A/N: Written in 2 parts. Part I is all pre-game. Part II is in-game and post-game. No spoilers for games outside of Hour of Darkness in this chapter/part.
Instability
i: a falsis principiis proficisci
to set forth from false principles
a priori
Right before her child was born, her husband told her many things about the mental growth of demon children. There was so much to take in that she became bewildered, but she nodded and smiled anyways. He beamed and ranted excitedly. "A son," the man yelled through the halls of the castle when he finished giving her information for the moment. "A son!"
/
three
He hadn't gotten an inch bigger since the day he was born. Even though she was forewarned about this development, it was still a little frightening. According to her husband, his physical body was only about 10 days old by human standards. Still, her baby boy was too small. Krichevskoy said that the boy's wings were stunted, but demons found more ways than appendages to fly, so it was fine. His height, however, would be a constant point of amusement in the Netherworld for the next few centuries.
The strangest thing about her child (to her) was that despite the fact that he was still in diapers, he had learned to turn his babbles into words about a year ago, much like human two-year olds would have. Her baby could speak now, even if the words were garbled and amateurish. The Overlord insisted that he begin to learn manners and speech. Since he took that task on personally, she decided to speak to her baby, as she had often in the past three years, about love. Krichevskoy supported this decision. He said that in the world of demons, his subjects focused on money, ambition, deception, and the like. The man worked very hard at organizing the unruly bunch, trying to earn respect through his methods and not with his fists, unless the situation was absolutely dire. They both wanted their child to grow in a home filled with love, so that the boy could go out in the world as a kind-hearted demon.
The boy himself listened to hushed conversations between his parents in the middle of the night. He didn't understand everything; either because of his limited vocabulary, or because he couldn't hear them, but the sound of their voices often lulled him to sleep.
/
twenty
The boy's hair was still the same shocking blue when he was twenty years old (or, in human physiology, two-and-a-half-months). He was a very smart boy, but beyond that, he had a smart mouth. It was a huge contrast to the fact that he could hardly support his own weight on his wobbly, fat legs. His mother was very impressed with him anyways, hugging him close to her chest every time he did something worthy of praise. It turned out that being showered in affection made him gain an attitude. He blushed, stammered, and pounded his chubby little fists against his mother without much anger or force. Most of the time, his father was busy with work, so he was out and about in the Netherworld, spreading his influence. The boy sometimes quietly admitted that he didn't like that, and his mother saw her cute little boy's eyes fill with sadness. It hurt her heart, and she wanted to shield him from the world. Instead, she murmured that Krichevskoy was out trying to make the world a better place for his child. A rift began to grow between father and son that would only get wider with time. Despite her husband's best efforts, their child misunderstood him often. Loving his wife came naturally, but she was not a child, and she didn't need to see him often to know that he loved her.
The boy sneezed once before curling his little fists in her blouse, and she wiped his nose before assuring him that Daddy only left because the man loved him so much. The boy wasn't sure that he believed her.
/
twenty-five
Their child was ill. His mother knew that he had been prone to disease for years, and she felt guilty. She felt like the only reason his demon blood wasn't protecting him from illness was because of his human DNA. This fact alone nearly broke her heart, but she refused to despair. She talked to her husband often about the illness, and he assured her that he would find a cure, if he had to scour the Netherworld fifty times over to discover it. Both of them were panicked, especially because their kind, proud little boy sniffled, turned up his little button nose, and assured them that it was just a cold. They both knew him well enough to see the weakness in his small limbs, and the weariness in his wet eyes. Krichevskoy bundled his blue-haired boy in his arms and prayed to whoever might've been listening. The boy squirmed in his hold and murmured that demons weren't supposed to pray. His father didn't care.
His mother decided to sew a scarf for the boy, and while he was sleeping, she put it around his neck like a good luck charm. For good measure, she created it with magical thread, and cast several spells on it, wishing him the best of health.
/
twenty-six
The married couple was stressed beyond belief. Within the last year, they'd tried everything. They used natural remedies. They called shamans, monks, and mages. None of their magic and spells had any sort of influence. Research throughout the world told them that it was hopeless – only the bloodletting of a person who loved him could save him. Krichevskoy refused to acknowledge this as anything other than the very last resort. The boy's mother, deep in her heart, knew that this was going to be the path to save her son. She prepared for it mentally, trying to see the positive side of things within her fear. She and her husband spoke to Laharl in careful tones, but he knew as well as they did that he was dying. Somehow, the boy himself didn't seem very frightened. He smiled for the two of them, and it was all she needed to go through with her plans. She waited for Krichevskoy to go scouring the lands again so she could get ready. She sent her husband off with a kiss, and then made a mental checklist of things she needed to do.
