The demon abruptly roared with laughter, rudely cutting off the prince's forlorn words. “You were seriously going to kill yourself just so you don’t have to be bound to some bitch!?” He insensitively asked in amused astonishment.

Valarendrik scowled at him. “No, that is not why.” He bitterly scoffed. “My mother plans to kill me once I produce an heir with my new queen.” He angrily kicked a worthless stone over the ledge. “Then they’ll mercilessly crown my child with my fingerbones, possessing them with the dark spirit. And I’d rather die before condemning my offspring to such a cruel fate.”

“...Oh.” Azathoth was a bit taken aback by this, but not surprised either. He knew that the tenverians were ruthless monsters, unable to comprehend things like compassion or empathy. What did surprise him though, was that this prince was able to feel such things. The guy’s child didn’t even exist yet, and he was willing to through himself off of a cliff for it. That was completely unnatural for his species.

“Why does the queen want to kill you?” He asked, yet suspected that he already knew the answer. He tapped his chin while curiously peering into Valarendrik’s luminescent soul, studying it like an alien artifact. Because to him it practically was.

A shadow of shame fell over the sorrowful prince. He was embarrassed that he was a weakling with a mental infliction, unfit to be king. “I’d rather not say.” He shrugged, then turned away from the demon, thinking it best to not interact with him any longer. He just wanted to parish and be done with it. He didn’t need such a distraction.

“Oh come the fuck on! You have to tell me now!” Azathoth energetically kicked off of the rock, practically jumping in front of the prince. “It’s your freak soul, isn’t it?” He knowingly grinned in Valarendrik’s face.

Valarendrik shoved him away. “What? No. I don’t even know what the means.” He stalked back over to the ledge. “Now be gone with you, demon. Let me perish in solitude.” The crown began to twitch on his head but remained quiet.

Azathoth firmly grabbed his upper arm, demanding his attention. “I’m not going to let you foolishly throw yourself off of this worthless cliff until you tell me. And believe me, I have no problem jumping after you.” He flapped his wings once to further make his point.

“As the prince of Tenveriel, I order you to leave me be!” Valarendrik growled, annoyed by this otherworldly creature’s audacity.

“I’m not a tenverian.” Azathoth retorted, causing the prince to scowl in irritation at him. “Don’t jump.” He softly added. “Your soul is the only genuine light I’ve seen in the past two thousand years. You’re more special than you know.”

“It is my desire to sink beneath the waves.” Valarendrik wistfully replied though he was cold and guarded. Everyone in his life had malicious intent for him, wishing him only pain and suffering. Why should he think that this demon was any different?

“I’ll tell you what, I saw the look of excitement in your eyes when I mentioned Hell. Tell me why the queen wants you dead, and I’ll tell you all about the living worlds.” A few wispy strands of the clever demon’s hair playfully danced across his slyly smiling face.

Valarendrik furrowed his brows and looked up towards the sky. It was heavy and black like his misery. A swirling void where all starlight had seemingly passed away. Yet, he now knew that there were things beyond its suffocating clouds of darkness. And so, he considered the demon’s tempting offer. “Alright. I’ll agree to your terms.” He surmised that he could always jump later, and pulled his arm out of the demon’s grasp.

Little pebbles crunched beneath his boots, as he took a few steps away from the ledge with a downcast gaze, dreading his next words. “I’m a weakling. I have two marks of power, and yet my shadows never fully developed. I also have an accursed mental infliction which makes me unfit to ever become a true king. That is why she wishes me dead.” His deep voice plaintively mumbled.

The demon carefully considered what the prince had said. “That’s a bunch of rubbish.”

Valarendrik turned to face him, as Azathoth put a clawed hand on his shoulder. “It’s not rubbish. It’s the truth.” He insisted. The wind whipped through their hair, and some godawful abyssal beast screeched in the distance.

“Nope, it’s definitely rubbish. You don’t have a mental infliction. You have a unique and more evolved soul. In fact, I’ve never seen anything quite like it, especially not in a tenverian. You may be a weakling, but you’re also gifted.” Although the demon could see the prince’s soul, he was ignorant of the magic used to weaken the prince’s shadows. “I think that you should say ‘fuck it’ and leave this godawful place once and for all!”

