You can't call yourself an Imp if you don't mess with people.

You were positive if you let this built up you were going to explode or cease existing. This was an itch you needed to scratch on a most primal of levels. Dwarves coveted gold, the forest made Elf dicks rock hard, Imps needed to cause trouble.

Lighting barns on fire, locking people out of their homes, scaring small children, these and so much more were the things an Imp lived for and right now the opportunity presented was simply too great to resist.

Poking your entire upper body through the tear you hooked your fingers into your mouth and you blew hard, rewarding your efforts with with a sharp cat calling whistle that sounded in the entire hall.

The maid naturally sprung upwards like a wind-up doll and she squeaked with a cherry red blush on her cheeks. You leaned back into the bag and snickered to yourself from making the She-Elf appear like a pervert in front of the cleaning staff and the Princess herself.

That was moments before an Elvish dagger pierced through your back and burst out of your chest. You could faintly hear the Princess gasping from Qifina's sudden attack but it was muffled and growing quieter by the second. You reached up and ran your fingers along the blade in a daze, bringing it up to your face to inspect the damage. Black blood coated your hand. As the darkness claimed you, you died knowing you were a Demon but a failure nonetheless.