The first matter of business was to speak to her son. She told him about love and happy memories. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that most women her age were watching their children become adults, and get married. If her boy were human, maybe he would be graduating from college. He would be as tall as his father. Daydreams are for cowards, she thought to herself with a small laugh.
"Laharl," She whispered gently. Her boy was breathing shallowly, and his blood red eyes were crusted, but he managed a shaky smile, for her. "You know how much I love you, right?"
"You only tell me every day," Laharl looked exhausted, even though all he was doing was speaking. His mother grabbed his tiny hand; he was disturbingly cold, and his fingers were shaking. She began to cry. "Stop that…" He pleaded. He was too weak to reach up with his fingers and wipe her tears, so he curled his scarf up to her face.
"I love you more than anything in the world." She whispered gently, breathing quietly on his cold fingers and letting the scarf catch her tears. It was something she said every night, so he didn't realize that this was her way of saying goodbye. She kissed him softly on the forehead and told him to rest, tucking the scarf back around his neck.
After leaving his chambers, where the boy slept in a skull-decorated crib, she went to the main hall and spoke to the woman in charge of the castle's hospital. "Will this really work?" His mother asked with determination in her eyes.
"Yes," The blonde healer nodded sadly. Many demons in the Netherworld, and the castle especially, thought the Queen was a strange person, but they liked her nonetheless. They would be sad to see her go. The healer demon gave the human woman what she had requested, and bid her farewell.
With this reassurance, the Queen turned back towards her child's chambers. She peeked at his face, and then hurried to her room to scribble the formulas and circles necessary to complete this ritual. The Queen had a sample of Laharl's blood from the nurse, and her life would be forfeit after she drained herself upon the magic circle, thus activating it. She boldly took the knife not only to the veins in her arms, but also to her neck, and choked in pain. As her consciousness faded, through a haze of adrenaline, blood, and panic, she remembered that Laharl's birthday was in a few weeks, and she had forgotten to tell him happy birthday. A sob turned into gurgles through blood. Her eyes, full of tears, stilled as she began to fade.
Her husband, that same evening, was the first to find her, and sobbed for hours. When he got a hold of himself, he rushed to clean her room and dispose of her mutilated body before their son could stumble upon the gruesome scene when he woke up.
The boy rose early, several days later, and found his father sitting at his desk in his room. The bags under his father's eyes were dark, and although the boy knew something was amiss, he was not quite sure why yet. "I feel excellent for the first time in years. Where is Mother?" His father looked startled to see his son looking up at him, those big red eyes full of innocent curiosity. Krichevskoy's heart immediately sank, and he tensed up involuntarily.
His voice was raspy. "Laharl…if I tell you something, can you promise me to listen very carefully, and maturely?"
"Of course," The boy's voice was sure and his gaze was steady, even though he was only an infant in body.
Krichevskoy told his son, in no uncertain terms, that his mother was dead. He assured the boy that his mother loved him very much, and that she would not have died if there were any other choice – it was the only way to save his life. He had to hold back his tears while he looked at the boy – he looked so much like her.
"Stop messing with me," Laharl's voice was small, and he bundled his small fists next to his side, scarf swishing at his back restlessly. "I thought you had found the cure. You gave your word that it wouldn't come to that!"
"I know, Laharl," His father whispered, his voice full of guilt and remorse. Tears were spilling down his face. "I'm so sorry."
"You think an apology is going to make everything alright?" The boy lashed out with a sudden anger. He'd never yelled so loudly before in his short life. "What the hell's the matter with you?!"
Krichevskoy wanted to say a lot of things in response, but his throat was blocked, and all he could manage was a weary response. "I can do nothing except apologize, my son."
"Don't bother," Laharl huffed, the scowl on his lips deeply ingrained. "I don't want your excuses." Upon seeing his son refuse to shed a tear of grief, Krichevskoy decided he would work twice as hard to make up for the loss of his wife. His first order of business was making sure that his son would not take the blame for his wife's death. His second was to raise Laharl into the fine, kind boy his mother would have wanted him to be.
