Chapter 五

  Heavy is the Crown

  Early morning, Castle del Sol throne room. The four thrones along the back wall face the rest of the stone chamber at different altitudes, ready for the new day. Behind them, a banner depicts the current whereabouts of the life-giving plasma ball in the sky: the horizon. Its light shines through the stained-glass windows; story-telling panes of Hero-King Solaris’ journey. Birdsong and blue seeps through the skylight paired with the occasional knock of a distant woodpecker. All is relatively quiet. That is, until a door creaks open. Out pops Phoenix’s head: the Demon Prince, the Prince of Dawn, the Commander of the Kingdom of Dawn’s military, and now—the interim King of Dawn, ready for his first full day on the job (yesterday was just filled with ceremony and celebration). His head whips left and right, checking if the coast is clear. Then he casts Hypershift and tip-toes to the throne, phase-shifted somewhere between w=0 and w=1. If somebody could see him right now, then they would see nothing but a cross-section of his body; skeleton, organs, and all, floating eerily toward the King’s throne. Upon taking his seat, the meat-half returned to a meat-whole; the spell was dispelled.

  “Ahhhhhh…” Phoenix sank into the seat, smacking his lips, relaxed, taking it all in. He had made it. His dream was secured. He didn’t need to put the goddamn fries in the bag. He was the manager of the McDawnolds now. Not the frycook. Not the assistant manager. The manager. He could tell others what to do. A position of power. A sublime state of being. He wore the cardboard birthday crown now. That’s right, he’s the Birthday Boy. No—not the Birthday Boy, such a title is too beneath him. He’s the Birthday Man. The Birthday Manager. But before he could enter the next stage of self-suck; the mental circle-jerk; the jingling of keys took his attention.

  It was now the beginning of the throne room guards’ shift. The entrance opened and they waltzed in, only to notice Phoenix staring back at them from the King’s throne.

  “Oh! Good morning, Your Majesty!” Both of them took a knee, surprised at his presence.

  “Good morning, Fib and Nachi,” Phoenix replied, kinda annoyed that the tranquil atmosphere got disturbed.

  “You’re here early, sire. Is there a reason?” Nachi asked.

  “I just wanted to get a good ‘feel’ for the throne, that’s all.”

  “Understandable,” Fib replied. “You’ve worked hard, sire. You deserve the position. We wanted to let you know that we will support you, whatever the future may bring.”

  “I appreciate it, you two. Thank you.”

  The guards nodded, then got into their positions on both sides of the door, spears at their side. And, almost as if it never stopped, the blissful quiet faded back in, like reinserting an earbud into your ear. There it was. The empty sound. Nice, soft, and—

  Rumble, rumble.

  “What was that?” Phoenix asked.

  Rumble, rumble. RUmble, RUMBLE.

  “That sounds like footsteps…” Phoenix’s eyes went wide. “Hold the doors, men!”

  The guards immediately slid their spears into the handles, then put their full weight onto the doors’ surface.

  BANG! BANG! CREAK! SHUTTER!

  “YOURMAJESTYINEEDYOURMAJESTYMAJYOURCOMMERCESOCIALPOLICIESTRADEBURGERIMMIGRANTSPLEAESSIRGEFHSCAPUSSICHAINOFCOMMAND!!!”

  A barrage of officials in differing outfits assaulted the throne room doors, warping the wood away from its hinges. The guards tried their hardest to keep them out, but one in particular, a demon, squeezed their head through the bulging slit at the bottom.

  “It’s me, Your Majesty!” it said. “Please let me in so we can discuss—well, this!”

  Phoenix was already freaked. What the heck was happening? Why was it happening? Regardless, he knew this demon could help.

  “Ease a little, men!” he shouted, and the guards held back slightly.

  Squeeeeeeeeeeeze. POP!

  “Holy hell,” the demon pointed over his shoulder at the door, flapping toward the throne, “I almost got flattened into a schnitzel back there!”

  “Chauncey, what is happening?” Phoenix asked. “Why are all those officials so angry?”

