He makes his decision

You kneel before the Dark Lord, bowing your head. Your host's head.

"The time has come, my Lord," You state the simple fact.

The Dark Lord circles you. Studies you. You are motionless. "I've killed your progeny. That doesn't upset you?"

You could have snorted and laughed, but you understand the seriousness of the question, and its implications. This is a test. You have leaned much, studied much. You may have been born short weeks ago, but you harbor lifetimes of knowledge and understandings, interpreted and sifted by your own datk intellect. If you are unleashed, the Dark Lord doesn't want to simply reign over a land of parasites and zombies. Even if you are successful, even if you can assault the Dark Lord's enemies, conquer the lands that oppose him, whatever you create of his enemies will be slaughtered in numbers potentially a thousand-thousand times greater than what occurred in the dungeon. His question is clear in your mind - Did you have any parental instinct towards your infectious offspring?

"No more than it upsets your orcs to cut their nails," You tell the dark one truthfully, and you do allow a little smile to show. "Let me show you."

You open one of the cells, that contained an orc host of one of your few remaining scions. Wordlessly you smash your reinforced fist into its mouth, searching... wet searching... and found. You grab a milky white seed with your bare hand and rip it out of the orc, killing its host. Holding it up, you squeeze the tough, squirming thing with your hand, and drop it wetly on the floor. Tentacles, like guts, ooze out of its split remains.

"I am your legion, Dark Lord. Command me and I will make it so. I will weaken the lands of your enemies until they are so much mush, ready to be splattered by your own armies," You shake slime off of your hand in a single whipping movement of your host's arm for emphasis.

There is a moment of silence. You waited patiently, allowing the next words to come from elsewhere. "Good," the Dark Lord's helmet rumbled, "Your time, and mine, has come. My dungeon is at your disposal, pick a form that will serve you best and prepare yourself for your next step." All words that needed to be said had been. You're left alone, to make your own preparations.

If you'd learned one thing about him, it is that the Dark Lord doesn't like to micromanage when it isn't necessary.