Page 213 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

He dropped to his knees, broken wrist forgotten, his will completely subjugated. The remaining guards watched in horror as their captain—their leader—became nothing more than my thrall.

“Now,” I said, still holding the captain’s vacant stare, “draw your dagger and kill the man to your left.”

The captain’s good hand moved mechanically, fumbling the dagger from his belt. The guard beside him—a younger man with fear-bright eyes—raised his sword in trembling defense. “Captain, no! Fight it!”

But there was nothing left to fight. The captain batted the younger man’s sword away and drove the blade up under his chin with the cold efficiency of a butcher. Blood sprayed across enchanted armor as the young guard crumpled.

The remaining soldiers stumbled back. One of them made a choking sound of horror.

I released the compulsion, and the captain collapsed over his victim’s body, his broken wrist cradled against his chest, comprehension and horror flooding back into his eyes.

“Tell your king,” I said, my voice carrying over his ragged breathing, “that Kazimir Blackrose has come to claim what is his. And that his strongest warriors are nothing but playthings to me.”

I shoved him toward his men. “Go. Run back to your master like the dogs you are.”

They retreated, dragging their injured captain with them.

The battle raged around me, but it was clear we had the upper hand. My troops were better trained, better equipped, and bolstered by my shadow warriors. Auremar’s forces were already falling back, their lines breaking under the relentless pressure.

But it wasn’t enough. I wanted more—needed more. A display of power so overwhelming that resistance would become unthinkable. Something to cement my victory in the minds of all who witnessed it.

And something to command the attention of every enemy on the field, for any reserves to be called in.

Thorne had diligently collected the bones from the outpost—the remains of Auremar’s soldiers who had fallen to our initial assault. It was time to use them.

The Bone Behemoth. A creation I’d been working toward for months, a fusion of necromancy and dominion magic that would create a monster of unprecedented power. I’d attempted it once before, at Skyspire, but the strain had been too great. Now, with the Heirloom’s power flowing through me, I could finally bring it to life.

I found a relatively clear space on the battlefield and knelt, placing my hands on the ground. The earth responded to my touch, a tremor running through it as my magic sank deep. I called to the bones buried in the supply wagons at the rear of our lines, feeling them respond to my summons.

They came in a macabre rain, femurs and skulls and rib cages arcing through the air to land in a growing pile before me. Auremar’s soldiers watched in horror, some breaking ranks and fleeing at the sight. Even my own troops gave the area a wide berth, their expressions a mix of awe and fear.

The voice in my head grew to a roar, drowning out all other thought.

Create! Destroy! Show them the true meaning of power!

I began the incantation, ancient words flowing from my lips as if I’d known them all my life. The runes carved into my bones flared with pain, but I welcomed it, channeling it into the spell. The bones before me began to shift and merge, joining together in unnatural configurations.

A skull the size of a wagon wheel formed from many, surrounded by a crown of individual skulls. Rib cages fused into a massive torso, while femurs and tibias created limbs as thick as tree trunks. Smaller bones filled in the gaps, creating a skeletal monstrosity that towered over the battlefield.

The magic required was immense, draining me even with the Heirloom’s power to draw upon. Sweat poured down my face, and my vision blurred with the effort. But I pushed on, driven by a need that transcended mere strategy. This wasn’t just about winning a battle—it was about proving something to myself, to Auremar, to the world.

That I, Kazimir Blackrose, was unstoppable.

The final words of the spell left my lips, and for a moment, nothing happened. The massive skeleton remained motionless, a grotesque monument to death.

Then, slowly, it began to move. First a finger, then a hand, then an arm. The skull swiveled, empty eye sockets somehow fixing on me with an attentive gaze. It rose to its full height, easily twenty feet tall, a behemoth of bone and dark magic.

“Serve,” I commanded, my voice hoarse from the strain of the spell.

The Bone Behemoth inclined its massive head in acknowledgment, then turned toward the enemy lines. With a roar that seemed to come from the depths of the earth itself, it charged, each step shaking the ground.

Auremar’s lines broke, their discipline shattering at the sight of the monstrous creation bearing down on them. Some stood their ground, firing arrows or hurling spells that bounced harmlessly off the behemoth’s skeletal frame. Others fled, throwing down their weapons in their haste to escape.

The behemoth tore through their ranks, massive hands sweeping soldiers aside like toys. It was a scene from a nightmare, a display of power and horror that would be remembered for generations.

And at the center of it all, directing the chaos, stood me—Kazimir Blackrose, Dark Lord, conqueror of Solandris.

The voice in my head laughed, a sound of pure, malevolent joy.