The all-too-famliar stench of gore and bile reaches my nose, forcing it to curl up in disgust. No matter how many times this vile smell fills my senses, I can never quite get used to it. In a strangely twisted fashion, I'm quite glad of that.

The horribly disfigured corpses in front of me lay twisted and maimed in every manner possible. These poor so-called "heroes" barely even put up a fight, as if they were simply children dressed up in armour and given weapons to swing around randomly in hopes of making me afraid. In fact, some of them quite literally appear to be so, their equipment clearly not sized to their persons; if my eyes haven't fooled me, I'm certain that these armaments came from the last bunch of heroes to challenge me and lazily redone in some stupid attempt to cut costs.

Hard as I try, my lithe form contors in anger, a shout of pure rage bubbling up from my throat. My lips pull back to reveal a mouth full of sharp fangs, perfectly aligned to tear flesh, some with scraps of skin still hanging from them, and the violet expulsion of air is mirrored in the magical energies that pour forth from me. The entire fortress set into the mountainside begins to rumble and shake as the bodies in the room are thrown around, unable to lie still any longer in the face of my tantrum. Screams echo in the fortress all around me, the demons who call it home cowering at the immense release of magical power pouring into the air.

Well, all except for one. Sitting only a dozen feet from me, apparently oblivious to the storm, Raasza inclines against a trembling pillar and enjoys her drink. Ten feet of murderous muscle, her bovine form still retains hints of feminine charm, not that she would ever admit it. Her gore-stained armour is perfectly matched with a two-handed cleaver, essentially a greatsword for smaller races. The minotauress' only affectation to fashion is a collar made of golden links from which hang coins from every country in Citranous, most of which have long since ceased to exist. Her blood-red eyes are squinted slightly against the storm of winds and magic that emanate from me, but she's still wearing a small smirk as she looks my way.

After a long moment of shouting, I feel the passion of the moment fade away, replaced by the usual overwhelming lethargy that accompanies my existence. In my mind, I can't help but replay the last moments of these newest heroes, watching them fall to me without the slightest bit of exertion on my part or else get ripped apart by Raasza's violent tendencies. Such empty and meaningless deaths, soon to be forgotten as the creatures of this world seek to repeat it for some ridiculous notion of rebellion. Or maybe my citizens don't even care to rebel anymore, and simply repeat this farce every ten years in hopes of placating me.

Raasza looks over at the sound of my deep sigh, watching as I seem to deflate in front of her. The black flames that cling to my heavy plate armour flicker out, the bloody runes etched onto its dark metallic surface dimming in response to my exhaustion. "Hey now, it took a whole hour to get you into that thing again, Meira. I'm not helping you out of it, especially if you just let the magic fade."

I stumble towards a massive chunk of raw emerald chiseled into the rough form of a throne, the very seat of power from which I began my ancient conquest of Citranous. Of course, I only ever use it to greet whatever pathetic group of heroes that have been sent against me that decade, since dragging myself from my personal chambers has become all but impossible as of late. Just slouching into this gaudy throne is almost too much for me now.

Picking up on my mental state, the huge minotauress levers herself up, armour clanking as she approaches with a broad, fang-filled grin. "Aw, what's got you down in the dumps today, my Queen? We got another easy victory in the bag, we should be celebrating! I'm pretty sure I've got some alcohol around here somewhere, and at least a dozen girls back in my room we can play with!"

Even Raasza's carefree smile disappears as, from under my plate helmet, my emerald eyes glare at the minotauress with a power that assures death. Even an immortal like Raasza is not safe from the immense powers of a Demon Queen, but in truth, my glare is nothing but an empty facade. How could I possibly explain to her, who seems to be so content in this world we have grasped within our iron grips, that I feel nothing but despair at having accomplished our goal? What can I say to this free-spirited warrior to make her understand that the only reason I still live in this empty world is to maintain our shared immortality?

Raasza's own eyes narrow for a moment, making me suddenly wonder at just how insightful she's become in our ages together. Sure, she spends almost every free moment drinking or rutting with someone in the fortress, but we've been together for over a millenia now - could she have picked up on some of my ennui? She leans against the side of my gem throne, then pulls off her breastplate, allowing her massive tits to swing freely, a thin shirt so damp with sweat it can't properly cover her modesty. Not that she ever had any, of course. After stretching a moment, the minotauress summons her meager magical powers to shape a small table from the earth, setting down her potent drink and pulling out a pair of small cups. She fills them both up, saying "Alright, Meira, I know where I'm not wanted. But you're going to share in this victory drink for once." She holds up a hefty claw before I can say anything in return before continuing "If our friendship still means anything to you, demon, you can allow me this, just once."

I look the minotauress in the eye, then slowly nod. I remove the helmet from my head, allowing my silver hair to flutter in the slight breeze throughout the room and my sickly pale skin to gleam in the dim sunlight.