Beheaded to Betrothed

Lord Dulla Tyranus stood low over the darkened plains and channeled his power, bracing himself as redirected purple lightning shattered a boulder into charged shards of shrapnel.

"…" Damn it. It'd been a long while since he'd been forced into such a conundrum.

Before him lay a party of the most annoying 'heroes' imaginable. They were a group of four, a mix of humans and elves, all overpowered egotists with more delusion than brain matter.

The warrior touted oversized muscles in vanity armor plate; the cleric prayed in platinum-lined cashmere garb; the mage's spell names were more flamboyant than his ridiculous personality; and the rogue possessed more scars, poisons and redundant belts than hairs on his receding hairline. However, even as they were all bruised and bleeding, they clung to stubbornness.

"Scourge of the Greymires!" the warrior declared with broadsword held high. "Your reign of terror ends now! We shall vanquish you and liberate these lands!"

The dullahan's mustache quivered with barely restrained annoyance. "From what?! Stable food prices, universal schooling, and safety from brigands and monsters?!"

"Shut up, evil lord, and tell us where the esteemed lady is!"

"I already told you, I don't—"

"Living Surge of Myrkulshar the Second!"

The mage conjured another bolt of lightning that caught Lord Dulla off guard square in the chest—Ouch, that one actually stung.

"Don't play dumb! We've all heard about your sadistic, perverted rule!" the cleric screeched. "You're a monster who stole away the Radiant Vow, Dame Eirlys Gloriana of Lach'rodain!"

"Sadistic?! The hell are you talking about?! I haven't had the chance to torture anyone the past few years—nobody's been stupid enough! And perverted?! That's a title better suited for that fool of a woman!"

Lord Dulla snarled, sword crackling with dark energy as he swung a retaliatory shockwave towards the imbecilic lunatics.

The rogue dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast.

"Hah. That got under your skin, didn't it? We know all about your secret dungeon, and how you torture those who displease you with your cursed 'sword!'"

"I HAVE NO SECRET DUNGEON, YOU DAMNABLE FOOLS! JUST A BEDROOM!"

The Death Knight's rage roared across the battlefield, dread blade unlinking to draw blood across the cleric's face.

"Eeeak! He touched me with his sword!"

"H-how dare you defile my friend, debaucherous fiend! Take this, Supreme Efflux Blast of Thunder's Bane!"

The mage stepped forth and continued proving himself the second most annoying being on this plane with another lightning bolt—this time dodged.

"For the love of—would you stop with the lightning?! It's getting increasingly irritating, just like your inquiries about wherever Eirlys has disappeared to or your baseless accusations about my character!"

"Never, foul Death Knight of Karandir! You kidnapped the poor maiden and corrupted her pure heart with your dark powers and outlandish fetishes!"

Lord Dulla snorted at the irony.

"Really. Corrupted her? If you've ever seen her in bed, you would quickly change your ignorant tune—SHIT! FORGET I EVER SAID THAT!"

Another bolt of dark energy was launched toward the idiotic party, forcing them to dodge and regroup.

"Hmph, it seems we've finally found a gap in that armor of yours!", the rogue quipped and nodded back to the mage.

"Indeed. Speaking of, it's time to sunder your foul protections, Dread Lord! Let's turn up the heat with Maximal Hellfire of the Seventh Circle!"

Yet another spell was cast with the channeled power of the mage's allies—this one an inferno that suddenly slammed the Death Knight—but he stood his ground, unyielding against the torrent of flames.

His armor was meant to resist the most extreme of situations, from the desert heat of Zan'sar, to the Frozen Wastes's chill. He refused to ever let it come apart for anything other than the radiant and annoying sun in his life—

Actually. Now that he was thinking of her again. Where in the hells did she actually go?

"…Imbeciles, a question. Are you certain you never spotted her on the way here? It's rather difficult to miss her considering her flashy armor and constant promiscuous moans."

The warrior growled in response as his lone brain cell activated and started charging up a mighty telegraphed swing.

"You bastard! That dishonorable comment settled it! We're going to beat the living crud out of you until nothing is—"

With a sudden smash of a pommel, the man and the rest of his words violently disappeared to the other side of the plains.

"Kyaaaaaaa-GACK!"

He let out a moan before slumping unconscious against a tree.

The others looked stunned toward a new figure now posed beside Lord Dulla. There illuminated by the dim ambience stood the Radiant Vow, golden hair billowing and remodeled armor gleaming.

Her face twisted in a half-snarl, and her sword levied up in an aggressively defensive stance.

"Lord Dulla-sama, my husband! Are you okay?"

"For the love of—I am not your husband yet, you idiotic masochist! Now tell me, where in the hells did you run off to this evening?!"

Tension slightly slipped from her form.

"Ah, apologies, my dearest, but I had to take care of a few things. Before these troublemakers arrived, I was ensuring that the festival preparations for this year were still on—"

"By all that is holy!" The cleric's mouth gaped, staring wide-eyed at the radiant knight's exposed body. "W-what depraved acts and armaments have you forced on her, you aberrant monster?!"

Lord Dulla's mustache slumped in exasperation, nearly taking his own head with it.

"…If you're referring to the skimpy plate she wears, that's all her. She insisted on having it reworked to be more 'feminine'. Also, don't interrupt us. This is a serious matter that pertains to my sanity and our town's annual—"

"Expiditious Blast of Surprise!"

A larger fireball than normal suddenly conflagrated against his chest, singing the edge of his facial hair into a smoky wisp.

Eirlys narrowed her eyes, now laced with a venom he'd rarely seen in the five years he'd known her.

"…Do you want to kill them, my dear?"

"!" His heart of pure spite repeatedly chanted 'YES, DO IT!' But he forcefully calmed himself.

"No… Just beat them into submission. Afterwards, I will take them to the dungeon—"

"I knew it! So you do have a secret dungeon, you sadistic bastard! You're truly the embodiment of debaucherous evil!"

The interruption-prone mage cackled at his own perceived intelligence and semantic victory, waving his finger like a demented wand.

Lord Dulla's eyes narrowed.

"…But I won't bat an eye if we accidentally maim that one."

"W-wait. What?!"

A smile bright enough to cut the dark carved upward on Dame Eirlys's face.

"Understood, my dearest Dulla-sama!"

***

It was a quiet evening now. The sun had set, and the only sound to be heard in Lord Dulla's office was the soft crackling of the fireplace.

He sat at his desk, quill and parchment in hand, as his insufferable fiancée slept soundly on the recliner imported specifically for her.

It was a peculiar relationship, that between the Death Knight and the Radiant Vow. She'd arrived in his lands like a tempest—destroying his carefully crafted reputation and leaving chaos in her wake, only to rebuild it in some unholy amalgamation of sunny pseudo-tyranny. Yet, in the years that'd followed, she'd become an ever-present fixture in his life, a source of both irritation and—dare he say it—favored comfort.

He glanced at her, taking in her peaceful form. Her golden hair, a reminder of the figurative sun that she'd brought into his gloomy world, framed her soft features like a halo, far from the burning determination she possessed whenever they sparred.

A sigh escaped his lips at the absurdity of it. Despite his every attempt to maintain his reputation as a dreaded and merciless lord, this radiant woman had somehow wormed her way into his heart with curse, eccentricities and all.

"…Dulla-sama~" his betrothed lovingly muttered from her slumber.

As the fire crackled and the moon shone outside, Lord Dulla Tyrannus smiled fondly.

Of all the things he could've lost his head over, he supposed it could've been worse.