A minor note lost to time and memory, and relating in no way to current events

Forescript: The following excerpt was found in the personal diaries of the Demon Lord Andramelech, Duke of the 7th, Lord of 26 Legions, Imparter of Hidden Knowledge. Due to the nature of how this diary was acquired, I have no way to know when it was recorded or what world it was referring to, but it is included here for convenience.
-L.M.S.V., 26 Greenpeek, F.E. 917
 
There was always something pleasant about the screams of the damned when one wakes in the morning.
 
Not of course that 'morning' was a referent with meaning to me, as I rise from my bed of writhing soul-stuff, reformed into the most comfortable of divans - but when one was dealing with mortality, it was often useful to think in their terms.
 
Extending my arms to allow the tormented courtiers to clad me in my robes of of abandoned hopes and lost knowledge, spun into as fine a cloth as can be made. A gesture, and the Book is called into my hand, falling open to the page and place that I desire.
 
I see many things. I see the five little witches I gave thought of conjuring their parents. Lost to me, now, but their purpose well served. I wonder if they will ever realize where some of the enchantments that came to their research originated - or why they always failed in such specific ways...
 
I see the mighty heroes moving, as I knew they would, from place to place - how else to have the ritual sites waiting for them - and along the way, scattering the summoning's and releasing that tiny bit of energy from each of them into the world. Each Reaper or Twister or Frost-Demon a carrier, and as each falls, an anchor drops, trailing a thread-thin cable through realities and back to my home.
 
This will not be enough in itself. But every step leads to the one after it. With the vanishing of the heroes of Earth, their gates are unguarded - and my people slip in.
 
With the ascendancy of the Destroyer, magic is disdained, and technology is supreme - but some things are beyond technology - and my people slip in.
 
DEMON is shattering, and its insane masters tear at the boundaries of the worlds. But more than one can use the entrances they make - and my people slip in.
 
And with each of my countless servants slain upon the mortal plane, more of the magic of *my* realm seeps into it, making it a tiny bit more mine. And like forest building over abandoned cities, the bodies of each of my slain minions provides fertile soil for the next, as they grow up over the unbarred and unguarded gates of the realm.
 
And my people slip in.
 
I close the book, and I head downstairs for breakfast. I think something special today.
 
It is going to be a *great* day.