  Originally the Demon King’s family butler, Chauncey has since been incorporated into the Kingdom of Dawn’s cabinet. He is a triple-headed dog-demon (not to be confused with a demon-dog), although he usually only presents one head at a time. Each one shares a portion of his split brain, so they make up one being, taking up like 90% of his body mass regardless if they’re all visible or not. They are also hyper-realistic, commonly compared to a black Labrador ripped straight right out of a dog breeder’s catalog. Much different than how this world is rendered. His current head, reflective of his role, had a tuft of silver hair right on top, parted in the middle by a tiny comb. His body, on the other hand, can be best described as a set of five simple circles: a large one for his torso adorned with a contrasting black and white tux, and four smaller ones for his hands and feet (with some abstract semblance of white gloves on). Now, you may be wondering how he gets around without falling flat on his face. To answer that question: he mostly uses his tiny bat-like demon wings to get around. They’re powerful, despite his size. But because his center of mass is practically in the center of his head, his flying looks like he is being hanged, or better yet, he looks like a crane-game plushy being picked up by its neck and dragged along the x-axis to the prize retrieval box.

  “Um,” Chauncey staggered, “You see, Your Majesty… your father, the Hero-King, delegated a bunch of work to his servants and advisors.”

  “And?” Phoenix replied. “Kings do that all the time. What’s the issue?”

  “Well, those delegates delegated that work to people under them.”

  “Ugh,” Phoenix put his head on his head, “don’t tell me—”

  “And those delegates delegated to more delegates, and so on, until the delicate chain of delegates became more like a tangled delegate web. A great, complicated web of derivative delegation.”

  “But everything was going fine before my father left. Why is it such a problem now?”

  “Well yes, it was fine,” Chauncey nodded. “Somehow, it all worked. People understood how it all fit together. We had diagrams in every office, constantly referenced! But now that the Hero-King left on his journey, all those delegations became null and void. The chain-web was cut, meaning that all of that decision making and responsibility falls back onto you: the acting King.”

  “Wasn’t there a law to make sure that wouldn’t happen?”

  Chauncey’s head flicked into a more prim-and-proper version of itself (if that was even possible), adorned with thin, square-framed glasses, and a head full of slicked back salt and pepper hair. His outfit changed too, into a proper businessman suit reminiscent of modern day corporate boot-licking, taking notes from the idyllic courtroom standard. He was government, government indeed. All he needed was that iconic black leather briefcase.

  Pop.

  Oh, there it is, attached to his hand with a key-chain, or perhaps, handcuffs.

  “To clarify: do you mean the Safe Delegation Transference Law?” he inquired.

  “Yes!” Phoenix answered. “I saw it get delivered to my father two nights ago. What happened?”

  “He never signed it.”

  “WHAT? WHY NOT?”

  “I believe he said, ‘I’ll sign this after dinner,’ (that was a perfect impression, might I add) then he ate dinner and went straight to bed, promptly forgetting to sign it.”

  “Damn old age,” Phoenix sighed. “So, what do you suppose we do?”

  “First: sign the law.”

  “Do you have it?”

  “Yes,” Chauncey answered, opening the briefcase in front of him. A floating scroll poofed into existence amidst the royal red internals, along with a pen and a clipboard. They floated to Phoenix. “Sign here.”

  Phoenix signed Phoenix Solaris on the ‘X,’ then returned the scroll to Chauncey, who shut the briefcase.

  “Now what?”

  “Second: We call a cabinet meeting with all of the advisors. This is where we’ll set up a new series of delegates. And this time we’ll keep it simple.”

  “How so?”

  “This is the Simple Delegation Act,” Chauncey stated, holding up a new scroll to the Kingdom of Dawn’s Cabinet.

  “What does that entail?” asked the well-built human man with an unflattering blonde bowl cut.

  “Good question, Carl. It states that cabinet members CANNOT sub-delegate their work. That means all of you must DO YOUR JOBS with the resources that you have at your disposal. You CANNOT pawn it off to other, outside contractors.”

  “Oh,” muttered the pimple-filled elven woman in a basic, commoner’s dress.

  “Tch,” clicked the short, gnomish man with mutton chops and a dotted mushroom shaped lollipop sticking out from his mouth.