/
two hundred and eight
Krichevskoy had never really had much control over his boy; his wife had been the only person in the castle that his child listened to with nothing more than a grumble. Since his wife's life-saving sacrifice, Laharl had become cold-hearted and downright cruel. His father's lips curled.
A real demon.
His boy required nearly constant supervision. Without a guard, or his father's watchful eyes, he was prone to wrathful fits for no good reason. Krichevskoy and the castle servants assumed it was his coping method to deal with the loss of his mother. Krichevskoy tried not to leave very often, so he could spend afternoons with Laharl, keep him calm, and teach him about the world, but sometimes skirmishes in the Netherworld called him away. These occurrences were few and far between, but Laharl managed to catch wind of them every time, and used these days to sneak out of castle. He would then beat up every demon that he thought was worthy of a challenge. Of course, he knew better than to let his father find out, so he spoke to the dimensional gatekeeper about keeping his excursions a secret. She was nervous, but complied anyways, blonde hair falling in her half-lidded eyes.
The prince always made sure to return before the king, and even played his dad's little games of 'father and son bonding' to throw him off of his scent, no matter how nauseated they made him. It was only a matter of time before he got caught, though.
The king had returned early after issuing a treaty between the two quarrelling parties, and was startled to find that no servant in the castle had any idea where the prince was. Eventually, he meandered to the common area where all the shops were. He'd pulled both the traditional gate's watchman and the dimensional gatekeeper from their posts to question them. Just when he was about to start inquiring about the prince, the blonde woman whispered, "I'm sorry, sir," and turned to open the gates, revealing the very boy the king was looking for.
He came face to face with his son, who looked terrible. His left eye was swollen and bruised, his chest was covered in open wounds, and the boy's first words upon his return were, "So, how much is it gonna cost me to get healed up?"
"Nothing," His father immediately said. "You're going to heal the hard way." Laharl didn't seem terribly surprised to see him there, and even remained silent during his annoying lecture. "Why are you doing all of this? I give you plenty of allowance, and violence isn't going to solve anything."
"I'm a demon," said the boy, deep red eyes filled with dark thoughts. "I don't understand why you're so bent on trying to get me to go against my nature! I'm angry, so I fight! I need money, so I steal it! No, what I don't understand is why you're so damn pleasant all the time!" The demons in the castle halted their breaths as Laharl's scarf swirled in his wake, and the boy disappeared into the shadows. Sure, they'd thought similar things once, but they respected their king now. Some of them wondered how the man was going to handle this situation with his young son.
Krichevskoy hadn't said anything in response because he couldn't think of anything to say.
The boy was right, after all.
Sure, the king had a head full of his own ideas of 'kindness' and 'respect' and 'loyalty', but he knew as well as Laharl did that problems were settled in the demon world with displays of wealth and power. That evening, after spending a long time thinking about such things, he went up to Laharl's room, ready to try to understand his son, before the boy slipped completely out of his influence.
When he knocked on Laharl's door, the boy didn't answer, so he spoke. "Laharl?" There was still no answer, so he opened the door gingerly. "Are you awake?"
"How can I sleep with all of your noise?" The boy grumbled, sharp eyes turning to his father. "What is it?"
His father remembered the promises he made to himself more than a century ago. He remembered that Laharl was just a boy – a boy with an abnormal heritage, a boy who did not have a mother, and a boy who didn't see eye-to-eye with his father. Underneath his machinations, he was still the quiet, intelligent, and caring boy his wife had lulled to sleep with stories of love and kindness. It was hard to see such things underneath the boy's legitimized anger. The boy was frustrated because he didn't understand why he and his father didn't agree on how to be a good demon. He was enraged because this world took his mother away before her time. He was infuriated because kindness and love had only made his life that much harder. Krichevskoy could not blame his son for his irritation.
"Laharl, why do you go out and fight those demons behind my back?" He wanted to understand, so that he could start to come to a compromise with his son.
"To get stronger, of course," Laharl's voice was haughty. "That's a stupid question."
His father laughed. "I suppose that's true." The admittance made the boy's eyes widen in shock. "Okay, I'll allow it, but try not to get carried away, alright?"
"I can do whatever I want. You can't stop me," Although his voice seemed confident, it sounded to his father like the boy desperately craved approval for his actions.
"Okay," Krichevskoy allowed. "So, what's the deal with the money?"
"I want to buy something!" Laharl snarled. "That's what you use money for, right? I could've stolen it, I suppose."
"But you didn't, because…?" His father was openly goading the boy, because he wanted to hear his 'reasons'. Easily rising to the provocation, his son puffed up and replied.
