Dead Ruler

I had been sitting in my tower, observing the difference in composition among the five planters containing wheat that were arrayed before me. The local Baron had asked if I would be able to magic together a solution for the poor soil that plagued our small peninsula. I was only happy to help, as improving the life of the common folk had always been one of the driving forces of my magical research.

At that time, I had been trying to create a potion to increase the yield of the crops which could be both cheaply mass-produced and also still effective after being diluted through the irrigation system. 

My research had hit something of a wall, as while I was able to achieve both points, the potion remained too effective even after being processed by the plant, as the mice that consumed the grain would end up succumbing to tumors.

I was, however, confident that I would be able to find a solution before the planting season returned. I took pride in being considered one of the greatest living mages, and I had defeated bigger setbacks than normal fertilizer.

It was, then, to my great surprise to see a notification pop up announcing the naming of a new Dark Lord, and I could only stare dumbly as I read my own name on the declaration.

"Attention all believers! For crimes against mankind, the Heavens have decreed that the Archmage known as Achilles Villain has fallen to the dark side and shall henceforth be known as Dark Lord Archi."

It had left me shaken to my core and, at the same time, both confused and angry.

I did not understand. I had never been much a worshiper of the gods, as I believed in the results of my actions rather than the providence of the divine, but I had never done anything that could be construed as a crime against humanity. At worst, I had experimented on small animals, but that could hardly be the reason.

I had had little time to mull over my change in status, as later that day, the Baron's men broke through the doors of my tower in an attempt to end me.

I had not killed a man before that day, and I wept and emptied my gut as I stood in my foyer, surrounded by the corpses of twenty guardsmen. Going to the Baron to understand why he did what he did only resulted in one more death, and his gaze was venomous as he spat at me with his dying breath.

"The will of the gods is absolute."

With the Baron and his armsmen dead, the barony was in a precarious position, one that I felt responsible for, even though I had only defended myself. Using my knowledge of the magic of life and death, I used the dead soldiers as a base for a fighting force of semi-sentient wights that would defend the populace.

And so I ended up Dark Lord of a small peninsula, with the Dead Legion at my beck and call.

Some years later, I realized the attacks on myself would never cease despite my continued non-aggression. I did not want to die, but I had done nothing wrong, and there was still undiscovered magic that awaited me. Unwilling to leave the protection of my soul to a feeble human body, I created a construct of mana, outwardly human but on the inside anything but. I bound my soul to a phylactery and then used my knowledge of Soul magic to possess the homunculus.

And so, I became a lich.

It was four years later that I began to understand what had caused my damnation in the eyes of the gods.

The gods summoned a Hero to end the menace that was me. As a child, I had grown up hearing tales of legendary Heroes, brought here from different worlds by the gods to vanquish the forces of evil. Myths said that only Heroes could truly kill the fallen ones, that they were special, and that it was only through the grace of the gods that they saved us from the villains.

My army had grown in the past few years — I had done away with the usual taxes in the barony, instead opting to be paid in bones and bodies. This kept the population happy, as they continued to receive protection from monsters and bandits while only having to give away what would have been trash anyway. The bones were useful to me, and the bodies doubly so, as I could reshape them into mindless soldiers. It worked out well and earned me a fair amount of goodwill with the population — with my subjects.

As my army was holding the invading Crusaders at bay, a heavily armored figure broke through the line and rushed to my tower. Breaking down the door with Force magic, the knight entered my seat of power and began their search for its master.

The knight was the Hero, of that I had no doubt, but I was not impressed at all with their performance. They stepped into a number of traps, only surviving because of the spelled armor — but even spelled armor has limits, and the knight would surely have been aware of this.

They seemed woefully inexperienced, a far cry from the tales of the legendary Heroes.

I elected to wait and see how the Hero would fare during the climb to the top of the tower, where I had built my observatory. Their performance did improve a little bit, and by the end, the knight finally acquired some awareness of their surroundings, but I knew it would not be enough.

As the Hero broke down the door to my observatory, I couldn't help but be taken aback by how small they seemed. The knight stood maybe five feet tall, and even with that suit of armor covering them, they seemed scrawny.

"In the name of the gods, I will end you, Dark Lord," the voice behind the helmet declared.

The knight charged me but barely got to the midpoint before two of my skeletal guards descended from the ceiling and skewered the little Hero through the now-spent protection of the suit of armor.

I approached the fallen form, my academic curiosity in front of a thing of legend getting the better of me. I knelt, made sure to remove the Hero's sword from their vicinity, and then gently removed their helmet.

I still remember the seething rage I felt at that moment, when my gaze fell on the face of a young boy— certainly no older than 16, if not younger. His blonde hair was slick with sweat, and his blue eyes were becoming increasingly unfocused as he bled out in front of me.

"I failed," he whispered, voice weak.