  “Fuuuuck,” groaned the man with wolf ears, a wolf tail, and a tropical shirt, slamming his face into the table. He literally just looks like a dude with accessories on; but they are all very much a part of his body. Well, except for the clothes.

  “Soccccciety,” muttered the lizard-woman with a gravely voice. Yeah, a full blown lizard-person. Think of ‘that’ race from ‘that’ video game series that worships a sentient tree. Think of how, despite the evolutionary inconsistencies with humanoids in this world, it all just works. Besides, if people like that wolf guy exist in this world, don’t you think cat people would exist too? Furthermore, if there’s cat people, then that surely means there’s cat girls too, right? And supposing that they exist, unneeded (or absolutely needed) fanservice must exist too! And if there’s fanservice that means money. All I’m saying is: there were only two reasons why our esteemed creator made this choice. A: for money. And B: for fanart. But we all know you readers out there will make interesting fanart no matter what the subject is. Revolting. Utterly revolting. So, our creator hereby gives you permission to create interesting fanart of any characters over eighteen (by create, they mean CREATE; draw, paint, whatever; just not AI-PROMPT). You can also create normal fanart of any character. BUT, if you create interesting fanart of any character under eighteen, the creator hereby revokes your fanart creation privileges. If your neurons aren’t frayed (which, to be honest, they probably are) you should know which characters are of-age. That might be giving some of you too much credit though, so let me lay it out for you: everybody but Ash, Vala, Flint, and Hess are fair game. Cute fanart of the young ones? Okay! Horny fanart of them? [Enter favorite shonen protagonist and/or spider-themed superhero here] would be disappointed in you. Simply put: get help, or get arrested. Either way, get outta here.

  “Go ahead and sign it, Your Majesty,” Chauncey said, lowering the scroll in front of him.

  Phoenix quickly read through the contents of the bill, nodded, then put the pen to the paper. In a latch ditch effort, the others slid across the table to air their grievances in his face.

  “No-no-no-no-no!” screamed the buff man.

  “Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait!” the elven woman anxiously wiggled her hands.

  “PleaseYourMajestyanythingbutthat!” the wolf man pleaded.

  “Honestly, Your Majesty!” the mutton-chop gnome hopped between each of his stubby legs.

  “SSSSSSShit,” muttered the lizard-woman, arms crossed.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, ffffffwwwwwwwwip!

  Phoenix wrote his signature, finishing it off with a dramatic release as if he had just parried a blow with a sword.

  “AWWWWWWWWWWWWW,” the advisors collapsed onto the table, then crawled back into their seats.

  “Yes, yes, ‘awww,’” Phoenix sighed. “Honestly, for top advisors, you’re all pretty lazy.”

  “That’s a compliment in my field, sire,” said the wolf man, his neck bent backwards over his chair. “The smartest people are usually the laziest.”

  Phoenix stared at him, then continued, “Anyway, since we are all here, and I’ve really only met one of you; General,” he exchanged nods with the gnome, “why don’t we all introduce ourselves?”

  “An ice breaker, sire?” remarked the wolf man. “Fine, I’ll go first: I’m the Science Advisor and Head of the Technology Department, Snash Gargler. As per my title, I like working with tech. I’m the best at M?!”

  “M??” Phoenix repeated.

  “The M? coding language. Used in our magiputers?”

  “...”

  “The uh—orbs? Your Majesty?”

  “Oh,” Phoenix paused. “Those aren’t magic?”

  “It depends on the orb you get. Some are used for divination and scrying magic, others are just gutted and stuffed with magiputer parts, using the surface as a monitor or projector. I mean magic still powers ‘em, but the mechanism of how it all works is mostly tech, even if those circuits are just magic rocks, hm…” Snash trailed off, reevaluating his whole field.

  “Interesting. Okay, who’s next?” Phoenix pointed at the buff dude. “How about you?”

  “I’m Testo Steronè,” he answered, flexing his biceps. “I’m the Magic Advisor and the Head of the Magic 9 here in the Kingdom of Dawn.”

