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Chapter 4: Demon Pictures

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 play 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 dollars 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 black 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 Ferland City. Nothing fancy, mostly churning out propaganda pieces for the various clans. But they had equipment, they had crews. And more importantly, they had connections.

I smiled to myself, feeling a plan 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 but laugh. 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 Ferland City's film industry. These guys were the real deal, even giving those human hotshots in Hollywood a run for their money.

The commute 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 confidence lasted 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, flanked 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 declare, "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 balance, that.

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

Then they both burst out laughing.

"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 goons laughed in my face. Me, Prince Arthur of the Morningstar clan, being shooed away like some common 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 their laughter 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, being laughed 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 clan, 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 explain to your boss why you turned away royalty. Your choice."

The guards stopped laughing, 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 just laugh 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 place.

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 been laughing 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 particular 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 from laughing 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 this company."

The guards hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. "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.