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"No," Octavia curtly said without even taking out her earbuds.

Stolas sagged against the owlet's bedroom doorframe. "Come now, Via! I haven't even said what the favor is yet."

With a grunt of annoyance, Octavia paused her music and looked at him. "Alright, let me guess. It involves roping me into another scheme to drive a wedge between Blitzø and Lord Harper by taking advantage of my acquaintance with Loona."

"I. Um. Oh..." Stolas stammered, then trailed off.

His daughter huffed and shook her head. "Dad, you're how many thousands of years old? I'm never going to do something that slimy for you, so don't bother asking."

Stolas wasn't used to being directly refused. Normally such defiance required discipline. But he could never, ever be cross with his daughter, even if it was warranted.

The Prince of Hell awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, dear. You're right. This doesn't concern you, nor should it. It was out of line for me to ask you to do something like that."

Octavia clicked her tongue, and briefly hovered her thumb over the play button before moving it away. "Thanks Dad," she said as she looked back up at him. Stolas couldn't ignore the worry in her expression. "Um, listen. You're literally obsessed with those two, and it's starting to scare me. Somebody's gonna get hurt, and getting hurt or worse over an imp isn't worth it. Can't you just cut your losses and let Blitzø go?"

The owl demon entered the room and knelt by Octavia's bedside. "Via, I promise I'll be careful. I don't want any bystanders to get hurt either. It will be over soon enough."

Yes, the Prince of Hell had every intention of ending this soon. Once Harper was pushed past his breaking point, he would misstep. From there, Stolas would be able to pry his Blitzy free from that damned dragon's talons and back into his own loving, kinky embrace.

Even so, his daughter looked at him with a doubtful expression. Stolas countered with a smile of reassurance. "Tell you what," he said, "Once all this has been taken care of, we'll have a day all for you and me. We'll go shopping for more taxidermy at Stylish Occult, or to a movie, anything you wish!"

Octavia's expression softened, and she scooted forward to lean against him. "I'll hold you to it. Just please don't do anything stupid. For me."

Stolas put his arms around his daughter in a warm hug. "You won't need to worry about this anymore, my Starfire. I won't trouble you with it any further."

"Hehe, I'll hold you to that too, Dad," Octavia said. A cautious smile tickled at the corners of her beak as Stolas released her from the loving embrace.

"Alright Via, I'll leave you to your music," he said, "If you need anything, I will be in my study. Just think about what you'd like to do on our special day together." With a final parting kiss to her forehead, Stolas turned and left her bedroom.

As he made his way back to his study, the wheels in the Prince of Hell's head were already turning. Damn! Well, that's one less avenue I'm able to pursue. He thought. Much as he loved his daughter, it was disheartening that she didn't understand the importance - no, the urgency of this matter. Every day that Harper remained free to manipulate his beloved imp was another day that Blitzø drifted closer to disaster.

Stolas breezed into his study and locked the door. It wasn't like the help to barge in on him unannounced, but a little extra security didn't hurt in such a delicate situation. Especially given the contents of his desk at the moment.

The owl demon conjured up his journal of helpful notes and set it on his desk. A quick spell over the desk unsealed the drawers. A quick rummage through them produced all the scrolls, missives, and ledgers he'd painstakingly compiled over the past several months. Contracts, favors, old-fashioned written communiques from Stolas's intricate web of contacts were all carefully organized in the order he would need them.

It occurred to him that Harper would likely give up a significant chunk of his business empire to have just ten minutes alone with this collection. Stolas smirked. His associates called him old-fashioned for insisting on keeping his most sensitive materials in physical writing. But it was harder to remotely access files that had never been digitized.

The smirk quickly faded from the owl's beak as he returned to the task at hand. Stolas opened his journal to the latest page and struck through the suggestion to approach Octavia. A disappointing development, but in hindsight a predictable one, he mused. Now, what did that leave him with?

Fortunately, there was plenty to work with. The Goetic demon flipped through his notes to his efforts to sabotage Harper's business directly and pulled out the appropriate documents for review. The sand delivery had only been the beginning. Here and there, inexplicable logistical and clerical errors were beginning to add up across multiple subsidiaries and seemingly at random. With no discernable pattern, the management couldn't track down the culprits.