  “You’re the Magic Advisor?” Phoenix raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s right, sire!” he responded, touting his traps. “Is there a problem?”

  “I just thought you’d be more,” he slid his hands down a thin imaginary tube in front of him, “lanky, that’s all.”

  “Ha!” Testo faced him. “Yeah, well, I’m the outlier of our group. The rest of the 9 are skinny little noodley-wimps!”

  “What’s your magic, then?”

  Testo flexed an M into existence on his right pec, “Muscle,” and another on his left, “magic, sire.”

  “Muscle magic eh? I guess that makes sense.” Phoenix turned to the group. “How about you go, General?”

  “Certainly, Command—I mean, King Phoenix,” the gnome saluted with a high pitched, gruff voice. “General Agaricus C. Whittler, Military Advisor. I’m knowledgeable on military tactics, aggressive and defensive planning, wartime strategy; anything to protect our Kingdom, Your Majesty.”

  “Thank you, General,” Phoenix nodded for the somebody else in the group to continue, so the lizard-lady spoke up.

  “You may call me Angelina Egg, sssire, I’m the sssocial advisor. Anything related to sssocial policy, citizen insssights, or if you jussst need help writing a ssspeach, I’ll be happy to provide counsssel.”

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  “I see. That just leaves us with two more people, then. What about you, Miss--in the back?"

  The plain looking elf spoke up, “Oh, sorry, Your Majesty. I’m Basil Birchtree, the Economic Advisor and Head of the Golden Hour Treasury. I handle all your financial needs: money, trade agreements, taxes, the IMM, MagiNet banking, the royal family’s pocket books, money; anything of that nature.”

  “You said ‘money’ twice.”

  “I did? I apologize, sire. It’s a nasty habit, haha. I just love talking about money.” Suddenly, her face scrunched up, aged 2000 years, and her voice took on a dark tone that is a testament to all who’ve been corrupted by greed. “MONEY.”

  Everybody scooted five-feet away from the elf of avarice.

  “Sorry,” she looked down in shame, back to normal. “I’m seeking psychological help.”

  “Good,” huffed the gnome.

  “Well,” Phoenix clapped his hands together in an effort to regain everyone’s attention. “Chauncey! How about you reintroduce yourself to the others.”

  “Certainly, Your Majesty.” He turned to the table and bowed. “I’m Chauncey Cerbia Berethralomew [sic]. Each of my heads serve a function. The current head that you see before you is the Kingdom’s Administrative and Diplomatic Advisor; proficient in the Kingdom’s laws, structure, and foreign policy.” His head shifted to another with a jester’s hat, buck-teeth, and polka-dotted clothing reminiscent of a floor-based contortionist love-game. “Next is the Jester!” His voice was stupidly round, as if he was constantly in the middle of swallowing a frog. “I crack jokes jest in case anybody finds themselves a little down, with a frown, with their head stuck under a fancy-heavy crown! Ha-HA-ha!” His head switched again. “And last is the Butler. You could say this is my ‘default’ head. Housekeeper, servant, and event-planning extraordinaire. Taking both the professionalism of my legal side with a slight pinch of comedy from my silly side.” He returned to speaking legalese. “That should cease our introductions, sire. It would be wise if we got to the task at hand?”

  “Right,” Phoenix nodded. “So continuing where we left off with the Simple Delegation Act. All of you now understand that you must work within the confines of your department, correct?”

  “Oh, ya!”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  “Unfortunately…”

  “Money, I mean—yes.”

  “Absssolutely.”

  “If I may interrupt, Your Majesty?” asked Chauncey.

  “Go right ahead,” he gave his permission.

  “Ahem. I’m sure there will be cases in the future where you’ll need to work with multiple departments. If that’s the case, then you are to simply notify me through MagiMail and I’ll schedule a meeting time with the relevant people.”

  The room nodded.

  “I also ask that you reign-in anybody that you’ve sub-delegated. Permanently hire them, if that’s within your budget, otherwise break the contract. We have plenty of money to spare, so if they ask for any compensation, notify me and I’ll handle it. We don’t want to make enemies. The main problem we have is communication. By detangling this web we made for ourselves, the government, and by extension the people, will become more efficient.”

