The gala ended in a haze of laughter and greed. The humans stumbled out with loosened ties and stolen secrets, while the demons walked away with contracts signed in blood.
Nitron's hand never left Elma's back until the last guest was gone. Only then did he let her breathe. His expression was calm, too calm, the kind of calm that pressed ice against the back of her neck.
"You disappeared," he said quietly.
Elma's pulse jolted. "I went to the garden. Needed air."
"Air," he repeated, as if tasting the lie. His gaze lingered on her lips, her throat, the faint tremor in her legs. He didn't press. He didn't need to. His silence wrapped tighter than chains.
Then he leaned in, his breath ghosting her ear. "You want air, Elma? You'll get it. Outside."
The limo was waiting, sleek and black. Inside, the city stretched out beneath them — neon bleeding across streets, the skyline a jagged crown. Nitron poured himself whiskey, poured none for her.
"You've grown comfortable at the Club," he said, staring at the amber liquid. "Too comfortable."
Elma forced a smirk, though her throat was dry. "I thought that was the point. Seduce, ruin, dispose."
His eyes cut to her. "The point is obedience."
The glass cracked in his grip, whiskey spilling down his wrist. He didn't flinch. "Tonight, you'll prove you still remember who made you."
The car turned, fast, heading away from the city's glitter into its throat — the alleys where light died and sirens were too afraid to enter.
The limo stopped outside a warehouse that looked half-collapsed, rust eating its bones. Nitron stepped out first. Elma followed, heels crunching glass, gown still clinging to her like sin.
Inside, the air reeked of oil and blood. Chains hung from the ceiling. Shadows stirred.
A figure stepped forward. Not human. A rival. Its skin was pale blue, muscles corded with black veins, its eyes two pits of molten ice. Its tongue flickered like a blade when it spoke.
"Nitron sends me a toy?" the rival hissed. "Or a sacrifice?"
Nitron's hand closed over Elma's jaw, forcing her to look at the creature. His grip was bruising, his voice low and brutal.
"She's not your toy. She's your executioner."
[Quest: Subdue the Frostspawn Rival]
Objective: End him before dawn.
Failure: Death.
Bonus Reward: +3 Levels if kill achieved during climax.
Nitron shoved her forward. Elma stumbled, caught herself, her pulse roaring in her ears. Her body still ached from the wife's touch, still slick with memory, but now the system buzzed with violence.
The rival lunged.
Cold slammed into her chest like knives, driving her back into a pillar. Her skin blistered where his hands touched, frost crawling across her gown. He laughed, sharp and cruel.
"You're shivering already. I'll break you open before I fuck you apart."
Elma bared her teeth, nails extending into claws. She kneed him in the gut, hard, then spun and slashed across his chest. Blood sprayed, steaming against the ice.
The rival snarled, caught her throat, lifted her off her feet. Elma clawed at his grip, air strangled, her body screaming. And yet — somewhere under the panic — her hips pulsed with heat, her skin burning with that traitorous need.
Not now. Not here.
She sank her claws into his arm until bone cracked. He dropped her. She rolled, gasping, and came up straddling him, her gown torn, her thighs bare against his icy skin.
His tongue lashed out, slick and freezing, wrapping around her wrist. He jerked her forward, his grin wicked. "Ride me, little half-breed. Show me why Nitron keeps you."
For a second, her body almost listened. Almost. The system chimed in her skull:
[Warning: Lust Meter Rising]
Risk: Willpower Check — Failure may result in climax submission.
Elma's lips curled. She slammed her claws down, ripping through his throat. The rival's eyes went wide, his laugh turning into a choking gargle. She leaned close, her voice a snarl.
"You don't get to fuck me. You get to die."
With one savage twist, she tore his head clean off.
[Quest Complete: Frostspawn Rival Eliminated]
+3 Levels Gained
New Passive: Cold Resistance +20%]
**Lust Meter stabilized.]
Elma staggered to her feet, blood and ice steaming off her body. Nitron stepped from the shadows, hands clasped behind his back. He had watched the whole thing.
He walked closer, his eyes unreadable. For one heartbeat, Elma thought he might strike her, choke her out, fuck her bloody right there on the floor.
Instead, he leaned down, brushed a fingertip over her torn gown, then her throat where bruises bloomed. His smile was thin, sharp.
"You're useful again," he said. "Don't make me remind you twice."
Then he turned, leaving her trembling in the ruin, the rival's blood steaming around her feet.