down his throat while he gagged, writhing in
their grip. His skin had erupted in sores and pustules shortly
after, and at one point, all his hair had fallen out. It had grown
back, thicker and blacker than before, but he had been angry. For
the most part, his tormentors had ignored his childish tantrums, or
sniggered at them. Demands to see his father had been denied, and
when he had complained to the Black Lord, he had found an
unsympathetic ear. His power was now as great as the Black Lord's,
and he was free to walk the earth, which his father was not until
Bane destroyed the wards. First he