I Accidentally Burned Down London

Good evening, mortals. The Soultaker returns with another delightfully infernal tale—this time, a *mostly accidental* history lesson. Join your favorite overlord of evil as he recounts how one dramatic entrance (and maybe a *tiny* spark from Hell) led to the Great Fire of London in 1666. Was it his fault? Sort of. Did he enjoy it? Immensely. From shape-shifting into bedposts to whispering chaos into royal ears, this darkly comedic monologue pulls back the flames on one of history’s hottest disasters.

Grab your goblet of wine, hide your little brother, and prepare for a roast—*of an entire city.*

#Soultaker
#Dark comedy podcast
#Devil monologue
#Great Fire of London
#Historical comedy
#Comedy podcast
#Satirical history
#Fictional villain story
#Supernatural podcast
#Evil overlord tales
#Dark humor
#Storytime podcast
#Black comedy
#Satanic humor
#Hellish tales
#Historical fiction
#Villain POV
#Funny history
#Podcasts to binge
#Voice acting podcast

Transcript

Good evening. It is I. Your boss, your ruler. The Soultaker. The King of destruction. Emperor of evil. The one who makes your mother's panties wet when she says my name. I just came from taking the soul of an old man. He lived quite to an usually high age...unfortunately. 106 years old. Quite a feat, I must profess. Too bad most of that was beating and cheating on his wife, not to mention he was a terrible human being to others. I know it's so unfair to you humans. The evil of the world gets to live seemingly forever while the good dies young. Get over it. I am the ruler of this earth! Perhaps if you were a little more...harsh to your little brother, then MAYBE I could extend your life a little more. You don't have to make up your mind right now. Just...for for thought.

But as usual, my digressions have gotten the best of me. You want yet another fabulous tale from yours truly. Honestly, don't you people have something BETTER to do than to listen to me? Like WORKING on CLEANING that mess of a pigsty that you call a house?! It's like entertaining children, which is WORSE than hell! But here I am again, rambling on. I suppose I could tell you the story about how I caused the Great Fire of London in the year 1666. Ahh, what a fabulous year. Too bad those years come once in a millenia. But out of all my work, this event wasn't entirely my fault. But you know me, I had to...make an entrance (laughs).

I wasn't a stranger to Europe, as you all know. I HATE the people, the climate, the smell...ugh. But wine is to die for. Too bad I don't have that issue. (laughs). Normally, when I arrive to cause havoc, I usually disguise myself as one of you meat bags so as to not cause much of a stir. I can shape-shift into anything, after all. Even your bed tail that you stub your toe on every morning. Now, is that me or your poor negligence of the condition of your movements? I'll leave that for you all to decide.

Anyway, on this day, I wanted my entrance to be a little more...spectacular. Instead of pretending I was a Russian spy, I decided to just come out of the pits of hell au naturale. There was a rumble coming out of the ground as I came closer to the surface. As superstitious as Europe was, the people thought it was the end of the world. They never really experienced an earthquake before, and it wasn't THAT strong to begin with, those bunch of sissies. Once I emerged from my pit like the undead in a zombie movie, some of that fire...may or may not have come out of that hole with me. Before I realized it, a roof had caught on fire! Ah, the smell of freshly burning thatch. Nothing quite like it. But honestly, that first little flame wasn’t entirely my doing. You see, I was busy striking my most menacing pose—you know, the one where I extend my arms out, let my cloak billow, and look like I’m about to drop the hottest album of the 17th century. The humans, naturally, screamed in terror. A few fainted. One woman threw a loaf of bread at me, which was just rude. And amidst all this delightful chaos, that tiny little spark from my grand entrance hopped onto a wooden beam, then another, and—well, you know how fire works.  

At first, I thought, *Eh, a little flame never hurt anybody.* (I mean, not *technically* true, but you get the point.) But then the fire spread. And spread. And—oh, look!—spread some more. Within minutes, it was as if I had personally ordered hell to be delivered to Pudding Lane.  

Now, I know what you’re thinking. *Satan, why didn’t you stop it?* First of all, how dare you assume I *would*? Second, I actually *did* try... at first. Not out of guilt—please, I don’t do guilt—but because it was getting *too* easy. Londoners were running around screaming, blaming everything from a divine punishment to some unfortunate Frenchman who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. One guy even accused a comet, which—look, I appreciate a good scapegoat, but a space rock? Really?  

But then I saw the look on King Charles II’s face. *Oh-ho-ho*, the absolute despair. The realization that his city was crumbling faster than a drunk trying to walk a straight line. And that’s when I thought, *You know what? Let’s see where this goes.*  

So, naturally, I made things worse. You know how humans have a tendency to panic instead of *fixing the problem*? I might have whispered a few suggestions into people’s ears.  
— *“Quick! Blow up the houses to stop the fire!”*  
— *“Why save the bakeries? Bread is overrated!”*  
— *“Forget the water buckets—just throw wine at it!”*  

And would you believe it? They actually listened. Buildings exploded, bread was lost, and an entire city was charbroiled in the span of four days. *Four days!* I haven’t had that much fun since the Black Plague.  

By the time the flames finally died down, most of London was gone. People were dirty, tired, and blaming anyone but themselves. The king, bless his wig-covered head, actually had to start rebuilding from scratch. And me? I strutted off into the smoky distance, sipping a stolen goblet of wine, watching my masterpiece smolder like a good barbecue.  

And that, dear listeners, is how I *accidentally* burned down London. Not *entirely* my fault, but let’s be honest—you *know* it wouldn’t have been as spectacular without me.  

That's all the precious time I have today for you fools. If you like what you heard, please feel free to follow me if you're not doing that already. And please, tell your friends about me. Advertising can be such...hell.