บท 6: Exiled
With 200k burning a hole in my pocket, it was time to set the wheels in motion. First order of business? Finding a place to call our cinematic home.
After some hunting, I managed to snag a warehouse in the city's cheapest district for a measly 500 bucks a month. The owner, a blob of a demon with more chins than scruples, was all too happy to take my money after a bit of smooth-talking bargaining.
As we stood in front of our new "studio", George scratched his head, looking like he was trying to solve a particularly tricky puzzle. "Well... This looked... Okay, I guess?"
"Okay?" I said, injecting as much false optimism into my voice as I could muster. "It's more than okay. It's very great."
I waved my arm dramatically at the cavernous space, ignoring the cobwebs and suspicious stains. "We could use this building to house our future equipment, our future crews! This place is great for 500 dollars."
George's eyebrows shot up. "Now that you say it like that, 500 dollars seems to be a steal for such a place..."
"Indeed it is," I said, silently praying that the roof wouldn't choose that moment to cave in. "Now, let's continue making that prototype camera of yours look less like a demonic toaster and more like actual film equipment."
For the next two days, when I wasn't elbow-deep in wires and gears with George, I was pounding the pavement, trying to assemble a crew crazy enough to join my fledgling company.
After much deliberation (and a few shots of liquid courage), I decided to name our company "Hellfire Studios". I even managed to cobble together a logo - a stylized flame wrapped around a film reel. It looked pretty damn cool, if I do say so myself.
As for the crew, I struck gold with a group of fresh graduates from the Infernal Institute of Cinematic Arts. These kids had stars in their eyes and desperation in their hearts. The big studios in town wouldn't touch them with a ten-foot pitchfork - no experience, they said. Too risky.
These graduates could have tried their luck in other countries, but between the cost of demonic air travel (those magic-powered engines don't run cheap) and the risk of ending up as some human's chew toy, most were reluctant to leave.
So when I showed up with my fancy new company name and promises of creative freedom, they latched onto the opportunity like imps to a fresh soul.
"You mean we'll actually get to make movies?" one wide-eyed demoness asked, her forked tail twitching with excitement.
"That's the plan," I said, trying to sound like I knew what I was doing. "We're going to revolutionize the demon film industry."
As I looked at their eager faces, a mix of excitement and terror churned in my gut. These kids were putting their dreams in my hands. I just hoped I wouldn't end up crushing them like a clumsy hellhound with a chew toy.
But hey, every great director started somewhere, right? And if all else failed, we could always pivot to making infomercials for cursed objects or something.
Hellfire Studios was officially in business. Now all we needed was a script, proper equipment, and a miracle or two. But first things first - I needed to figure out how to work the coffee machine in our new "office". Because if there's one thing I've learned about the film industry, it's that it runs on caffeine and broken dreams.
And we had plenty of both.
***
Just when I thought things were looking up, reality decided to smack me in the face. Literally.
There I was, seated in the royal dining room, surrounded by my siblings, mother, the king, and his collection of wives and concubines. The air was thick with tension, and I knew it was all my fault. So much for keeping this little venture under wraps.
*BANG!*
"You freaking borrowed 200 damn thousand dollars at the Ferland Bank!?"
My father's voice, Luke Morningstar, boomed through the room like a thunderclap. I tried not to cower, but let's face it, when the King of Hell is yelling at you, a little cowering is perfectly understandable.
"Your Majesty," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "the royal family doesn't need to be concerned about it. I'll pay it with my own hands!"
I wanted to look him in the eye, to show some backbone, but the sheer power radiating off him made it impossible. His Sinful Magic was practically oozing out of every pore, even though I knew he was holding back. If he ever let loose... well, let's just say I'd rather not think about it.
"You shouldn't talk back to me!" Luke roared. With a casual wave of his hand, I felt myself flying through the air. My back slammed against the wall, knocking the wind out of me.
As I gasped for breath, I heard my younger sister, Apollonia, pleading on my behalf. "Father! You're hurting him!"
But her concern was quickly drowned out by the sneers of my older brothers.
