Lilith lay sprawled across one of the circular couches, her legs open in a display that was not merely sexual but ritualistic, as if every movement of her body was part of an offering. Before her knelt a man — one of the few remaining humans left on Earth — lost in a haze of intoxication, a toxic cocktail of alcohol, alien powder, and synthetic pills. He could barely comprehend where he was, who he was, or why this woman with glowing violet eyes and neon horns was grinding her pussy against his face. He didn't even question why she had chosen him; he simply surrendered, incapable of resisting what he felt.
The night in Neo-Babel pulsed like a living creature, breathing through the lights that spread across towers of glass and steel. Every neon sign was a promise of forbidden pleasures, every shadowed alley concealed pacts between species that should never have crossed paths. It was in this chaotic environment that Lilith made her home — a fallen goddess, an heiress of Hell who walked as if the asphalt itself belonged to her. And on that night, like so many others, her thoughts were drifting far too deep to let her focus on the present, lost in a trance that mixed ecstasy with despair.
She was in a nightclub that was more than a refuge; it was a black market of lives and desires, an arena of excess, where decaying humans mingled with grotesque aliens and androids with metallic skin. They were all united by one singular goal: to escape their own reality through stolen substances from other worlds — drugs that burned through veins and elevated minds to unimaginable states of euphoria. In this setting, the music pounded, loud and relentless, a constant thrum of synthesizers and beats that vibrated against the walls like the very heart of this condemned city.
"Lick me, bastard."
Lilith moaned aloud, her voice merging with the beat of the music, yet rising above it. Each note of pleasure cut through the air, drawing furtive glances from intergalactic mobsters and DNA smugglers hiding in the upper balconies. Even they, accustomed to excess and grotesquerie, felt disturbed by the intensity of the scene, as if they understood it wasn't merely sex, but something far older, darker — a pact being sealed in the middle of that club.
Humans had abandoned Earth decades ago. Since 2189, only fragments remained — the miserable few who had not secured passage aboard the colony ships that sought out new star systems. That absence gnawed at the very foundations of Hell itself, for without human sin to consume, the God of Darkness, the Demon King, withered slowly, his screams echoing in forgotten dimensions, weakening with each passing century. Lilith knew this better than anyone, and every time she looked at her father's face, hollowed and frail, her heart burned with rage and despair.
That was why she was there. Not just for pleasure, but out of necessity. Every corrupted human soul was a spark of energy directly linked to the heart of the Demon King. Every sin she ripped from them by force returned a fragment of power to the infernal throne. And Lilith, heir to lust itself, was the only one capable of keeping that flame alive — even if it meant losing herself in acts that grew increasingly extreme, increasingly brutal.
The man before her gasped, his body convulsing with a mixture of intoxication and overwhelming pleasure. His hands tried to cling to her thighs, but slipped, weak and powerless, his muscles failing him. Lilith could feel the vitality draining from him like a wild, scalding river, an involuntary sacrifice at the altar she embodied.
"How about you fuck me now, huh?" Lilith said with a wicked grin.
Suddenly, the man's moans twisted into a muffled cry. His entire body stiffened in a final spasm, and before he could even comprehend it, a heart attack struck him violently. His veins throbbed in panic, his breath faltered until it dissolved into silence. What remained was the grotesque image of a foolish smile etched on his face, dead at the very peak of pleasure — a fate almost too fitting for one of the last humans still wandering Earth.
Lilith was unmoved. Her glowing eyes turned toward the panoramic window of the club, where the city revealed itself in all its decadent splendor. Streets lit in hues of violet and blue, flying cars streaking the skies like artificial comets, holographic ads promising cybernetic pleasures and new forms of vice. Everything pulsed, everything vibrated — yet none of it filled the emptiness gnawing inside her chest.
It was in that moment, still naked and breathless, that Lilith failed to notice the approach of a group of armed men. Enforcers of some alien boss who refused to lose his clientele to the daughter of the Demon King. They emerged from the shadows, weapons primed to fire, and what had moments ago been a ritual of pleasure transformed into an improvised battlefield.
Gunfire ripped through the air, but before the bullets could reach her, Lilith's dagger ignited with flames. With a single motion, she slit the throats of two attackers, alien blood gushing in shades of green and blue, staining the couch and the still-warm corpse of the human. Screams echoed but were swallowed by the relentless music, indifferent to the massacre unfolding amidst the crowd.
At last, Lilith snapped out of her trance. Her incandescent eyes scanned the chaos of the club — fallen bodies around her, fragments of neon flickering across the floor — and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had lost her own purpose. Was the daughter of the Demon King nothing more than a marionette of despair?
She still carried the sweet scent of smoke mixed with the sweat of an ill-spent night. The dim red lights reflected against the mirror in the corner, projecting Lilith's silhouette as though she were a forbidden mirage.
She was naked, sitting in a worn velvet armchair, her legs crossed and her posture regal, like a bored queen upon her throne. Smoke escaped her red lips in lazy curls, dissolving into the heavy air.
For a moment, she seemed far away, lost in thoughts that danced between memories and fantasies. Her half-lidded eyes betrayed more rage than pleasure, and the silence of the room mocked her.
"He was a lousy lay…" she muttered, exhaling another slow drag. "Didn't even make me come."
She moved toward the window and, through a crack in the curtain, glimpsed something that sent a shiver across her skin: a metallic silhouette standing in the alley, staring at the window as though it knew exactly where to find her. A watch drone? A messenger? Or something far worse?
With the tip of her finger, she slowly drew a heart on the fogged glass.
And thus, the first act ended — not as a conclusion, but as the promise of an intimate war between desire, power, and secrets only Lilith seemed to command.