  The room groaned, but ultimately accepted this course of action.

  “Okay, so that leads us to our final topic of today: does anybody have pressing matters which require His Majesty’s opinion?”

  Every advisor raised their hands and wiggled them like a bunch of know-it-alls at a trivia night. Phoenix and Chauncey looked at each other, unsurprised.

  “Let’s have lunch first,” the Phoenix declared.

  Everybody nodded.

  Castle del Sol backyard. Midday. Orange daisies and crimson orchids line the slightly-mossy pale brick path to the birchwood gazebo overlooking the sea; private beach included. Gwen Solaris is currently painting her newest fashion statement: a ball gown, layered like a flame from an oxymoronic cool blue, to a blinding white, then to a sunflower yellow, and finally to a cheesy corn chip orangish-red. Each layer was distinct. Quantized. Was it truly depicting a flame, or was it secretly a summer-time rocket pop? Regardless, Gwen had the ability to juggle both painting and parenting, unlike our ADHD-ladened creator (not to say that they have any kids in the first place, what a loner.)

  Hey!

  Ash, Vala, Flint, and Hess were all directly in Gwen’s view, below. They were play-fighting with swords and magic on the beach. Yes, real swords and real magic, but they were the grand sons and daughters of the greatest hero and demon king that have ever lived. They weren’t going to kill anything, except for the local wildlife that were unlucky enough to find themselves in the line of fire. Not on purpose though, on accident. Aurora and Phoenix were too busy managing their sides of the kingdom to watch the kids. And who even knew where Umbrak was at the moment?

  “Vala! Back me up!” Ash yelled to her.

  “Okay!” She sprouted her wings and picked him up. Suddenly a blue-fire bolt attacked them from a shadow, and she barely dodged it with a “WOAH!”

  The ranged attack came from Hess, the half-demon girl with blue-flame bangs covering her eyes. She had control over her shadow, and any others it could touch, allowing for ranged attacks from multiple angles.

  “Nice one Hess!” congratulated Flint. He looked similar to Ash, but his slits were an icy blue. He had no fang either. And his appendages, while seemingly solid, almost gave off an aura of smoke.

  “Launch me!” Ash commanded his sister.

  “Mm!” she nodded, then let go of him and flapped her wings hard, really hard, enough to break the sound barrier and shoot her brother like a bullet. Ash’s throat began to glow a magmatic red, and soon lava spewed out of his mouth, creating a sludgy line of napalm that his cousins had to dodge away from. A drip of it managed to touch Hess, taking her out of the game, but not before firing another ball of blue-flame at Vala, hitting her wing and knocking her out of the game too.

  After landing, spewing sand everywhere like pyroclast, Ash produced his sword, engulfing it in his lava-breath. Flint met him with his own. The line of melted rock glassed the sand underneath it, acting as a DMZ between the two cousins. And, as their sisters looked on in excitement, they charged at each other and jumped, readying their final strike. Mid-air, Ash pumped more heat into his scorching sword and Flint turned his shadowy sword invisible.

  SHINK!

  Both boys landed on opposite sides of the lava. For a brief moment, Hess and Vala wondered who the winner was. But they were soon answered, as Ash’s shirt was sliced into pieces, leaving him in his swimming trunks.

  “Bah-ha-ha-ha!” Flint pointed and laughed, but Ash just smirked as he watched his cousin’s shirt slowly disintegrate into embers. “Bah-ha-ha--aw man!”

  “It’s a tie!” Vala yelled.

  “Dammit!” Both boys kicked the sand, disappointed. And once they were over it, they smiled at each other. They had fun. Everyone had fun.

  “Language boys!” Gwen politely yelled from the gazebo, Gia standing politely next to her. “Okay that’s enough play-fighting everyone! Why don’t you come up for lunch?”

  “We’re not hungry!” Ash yelled back.

  Grumble, grumble.

  “Dude, stop lying,” Flint looked at him. “We’ll be right there, Auntie Gwen!”

  CHOMP, MUNCH, CHEW, GULP.

