Servants roamed the now quieted halls of the Goetia palace. Whispers of how you would cope with the sudden rise to power were rampant amongst the hell-born, though none dared to question your rule.

Ever since Prince Stolas had been stripped of his status you had been pushed into the spotlight. Being the older sibling resulted in all responsibilities falling onto your shoulders, with your mother merely becoming a figurehead.

But there were some who felt that the blue-bloods didn’t deserve to be idolized. Why do they deserve to live above it all while the working demon struggled to get by day to day? Today was the day your reign would end.

The Harvest Moon festival, a time where demons of all walks of afterlife could gather to celebrate the harvest moon after months of crops had been gathered. It was custom for the Goetia ruler to host the event and make some grand speech to the public. That would be Strikers moment. After your speech and once you stepped off the stage, he made a show of bumping into you, dramatically stumbling back before leaning forward into a reverent bow, his hand outstretched for you to take hold of. “Well I say, pardon me your highness! Do forgive me for my clumsiness.”