Summoner's Folly // Darkiplier X Reader ✔️

Epilogue: Home

The business meeting was nothing short of disastrous, exacerbated by Dark's stuffy nose from an impending cold that he vehemently denied. He sat quietly, listening as one of the stakeholders launched into a tirade about the company's reputation being at stake. Dark couldn't muster any interest; today he was a CEO, tomorrow a lawyer, and the day after, perhaps a poet. Such was the curious existence bestowed upon him by the arcane goddess Cecilia, who had deemed it fit to retain all his memories of being a god.

He often pondered her motives. Was it to instil regret or offer guidance? He couldn't say for sure, but he couldn't say there wasn't a stark contrast between his former divine life and his current mortal one.

"For the love of all that's holy, John, did you honestly believe that posting a selfie of yourself in tears after firing an employee was a good idea?" one of the women at the table exclaimed in exasperation.

"I was merely attempting to display empathy online," John replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I thought it might remind people that firing someone isn't easy either."

The table collectively groans.

Dark's gaze swept over the cityscape below, his thoughts consumed by his longing for you and his growing regret over his incursion into the corporate world. He couldn't wait to return home to you, to leave behind the mundanity of office politics and endless meetings. Perhaps, he mused, he could redirect his vast knowledge and abilities toward a more meaningful endeavour, like building a public library or tangibly contributing to society in another way but this, never this again.

As he tuned out the continued bickering around the table, a sudden silence drew his attention back to the present. The others were now looking at him expectantly, their earlier tension momentarily forgotten as they turned to Dark for his insight.

"Damien," one of them prompted, "what do you think we could do about this? Do share. I'm sure the view from up here must be inspiring."

Dark's expression hardened at the thinly veiled jab, his disdain evident in every line of his face. The man across the table shifted uncomfortably under Dark's piercing gaze, hastily adjusting his collar in a feeble attempt to regain his composure.

Dark sighed heavily, his grip tightening on his cane as he slowly rose from his seat, his movements deliberate. "John should simply disconnect from the internet altogether," he began, his voice carrying a raspiness that betrayed the onset of a creeping cold. "Clearly, he isn't serving us well. As for our reputation, that should be delegated to the PR department. I'm confident they'll have better ideas than all of you combined."

With a sense of finality, Dark turned to leave the room, his departure punctuated by the click of his cane against the tiled floor. But before he reached the door, he paused, his gaze sweeping over the silent group gathered around the table. "And next time," he added, his tone tinged with a hint of sarcasm, "let's opt for an email instead. With big font, for the benefit of the less visually inclined."

With that parting shot at the old man, Dark exited the room. Those kinds of interactions, despite being frustrating, were a bit of fun in Dark's life, nothing wrong with some powerplay once in a while.

Dark descended in the spacious elevator, his cane positioned before him with elegance. You might wonder why; the answer, quite simply, was aesthetic. Dark took pride in every aspect of his appearance, from the adornments on his fingers to the cuffs of his sleeves. For him, a suit alone wouldn't suffice.

A stifled cough escaped him, followed by a small sniff, as he groaned at the sensation of his blocked breathing and scratchy throat. He reached for his handkerchief, quickly dabbing at his nose before the elevator dinged, signalling his arrival at the ground floor.