Sin Rouge glowed neon red outside the window, nightlife in full swing music pounding, lights flashing, demons drinking, screaming, laughing, sinning but inside Malerion's private quarters, everything was still.
Too still.
He stood before a mirror he rarely acknowledged. Three outfits lay on the bed, courtesy of Quill, who delivered them with the bitterness of a man who hated admitting fashion mattered.
> "You're meeting Asmodeus," Quill had muttered.
"Looking like a warlord who forgot to iron his coat is not an option."
Malerion studied the choices:
A formal dark suit with subtle ruby threading.
A clean black coat and shirt minimalistic, sharp.
Or the dangerous one: open collar, fitted vest, tailored jacket effortless elegance with intent.
He chose the third.
Alastor's amused whisper brushed his mind:
> "Oh, you are learning presentation. How delightful."
Malerion ignored him and adjusted the vest just as a light rhythm tapped against the door.
Two quick knocks, one slower.
Her knock.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Verosika stepped in like she was staging an entrance because she always was.
Pink-black dress, slit high enough to make angels faint, heels sharp enough to kill, hair styled to look effortlessly chaotic, lip gloss shining like temptation.
She stopped.
Stared.
Then spoke:
"…Oh great. You look unfair. I hate it."
"You're dramatic," Malerion replied calmly.
"And you're dangerous," she shot back. "If you walk into Ozzie's Dinner Theatre looking like that quiet, controlled, not trying half the club will combust."
She circled him, inspecting.
"Turn."
He turned.
She hummed, approving.
"Yep. You pass. I won't be embarrassed standing next to you."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Was that a requirement?"
"It's the only requirement."
She adjusted his collar fingers brushing his throat. A spark. A pause.
Neither commented.
"You sure you want to come?" he asked quietly.
"Asmodeus plays with people. He will use you as leverage."
Verosika scoffed.
"Please. I've survived his ego long before you existed."
She hesitated softer now.
"And if I'm not there, he'll talk about me anyway. Better he sees the real version."
Malerion nodded slowly.
"Then we go."
"Good," she smirked.
Then the gesture. Again.
Two fingers tapped his chest.
Not a flirt or joke. A signal.
"You remember what I said yesterday?"
"That I needed to dress like I belong."
"No," she said, gaze steady.
"That you're not walking into a battlefield. You're walking into a stage."
She stepped back.
"And stages? Aren't about strength. They're about presence."
Malerion finally barely smiled.
"Then we'll give him presence."
Verosika's eyes glimmered.
"Oh… now you're dangerous."
Departure
They descended through Sin Rouge not touching or speaking but every demon who saw them whispered:
> The boss is leaving.
With her.
Dreg watched from a railing.
"If anything goes wrong," he muttered,
"I'm leveling that building."
Quill sighed.
"Please don't. I want to steal their sound system first."
Liz smirked knowingly.
"They'll be fine… but emotionally? They're doomed."
Skit and Bit fought over the emergency console.
Doona checked accounts tied to Asmodeus' businesses.
Rafe simply murmured:
"Lust is watching."
The Helicopter Ride
They boarded the same sleek aircraft but this time, they weren't leaving for Pride Ring.
No power summit.
political court.
This was worse.
They were heading straight into the heart of Lust Ring's most infamous domain:
> Ozzie's Dinner Theatre Restaurant & Night Club
where sex appeal was currency
and subtlety died at the door.
As the helicopter lifted, Verosika leaned against the window, watching Lust shrink then flare again as they neared Asmodeus' neon territory.
"You nervous?" she asked lightly.
"No."
She shot him a side-eye.
"Liar."
"Does it matter?" he asked.
She smiled.
"No. It just means you're sane."
The club appeared beneath them glowing pink neon, massive heart-shaped signage, animated lights dancing around the silhouette of Asmodeus himself.
Lust Ring energy radiated from it like heat.
The helicopter touched down on the private landing balcony reserved for royalty, executives, and problems too expensive to turn away.
As the doors opened, Verosika slid her arm through Malerion's.
Not for protection.
For show.
"You ready?" she whispered.
"No," he answered.
She grinned.
"Perfect."
They stepped into the entrance hall heat, perfume, velvet, gold and immediately:
Every head turned.
Asmodeus' playground had noticed them.
And the serpent and siren walked forward anyway.
Together.