The next day dawned, and our little warehouse was buzzing like a hive of caffeinated bees.
We'd cobbled together our filming equipment, and by some miracle (or perhaps demonic intervention), it was all holding together. George and I had outdone ourselves, really.
We'd managed to rig up working mics and lighting setups that looked only slightly like they might spontaneously combust.
But the real pride and joy? Our cameras. While juggling auditions and prep work, George and I had somehow found the time to build two more color cameras.
They weren't pretty, mind you - they looked like something you'd find if you crossed a junkyard with a mad scientist's lab - but they worked.
Our crew of fresh-faced graduates was stepping up too. Despite their lack of experience, they were taking charge, coordinating everything from shot setups to coffee runs with surprising efficiency.
Maybe there was something to be said for youthful enthusiasm after all.
Now, about the story of the Demonfather itself. I'd made some... adjustments. Using real demon clan names seemed like a fast track to getting us all turned into hellhound chow. Exiled prince or not, I wasn't about to paint a target on our backs.
Our first shooting location was the Shadow Estate, perched at the top of Infernal Heights like a brooding vulture.
The place had seen better days - probably about a century ago - but we didn't have the budget for a full renovation. Enter Firfel, our unexpected savior. With a wave of her hand and some elven magic, she'd transformed the dusty old manor into something that actually looked habitable. In just an hour, no less. I made a mental note to give her a raise... once we actually started making money.
Just outside the manor, we'd set up what could generously be called "tents" - if you squinted and had a vivid imagination.
Inside these flimsy excuses for shelter, our makeshift makeup team was working their magic on the cast.
When Rocky emerged from his tent, I had to do a double-take. The transformation was... well, impressive didn't quite cover it.
He looked every inch the Don Vito Corleone we needed - if Vito had been a demon, that is. Rocky's red, reptilian eyes and vampire-like teeth added an otherworldly touch to the character.
It wasn't surprising, really. Rocky was a Vampire Demon, after all. No horns or tail or scales for him - just pale skin that made him look like he'd never seen the sun.
Rocky caught my eye and sauntered over, his walk a perfect blend of elderly caution and quiet power. It was clear he'd been practicing.
"What do you think, my friend?" he asked, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "Do I look the part?"
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Rocky, old pal, you've got a talent for this acting gig." And it was true.
Sure, I'd tweaked the role a bit to fit Rocky's natural personality, but the essence of the Don was still there. It was like the character had been waiting inside Rocky all along, just needing an excuse to come out.
The rest of the cast emerged from their tents, each one a perfect blend of demonic features and mob style.
"Alright, guys," I called out, clapping my hands to get everyone's attention. "This is it. The beginning of our film. First scene is in Don Vito's study. Let's make it happen."
As we all filed into the manor, I couldn't help but feel a mix of nerves and exhilaration.
I took one last look around at my motley crew and cast - all dressed up and ready to play make-believe.
"Quiet on set," I called out, trying to sound like I knew what I was doing. "And... action!"
The moment I called "Action!", it was like flipping a switch. The crew sprang into motion, cameras rolling, and our actors transformed before my eyes.
Richard, a middle-aged demon we'd snagged for the role of Amerigo Bonasera, took center stage.
I've kept the original family names from The Godfather - no sense messing with perfection - but I'd taken some creative liberties with the locations. Gloomstone was now "Manhattan", Crimson Quarter became "Little Underworld", and Abyssal Docks? Meet "Brooklyn Docks". Sure, these places didn't exist in our world, but that was the beauty of fiction, right?
Richard launched into his monologue, his voice dripping with emotion. "I believe in Empirica. Empirica has made my fortune. And I raised my daughter in Empirican fashion. I gave her freedom, but I taught her to never dishonor the family. She found a boyfriend. Not a demon..."
As he continued, describing his daughter's abuse, I could almost feel the anger radiating off him. "Now she will never be beautiful again," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper.
I glanced over at Rocky, who was looking a bit lost. He caught my eye, silently pleading for help. I gave him an encouraging nod, mouthing "Remember our rehearsals." It was all I could do not to cross my fingers and pray to whatever demon gods were listening.
Rocky seemed to steel himself, then subtly nodded back. He gestured to Charles, our Sonny, to bring Bonasera a drink. The movement was smooth, natural - every inch the Don we needed him to be.
"Sorry..." Richard mumbled, accepting the drink with shaking hands. He took a sip, his eyes never leaving Rocky's face.
I had to bite my lip to keep from grinning. Richard was nailing it. It was a shame he'd never landed a big role before - the guy had talent.
As the scene continued, I felt a mixture of pride and disbelief. We were actually doing it. Making a movie. A demon mob movie, sure, but a movie nonetheless.
"Cut!" I called out, once the scene wrapped. "That was... that was great, guys. Really great."
The tension in the room broke, replaced by grins and excited chatter. Rocky let out a breath I think he'd been holding since we started rolling.
"How'd I do, kid?" he asked, his usual gruff demeanor returning now that he was out of character.
I clapped him on the shoulder. "Rocky, my friend, I think you just became a star."
As we set up for the next shot, I couldn't help but feel a surge of optimism. We had a long way to go, sure, but if this first scene was any indication, we might just pull this crazy scheme off.
Watch out, demon world. The Demonfather is coming, and he's bringing a whole new kind of family business with him.
Oh, right. I should probably mention that "Empirica" is the big kahuna of human nations in our world. Anyway, back to our little filming.
Richard was really getting into his groove now. His voice trembled with barely contained rage as he continued, "I report it to the police, like a good Empirican. These two boys were brought to trial. The judge sentenced them to three years in prison... Suspended sentence. Suspended sentence! They went free that very day..." His face contorted with disgust. "I stood there like a fool... And those two bastards... They smiled at me. Then I said to my wife, 'For justice, we must go to the Corleone'."
I held my breath as Rocky's cue approached. This was the moment of truth. Rocky shifted in his chair, his hand reaching out to pet the demon cat in his lap. I had to stifle a chuckle - as if I'd forget the cat. That furball was practically a supporting character in its own right.
"Why did you go to the police? Why didn't you come to me first?" Rocky rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, every inch the Don we needed him to be.
I felt my heart soar. Rocky was nailing it. The hesitation from earlier was gone, replaced by a quiet confidence that practically oozed power.
The scene continued, each line delivered with a precision that made me want to pinch myself. Was this really happening? Were we actually pulling this off?
As Richard delivered his final plea and Rocky gave his measured response, I could barely contain my excitement. When the last line was delivered, I waited a beat, savoring the moment before calling out, "Cut!"
The room erupted into a flurry of movement and chatter. Rocky slumped in his chair, the weight of the Don falling away from his shoulders. Richard wiped his brow, looking both exhausted and exhilarated.