I survey the battlefield, my childish features curling up in sheer disappointment at how little of a fight these new "heroes" keep putting up. After my first battle with the legendary hero, Jack Firebrand, it's felt like every hero afterwards has been nothing but pale imitations of his power - a bunch of children playing dress-up would at least make me hesitate before slaughtering them. I let out a sigh, my tiny body seeming to hollow out in response to my feelings of apathy.

The malefic armour of my position stills burns with black flames, a small cloud hanging around me as the residual blood from this most recent massacre boils from my demonic flames. While many have found the sight of this spike-adorned, malignant rune-covered, and pitch black armour so terrifying as to induce heart attacks in the common man, it feels to me like I could have just waltzed out in front of this pathetic utterly nude, saving me at least the annoyance that is putting on and taking off this armour. By the dark gods below, it actually took me longer to equip this plate than it did to slaughter these morons!

As another wave of despair crashes through me, I cannot help but let out an ominous chuckle at the irony of my situation. I, Meira Enveik, the most feared Demon Queen in history, the scourge of man and beast alike, a tyrant without equal in the lands of Citranous, have finally taken my position at the head of all living things and am now so powerful that my own boredom at slaughtering pretend "heroes" serves as a more powerful enemy than the most ancient and eldritch of artifacts aimed at my head.

My self-loathing is completely lost upon one of my very few allies, who takes this opportunity to slap me on the back with a resounding gong-like percussion as my armour rings out from her mighty blow. "Ah, another good show from my favourite little demon! I think this calls for a round of drinks, don't you say, Meira?"

I give another profound sigh at the predictable words from the massive monster already walking off to her stash of alcohol. A few centuries past, this minotauress Raasza made for my most powerful champion, and I viewed her almost as an equal as we stood back to back in our legendary fight against Firebrand. Nowadays, Bella - a most loathesome nickname she has appellated to herself - spends all her time drinking or rutting around my castle, and since there are no actual threats to my rule, she squanders my gift of immortality to her by stealing alcohol from the nearby villages so she can drink herself to a merry oblivion, lost in our glory days, while I am stuck lugging her oversized frame back here before she wakes up to some stupid scheme away from my sight. Which wouldn't be so much of a problem if, waking from her drunken stupor, she would just stop trying to get in my damn pants!

I cross my arms and let my face turn into its most fearsome glare before saying "Raasza, you already know the drill. First, we need to clean up this mess, since I have no intention of letting these filthy bodies pollute my castle longer than necessary. Then, you need to help me get this damn armour off, since I can't do ti myself. Remind me to kill the smith who made this thing as well."

The minotauress slumps to the ground with a heavy thud, her ten-foot-tall frame still towering over me as she sits next to her drinks. "Stop that pouting already, Meira. It's so hard to resist you when you're acting so adorable. Just do that thing where you summon a tornado or something and get rid of the bodies for us, I'm thirsty. Not like there's anything else for your magic to do anyways. Oh, and you already killed that smith years ago. Shame too, he was pretty nice for a human."

I stamp my foot, the ground cracking beneath armoured heel, but I can't respond any differently. Just because she's right doesn't mean I can just listen to her - there are priorities, after all, to dealing with a hero's death, even if they don't deserve the title. Plus, I have to admit to myself, the day I use my magic more seriously to clean up after killing one of these "heroes" is the day my title as Demon Queen becomes empty. Anyone can be the steward to a bunch of races that don't even fight anymore beyond this token show of mounting an assault against me. I gained all this power to do something, to be something, more than the runt I was at birth - even if I haven't gotten any taller in these centuries, my name is spread throughout the world as a source of terror!

And that's it. I have achieved everything I ever wanted with these powers, but nothing's changed for me. There's no sense of relief, or content, or even accomplishment in me. I hold the entire world in my palm, but can only now realize that I have nothing else to work towards. I slump next to Raasza, absorbed in another of my now commonplace existential crises, saying "Raasza, pour me a drink."