STAW Vol 1. pt. 6

If you’re going to try being an evil overlord, do it correctly. 

Never mind. I do not have a good assistant. What I have is a horned bimbo only good for her face and her chest, and those are only useful to teenage brats whom think that having an erection is the greatest thing ever.

“Am – am I doing it right?” Lilith asks on her hands and knees with a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. The problem is that she is holding the dustpan backward and upside-down, and she is holding the broom by its bristles.

Just… how? How can somebody look at a broom and dustpan and honestly believe that this is the proper way to do it? Does – alright, I understand that I may have been summoned into a clichéd world of fantasy, but is this a world of idiocy as well? Wait, clichés and idiocy are essentially the same thing. Let me rephrase: is this a world full of incompetent children pretending to be adults? Or is this a world where, for some reason, what Lilith is doing is actually regarded as the proper way of sweeping the floor?

I look out of the room into the hall where the goblins are working. They have brooms of their own, and they’re holding them the proper way.

I look back at Lilith.

My assistant is dumber than goblins. She is dumber than red midgets whose hobbies include passing gas and pulling the vilest, largest globs of snot out of their noses that I have ever seen.

“Mi-Milord? Why do you look so disappointed?” Lilith asks me.

I wonder if her brother could have at least swept the floors properly.

“I’m going outside. Just… stay here,” I tell her.

“B-but am I using this tool properly?”

I leave the room without giving her an answer. Crushing her self-esteem is only amusing so many times before it hurts me just as much as it hurts her.

Walking through dusty halls, I reach what appear to be the front doors of this manor. I have to admit, there is an almost childlike excitement inside of me. I am about to see, for the first time, a new world. Everything in the manor thus far has just been like any classic gothic mansion would look like back on Earth. But beyond these doors? Beyond these doors is a new world.

No human would not be excited by this.

I grab the elaborate handles of the mansion’s doors and pull them open.

Surprisingly, I miss Earth.

Why did I bother getting excited again?

Why am I here? Just to suffer? Well, considering where I am, that is probably appropriate.

Before me is what appears to be a vast, endless cave system. I call it a “cave” because as far as I can see there is no sky. All I see when I look up is dark rock and red stalagmites hanging from the ceiling.

When I look out into the distance, I see what appears to be an ocean of magma and… I am fairly certain that I just saw some sort of fireproof Loch Ness Monster poking its head up out of it.

Looking down into the city between here and the magma ocean, there is an edgy and decrepit city with obsidian pillars, enough shouting and screaming to warrant a million public disruption complaints, and some buildings where there are groups of demons just squatting together in front of them with bottles of what I am assuming is not good for their health. Do demons even have health concerns to worry about?

This manor appears to be located on the top of a cliff, and to its sides and behind it are more manors that all happen to be in far better condition than this one. If anything, with the horrible care that this manor has received, it looks as if it should be down in the slums rather than up on this cliff. I feel bad for the neighbors for having to see such an eyesore next to their own homes. Even their red grass is cut! The red grass of this yard is overgrown and practically a jungle. Truth be told, the thought of walking through this grass is actually somewhat intimidating. I’m in the underworld, so who’s to say what manner of beasts or demonic insects are hiding inside of here? The last thing I need is for this to be like one of those childish handheld games where walking through tall grass results in getting assaulted by stupidly-named and just-as-stupidly designed monsters. Who designs monsters based off of garbage and ice cream? I don’t even like games. I am the exact opposite of what one might consider a “gamer,” yet even I know of just how idiotic that whole fiasco was.

Do you know what is even worse than overgrown grass? Weeds. I hired somebody of questionable citizenship status to take care of my lawn for a reason, and that is because I hate mowing grass and pulling weeds.

Wait. I, a middle-aged white man, hired a probably-not-legal-citizen to do my yardwork for me.

I place my face into my palm and sigh. Even after having lived a life full of hatred toward clichés, I still fall victim to them.

Did that brother and sister ever even leave the house? Normally, when there is grass such as this, some of it is stomped down to form a path. Instead, it looks as if the grass has been allowed to freely grow without ever being disturbed.

Have they not left their house at all? Is my assistant not only probably on the spectrum, but a shut-in as well?

I go to grab my assistant whom, when I find her, has somehow managed to get the dustpan on top of her head with her arms and the broom behind her back on the floor.

I don’t even say anything to her. I just look at her more disappointed than I have ever looked at anybody before, and that is enough to make her chase after me with her annoying voice begging for me to stop.

We reach the front doors that I have since closed.

“Lilith,” I say.

“Y-yes, Milord?” Lilith asks while brushing dust and dirt out of her hair.

“Go outside.”

“Milord?”

“Go. Outside.”

“Wh-why, Milord? Is there – is there a—”

“I thought you would do whatever I ask of you?”

“Uuu… a-alright, Milord, I’ll… go outside…”

She walks up to the doors and grabs the handles. I can hear her gulp from back here, and she even tries looking back at me with puppy eyes to see if I’m serious.

I’m serious.

Lilith opens the doors and sticks a hand out through the gap. “I’m outside, Milord,” she says, trying to sound confident and like she’s obeying my orders, but we both know she’s bullshitting me.

“Go out there with all of your body. Now,” I order.

“B-but I burn easily!”

“There is no sun.”

“There might be monsters hiding in the grass!”

“That is your own fault for letting it get as bad as it is.”

“What if the grass comes alive and eats me?!”

“I’ll replace you with one of your goblins.”

“Please, Milor—”

“Outside. Now.”

Lilith jumps from fear and forces herself outside onto the patio. Like a paranoid cat, she jumps and flinches at every sound she hears, is constantly craning her head around in every direction to look for threats, and looks ready to cry.

“Lilith. How long has it been since you were last outside?” I ask her.

“Th-thirty years?” Lilith answers.

I walk up to the doors, shut them, and lock them.

“You can come back inside once the grass is cut, weeds are pulled, and when you are desensitized to being outside,” I explain to her as she pounds and bangs on the door.

“Milord! Please let me back in! What if – what if… what if I have to go to the bathroom?!”

“Then it is a good thing you are outside. Until you are as useful as a human, you are no better than an animal. Animals go to the bathroom in the grass and dirt. Besides, the grass is more than tall enough to hide you from any passing eyes.”

She continues crying, whining, and begging for mercy, but I can no longer hear her as soon as I step away from the door. At least this has some good soundproofing to it.

Now that I know I more or less live in a cave with a bunch of demons and a fireproof Loch Ness Monster, I finish exploring the rest of the mansion. I am honestly worried about what I am going to find in the master bedroom and the kitchen. If there is a basement, I am not going down there without first tossing one or two of the goblins down there to see if they get snatched first.

If there is one other genre that I hate the clichés of, it is horror. There is nothing worse than a ditzy blonde woman going into a dark basement by herself without turning the lights on or having somebody else try going down first. I refuse to be a ditzy blonde woman. Therefore, goblin sacrifices may be required in the exploration of dark basements.