<h4>Chapter 4: Demon Pictures</h4>


    The next day found me in my room, surrounded by crumpled papers and half-empty coffee mugs. It wasn''t quite the disaster zone that was George''s apartment, but it was getting there. The life of an aspiring demon filmmaker, I suppose.


    I hunched over my desk, scribbling furiously as I tried to hammer out the storyline for "The Demonfather." The Fend city''s warring demon ns were providing plenty of inspiration. We had the Nevermore n, always cawing about their ancient bloodlines. The Asmodeus bunch, with their fancy suits and even fancier ways of torturing souls. Then there were the Belphegor n, sozy they couldn''t be bothered to finish their own evil schemes, and the Mammon family, who''d sell their own horns for a quick buck.


    And at the top of the heap? The Morningstar family. My family. Royal pain in the ass, more like.


    I grinned to myself. Oh yeah, the Morningstars were perfect for the Corleone role. I could already see myself as Michael, the reluctant heir drawn back into the family business. But who would y the old Don Vito?


    Then it hit me – the old guy who owned the Grand Theatre. With that craggy face and world-weary demeanor, he''d be perfect. Plus, I already owed him one for that free ticket. Time to call in that favor.


    As I scribbled down notes and sketched out scenes, my mind raced with possibilities. If this worked – if "The Demonfather" became a hit – we could be looking at a trilogy. Hell, maybe even a whole franchise. "The Demonfather Part II: Hell''s Kitchen." "The Demonfather Part III: Apocalypse Now." Okay, maybe I was getting ahead of myself.


    But then reality reared its ugly head. My measly 10,000 dors suddenly seemed like chump change. Making a film, even a low-budget one, wasn''t going to be cheap. I needed a crew, equipment, locations...


    I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. "Think, Arthur," I muttered to myself. "You''re a prince, for Satan''s sake. Use that to your advantage."


    Sure, I might be the ck sheep of the family, the prince who couldn''t even summon a decent fireball. But I was still a Morningstar. And in this city, that name still meant something.


    There were a few studios in Fend City. Nothing fancy, mostly churning out propaganda pieces for the various ns. But they had equipment, they had crews. And more importantly, they had connections.


    I smiled to myself, feeling a n start to form. I might be a trash prince in my family''s eyes, but to everyone else? I was still royalty. And it was time to use that to my advantage.


    Grabbing my jacket, I headed for the door. Time to charm some studio execs, call in some favors, and maybe casually mention how disappointed my royal father would be if they didn''t help his son with his little pet project.


    As I left my room, nearly tripping over a stack of demon screenwriting books, I couldn''t help butugh. Who would''ve thought that being the family disappointment would finally pay off?


    ***


    With a spring in my step and delusions of grandeur in my head, I set off for Demon Pictures, the crown jewel of Fend City''s film industry. These guys were the real deal, even giving those human hotshots in Hollywood a run for their money.


    Themute took about thirty minutes, most of which I spent rehearsing my "I''m a very important demon prince, you know" speech in my head. By the time I arrived at the towering obsidian building that housed Demon Pictures, I was feeling pretty confident.


    That confidencested about ten seconds after I walked through the door.


    "Hold it right there," a burly guard growled, stepping in front of me. His partner, equally muscled and even less friendly-looking, nked him.


    "Who are you? It''s the first time we''ve seen you here," the first guard demanded.


    For a moment, I was tempted to puff up my chest and dere, "Don''t you see? I''m a demon prince!" But looking at their unimpressed faces, I realized my infamous reputation might not have reached this far.


    So instead, I opted for politeness. Novel concept for a demon, I know. "I am from the Morningstar family," I said, trying to sound both important and non-threatening. Tricky bnce, that.


    "Morningstar!?" The second guard''s eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought I''d hit the jackpot.


    Then they both burst outughing.


    "Hahaha! If you''re from the Morningstar family, then I''m the King of Hell!" the first guard guffawed.


    His partner wiped a tear from his eye. "You think you could fool us like that? Shoo! Go away!"


    I stood there, mouth agape, as these two goonsughed in my face. Me, Prince Arthur of the Morningstar n, being shooed away like somemon imp!


    Part of me wanted to summon a fireball and show them exactly who they were dealing with. But knowing my luck, I''d probably just singe my own eyebrows off.


    As theirughter echoed through the lobby, I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment. This was not how this was supposed to go. I was royalty, damn it! Okay, maybe I was the family disappointment, but still!


    But as I stood there, beingughed at by two meatheads who probably couldn''t spell ''Morningstar'' if their lives depended on it, something inside me snapped. Not in an "I''m going to rain hellfire upon you" way (I wish), but in a "screw it, I''ve got nothing to lose" way.


    I straightened my back, looked them dead in the eye, and said, "Listen here, you overgrown imps. I am Prince Arthur of the Morningstar n, and I''ve got a film to make. Now, you can either let me in to speak with whoever''s in charge, or you can exin to your boss why you turned away royalty. Your choice."


    The guards stoppedughing, looking at each other uncertainly. I held my breath, trying to look as princely and intimidating as possible. Which, given my track record, probably wasn''t very.


    As the guards stared at me, clearly trying to decide if they should throw me out or justugh some more, I felt a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubble up inside me. Time to pull out the big guns.


    "Well, how about a quick look at my I.D., esteemed guards?" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I fished the card out of my pocket.


    The guards exchanged a look, probably thinking I was about to show them a badly forged McDonald''s loyalty card or something. But they took the ID, their smirks still firmly in ce.


    And then, oh boy, did those smirks vanish.


    They looked at the card, then at me, then back at the card. I could practically see the gears grinding in their tiny brains as they realized they''d just beenughing at honest-to-Satan royalty.


    "Cough. What does the business of Your Highness require here?" the first guard said, his voice suddenly as polite as a butler at a fancy dinner party.


    The other one chimed in, "Do you need a coffee, sir?"


    I couldn''t help but chuckle. Amazing how quickly tunes can change when faced with the prospect of royal wrath. "You know," I said, tapping my chin thoughtfully, "I seem to recall hearing someone say that if I was a Morningstar, they were the king. Hmm?"


    The guard who''d made that particr joke looked like he was about to faint. His face went from red to white faster than a traffic light.


    I couldn''t resist twisting the knife a little. "Maybe I''ll tell my father we have a new king around here. I''m sure he''d be fascinated to hear about it."


    That did it. They practically fell over themselves apologizing.


    "I-I am terribly sorry, Your Highness!"


    "Please forgive us!"


    "We''ll do anything, Your Highness!"


    I had to bite my cheek to keep fromughing out loud. This was better than any prank I''d ever pulled. "Well," I said, trying to sound magnanimous, "if you''re really sorry, you can let me in. And tell the receptionist that I have some business with the CEO of thispany."


    The guards hesitated, exchanging nervous nces. "Your Highness... We... We couldn''t do it!"


    I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You couldn''t? Then I suppose I''ll just have a short chat with my father—"


    "We''ll do it!" they practically shouted before I could even finish.


    I grinned, feeling more princely than I had in years. "That''s what I''m talking about!"


    As they scrambled to open the doors and alert the receptionist, I couldn''t help but feel a little giddy. For once, being a Morningstar was actually working in my favor.


    Sure, I might be about to bluff my way through a meeting with one of the most powerful demons in the entertainment industry with nothing but a half-baked idea and a homemade camera. But hey, that''s show business, baby.