As I perused the brutal critiques of my novel, a vision of the Grim Reaper appeared before me. He rebuked me for my subpar writing and demanded that I redeem myself by surviving one of my own tales as proof of my worth as an author. Suddenly, I found myself whisked away to the world of "The Demonic King's Demise," wherein I inhabited the frail form of the Demon Prince who met his untimely end in short order. Bitterly, I pondered the reason for my unjust plight.