"Coup!"

The castle walls reverberated with a name, a title? A something! It was a cry echoing through the grand halls of Castle Ashgate okay. "Big brother!" It was the voice of the youngest member of the royal family, a girl known for her gentle whispers and soft giggles. But today, her usually calm demeanor had been replaced by a fierce urgency that sent shivers down the spines of the castle's inhabitants.

As she approached the grand staircase, she collided with a hurrying servant, a young boy with a tray of steaming tea cups. The murky green liquid sloshed over the delicate porcelain, staining her once pristine white dress.

"I-I'm so sorry, m'lady!" he stammered, eyes wide with fear.

The girl looked down at her stained dress, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face, but she quickly pushed it aside. "Move!" she said, her voice steady. The servant, eyes still wide, scurried away, tray abandoned on the marble floor. The warm tea left a sticky trail in its wake. The urgency in her voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual melodic tones that danced through the castle.

Ignoring the curious gazes that followed her, she sprinted down the corridor, her small feet slapping against the cold stone. The castle's grandeur felt eerily quiet, as if the very walls were holding their breath. She rounded a corner and her eyes fell upon the two massive oak doors that stood sentinel before the throne room. Her heart pounded in her chest, a wild drumbeat that seemed to match the rhythm of her racing thoughts.

With a strength fueled by desperation, she flung her body against the doors, her tiny frame seeming to shrink before the towering obstruction. Yet, they groaned and swung open with surprising ease, revealing the chamber within.

The room she found herself in was not what one would typically expect to find in the heart of a castle. It bore the undeniable scent of aged parchment and the faint scent of candle wax that clung to the air, hinting at the countless hours of study that had occurred here. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled to the brim with dusty tomes, scrolls, and ancient artifacts. The warm glow of candlelight flickered from the iron sconces, casting a serene ambiance that was almost at odds with the chaos outside. A large oak desk dominated the center of the room, cluttered with ink pots, quills, and half-read books scattered haphazardly across its surface.

"Big Brother!" The princess's voice pierced the silence, a desperate call to the figure seated at the massive window overlooking the verdant lands beyond. The man at the window didn't flinch; his eyes remained focused on the horizon, as if he could will peace to return through sheer force of gaze.

Her eyes took in the sight of him, dressed in a neat three-piece suit tailored from the finest fabrics the kingdom had to offer. The suit was a deep shade of black that complemented his piercing eyes and regal posture. His hair, a shade darker, was neatly combed back, not a strand out of place. A crimson cravat was tied around his neck, the fabric crisp and unblemished, a stark contrast to the chaos that had invaded their once orderly lives. He was a picture of calm amidst the storm, his hand resting gently on the book that hang from his grip, food for thought in the early hours of the day.

The girl took a tentative step into the room, the weight of her words pressing down on her shoulders like an invisible cloak. "y-you were right!" she stumbled, her voice shaking. "Minister Landrose... its happening right now."

Her brother, the prince, turned slowly from the window. His gaze fell upon her stained dress and he remained silent, his expression unreadable. She looked down at herself, the green tea a stark reminder of the urgency of her mission. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, not from embarrassment but from the weight of her words, but also, maybe, yeah, its definitely embarrassment...

The princess took a deep, shaky breath and patted her stomach, where the warmth of the spilled tea had soaked through. She felt the dampness against her skin, the fabric sticking uncomfortably. She glanced at the prince, expecting a reaction, but his gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "I guess that's... checkmate then," he murmured, keeping his eyes averted.

Meanwhile, in the throne room below, a group of knights marched in precise formation. Their gleaming armor echoed with each step, their heavy boots thudding against the cold stone floor. The room was vast and high-ceilinged, with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of valor and victory adorning the walls. The thrones of the king and queen, tall and ornate, sat upon a raised dais at the far end, flanked by banners bearing the Ashgate crest: a black castle with horns curving above and below. The knights approached the throne, their steps measured and deliberate, as if they were walking to the rhythm of an unheard drum.

Upon the throne, a beast of myth and nightmare lounged, watching the proceedings with a gaze that was both dismissive and eerily focused. Its form was that of a man, but its features were twisted and monstrous, a blend of beast and human that seemed to be pulled from the darkest corners of legend. It had horns that seemed to stretch into infinity, pure white orbs for eyes, and a large scar that danced across its face cutting through a part of its beard and slicked back hair. The creature's eyes, a piercing empty white, remained fixed on the knights as they approached, one hand idly playing across the arm rest of the chained throne.