Valarendrik raised a curious brow. “What exactly are you saying?” The idea of leaving Tenveriel greatly intrigued the prince, though he didn’t dare allow any rays of hope to slip into his heart.

“I’m saying, flee the kingdom, and become a wanderer like me.” Azathoth pointed to himself with his thumb, then he roughly placed an arm across Valarendrik’s shoulders, jarring the prince. “Just think about it. We could go on all sorts of adventures together, kill some things, and I don’t know, maybe even just hang out from time to time.” He excitedly waved a hand out in front of them. “I don’t doubt that you have a wonderful personality hidden beneath that stony exterior of yours, and once it’s cracked, we’ll become the best of buds!”

The demon was correct. The prince did in fact have a wonderful personality hidden within him. It was like a tiny seed ready to sprout and push its way up through the rocky blackened soil, where it would grow and blossom uninhibited.

“You will never be able to leave...” The crown mocked. “Don’t forget that the power of the queen’s orb keeps you chained here. But do forget about this abhorrent demon, and go back into the castle. There is no other good option for you.” The crown had remained silent in hopes that this demon would talk the prince out of his suicidal intentions, but now it felt threatened by the horned beast.

Valarendrik frowned. Once again, the crown was right. “I... I cannot leave.” He reluctantly said. “I wish that I could, I truly do, but the queen keeps me imprisoned here using her ophidian orb of power. As long as she has it, I’m too weak to go against her.” His deep voice was soft and hopeless sounding.

The demon laughed. “Then let’s steal the orb!” He mischievously suggested with a grin. “That bony old bitch will never see it coming. And just imagine how gloriously pissed off she’ll be!” He beamed with excitement.

“That’s impossible, it’s heavily-.”

“Stop being such a negative nancy. It is possible, and I’m going to help you do it!” Azathoth’s clawed finger poked at Valarendrik’s chest. “Belzar, get back over here!” He hollered over to his little wolf who had wandered off and was busily sniffing some apparently very interesting rocks. The demon was very protective of his puppy.

“It’s inside of the queen's private study, which is heavily guarded. We won’t even be able to get near it.” Valarendrik held his palm up while shaking his head, trying to explain how impossible such a task would be.

“Well, good thing I can teleport.” Azathoth enthusiastically grabbed both of Valarendrik’s shoulders, then black mist surrounded them.

They instantly reappeared in the queen’s private study, right in front of the plinth which held the orb. Belzar poofed in beside them. The room was incredibly dark and macabre, with ancient books and magical trinkets littered all about. Unfortunate creatures wailed and hissed, imprisoned in small cages for cruel experiments. The orb rested in the center of a crimson pillow on top of the plinth. It seemed to glimmer with darkness as if it were alive and watching them.

Valarendrik looked around in startlement, befuddled by their sudden change of location. “What the!? How did you do that!?” He asked in both awe and disbelief.

“I’m a demon. I can do a lot of stuff.” Azathoth mischievously gestured towards the orb. “Now then, there’s the orb, ripe for the taking.” He nudged the prince with his elbow.

Valarendrik shifted his wary crimson gaze from the demon’s maniacal face, and stared at the orbs entrancing image, seemingly becoming hypnotized by its strange power. Never before had he been granted access to it, and now there it was before him, unguarded like a sitting duck. He appeared stuck in a mystical trance, indifferent to the sounds of cute puppy growls and Azathoth’s irritated voice saying, “Hey, quit chewing on my boot... Stop that! Stop that right now!”

Thoughts of uncertainty and the fear of getting caught began to creep into his mind. Was he really about to do this? Could breaking Cerindier’s power over him really be so simple? Was this actually a chance to finally escape her oppressive clutches? It was all so sudden and seemed so surreal.

“Take it.” Azathoth eagerly danced his clawed fingers on the prince’s upper arm as he spoke into his ear, like a little devil whispering temptations upon his shoulder.

“Leave it be...” The crown hissed, contradicting the demon, yet only further encouraging the prince’s rebellion.

Valarendrik slowly reached up, ultimately deciding that the possibility of a better life outside of the kingdom was worth the risk. Anything to escape this miserable place. And if he was caught, what more could that rotten queen do to him that hadn’t already been done before?

