"I would say this is, indeed, a cave."
Azazel perched himself in front of the large entrance to a cave a blacksmith was supposed to live in. The world in which he currently resides was an interesting one, where artisans seemed to enjoy living in solitude in hard-to-reach areas.
It seemed counterproductive to be a talented artisan living far removed from the rest of society, but what would he know about being an artisan? Perhaps solitude was the foundation for becoming an expert. He mentally compared it to being a trauma doctor living on a remote island but still advertising their services.
"..."
With black ink still spread across his face, even days later, George #2 was a little peeved; the demon had just been sitting there.
With a blank face, George grabbed Azazel by the waist, tossing him over his shoulder.
"Is this necessary?" The demon scoffed.
George stepped through the entrance of the cave, where they were met with humid, pitch-black air.
Azazel attempted to focus his eyes, but couldn't visualize anything. "I suppose night vision is not part of my kit."
George set Azazel on his feet. The giant of a man pulled the quill and paper out.
"Use magic, bro."
"Magic?"
"Aren't you a demon?"
"Demons use magic?"
"Yes."
Azazel scratched his chin, tilting his head up somewhere. The warm air hit the back of his throat as he sniffed. The scent was different—kind of disgusting. He could smell blood, but it was blood he never wanted to indulge in.
"Bloody hell," he stated. "I don't know anything about magic."
George didn't waste a second. He picked up a stick. With a wave of his hand, he summoned a flame, which created a makeshift torch.
"...!"
"..."
Azazel was impressed.
Wait, how did he do that?
Azazel looked around their now-illuminated surroundings. He picked up a stick himself. He dramatically waved his hand, attempting to channel energy. Any energy.
He furrowed his brow, but the one thing he managed to accomplish was summon one spark.
"You made it look easy."
"..."
"Ah, no matter. We have light. Maybe I should try to find a wizard or something next. If I am not beyond teaching,
George handed Azazel the torch.
The two men began walking slowly through the cave, with the air smelling more revolting with each step. After a few moments, Azazel felt a squish underneath his feet.
A dead rat.
"Ugh," Azazel groaned. His shoe was covered in rat guts. "I shall never recover from this."
Out of nowhere, a large, muscular figure charged for them. The muscular figure had a sword held in front of its body, ready for the kill.
Azazel felt helpless. It was not as if a bunny or deer would exactly be apt to counter the attack, but he still released the creatures.
The deer, now with skin falling from its hide and eyes pointed in opposite directions, ran into the cave wall. The increasingly decomposed bunny did change forward, biting the ankles of the dark figure.
The figure fell to the ground as George readied his axe. Azazel covered his face but watched through two fingers as Big Brother slammed his axe into the figure. Blood splattered everywhere.
"Brutal."
"..."
Now with blood splatters across his face, Azazel approached the now very much dead man. He bent down on one knee. It looked like an orc, but if he had used the max setting on all sliders during character creation,.
That would be the source of the foul blood he had sniffed out.
But it was an opportunity. An opportunity to test his theory so he could see the extent of the venom.
"If I die, let Emma know I was falling in love with her," Azazel stated in George's direction. "We would have made the most charming demon babies."
"..."
So he couldn't second-guess his decision, Azazel immediately sunk his fangs in the neck of the orc. The blood was...well, it was blood, but...
He pulled back, immediately puking on the ground next to the orc.
"Ughhhhhh," he groaned dramatically, wiping his arm across his mouth. "Top five worst things I've ever eaten."
Azazel stood up. He waited.
The orc slowly reanimated, groaning as it picked up its sword. "M...a...s...t...e...r..."
"By golly, George, it worked."
"GeGeorge gave his buddy a thumbs up.
Azazel mentally celebrated his victory. It seemed he was, indeed, a necromancer. It was his least favorite stereotypical job class in games, but he would rather leave front-line fighting to George.
With a zombie orc, bunny, and deer following them, the duo ventured deeper into the cave.
They made it to the inner depths before too long. Crouching, Azazel and George spied on a group of orcs roasting a type of mystery meat over a fire. Azazel sniffed the air. A gloriously indulgent meal of rat.
He could puke again from the stench.
He racked his brain on how to approach the situation. It would be best not to directly assault six orcs.
But his thoughts were short-lived as the zombie orc charged forward. Bloody hell.
He simply observed the movements. The orcs seemed perplexed and didn't immediately react to their zombie brother charging in. He stabbed two of the orca before the remaining four stood in their positions. A swordfight was ensured. entertaining one.
Unfortunately, George may have felt left out, as he joined the zombie orc in his struggles.
"I'm surrounded by an idiot and zombies."
Facepalming. He was always facepalming.
The cave was beginning to appear as a crime scene. Blood and guts littered the ground around the campfire.
Azazel stood up and observed the dead orcs. No way in hell was he going to inject venom into these orcs. He didn't think his stomach would tolerate the feast.
Azazel and George were staring at one another when a shirtless, beefy old-man orc appeared next to him. God had blessed this man. His face didn't look like someone created him as a joke by overusing sliders.
The orc stood there. He placed his hands on his hips, flexing his pecs one at a time in rapid succession.
"Spectacular." Azazel slowly clapped.
"Why did you slaughter my men?" The gray-bearded orc inquired.
"I just came to this cave to find the legendary blacksmith," Azazel noted.
The man looked at the zombie orc and shrugged. "That one is still kind of living."
"In a way, yes."
"Is this your doing, demon?
"Indeed."
"I ain't afraid of no demon."
Azazel sighed. The elderly enjoy that line, don't they?
"I am such a blacksmith," the old fart whipped out a hammer, spinning it in circles, ending in a dramatic pose. "Zeus!"
"I am Azazel. I wish for you to join our kingdom."
Why did he have the name of a Greek god? Although his form was fitting,.
The orc smirked. "Then resurrect my men."
Azazel shuddered and recoiled. Did he seriously want him to use his fangs on each of them? Disgusting.
"...."
"Do it now, and we will provide our services."
Azazel sighed and looked at the damage from the spilling of guts. One of them was going to be missing a vital part of his body, but he had to prove he had it in him to return Granny's kingdom to its former glory.
He did it. He injected each one.
The hurling of guts proceeded against the wall of the cave as the orcs all reanimated.
"Fantastic!" Zeus smacked each orc on the shoulder. "Stout as always!"
He witnessed one of the orcs pick up the spare intestines from the ground, shoving them into his mouth.
He chewed for a long time.
It must have been rather tough organ meat.
"So, you will assist my carpenter with the architecture?"
"Indeed, boy."
"Fantastic!"
It was a journey, but he was slowly gathering individuals to join them. In fact, he now had a small army of zombie orcs to defend the small kingdom with Emma's oversized brother.
"We will gather ores and metals," Zeus told Azazel. "I roughly know the way. We will meet you there later on."
"Great. We will discuss the details once you make it there."
Azazel waved down George to follow him. The zombie orcs began to work. Somehow, they still followed Zeus as their master. They must have been a rather tight-knit community before the duo appeared.
The pair made it out of the cave in good time. Azazel immediately fell to the grass, his eyes focused on the skies above. Never had he dreamt he would be having these sorts of adventures. He were to rule from a well-staffed palace, surrounded by yes-men. That witch of an ex-wife totally threw off his plans.
Somehow, he was happier. He felt like his life was actually beginning to matter, as opposed to being just a simple figurehead for the state.
Azazel curled up in a fetal position. His stomach was beginning to churn. Perhaps he had feasted on one or more of them. He made a mental note to no longer place his fangs against the neck of an orc.