"I just wanted to spare the two noble demons from my wrath this time to make them recognize my greatness!" It was an excuse; they both knew it. The arrogance was true enough, though. Krichevskoy found his son's overconfidence equal parts amusing and worrisome.
"That's good." Even if it was an excuse, his boy was using his mind before picking fights. Noble demons were a little out of his league for the time being. He knew Laharl snuck behind his back because he didn't want his father to find out about his journeys and chide him, so he didn't ask why the boy had done that. Instead, he sighed warmly and pulled his child into his lap, in spite of the protests. "You're a good boy, Laharl."
"Stop that, you'll give me hives," He hissed lowly, glaring at his father again. "What're you playing at, old man?"
"You know, I love you very much, son," His throat felt dry, but his son needed to hear these words from him. "I know you're angry at the world – rightfully so – but I want you to understand something. Your anger alone won't change anything. Sometimes, kindness will show you things that you never thought were possible. I don't expect you to understand everything right now." Laharl was uncharacteristically quiet, so his father knew that he was listening. "I just want you to know that. Your mother…she would be so happy to see you so full of energy." Just bringing the woman up made both of them tense up, but the older male finished with a smile. "Do you want to be the overlord, Laharl?"
After a brief pause, his boy murmured. "Not if I have to be a wimp like you."
"Not at all!" His father grinned, ruffling the boy's hair and making him howl in frustration. "The overlord is the best demon in the Netherworld!" Laharl looked wary. "He's also the strongest demon," Krichevskoy said, sounding awfully proud of this admittance.
At that, his son's ears perked up, and his lips twitched. "Does that mean if I beat you, I'm the strongest demon in the Netherworld?"
His father was taken aback. "Well, yes…I suppose. But why would you need to beat me? You're the heir to the throne."
Laharl leapt off of his father's lap and grinned widely – it was the brightest smile he'd sported in more than a hundred years. "This is perfect! I'll defeat you, and then I'll be the strongest overlord in history!"
Krichevskoy couldn't help giggling when the boy stormed off, laughing heartily. They had come to a stranger compromise than he had planned on, but for the time being, it was enough.
/
four hundred and sixty-one
Laharl was bossing creatures around in the castle, to no one's surprise. The demons living there had long become used to his ways. He was making a name for himself as a bruiser among the lesser demons in surrounding villages, and his father was starting to feel like the boy could handle himself well enough, so he left the castle more often. This allowance gave the child more control over things at his home, or it should have, but instead, the boy got good at swindling others into doing things he didn't want to do.
Just when he was telling members of the council to change some law about funding, a strangely colored prinny snuck into the hearing hall. "What is it?" He barked, and the prinny startled. It didn't say anything, but handed him a small token. It was a ring forged with dragon's fire and the blood of royalty – his blood. He'd requested it be made years ago, but demons were lazy. He hadn't been expecting it to be ready for decades yet, so it came as a surprise that this weird prinny was handing it to him already. "You've fulfilled your duty. Well done. You're dismissed."
"And my pay?" It spoke strangely, too. His eyebrows rose.
"What about it?" He placed one bony hand on his hip, where his shorts were hanging on for dear life. It looked disappointed for a while, and he dug in his pockets. "I don't have any money on me." He'd deposited a handful of worthless trinkets in its' flippers. "You can have some of this junk."
The strange prinny looked bewildered, and continued to stare at him while he closed proceedings, the bill passing with difficulty and a few deaths. He wondered in the back of his mind why that prinny kept looking at him, but decided it wasn't worth his time to interrogate it.
/
five hundred and sixteen
His father had returned with a girl around his age, and he was appalled when the man explained how he had found her and brought her to the castle, so that she wouldn't starve.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The boy snarled. "Saving a demon – is there something the matter with your brain?"
"Now, now, Laharl, that's no way to speak to your new friend. I thought you said you didn't like your caretakers." Krichevskoy smiled warmly, reaching for his son and getting his hand burned by the boy's fire-covered scarf. "Ouch! You're getting better at controlling your magic. I saw you flying around by using that, too."
"Who cares about that – why'd you bring this girl here?!" Laharl growled, furrowing his brows.
"She's going to be your personal assistant. Aren't you happy, son?" He smirked a bit, finding all of this horribly amusing. "Such a cute girl is going to help you with royal affairs, day in and day out."