"Let him, little sister. He brought it upon himself," that was my second brother, Arnold, always the dutiful son.
"Yes. He is a disgrace to our family," Bobby, my third sister, chimed in, not one to miss a chance to kick me while I was down.
"Quiet!" Luke's voice cut through the chatter like a hot knife through butter. "No one talks until I say so."
The room fell silent. I groaned, shaking my head to clear the stars from my vision. Through the haze, I caught sight of my mother, her face a mask of cold indifference. No surprise there. In this family, Apollonia was the only one who seemed to give a damn about me.
Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, my dear old dad decided to drop the mother of all bombshells.
"Leave here if you still want to be alive," Luke growled, his eyes burning with a mixture of disappointment and barely contained rage. "Leave this place. Leave this palace." He paused for dramatic effect, because apparently being King of Hell means you have to milk every moment. "From now on, I banish you and strip you of your identity as a prince!"
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Exiled. Stripped of my title. It was one thing to be the family disappointment, but this? This was a whole new level of family dysfunction.
"Father!" Apollonia's voice cut through the stunned silence, a mix of shock and concern.
Luke's head snapped towards her, his gaze enough to make even the bravest demon quail. "Quiet, child! I am the demon king of this realm. Nobody disobeys me! Ever!"
Apollonia fell silent, but I could see the tears welling up in her eyes. Poor kid. Always trying to stand up for her screw-up big brother.
I pulled myself to my feet, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth. Guess daddy dearest had knocked me around harder than I thought. I caught Apollonia's eye, giving her a small nod to say 'I'm fine'. Then, squaring my shoulders, I turned to face the king.
"I will leave as you wish, father," I said, trying to inject as much dignity into my voice as possible. Which, given that I was bruised, bleeding, and newly homeless, wasn't much.
I let my gaze sweep across the room one last time. My mother, cold and impassive as always. My brothers, barely containing their glee at my downfall. And Apollonia, the only spot of warmth in this frigid family tableau.
As I turned to leave, the reality of the situation started to sink in. I knew why Father was so quick to banish me and strip away my title. It wasn't about punishment or tough love. No, it was all about the money. By cutting me off, he was washing his hands of any responsibility for my debt. If - when - my business failed, the bank wouldn't be able to come knocking on the palace doors.
It would have been pocket change for the royal family to cover that loan. But to my father, even that small amount wasn't worth spending on his "trashy" son. I was a bad investment, and Luke Morningstar didn't do bad investments.
I walked out of the palace gates, my few possessions hastily shoved into a bag. Here I was, about to make a movie about a powerful demon family, and I'd just been kicked out of my own.
But you know what? Maybe this was exactly what I needed. No more safety net, no more royal resources to fall back on. Just me, my crazy dream, and a warehouse full of misfits crazy enough to believe in it.
บท 7: Real friend
Well, nothing says "fallen from grace" quite like buying a third-hand bed for twenty bucks and shoving it into the corner of a rented warehouse. But hey, when life gives you lemons, make a lemonade stand in Hell, right?
As I maneuvered the bed into what was quickly becoming my new home/office/film studio, I could feel the confused stares of George and our newly hired crew boring into my back.
"Why are you putting a bed in that corner?" George finally asked, voicing what everyone was clearly thinking.
I cleared my throat, trying to hide my embarrassment behind a facade of nonchalance. "Um... I kind of think that this warehouse has plenty of space. Then I thought, why not use this place for, you know? A home too? I think I can sleep in this place."
The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it with a demon's claw. The phrase "silence was deafening" had never felt so apt.
George scratched the back of his head, looking at me like I'd grown a second pair of horns. "You're acting weird today." He paused, then added, "Well, you're always acting weird."
"Let's get to work, guys. Forget about the bed," I said, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to my own ears. Desperate to change the subject, I turned to the writers. "You guys, let's work on this script that I've been writing for days. Help me revise it."
As the writers nodded, I addressed the rest of the crew. "As for you guys, we'll be planning our first film together."
And so began my new life as an exiled prince turned wannabe film mogul.
***
Two days blurred together in a haze of script revisions, film planning, and tinkering with our makeshift camera.
