L-li scratched his head. “The court mage says I have a condition. Something about ‘passive aura of magical entropy.’ Basically, your power sucks.”

“She’s in the west tower. She has snacks. She’s fine.”

“They slide right off,” she confirmed. “But so do healing spells. And buffs. And warm baths.” The Demon Lord, Malachar the Inevitable , was a creature of pure ego. He had nine horns, a cloak made of solidified screams, and a dramatic monologue that lasted forty-five minutes.

Twenty minutes later, L-li walked out of the Obsidian Fortress with the Demon Lord tied up with a curtain cord. Malachar was crying softly.