The fleeting applause of the bar for Pinky faded, replaced by the rough murmuring of the clients and the pounding music. The dancer bowed with grace, a professional smile on her face, waiting just long enough for the lights that illuminated her to turn off—her signal to drop her posture and crouch on the stage.
She began gathering the crumpled bills scattered at her feet, her professional smile still fixed in place, though her green eyes now seemed a little empty. She slowly stuffed the bills away, completely unaware of the massive shadow approaching her.
Before she could react, that massive shadow fell over her, shattering the rhythm of the stage. A man, wide as a refrigerator and wearing a shirt begging for mercy against his muscles, grabbed her wrist as if it had always belonged to him.
"Hey, pink," he growled, his breath of cheap alcohol hitting her face. "That dance was… special. I'll pay you triple what you made here for a private show. Just for me." His smile revealed yellow teeth.
The girl remained calm, an ability earned from many similar experiences, learned through time and force.
"I don't do private shows, honey. Sorry," she said with a practiced fake smile. Her green eyes were hidden behind her long bangs, a mix of exhaustion and hatred simmering beneath, her tone dripping with barely-veiled sarcasm as she tried to pull away. Her smile faded. "Really. Let go."
But the man—soon to be known as "Big Bull"—tightened his grip and yanked her with a force disguised as fake gentleness.
"Don't be like that, sweetheart. Everything and everyone in this city has a price."
Pinky's frustrated cry was drowned out by the music, but it didn't escape a pair of sharp ears.
Devyus, who had been focused on his drink after the dancer's performance, turned his head toward the commotion.
His amethyst eyes narrowed. Without a word, and to the stunned surprise of his sisters, he rose from his stool and made his way through the crowd with deliberate steps, ignoring their calls behind him.
Before Big Bull could drag the dancer into a dark corner, a hand clamped around his wrist like a steel brace—gripping with a strength that didn't match the slender hand that held him.
"The lady said no," Devyus said, his voice calm but carrying an authority that made the music seem quieter.
Big Bull turned, first surprised, then enraged when he saw who dared to challenge him.
"Relax, kid! I just wanna know if she's pink everywhere," he spat, trying to pull his arm free. But no matter how he struggled, the ex-lord's grip did not budge. In fact, it only tightened.
A dull crack sounded—bone straining under immense pressure. The giant roared in pain and instantly released the girl.
Immediately, the incubus hurled him across an open space—shocking everyone present. And then, the music stopped.
Pinky rubbed her wrist, her eyes widened as she stared at her savior. He wasn't particularly tall or broad compared to her attacker, but he emanated a cold, unshakeable presence.
"You don't know who you're messing with, worm!" the man snarled, face flushed red as he stood again, clutching his bruised wrist. "I'm Big Bull! The greatest fighter in this city! And I brought backup!"
Six men, all similar in size, emerged from the shadows, surrounding the Duke and the dancer.
Both sisters, alerted by the tone in their brother's voice, slid to his side in perfect unison.
The size difference was almost comical: six giants against three slender figures. But the siblings didn't seem bothered—if anything, they exchanged looks as if silently deciding who got which target.
Devyus looked at the six newcomers, then at Bull, and then briefly met the eyes of the dancer, who appeared more surprised than afraid.
A ridiculous, sarcastic line crossed his ancient mind.
"Is this some kind of fairy tale," he asked with genuine curiosity, "or why so many princesses?"
The beautiful girl couldn't help it. A short, genuine, almost innocent laugh escaped her lips.
The sound, so out of place, hit Devyus like a shock. For a microsecond, he froze. His demon blood pulsed involuntarily.
In that moment of distraction, one of the goons threw a massive punch toward Devyus' head.
Smack.
The sound was sharp. Devyus hadn't even looked away from the girl. His hand lifted reflexively, blocking the punch with the sound of bone hitting metal. The thug screamed, shaking his now-aching hand.
Devyus barely acknowledged him. Still entranced by that laughter, he simply nodded once.
That was the signal.
Catherine didn't need verbal instructions.
"Eliminating trash," she declared, her leg spinning in a perfect roundhouse kick that struck a thug's jaw, sending him crashing into a table.
"Proceeding with purification," her twin stated, her fist sinking into the stomach of another thug with surgical precision, leaving him breathless and collapsing like a sack of potatoes.
Devyus handled the rest.
Big Bull charged like his namesake.
The incubus simply sidestepped, grabbed his arm, and used his momentum to throw him through the air again—this time into the bar, shattering bottles and glasses.
The remaining two thugs fell under a storm of blows: knees to ribs, elbows to temples, low kicks that cracked ankles.
Quick, brutal, efficient.
In moments, all seven giants lay unconscious or groaning on the sticky floor.
The bartender, his face marked by a lifetime of fights, sighed.
"Throw 'em out before they attract the cops… or what's left of 'em," he grumbled, wiping a glass like nothing had happened.
Pinky, who had been frozen watching the fight, finally straightened. Her gaze through her hair met Devyus'.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice slightly rougher than usual.
"I'm used to it," she said, shrugging, avoiding his eyes as she counted her bills. "It's part of the job."
Devyus looked at her—really looked.
The strength in her eyes, the resilience in her posture, the rawness of her reality.
"You don't belong here," he said—less an opinion than a fact.
She finally met his gaze, a spark of defiance flashing in her golden eyes.
"It's the only place I have."
At that moment, his gaze lowered. The fight had shifted her astronaut-themed outfit, causing the black stickers beneath her costume—the ones covering her chest—to slip slightly.
Devyus, whose incubus nature always simmered under mixed tension and… visual stimuli, felt a sudden wave of heat.
This time, he managed to avoid a nosebleed, but his gaze lingered just a fraction of a second too long.
The purple-skinned girl noticed.
With a hint of embarrassment, she quickly covered herself—but then a small, almost triumphant smile curved her lips as she casually adjusted her outfit.
Across the club, the twins, who had returned to the bar as if nothing had happened, watched another dancer with academic disdain—but their backs were tense.
They had seen the look in their onii-sama's eyes.
And jealousy—cold, possessive, unmistakable—tightened in their hearts.
The storm outside had passed.
But a new one, far more personal, began brewing inside The Hive.
"If you've reached this far… thank you for walking through Devyus's silence."
"Your thoughts matter — even one word helps me keep building this world."
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