  The cousins mowed down their mountain of hell-fish, cheddar, and mayo sandwiches while Gwen and Gia politely finished their single servings. They all sat on a picnic cloth, including Gia.

  “BELCH!” Vala burped. “Oh ‘scuse me.”

  “Nice one Sis!” Ash tapped his tummy. “FFFFLBLBLBLBLB!” A bit of flame protruded out his mouth.

  “BUR—” Flint disappeared mid-belch, then reappeared a few moments later.

  「こんなものを翻訳するなんて、お前は馬鹿だ。」

  “Dang it,” Hess murmured, in the middle of playing a game on her Helltendo Hotswap?.

  “What are you playing, Hess?” Gwen wondered.

  “Ummmm, Flame Seal: Four Quadrants. It’s a tactics game.”

  “What’s it about?” Vala scooched over to look.

  “You play as an instructor on a sci-fi space station. In the first half of the game, you get to teach one of four quadrants, improving their capabilities in battle. But in the second half, there is a time-skip. A civil war starts over air-supply, and the side you pick depends on the quadrant you taught. It’s really hard though, because once you lose one of your units they’re gone forever. And normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but since you’ve taught them, you’ve got to know them through ‘supports,’ and can even marry them in the end.”

  “Wai-wai-wai-wai-wait,” Gwen leaned over. “Aren’t you their instructor? Isn’t that… grooming?”

  “What’s grooming?” asked Vala, innocently. Gia hurried over and covered her ears.

  “How old is your character compared to the students?” Ash inquired.

  “Um, the oldest student is the same age as the player, I believe,” Hess answered.

  “That’s still messed up,” Flint remarked.

  “Yeah, I don’t know if I like that Hess,” Gwen raised an eyebrow.

  Hess started sweating bullets, “Um… um… Oh look, the player character died! Oh nooooo!” She took the game cart out of its slot and threw it. The rest of the family watched its shadow slide into to the water, but she had tricked them. It was just a shadow. She stealthily pocketed the cartridge. “Anyway, why don’t we—look at the clouds!” Then she laid against the red and white checkerboard cloth and pointed at the first thing she saw in the sky. “Hey, doesn’t that one look like a cotton ball!”

  Yes Hess, that’s what we in the cloud creation business call: a cloud.

  “Yeah, you’re right!” Flint agreed.

  Kids are stupid.

  “Ooo! That one looks like grandpa!” Vala pointed.

  “Which one?” Ash wondered.

  “That one! Next to the ice cream looking one.”

  “Oh, I see it! Is that supposed to be his beard? And that one, his wheel chair?”

  “Yup!”

  Remarkably, this cloud did look strikingly like Hero-King Solaris. I mean, if you squinted, it was almost as if he was watching his family from above. Hyper detailed. His wrinkles were even present. Wow. Even the crusty boogers in his nose were there.

  “Guys! Guys!” Flint shouted. “Doesn’t that one look like a dragon?”

  “Uh Flint,” Gwen replied. “I’m pretty sure that is a dragon.”

  Everybody watched a black dragon fly above their heads to the southern mountain range.

  Interim Demon King Aurora sat on the hell throne, in the hellish throne room, inside the hellish volcano, located within the New Mallen region (which might as well be labeled ‘Hell’) and yawned… hellily, scratching her boob which itched like hell.

  “Guhhhhh, nothing to do!” she complained out loud. Her voice echoed across the basalt throne room, lava providing the ambient light behind magically tempered glass. The dark knights stood perfectly still by the lava wall entrance, silent.

  “Your Majesty—”

  “Huh?” Aurora turned to the voice. “Whassup, Cat?”

  Cat was short for Catherine. A proper name for a cat-demon. But unlike Chauncey, she looked like a normal humanoid with cat ears, eyes, fangs, and a tail (See? I told you cat-girls existed). She didn’t have those giant paws, however, those were stupid. No, just sharp, retractable fingernails. Her silver hair was fashioned into an A-line bob; sleek, reaching just below the chin. She looked serious, or maybe just tired, but she wasn’t emotionless. She fit her business suit well. Tasteful. A prime candidate for a salary worker romance story with a creature from another world. But she wasn’t an office worker, she was the Demon King’s sole advisor.