George and I became experts at dumpster diving in the electronics district, piecing together our equipment from the castoffs of demons and dwarves alike.
One morning, as George and I were on our daily garbage collection run (because nothing says "living the dream" like picking through trash), I couldn't shake the feeling that more eyes than usual were on me.
Sure, I was used to being scrutinized as the family failure, but this felt different. More intense.
Suddenly, George called out, "Hey, Arthur. Look at this." He was holding up a newspaper, his expression a mix of concern and disappointment.
The front page headline hit me like a punch to the gut: "Youngest Demon Prince Exiled by King Luke Morningstar".
I felt my blood run cold. So much for keeping a low profile.
George shook his head, sighing. "So you've been exiled. You didn't even tell your old friend."
I tried to keep my voice steady, aiming for casual indifference and probably missing by a mile. "What use would it be telling you that? It's not that important anyway."
George looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and understanding. "Not important? Arthur, you're living in our warehouse. Your whole life has been turned upside down. That seems pretty important to me."
I felt a lump forming in my throat. Here was George, my friend who'd stuck with me through failed invention after failed invention, looking at me with genuine concern. And I'd been too proud, too afraid, to confide in him.
"I... I didn't want you to think less of me," I admitted, the words feeling strange on my tongue. Honesty wasn't exactly a prized trait in demon society.
George snorted. "Think less of you? Arthur, I've seen you set your own butt on fire trying to invent a self-warming toilet seat. Trust me, there's not much lower you can go in my estimation."
Despite everything, I felt a laugh bubble up in my chest. Leave it to George to find the humor in my royal fall from grace.
"So," he said, tossing the newspaper aside, "what's the plan now, oh great exiled one?"
I looked at him, then at the piles of electronic scraps surrounding us, and felt a grin spread across my face. "The plan, my vertically challenged friend, is to make a movie so good it'll make my dear old dad choke on his morning cup of virgin blood."
George grinned back. "Now that's the crazy Arthur I know and tolerate. Let's get to it then. These circuits won't salvage themselves."
As we resumed our dumpster diving, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Sure, I was exiled, broke, and living in a warehouse. But I had a friend who believed in me, a crew ready to follow my crazy vision, and a dream that not even the King of Hell could crush.
***
George and I trudged back to our makeshift studio, our arms laden with bags of electronic scraps. The weight of our haul was nothing compared to the heaviness in my chest after the newspaper revelation.
As we dumped our treasure trove of junk onto the floor, George surveyed our loot with a gleam in his eye. "These scraps should be enough to help us build lights, mics, and probably another colored camera," he said, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist about to bring his creation to life.
I nodded, trying to match his enthusiasm. "Well, that's for sure. But these scraps alone won't do it. We still need to buy important parts from the electronics store, but this stuff saves us a lot of money."
We dove into our work, sorting through the pile of technological refuse. It was overwhelming at first glance, a jumble of wires, circuits, and things I couldn't even name. But between my knack for jerry-rigging and George's uncanny ability to make something out of nothing, we were in our element.
Though George and I might have a talent for accidentally blowing things up when we try to invent stuff from scraps, but recreating existing tech? That's a whole different ballgame. As experienced mechanics (well, experienced in making things go boom, at least), cobbling together film equipment from our electronic garbage heap wasn't as daunting as you'd think. Sure, we'd need to buy some key components from actual stores, but hey, that's what our meager budget was for, right?
As we were elbow-deep in wires and circuit boards, I noticed a group of our newly hired employees approaching. They were clutching papers in their hands and wearing expressions that made my stomach drop.
"Oh, guys, what do you need?" I asked, trying to sound chipper despite the growing sense of dread.
Their response hit me like a ton of bricks. "Um... We're actually here to resign."
"Yes." The others nodded in unison, like a herd of demonic bobbleheads.
"Me too," echoed voices from across the warehouse.
I felt a wave of solemnity wash over me as I realized almost half of my newly hired recruits were jumping ship. Thirty of them, to be exact. When I pressed for explanations, all I got were mumbled excuses and averted gazes.
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