Maelthor, in the form of an imp, walked out of his chambers carrying a silver tray in his thin hands. His big eyes darted from door to door as he walked the empty corridor of the castle.
"Hey, Lolly!" an angry voice boomed from behind him, followed by fast, echoing footsteps.
Maelthor slowly glanced back and saw Binu—the head of the castle servants—wearing a fancy navy-blue robe. He was hurriedly walking toward Maelthor, his face scrunched in an angry expression.
"What does this guy want?" Maelthor thought as he slowly turned around and lowered his head. "What an annoying fool."
"Where have you been all this time, Lolly?" Binu inquired, his voice carrying a sense of anger and urgency. "I've been looking for you all this time."
"Am... sorry, sir. I was serving Lord Maelthor," he stammered, hands shaking.
"Serving Lord Maelthor?" Binu sneered. "Is he the only person you work for?"
"No... sir."
"Then why is it that each time, you're always with him?"
"I... I just—" he tried to reply, but only choked sounds came out.
"Stop it," Binu sneered once more. "If you're not going to say anything, then just keep quiet." He sighed, nodding his head. "I honestly don't know what to do with you."
"Am... sorry, sir."
Binu took a huge breath, then slowly raised his hand to rub his temples. "Whatever. The king would like to drink his wine, so go into the kitchen, tell Jessy to give it to you, and take it to the king."
Maelthor nodded quickly as he raised his head, turned around, and began shakily walking away.
"Lolly, hurry up," Binu's voice boomed from behind once more.
"Lolly—that's just one of the forms I take," Maelthor thought as he walked. "No, it's rather one of the personalities I play. I take so many forms, I play so many characters and personalities. Not many know my true form—not even my brothers. It's just Haida, my late mother, Grimona, and the Demon King." He tilted his head. "Something about this king bothers me... Is he truly Father? His behavior is certainly not like him."
He reached the kitchen. It was a large room with a massive table in the middle, where a lot of servants, dressed in white attire, stood preparing food. The other servants were cleaning plates at the long kitchen sink attached to the wall. Maelthor entered, lowering his head—avoiding eye contact.
"Hey, Lolly," one of the cleaners who was washing plates called out, his voice laced with mockery. "We caught some rats for you. Wanna eat them?"
Maelthor nodded his head as he walked past them.
"Is it hard for you to speak?" the cleaner sneered.
"Maybe he's mute," another cleaner suggested, voice also laced with mockery.
"No, he can talk. I saw him talking to Kairos the other day," the cleaner explained to his peers, then looked at Maelthor's back. "Hey, do you have any idea when Kairos is returning?"
Maelthor nodded his head and walked toward the door at the end of the kitchen—this was Jessy's apartment, the head chef.
He slowly opened the door and stepped in. Inside, the room was filled with cooking utensils lining the walls. With a shaky breath, he closed the door. No one was in the room.
"Ah, I forgot to leave the tray in the kitchen."
"The way everyone is treated is dictated by their social standing," Maelthor muttered to himself as he began to change his form. "It doesn't matter if you are a good person. No one will respect you as long as you are a nobody."
He now shape-shifted into a female demon with long red hair, dressed in a long black dress—Jessy.
"Ah, this body gives off a sense of self-pride," he muttered to himself as he looked at his reflection in the mirror on the wall. "Looks also play an integral part in how someone is treated. In each form i take, I'm either respected, trusted, loathed, or mistreated."
He opened the door, and once everyone saw Jessy, they immediately bowed their heads.
"My lady, how have you been?" they asked in unison.
A smile tugged on his lips. "Good, good. The king would like his wine. Give it to Lolly once you've prepared it."
"Sure thing."
Maelthor then walked back to the room and closed the door once more. He changed his form back to an imp.
"Ah," he sighed as he walked toward the table and picked up the tray. He then slowly turned toward the door and opened it. He walked out, then closed it.
"Hey, Lolly, here is the wine," a servant said, placing a bottle of wine and a fine glass cup on the tray.
Maelthor nodded and walked out of the kitchen hurriedly.
"Lolly, walk slowly."
As he was out of sight, he slowed his pace.
"I play almost all of the roles in this castle and no one knows that—advisor to some of the princes, guards, chef, cleaner—I do all of them," he thought, his eyes looking at the large door at the end of the corridor. "That way, I can control the chaos."
He reached the door where two guards stood watch.
"Am... here to deliver the wine."
The guard hissed in frustration at his sight before pushing the door open.
Maelthor entered the grand hall, and the door behind him closed with a large thud.
He took small, steady, nervous steps forward—toward the Demon King, who sat on his throne at the end of the room. As he reached the king, he lowered his head, and extended the tray.
"My... my lord, here is the wine you asked for."
The king got up from his seat and took the wine bottle from the tray.
"Oh, finally! My favorite wine is here?" he exhaled in satisfaction. "I was so thirsty." He immediately opened the bottle and began to drink—without using the cup.
This informal behavior by the king only heightened Maelthor's suspicion of the Demon King being a fake—the Demon King was never talkative, always formal. Maelthor slowly stood up, turned, and started walking with slow, measured steps, his mind racing.
"Is this guy truly the Demon King?" he glanced back at the king, who was still drinking. "How am I supposed to prove my suspicion?"
He paused mid-step as an idea popped into his brain. He turned toward the king once more and started walking.
"What else do you want?" the king sneered as he noticed him.
"Father."
"Father?"
Maelthor's body began to change to Jessy's. "Yes, it's me—your son, Maelthor."
"Maelthor?" the king stammered. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you, Your Majesty," he said as he slowly bowed before rising—a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Came to see me?" the king asked, his voice now laced with nervousness. "What do you want?"
"Would you like me to change to my original form before we speak?"
"No... no, it's okay."
"No, I insist, Father—as a sign of respect, let me change to my original form."
"Original form..." the Demon King muttered to himself.
Maelthor raised his head. "You look confused, Father," he shook his head. "Don't tell me you've forgotten the original form of your son."
"Of course not," the Demon King let out a forced laugh as he sat back on his throne. "I have not."
"Then which one is it?" Maelthor asked, his voice low but firm.
The king's eyes widened. "What?"
"Which one is it?" he repeated as he locked eyes with the king.
"It's... ah... ah... the one with long black hair, green eyes, and tall."
Maelthor's expression remained serious as he looked at the king, then he smiled.
"Oh my, I was beginning to worry that my own father forgot the way I look," Maelthor opined as he changed his body once more to match the description by the king—this was the form everyone saw him in mostly.
"No, no, how could I ever forget the way my son looks?" he stammered.
"Okay, I'll be going now. We'll discuss what I wanted tomorrow."
"Ok, see you tomorrow then."
Maelthor walked out of the grand hall, his expression unreadable. At his sight, the guards bowed nervously.
He hardly noticed as he clenched his fists by his side.
"He was unable to identify my original form," he thought as his body began changing again—this time, he turned into a demon dressed in a suit and a gentleman's hat perched atop his head, with piercing blue eyes.
He exhaled as he walked. "Finally back to my original form."