  “You have a challenger for the throne,” she stated.

  “Oh, good!” Aurora perked up. “Let them in!”

  DINK, DINK!

  The dark knights tapped the ground with the bottom of their spears, and once the echo subsided, the lava wall parted to reveal the path to the shallower parts of the castle. In walked a cloaked, humanoid demon man. The wall closed behind him.

  “Who are you?” Aurora asked.

  “I am the Cage Hand demon, and I wish to challenge you for the throne, Your Majesty!” he answered.

  “Your legal name?” Cat interrupted, holding a clipboard and a pen.

  “Oh, um, George.”

  “Very well, I accept your challenge, Cage Hand!” the Demon King proclaimed. “Prepare yourself, and once you are ready, my advisor here will begin the countdown.”

  Cage Hand nodded, then unbuttoned his cloak and threw it away. Underneath it was his bare torso; a rib cage made from hands. He was a scorched man, like charcoal. Twiggy, with no meat. Dark bone. He nodded to Cat and she began counting with her hand raised in the air.

  “Three!”

  “I have plenty of hands,” Cage Hand thought, “I’ll be able to block any blow!”

  “Two!”

  “And once she closes in, I can capture her with them and crush her!”

  “One!”

  “When I’m Demon King, I’ll! I’ll! Wait… why am I even doing this again?”

  “Begin!” Cat sliced her hand down.

  Immediately, Aurora nonchalantly whipped her index finger. And without time to even process it, Cage Hand’s hands grabbed both sides of his head and—

  CRICK!

  He was dead. Crumpled onto the floor like trash. Never stood a chance. The silent guards looked at each other and thought him pathetic.

  “Your Majesty…” Cat looked at her, judgmentally.

  “What?” Aurora replied. “It was funny!”

  “Give him a fair chance, otherwise nobody will want to challenge you. Then you’ll get even more bored!”

  “Oh fine, you’re right. Revive him.”

  Cat walked over and cast some blue magic on the lifeless body. It de-crumpled and stood back up.

  !KCIRC

  The neck twisted back to normal and the arms settled back into cage-position, ready to fight once more. Cat returned to her spot next to Aurora and snapped her fingers.

  “HUUUUUU!” Cage Hand drew a deep breath. “What just happened? All of a sudden there was black; non-existence. But weirdly I felt everything, everything around me and—”

  “We had a power outage,” Cat interrupted. “The lava generator stopped working. Pay it no mind, George.”

  “Okay… okay,” he calmed down.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded.

  “Three, two, one, begin!” Cat sliced the air, yet again.

  Cage Hand took a defensive stance as Aurora removed a vial of red liquid from her pocket and smashed it against the ground. From its deep color, it was most likely blood. The pool began to rise and coagulate around her hands, transforming into a pair of reinforced crimson gloves.

  “Ready for me?” she asked him.

  “Ready!”

  “Alright!” she smirked, and zoomed to his position.

  If it wasn’t for his many hands, Cage Hand wouldn’t have blocked the first punch. Demon King Aurora was fast, but now that he was locked-in, he was able to block her repetitive strikes at different parts of his body.

  PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH!

  BLOCK! BLOCK! BLOCK! BLOCK!

  “This isn’t too bad,” he thought.

  PUNCH, PUNCH, PUNCH, PUNCH!

  BLOCK, BLOCK, BLOCK, BLOCK!

  “Um… is she getting faster?”

  Slowly, but surely, Aurora's hands were turning into a blur.

  PUNCH-PUNCH, PUNCH-PUNCH!

  BLOCK-BLOCK, BLOCK-BLOCK!

  “Oh no.”

  PUNCH-PUNCH-PUNCH-PUNCH!

  BLOCK-BLOCK-BLOCK-SMACK!

  He got hit.

  WHAM!

  And again.

  BONK-WABAM!

  And again and again. But oh good, she jumped back, enough for him to catch his breath.

  “Prepare yourself!” Aurora yelled, channeling all of her blood into one giant fist. “Let’s see you block this!”