The ashen skin of his clawed hand was a stark contrast to the orbs glossy obsidian depths, as he carefully gripped its cool smooth surface. Anxiety squeezed in his chest as he plucked it from the pillow, feeling its energies immediately shift. Its power coursed into his hand, filling the prince’s veins with a strange liquid warmth energy. He felt Cerindier’s malevolent enchantments over himself and the castle crumble and fall away. And for the first time in his life, he felt like he had control over his own destiny.

“Alright, I’ve got it.” Valarendrik stated, unable to pry his gaze away from the sphere’s hypnotizing void. “Shall we teleport away now?” He asked, still somewhat skeptical that the demon might up and betray him.

A wide wicked grin stretched across Azathoth’s face. He relished the chaos that this was going to bring Tenveriel. “Excellent.” He began to swiftly walk towards the door. “And no, if I teleported with that thing, every lloigor in the area would be swarming us like flies to fruit.” The devilish gleam in his eyes changed from wicked to downright bloodthirsty. “We’re going to slaughter our way out of here.”

Valarendrik stared at Azathoth with an odd feeling of appreciation. This random and bizarre creature was helping change his fate forever. He wondered what the demon would request in exchange for his help? And what if he couldn’t repay his debts to the demon?

“Wait!” He yelled, right as Azathoth was about to kick down the door. “You are helping me escape, but have not told me your price? What will you be requiring in return?”

The demon smiled almost sympathetically. “Just be my friend.”

Valarendrik was astounded by the demon’s terms, yet his soul sang with excitement, and for the first time ever, joy. “Thank you, my friend.” He awkwardly tried to smile back but wasn’t exactly sure how to do it. “My name is Valarendrik, by the way.”

Azathoth chuckled, amused by the prince’s dorkiness. “Alright Valarendrik, my friend, you can call me, Azathoth. Now, let’s go kill those guards!” He abruptly kicked down the door, startling the guards on the other side. With an ear-piercing demonic roar, he burst into the hallway and began a violent onslaught.

Valarendrik held the orb in his injured hand and one of his swords in the other. He ran out of the room to join Azathoth in killing the guards. They left a macabre trail of death in their wake, painting the walls and floors with black abyssal blood. Pained screams and dying gurgles filled the castle, as body parts and bloody armor were littered all around the ghastly halls.

Both otherworldly men were impressed with the other’s fighting abilities, and together they were like a whirlwind of destruction. Even little Belzar tried to help by attacking some of the already fallen men, earning words of praise from the demon such as, “That’s right, my boy, show no mercy!”

Meanwhile, The queen, Elder Graith, and Moryinia were all angrily waiting for Valarendrik in the sumptuous yet ghastly throne room. The three undead beings wore scowls on their ashen faces, matching the dark and ominous atmosphere of the place. Noble citizens, draped in ebony robes, were all lined along the main aisle, impatiently awaiting their tardy prince.

The queen’s heeled shoes clicked on the polished obsidian floor, as she restlessly paced back and forth. “Where the fuck is Valarendrik!?” She hissed, completely unaware that her son was now in the stables, soaked in the blood of her guards, and mounting his favorite steed to make his grand escape with the stolen orb.

Sagacor swiftly galloped out of the kingdom like a thunderbolt booming across the stormy skies, with Valarendrik ecstatically riding upon his corpsen back. Azathoth flew above and beside them, with a wide smile on his face. Belzar rested in his hand, with his tongue dopily hanging out. Valarendrik looked up at Azathoth with gratefulness blooming in his heart and excitedly smiled back. And together the two newly acquainted friends journeyed deep into the forsaken and shadow engulfed wilderness, where they had many abyssal adventures awaiting them.

When Cerindier learned of what the prince had done, her explosive fury rippled through the kingdom in waves of death. Tenverian blood flowed like rivers through the grim and grisly streets in order to appease her anger-fueled bloodlust. Not only had Valarendrik escaped without a trace, but he had also stolen the ophidian orb, reminding her that she was, in fact, the weakling. And killing peasants fed her precious illusion that she was powerful.

Now that the prince was no longer under their control, the queen and Elder Graith both greatly feared the possibility of Valarendrik’s shadows awakening. He was now a precarious threat to them.

One thing was certain, Prince Valarendrik had to die.