BadBoyHalo: The 808th Demon

-Chapter 11- King

The head Elder had sent his associate, #612, to check on the White Menace, who had been silent in his room since the incident. He had the conniption of the century, for no one could even try to top his fury, let alone attempt to calm it. But no matter how much of a tantrum he could throw, there was nothing that could be done.

612 stood at a door of loose planks wound with shriveled vines, rather easy to push open because of its crude hinges. It gave a cackled creak, and behold: a gloomy room with an even gloomier being. Contorted into a small ball, he breathed slowly but heavily upon the cot.

"Have you finished pouting yet?" he inquired, keeping his voice low and even. 807 jumped, seeming startled, and snarled back at him with a toss of his tongue around his teeth.

"Do you have any idea how horrible this is, Master?" He let his wings flair and veins bulge.

"I am well aware that the situation is unfortunate," the old demon replied.

"It is well beyond unfortunate, nasty hag!" 807 pushed off his cot. "My worthless excuse for a brother is in the Overworld, and he doesn't give a damn about what he's supposed to be doing!"

"I am aware of that too."

"So? It has been, oh I don't know, two centuries since the last Summoning? He is completely blowing it! My life is ruined all because he wants to play in the pansies with his panda instead!"

"Us Elders will try to figure something out."

"No!" 807 had enough. This was absolutely the last straw. That stupid brother of his was going to pay for what he had done. His beaded eyes began to wander, vigorously pulling together some kind of logical idea. "Let me take care of this. After all, he is my brother."

"And what are you planning to do?" 612 stared at the demon gone insane. A crazy grin spread across his face.

"Make me king." his command was soft and soaked in ill will. "I must contact the Fallen."

The Elder was taken aback. They hadn't bore a king in decades— for they didn't have the need for one. The Elders inherently replaced the role after no other king could be found all those years ago. And why did he need to contact the Fallen?

"How is being king going to help you? Do you even know what you're asking?"

"Just leave it to me, Master." 807 rested his hand upon the door, beginning to close it. "I know what I'm doing."

It had been a rather unusual few days— the Ten Demons of Old bickering amongst themselves and with the school board. The request was certainly a strange one, but all were without a doubt leery of it. What could 807 possibly be up to?

But it wasn't like they had any other choices. The supply of souls they had was rapidly falling, which was something that the fate of the Abyssians could not afford ignoring. He promised them that he would fix his brother's mistake, so if it meant that the White Menace was destined to be crowned, well...

What has to be done, has to be done.

It was time to take the crazy idea to the people, time to let them decide if they were on board, or if they were just as unsure. A large crowd had swarmed the entrance of the Shrine, and an uprising of curious clamor was tossed around as the Elders brought forth 807 to the stage.

"We have interesting news for you today," 612 began, his throat was tight and coarse. "Because of the recent 'accident' that had occurred during the Summoning, our wonderful Soul-Catcher has made a proposition to undo it."

The crowd was intrigued.

"As you all can see," he continued. "Our supply of souls has been plummeting for a score or two— no need for too much panic, but it is without a doubt a major concern."

All exchanged murmurs and apprehensive glances. 807 made his move and strode further out on the stage.

He ranted for a good while.

His tongue was a sly one, almost slithering around in a smug manner in his confident mouth. He took delight in his craftiness— his ability to sway the people into agreeing  to such an outlandish thing. How else could you get hundreds of Abyssians to crown someone on the spot? A brilliant choice of words— careful, selective language that's sure to get you anywhere. And maybe a little popularity helps, too... The beauty of it was that he wasn't feeding them complete lies, he kept his word on mending the problem at hand. He could have crossed his heart and hoped to die...

But being a king means you can do a lot.

Ehhh... but they didn't need to be reminded of that.

He finished speaking. Like a skillful fisherman he had reeled them in. He had persuaded them. A flood of cheers roared through the crowd in ecstatic approval. Even the Elders were surprised how supportive everyone was being. Sure, they were no stranger to 807 and knew of his excellent soul-catching abilities; but still, the feedback was a tad too impulsive.

His coronation was in three days.

Preparing for such an event sprung up so spontaneously on them was rather tolling; however those who pitched in only worked half-heartedly, since crowning someone like 807 is like handing over the world to a celebrity— an interesting idea, but not very practical. Even though most were supportive, they still had questions.

He was adorned with a 1,000 year old cloak, and it sure looked like it. It's frail material fluttered at his very breath, and stray threads would float aimlessly around him. The crown was rusty around the edges, and the jewels littering it had lost their luster. 807 was outfitted with probably the worst attire he had ever seen, at least for a king.

"Even a father would tell me to not go out like this..." he peered at himself in the mirror, looking for moth eggs to pick off.

"Well who said you had to be pretty?" chirped his tailor. "This isn't prom."

"I'm about to be the damn ruler of the Underlands, but hey at least it's not prom. Thanks, cretin," 807 huffed, blowing a bit of his wiry hair to the side.

"Don't get so worked up..." the tailor gulped. "I was just-"

"Yeah and I was just about to cut your ear off." 807 flung his arm at the tailor, and slashed his temple. Blood quickly trickled down his forehead, and that was all it took for him to flee in terror.

"Crybaby..." 807 licked his crimsoned fingers, for he never has tasted anything so good.

In the other room they had brought out the dusty, fifteen-foot chair out of the depths of archived treasures stuffed in the Shrine. It had been set before the Platform, facing the monstrous corridor to the main hallway. 807 plopped himself on the velvet seat, dangling his legs over one of the arms. 807 chuckled, for it was going to plan. Sliding down further into the chair, he let his inner thoughts stew.

He sat there smiling for a day and a half.