Lord of Entertainment C21 Grunge

Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana

---

I continued my performance with gusto, ending on a dramatic flourish. The crowd seemed to be processing what they'd just witnessed, a moment of silence hanging in the air.

Then, a single clap broke the quiet, slowly spreading through the audience until the theatre was filled with applause.

I smiled to myself, leaning into the microphone. "It seems my performance was well received."

From the distance, someone with a magically amplified voice called out, "That performance was wild and chaotic, but I love it!"

Another chimed in, "Me too! Come on, demon spawn, show us some more!"

I grinned, initially thinking they were genuinely appreciating the music. But then I heard a comment that gave me pause:

"Show us how barbaric and primitive a demon performs music!"

I looked at the woman who said it and replied, "Uh... I don't know if that was a compliment or not... But I'll take it as one..."

My response drew laughter from the crowd, including the woman.

Seizing the moment, I shouted, "It's as the lady said, let me show you more of what we demons can do with our chaotic, primitive, demonic music!" I raised my hand in a gesture that would one day be known as the "rock" sign.

The crowd roared in response, "Wooh!"

I began to play the guitar again, the band following my lead. The sound that filled the theatre was raw, energetic, and unlike anything Saint Angeles had heard before. The drums pounded, the bass thrummed, and my guitar wailed with a distorted fury.

"Load up on guns, bring your friends," I sang, my voice carrying over the instrumental chaos. "It's fun to lose and pretend."

Bobbing my head up and down, I continued, "She's over-bored and self-assured. Oh no, I know a dirty word."

The crowd was getting into it now, some even attempting to move to the unfamiliar rhythm.

"Hello, hello, hello, how low," I chanted, the repetition hypnotic. "Hello, hello, hello, how low."

As the song built to its chorus, I could feel the energy in the room shifting. The initial skepticism was giving way to excitement, curiosity, and maybe even a hint of understanding.

"With the lights out, it's less dangerous," I belted out. "Here we are now, entertain us."

The audience, caught up in the moment, began to chant along, even though they didn't know the words.

"I feel stupid and contagious," I sang, pouring everything into the performance. "Here we are now, entertain us."

As the song progressed, I could see the impact it was having. The "primitive" and "chaotic" music they had expected was transforming into something powerful, something that spoke to them on a level they hadn't anticipated.

"A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido," I belted out, the words probably meaningless to them but the rhythm and energy undeniable. I could see confusion mixed with excitement on their faces as they tried to process these unfamiliar terms.

"Yeah, hey!" I shouted, encouraging the audience to join in. To my surprise and delight, many did, their voices creating a chaotic but unified sound that filled the theatre.

With each chord, each word, I was challenging their preconceptions about demons, about music.

As I launched into the next verse, I could feel the system notifications pinging in my head, signaling new fans. The music was working its magic, breaking down barriers and preconceptions with each beat.

"I'm worse at what I do best," I sang, a line that felt particularly poignant given my situation as a 'failed' demon prince. "And for this gift, I feel blessed."

The irony wasn't lost on me as I continued, "Our little group has always been, and always will until the end."

With each line, each chord, I could see the audience becoming more invested. They might not understand all the words or the cultural references, but the raw emotion and energy were universal.

As I launched into another round of "Hello, hello, hello, how low," I saw people mouthing along, caught up in the repetitive, almost hypnotic rhythm.

The chorus hit again, and this time, the audience was ready. "With the lights out, it's less dangerous," we sang together, their voices joining mine in a powerful union. "I feel stupid and contagious. Here we are now, entertain us."

---

(Deacon Ivan POV)

This is unbelievable. I looked around in shock and disgust as humans, elves, and dwarves in the audience sang along with the human pretending to be a demon on the stage.

Even though the performer wasn't actually a demon, it was still preposterous for everyone to be embracing such a primitive, barbaric, and vulgar form of music. I turned to Priest Maxwell, who was observing the situation with what I interpreted as disbelief.

"Priest Maxwell," I shouted over the cacophony, "we have the right to arrest that man now! He's influencing everyone to admire a demonic form of music!" The overwhelming noise nearly drowned out my words.

Maxwell's response was frustratingly measured. "It is indeed a problem... But we have no control over people's thoughts, Deacon Ivan. If they enjoy the song, we can't do anything about it."

"But-" I began to protest, only to be interrupted as someone next to me, caught up in the music, bumped into me roughly. I glared at the offender, but he is too engrossed in the performance to notice or care.

Seething, I turned my attention back to the "demon" on stage. In my eyes, this music was truly demonic, a threat to the very fabric of our society. How could Priest Maxwell not see the danger?

The longer the performance went on, the more agitated I became. This wasn't just music; it was a corruption of values, a mockery of our traditions. The way the crowd moved, the raw energy in the air - it all felt wrong, dangerous.

I clenched my fists, feeling helpless in the face of this cultural onslaught. We were the guardians of morality, of order. How could we stand by and let this happen?

As the music reached a fever pitch, I made a decision. If Priest Maxwell wouldn't act, then perhaps it was up to me to do something. The Church couldn't remain silent in the face of such blatant blasphemy.

I began to formulate a plan. Once this travesty of a concert was over, I would make sure the proper authorities heard about it. This "demon" and his corrupting influence needed to be stopped, one way or another.

***

(Emilia Stark POV)

As I watched the performance unfold before me, I couldn't help but be swept up in the electric atmosphere of the theatre. The audience around me had been completely consumed by the music, their initial skepticism and hostility replaced by unbridled enthusiasm.

My pen flew across the pages of my notebook, desperately trying to capture the essence of what I was witnessing. This was more than just a concert; it was a cultural phenomenon unfolding before my very eyes.

The style of music the "demon" was showcasing was unlike anything I'd ever encountered. It was raw, unpolished, almost deliberately unkempt compared to other musical styles. The sound was chaotic, yes, but undeniably catchy. It had a primal energy that seemed to resonate with something deep within the audience.

As I searched for words to describe this new genre, a term suddenly popped into my mind: "Grunge." Yes, that was it. Grunge. It perfectly encapsulated the dirty, gritty, yet oddly appealing nature of the music.

I quickly jotted down my thoughts:

"The demon's performance introduces a new style of music to Saint Angeles. I'm calling it 'Grunge' – a term that captures its raw, unrefined nature. Despite its chaotic sound, or perhaps because of it, the audience seems utterly captivated. This 'Grunge' music appears to tap into something primal, breaking down social barriers as humans, elves, and dwarves alike find themselves caught up in its rhythm."

As I looked around the theatre, I could see the impact this music was having. People who had come expecting to mock or jeer were now moving to the beat, some even attempting to sing along despite not knowing the words.

The implications of this event were staggering. This wasn't just about music; it was about challenging preconceptions, breaking down cultural barriers. A "demon" – whether real or not – was up there on stage, not frightening or threatening anyone, but uniting them through the universal language of music.

I turned my attention back to the performer. His confidence was palpable, his energy infectious. Whether he was truly a demon or not seemed almost irrelevant now. He had managed to transform the entire atmosphere of the theatre, turning a potentially hostile situation into something... revolutionary.

As the song reached its crescendo, I felt a shiver run down my spine. Saint Angeles would never be the same after this night, and I, Emilia Stark, had the privilege of documenting it all.