Taken all together, it was causing small but noticeable drags on the productivity and profitability of Hellfire Industries. No doubt Harper's business partners would become concerned if this persisted through another fiscal quarter. With a little help from Stolas, it most certainly would.

Speaking of which... Stolas next assembled the papers he had concerning his outreach to the Diabolical Federation of Heavy Industry. He frowned as he reviewed the latest from his contacts within the illegal union. Progress in co-opting them was slow at best. They appreciated the influx of "donations," but their leadership was suspicious of receiving further outside assistance. Only a select few within their ranks knew about his involvement, and it would need to remain that way lest Harper find out before the Federation had the numbers and resources they needed for a general strike.

The Prince of Hell jotted down a few more notes in his journal, then began drafting another stack of letters. He would need to tread carefully, and draw upon all his experience in high-stakes diplomacy if he was to pull this off and get a union vote to just one of Harper's factory floors. It was times such as these that he regretted sending his old typewriter sailing over the horizon. Oh well.

Stolas spent the better part of the hour writing, discarding, and revising drafts. As he pondered, he quietly brainstormed with himself as to how he could strike a more personal blow to Harper. Hitting him in the pocketbook was a good start, but he needed something that would harm his prestige, or even his public image.

He completed a draft of his letter that he was almost satisfied with when he noticed the sound in the background. It had been very subtle at first, and built up so gradually that it had until now escaped his notice. It was a soft white noise that had intensified into a low, crackling hiss of static.

The owl demon might not have noticed it until later had it not been for the odor that now filled the room. The static feedback carried with it the stench of ozone, the sickly sweet aroma of rotting meat, and the pungence of moldy gym socks.

Stolas set his pen down with a grimace and glared up at the shadow taking up one corner of the room. "Well?" he said, "What do you want? I trust it is important enough to warrant invading the privacy of the Ars Goetia."

A pair of piercing red and yellow eyes appeared in the darkness, and the tall, lanky demon they belonged to seemed to faze into focus from within the shadow as he stepped forward. The newcomer offered a disturbingly wide grin to Stolas as he spoke.

"Hello, greetings and salutations, Your Highness!" Alastor said as he brushed off one of his pinstriped sleeves, "I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought it a splendid opportunity to drop by for a visit!"

Stolas's eyes narrowed as the cervine Overlord tilted his head, still grinning madly. "Somehow I doubt this is a simple social call," he said. "State your business. You are already on thin ice disturbing me in my own study." The owl demon briefly considered zapping Alastor right then and there and physically throwing him off the estate. No, that could get messy. He would save that as a last resort.

"Ah, you've got me there, my fine feathered fellow!" ** continued the Radio Demon, *"I stopped in to share a * juicy *bit of gossip," * Alastor's smile curved into a smirk, **"Gossip concerning a certain Builder Baron and an imp."

That got Stolas's attention. The Prince of Hell slowly rose from his seat. "What do you know about them?"

"Hmm, perhaps my hearing isn't what it used to be, but I don't think I heard you say the magic word!" Alastor cheerfully replied. He held up his microphone and looked down at its head. "Did you hear His Highness say it?"

"Sure didn't!" replied the mic. A brief chortle of canned studio laughter filled the room.

Stolas slammed a fist onto his desk. "You'd do well not to toy with me, Radio Demon," he growled, "If you came here to provide information, do so now. Otherwise, you must leave."

Alastor tsked and spread his arms dramatically. "Well you're no fun. Very well! I heard through the grapevine that Lord Harper plans to make public his relationship with a certain imp whose name begins with a B and rhymes with 'twitso.'"

"I think the o is silent, Boss!" crackled his microphone.

"Hush, you!" Alastor retorted, giving it a firm rap on the receiver, before he casually twirled it and stepped closer to Stolas. "Now, you might be wondering: 'How does Lord Harper plan to do that?' Well, dear listener, one of my associates has it on good authority that he is taking his impish lover out to Club Faustus for dinner this weekend!"

Stolas sighed. "So he's willing to be seen in public with Blitzø. Not just in public, but in view of the Pride Ring's upper class. Disturbing, but that isn't the only reason you came here, is it?"