"I don't care how she looks, so long as she's competent," Laharl said, being completely honest. "So, who is this pathetic-looking girl, anyways?"
"You're so rude!" She finally spoke, stepping out from his father's shadow. "My name is Etna! I can't believe you're the king's son." In her mind, she thought the man had been far too kind in his descriptions of the brat.
"I bet she can't even fight," The boy snorted derisively, and was startled when a heavy fist hit him. "Ah ha," He smirked from the floor before pushing himself up and kicking her down in response. His father lifted him by his scarf after that, and glared at the boy.
"Stop assaulting our new helper." The king shook his head. "You're supposed to be nice to girls, Laharl."
"She punched me first!" He howled, burning his father again. "And she's supposed to work for me, isn't she?! Why didn't you train her first!?"
"Want me to punch you again, prince?" She smiled, cracking her knuckles.
Krichevskoy looked between the two of them and sniffled. "I'm glad the two of you are getting along so well."
"We don't get along at all!" They yelled in unison before glaring at each other.
Krichevskoy pulled Etna aside later, after Laharl had gone out in town to blow off steam. "I'm sorry he's so difficult," The man said sadly. "He really is a kind boy…he'd never admit it, though. I do hope that you can stay by his side. Please be a good friend to Laharl." He bowed his head deeply to the little girl, and she blushed scarlet.
"You're weird, mister," She shifted her gaze from his eyes. "How is that supposed to be kind? He's angry, and small, and…" Suddenly, she shut up, feeling like she understood that kid. "Kinda lonely looking."
"I know," The king said, eyes full of emotion. "I had hoped for years that he would find someone to be close to, but he's so afraid of getting close to others." He went on, and told her about the recently deceased queen. Etna said the woman had seemed eccentric, but nice enough. She was a little sad to hear she'd killed herself, even if it was to save that brat. "I hope you'll stay by his side, Etna."
"I'll…" She looked into his eyes, knowing that those tears were for the queen, and her heart panged, so she stammered eagerly. "I'll do my best, sir."
/
eight hundred and forty-five
Etna was looking for the prince, because he'd stolen her snacks. She'd tried his room, the main hall, and the king's office. The king was nowhere to be found either, but that was fine. Just when she was ready to send some prinnies to the nearest village to look for him, she spied a light from a dim hallway. It was a corridor where no one worked or lived, so it wasn't frequented often; still, something told her to check out the source of that light. Her instincts led her to a scene between the king and the prince, and she tried her best to make herself invisible so she could listen without getting caught spying on them.
"...and I already said that I don't see why that matters." The crass, brash tones of the prince met her pointed ears, and she immediately forgot about getting revenge for her stolen dessert. Geez, he's in some mood, she thought to herself silently.
"Why are you being so stubborn?" Etna could see the King's face – he didn't look particularly dignified at the moment. Right now, he just looked like a tired man trying to have a polite conversation with his son, and failing. "You've made that scarf a part of your body already – it's not like you've forgotten who it came from."
"It doesn't matter," Laharl snarled, the scarf swishing around his back. "So what if I forgot? It's been centuries since I got this thing. Who cares where it came from?"
"I do – it's the only thing you have from your mother." The girl outside the door held in her gasp. Really? The prince never said that. "It couldn't be…that you truly forgot? It's only been…" The man seemed desperate now, and the tone of his voice made the demon girl's heart skip a beat. She'd never heard the king so depressed. "A few centuries…"
His son looked even more frustrated. "Exactly! How am I supposed to remember something from back then? I was less than a hundred years old! Stop forcing your values down my throat. If I say I don't remember, I don't remember!" The girl hurriedly flew to the corridor, and smiled nervously when the prince got close to her. "Etna, we're leaving! Call a team of prinnies and tell them to make us something we can take with us!"
"Whatever you say, prince," she struggled to put on her usual joking tone while the shorter demon stalked out of her sight. When he was gone, she let out a sigh, and flapped her wings. "Prinnies! Get your asses in gear!"
When the king was alone in the secluded room, he pulled a small portrait of his wife out of his breast pocket and sighed. It hadn't been fair of him to assume that Laharl remembered the woman – she had died when the boy was only twenty-something. Even he couldn't remember the exact year, date, or time it had happened any more. He missed her dearly, though, and he couldn't imagine marrying again. Krichevskoy could only be grateful that Etna had become somewhat close to his child. Beyond that, he was glad that there were so many people around the castle to help him take care of Laharl. He had been told that he spent so much time trying to get the boy to be kind and loving and helpful that his child took his teachings in the opposite way that he meant them, so they used reverse psychology to keep the boy on track. His expectations were too heavy for the boy to carry, so he was finding ways to slip out of his father's reach.