The knights, faces stoic, formed an aisle, allowing a single figure to step forth from their ranks. The man in the middle was tall and broad, with a flag draped over his broad shoulder. The fabric of the flag was a deep crimson, almost black in the flickering candlelight, with the symbol of the Ashgate family embroidered in gold thread. The man's steps were firm, his boots resonating with each step as he walked towards the throne. The crimson of the flag matched the crimson of the carpet, a stark reminder of the blood that had been shed for the sake of this moment.

As he approached, the beast's eyes narrowed, its gaze shifting from the horizon to the knight with the flag. The creature's fingers tightened around the armrest of the throne, the leather creaking beneath its grip.

"What is this about?" the creature spoke, its voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the castle. "Landrose?"

The knight with the flag, Sir Landrose, took a deep breath, his eyes not wavering from the creature's unsettling gaze. He swallowed hard, feeling his throat constrict as if it were trying to keep his words contained. Then, to his absolute horror, he felt a hiccup bubble up from within him. It was a small, pathetic sound, one that seemed to mock the gravity of the situation. The room held its breath, the air thick with tension. The hiccup grew, and with it, a wild laugh that started in his belly and shot out of his mouth, unbidden.

"ha-hahaha," Landrose laughed awkwardly, the sound bouncing off the cold, stone walls of the throne room.

The beast on the throne leaned forward, unamused with the whole display.

Still chuckling, Landrose took another step closer, the crimson fabric of the flag fluttering slightly as he did. He paused, took a deep breath to steady himself, and met the creature's gaze. "Don't tell me you don't know," he said, his laughter subsiding into a solemn tone. "Demon-lord supreme, first of his name, 'Xhaka Rov'."

The beast that sat upon the throne was known across the lands as Xhaka Rov, the demon-lord supreme, a creature feared by many and revered by few. His reign over the demon realm was absolute, his power unrivaled, and his cunning legendary. His horns, which stretched like ivory spears towards the heavens, were said to be forged from the bones of ancient gods, a symbol of his dominion over all things malevolent. The scar on his face, a jagged line that sliced through his beard, was a testament to battles won and enemies vanquished. His eyes, those piercing white orbs, held the secrets of the underworld and the dark desires of every creature that beheld them.

He was ruler over one of the two realms that dominated the Land of Per Sempre.

"T-This is a hostile takeover!" Landrose managed to say through his fits of laughter, the words sticking in his throat like bones in a poorly made stew. The demon-lord's expression remained unchanged, his gaze unyielding. The knights around him shifted uncomfortably, their armor clanking together like a cacophony of doubt.

"The realm," Landrose gasped, "is in dire straits. You've... you've not been keeping it up, Xhaka." He tried to keep his voice firm, but the chuckles kept bubbling up, like a pot of stew about to boil over. "We need... we need new leadership."

"No hard feelings, though," Landrose continued, his hiccups subsiding into a series of snorts that he tried to suppress. He held up his hands, palms out in a placating gesture. "We all know that ruling is a tough gig, but your, ah, unique style has left us... well, it's left us a bit... bruised." The knights around him looked at each other confusedly and shrugged.

"A-a new hero," Landrose began, his voice still unsteady with laughter. He took another step forward, the flag clutched in his hand. "You see, there's a... a new hero on the rise. One who can, uh, challenge your rule. And, well, we can't just have that, can we?" He took another deep breath, trying to compose himself. "It's nothing personal, Xhaka. We just, uh, think it's time for a change."

"I hope, i mean like really hope, that you can see past this, uh, misunderstanding, when we meet again in the underworld" Landrose said, his words tripping over themselves in a desperate attempt to convey his message. His eyes watered with the effort to keep his composure as the demon-lord's gaze bore into him, unrelenting. "Like really.." He forced a smile, his laughter now a distant memory. "Old pals reunited in the afterlife y'know?"

The demon-lord's eyes narrowed, the scar on his face twitching slightly, the only sign of his annoyance. "S-seize him!" Landros said, his voice a thunderclap in the silence. The knights looked to Landrose, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear. Landrose took a step back, the color draining from his face.

Xhaka Rov sighed, a sound like a mountain shifting, and leaned back into his throne. "I suppose this is what you meant,'" he said, his voice a low growl. "Right? Kasper.." The room remained still, the candles flickering in the sudden draft of his words.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind the throne, a book clutched in his hand. His eyes were typically as empty as always, his grip on the book loose enough to let it fall from his hand but not really. The tome was bound in leather that had seen better days, its pages yellowed and dog-eared.

-To Be Continued-