"Right you are, Your Highness!" ** the Radio Demon cheered, **"No doubt you're cooped up in here trying to find ways to get back at your erstwhile rival. Perhaps you are looking for a way to publicly embarrass him, hmmm?"

Alastor continued before Stolas could demand how long he'd been watching him. "Well today is your lucky day! The Builder Baron has laid a golden opportunity at your talons. And I am here to help you take advantage of it." His already sinister grin somehow twisted itself even moreso.

By all rights, Stolas should have thrown the Radio Demon out then and there. He was far out of line - even more than usual. But damn that deer! He'd seized upon exactly what the owl demon wanted, as well as his morbid curiosity.

"I'm going to regret this," he mumbled, before returning his attention to Alastor, who waited patiently. "Alright, what do you propose?"

"Fancy dinner dates are great fun, but also a delicate affair. Especially when one is dining with the upper crust. Why, if something were to go wrong during such an outing, there's no telling how it could affect one's social standing!" the Radio Demon exclaimed with almost theatrical flourish, "How scandalous it would be for them to have a little mishap. One that would make them the talk of the Pride Ring, but not in the way the Builder Baron hopes."

Stolas sat back down, his eyes locked with Alastor's. "And you're suggesting someone would be present to cause such a mishap," he concluded.

"A brilliant idea, Your Highness!" ** Alastor agreed, **"Of course, a demon of your high standing would easily be recognizable, especially around these parts. So it wouldn't do for you to disrupt Harper's date personally."

The owl demon nodded. "Quite. And my presence would make both of them suspicious if I were seen."

"Well then! It sounds like you could use someone to stir things up on your behalf, hmmmmmmmmm?"

It took all of Stola's centuries of practice in Infernal politics to conceal the turmoil the proposal sent through his mind. He didn't like this one bit. But then again, when else would he have a better chance to publicly humiliate his worst rival, and possibly damage his reputation? And it wouldn't be traceable back to him.

The Prince of Hell couldn't believe he was doing this. And yet here he was asking. "How would I feature in this little scheme of yours?"

"Oh my dear Goetia, I'm sure you can put two and two together," said Alastor, that fiendish smile splitting his face, "You have people in the tabloids who can spin this, yes? Point them in the direction of the little scoop I create, and they'll take care of the rest."

Stolas nodded slowly. "And what's the catch? What do you stand to gain from this?"

Alastor puffed out his chest and thumped his cane against it. "Entertainment, my good fellow! Like you, I don't particularly care for Lord Harper myself. He is the most ** boring *Overlord in all of Hell! All that power, and what does he do? He lives a modest, quiet, * reserved ***lifestyle. I can't remember the last time he went on a murder spree, and it's about time we provoke one out of him, don't you think?"*

Stolas looked away from the Radio Demon, and down at the papers on his desk. His talons tapped idly as he thought. Meanwhile, Alastor stood at attention, his arms behind his back and his head tilted in anticipation.

Finally, the Prince in Hell drew a heavy sigh. "Do as you see fit to ruin Harper's evening, but on one condition." He rose from his desk and stepped up to Alastor, who had to crane his neck to meet his scarlet eyes. The owl demon poked him in the chest. "You are not to harm my Blitzy in any way. Do you understand?"

"I hear you loud and clear, Your Highness!" said Alastor, "Does this mean we have a deal?" He held out his hand. A faint, green glow began to surround it.

Stolas snorted in contempt and turned away. "You have some nerve trying that on me, Alastor," he said, "I suggest you take your leave."

The Radio Demon took an exaggerated bow. *"Pleasure doing business with you, Prince Stolas! Stay tuned. This next episode is going to be a REAL thriller." * He slowly backed into the shadows, and dissolved away.

Once he could no longer sense Alastor on the grounds, Stolas collapsed back into his chair and put his face into his hands. "I'm making a terrible mistake," he grumbled. Giving his blessing to that maniac to disrupt another Overlord's private business was risky at best. Come to think of it, Stolas would probably cause less fallout by dropping an actual nuke on Harper's house.

Regardless, it was too late now. The owl demon crumpled up the letter he'd been writing and grabbed a fresh ream of paper, along with the telephone. It was going to be a long night, and the gears were in motion for Alastor to do Hell knew what at Club Faustus.