"I'm sorry," He whispered to the portrait. "I'll make up for my mistakes, I promise."
In another part of the Netherworld, Laharl had beaten a greater demon for the first time, even if it had taken him an hour. Etna, who was watching nearby, applauded him, feeling a little nervous after what she had seen that afternoon. Once the prince had eaten, she figured it would be fine to ask him a particular question, so long as she was careful.
"Say, prince," She started, keeping her tone nonchalant. "Do you remember your mother?" It wasn't exactly what she wanted to know, but she figured she could report her findings to the king later. Well, so long as the prince didn't decide to throw her out for gross insubordination for even daring to bring up such a topic. She didn't think the boy would, though – he had started to openly ask for her opinion in the past few years, and he respected her, to some degree. It couldn't be said for many at the castle, so she thought it was something to be proud of.
His blood-red eyes narrowed for a moment, but then he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "She was a human, and she was always going on about…about…" His expression soured, and he shook his head. "I don't know, something worthless. She died hundreds of years ago, and my old man's still so stupid over her that it's practically an illness."
"I saw her in person a few times, when she came to the outskirts of town." Etna offered, trying to wheedle more information out the kid before he clammed up. "She seemed kinda weird."
Laharl snorted. "What an understatement." He stared off into the distance for a moment, before the stitch in his side from his fight began acting up. "We're going back."
"Okay," She agreed quietly. Feeling like the prince had just laid his heart bare, she decided that she wouldn't tell the king about this after all. It just means the prince will owe me a favor on top of that extra pudding one day. In her heart, she knew that the kid was starting to grow on her, though.
/
twelve hundred and two
Krichevskoy saw his son and despaired. He saw a boy closed off to the world, with only one almost-friend. He saw a child who had killed hundreds of demons. Laharl was strong – practically as strong as the king was, but he was overbearing to those that would be his subjects one day. His overconfidence was a flaw that could get him killed, and he didn't trust anyone.
His father began to hatch a plan with another beleaguered man. It would take more than a century before their plan would come to fruition, but Krichevskoy believed that he could pry the dark part of his son's heart open with the angel's help. The guilt of what they were going to do kept him awake at night, and gave him nightmares when he slept, but he promised himself that this would make everything okay again.
When he'd returned from the closed gate of Celestia one evening, he received news of a threat that would occupy the time that wasn't spent preparing for the events years in the future. He knew that he would have to fight Baal soon, but for the time being, he wanted to help his son.
"I hate you." Laharl had said that to him quite easily for centuries. In the last few years, Laharl was truly starting to believe that, and that scared his father more than anything else.
/
thirteen hundred and eleven
Baal was becoming unruly, and the king knew he'd have to face him soon. There was little stress over that, though – he knew that he'd at least be able to seal the tyrant, to keep him from getting out for a few centuries. He was more concerned with his and the Seraph's plans, which would be starting up as soon as he got back from dealing with the elder noble demon.
Laharl spent the afternoon with his father, albeit begrudgingly, and the king couldn't have been happier. The youth left with Etna as soon as he got bored. When he returned to the castle late that evening, the boy declared that he would be napping for the next week and a half, and was therefore not to be disturbed. His father told him to sleep well. Etna told the prince that she'd be back from a vacation before he woke up. The boy went to sleep in his coffin without any sort of pressure weighing on his mind, and with no idea that everything would be different when he woke again.
Krichevskoy had underestimated Tyrant Baal. Etna had gotten careless when she'd run into a castle hand out on her vacation. Laharl had slept through it all, and fell into a poison-induced coma for the next two years.
A strangely colored prinny had cried when it heard about each bit of information from the whispering castle servants. They spoke of the terrible anarchy that would befall the Netherworld as soon as demons caught wind of Krichevskoy's death. His heir was dead, or so they thought, so that ruled out the possibility of the throne being claimed legitimately. Many demons that had worked for the king were now plotting to take over in his absence, and they were bloodthirsty, cruel beings that had no problem destroying everything Krichevskoy had strived for during his long life.
So, the prinny cried. It cried because nobody else would. It cried because there would never be enough money in the world to absolve these crimes. It cried because it had never felt so horribly alone in this chaotic world.