Demoncember writing prompt — Demon who has whispered in the ears of your monarchs for generations, all in preparation for this moment - all in preparation for you
“Shiquallax has been bragging about this little human fiefdom she’s got set up in the desert for ages,” Jub-Frullah the Forty-Eyed Serpent says languidly. “So I thought, you know, humans are terrible at telling the difference between us; she’s convinced these people to wait on her hand and foot as their god — well, she’s busy running errands down south for a decade or so, why don’t I drop in and enjoy the place while she’s gone?”
“Mhm,” Nagular the Cattle-Eating Terror says, as if it’s not really listening.
“Naggles,” Jub-Frullah complains.
“Didn’t she say she’d strike off your head and cast you into a boiling volcano if you borrowed her stuff without asking again?” Nagular says, in a cruelly reasonable tone.
“Who’s going to tell her?” Jub-Frullah says. “The humans? They can’t tell us apart, even if they tell her and she believes it, it could be anyone. Serves her right for not looking after her things better!”
Nagular bobs its head back and forth in an equivocal sort of way. “I suppose,” it says.
Jub-Frullah thinks it sounds a little judgemental; she fluffs herself up.
“Well, I’m off to be worshipped as a god for literally no effort,” she says huffily. “Enjoy your howling wilderness,” and she tears open a thunderous, lightning-wreathed portal to the human realm.
“I’m trying to birdwatch!” Nagular yells crossly after her.
Jub-Frullah makes a rude sign over her shoulder, striding out into the middle of a great stone arena which the humans must have made by painstakingly sticking square rocks together. It must have taken so much effort!
“Ugh,” she mutters. “That bitch and her taste in architecture,” and turns her attention onto the welcoming committee, which seems to have been ready and waiting for her to show up. Darn clever of them! She gazes approvingly at the serried ranks of armoured soldierfolk, the priests and wizards and their tiny little heroes, all looking at her. It’s quite lovely, to be at the centre of so much attention; perhaps she can see the appeal after all. She raises her arms, clears her throat.
“Behold!” she bellows. “I return!”
A collective quiver seems to run through them, and then one of their tiny hero-men raises his own tiny voice.
“Evil returns after its thousand-year slumber — but as prophecied, we stand ready! We stand firm! Once again we shall strike down the demon queen and stand in bloody triumph!”
The humans roar excitedly from their thousands of throats.
“Oh, piss,” Jub-Frullah says in realisation, drowned out by the noise. “She set me up.”