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Cage Hand layered all of his hands in front of his chest.

  “Here I come!” Aurora zoomed forward like last time, her big bloody fist hitting Cage Hand exactly where he wanted. But it was powerful, oh so powerful. He was getting pushed back, straight toward the lava wall!

  “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” he said, worried. He started to regain his stability and slow down. And just before his withered charcoal butt graced the lava, he stopped. “Whew!”

  “Impressive,” Aurora smiled. “But who said the attack was over?”

  “Huh?”

  SHINK! CRACK! SNAP!

  Aurora’s bloody fist turned into a bloody spike, piercing all of Cage Hand’s hands like a knife on a ransom note, snapping his spinal column in the process.

  “GLUBGLUBGLUB…”

  Demon blood began flooding Cage Hand's mouth, and sensing his suffering, Aurora removed her fist and kicked him into the lava. It slowly slurped around him, burping sulfur.

  Cat crossed off Cage Hand's name from the clipboard, “Be proud, Cage Hand George, the Demon King herself has granted you a free burial, quickly ending your suffering.” She removed the paper and stuffed it into a tiny message capsule, then snapped her fingers again, summoning a demon carrier pigeon. “Take this to his folks. It’s better if they’re notified by paper than through MagiMail.” She placed it in its necklace’s loop and it flew into a pipe nearby.

  “Another one down,” Aurora sighed. “Cat, remind me why we don’t just keep on reviving challengers for fun?”

  “Mental instability for one.”

  “Yeah, I guess he was already freaking out the first time.”

  “Plus you have to give others a fair challenge.”

  Aurora opened her mouth—

  “We only revived him because you didn’t give him a fair challenge,” Cat said.

  Aurora closed her mouth.

  Might makes right. That’s what it means to be a demon. That’s what it means to run a demon kingdom. It’s hard-coded into their DemoNA. It’s the reason why Aurora only needs one advisor. Every solution is violence i.e. violence is the solution. The appropriate level of violence imparts an appropriate level of respect. The first battle was funny, yes, but disrespectful. The second battle was eh, good enough. But because Aurora is the strongest person in New Mal at the moment, and violence fixes all problems, there’s practically no challenge to be had. So paradoxically, the absence of challenge is the challenge for Aurora, opposite of her brother. Which one is worse? I believe the answer depends on the person.

  “What to do now…” Aurora sat back down on her throne. “Are there any more people wishing to challenge the throne today?”

  “No, not at the moment, Your Majesty.”

  “Then do I really have to sit here all day? What am I even sitting here for?”

  “For aura,” Cat stated.

  “Aura?” Aurora repeated.

  “Yes, projecting your power over others, so people know you are in rule.”

  “Oh to hell with this,” Aurora stood up and began walking to the back door. “I’m going to grab some grub and then play video games in my room.”

  “Your Majesty, wait!”

  “What?” she turned around.

  “How are we going to project your power?”

  “Um… uh… ah…” she tapped her foot in thought. “Shwoo… Oh! I know!”

  “Yes?”

  “You livestream on your off-time right, Cat?’

  “What?” she started sweating. “W-where did you hear that?”

  “Not important. Do you have a MagiCam?”

  “Um, yes?” she snapped one into her hands. “What do we need it for?”

  “I want you to record me sitting on the throne in a couple menacing poses, then loop the footage and ‘livestream’ it on Witch. We’ll put it on whenever I need a break.”

  “Do you think it would work?”

  “For the smart demons? No. For the dumb ones? Yes. But there’s a lot more dumb than smart, and the dumb can’t be convinced they’re wrong no matter how smart they think they are. The smart would simply do nothing because it’s too much of a hassle; their numbers can’t compete. It’s a smart plan, right?”

  “Forgive me, but I think that plan is really dumb, Your Majesty.”

  “Forgiven. But you’re right, it is dumb, isn’t it? No matter, we can just beat them into submission if they don’t comply.”

  Cat thought about it, then shrugged positively, concluding that line of reasoning was sound.

  “C’mon, let’s get this over with,” commanded Aurora, already on the throne with a deadpan stare.