As she twisted out into the hallway, Lorelai got one last look at the devils that raised her. Blood or not, even as unkind as they could be, Amara: a terrible parent, nothing would change that. Cassian: a complete bitch. But Cass: smarter than most. They were a fragment of family Lore could cling to, a single drop in her isolated life. And it pained her to lose that. It pained her to walk away when she was promised a roof, a place... a glimmer of love. Her second home after the last one became sand.

  But, like a nonchalant wealthy demon, the General tossed something back. The smack hit Amara’s palm.

  “If you find my brother, we can call this debt even,” the Valkar said, “just don’t mess up, Whitefield.”

  A gem shard lingered in Amara’s fingers. The stab hit harder. It oozed power that could only be forged in the pits below. Obsidium---the only stone capable of teleportation. A gemstone that cost and arm and a leg.

  But the general didn’t even wait; she just began to pace, a sole finger urging Lore to follow.

  The woman’s icy blue eyes flickered subtly, sharp as a sword, causing Lore’s breath to quicken as if a tightening chain pressed around her neck. It was a single moment, but Lore could feel telepathy burn through her. A Neurite blizzard in her eyes. The glare was far stronger than Cass or Cassian could ever achieve. Forget that Dragon Slayer. This was a Dragon Destroyer. A demon General.

  “Don’t make me drag you,” the woman said.

  And Lore just had to follow.

  Outside, two towering monoliths stood as sentinels, the Batrakin’s glassy black eyes reflecting neither life nor death.

  Lore’s tail curled, and she had to look away, the very thought of such darkness creeping down her skin. Even the Void must have a bottom, right?

  Then, like a feline guided by her nose, she redirected her gaze to the Archdemon’s back. The woman was waiting for no one. The pace. The posture. It didn’t hesitate, it didn’t wane when others looked. Legs that broke both coat and dress, pale in a sea of filth. A tail that fanned dust from fabric.

  It was hard to believe a succubus left herself so exposed to gaze. Even Lore felt the urge to shield her bare shoulders. To hide what lust demons could steal from her.

  But trapped in her lingering prison, Lore stepped into the slick, grimy environment. The corridor flickered past---twisting pipes, gemstone veins, and silver wiring. The air: thick. Her skin: humid. The scent of oil: a metallic tang coating her throat.

  Stuffed like a skeleton in the closet, Lore churned, her heels slipping, her knuckles white. Even the rail betrayed her, even glass refused to lend her comfort.

  But the Archdemon didn’t slow, no, she danced through bodies, flowed like water. The bodyguards, twice as tall as she remembered, thumped behind her, their cracking boots like iron hammer steel.

  She had to hurry, had to keep up. But heels whipped, shoes dragged her down. Her grip slipping, waning to the flood of unrelenting bodies.

  “Wait!” she cried, “WAIT!”

  But white hair was nowhere to be seen, the lab coat gone.

  The Archdemon...

  Her heart stopped first, her breath a whisper, her feet still.

  No.

  ...

  No.

  ...

  Had she really got lost?

  Had she really failed to keep up?

  She paused to gather herself, to...

  Think.

  Her horns tapped the window, tingling cold. Shadows of demons crossed her reflection. The stares were colder than frost, lingering like vultures.

  A lost succubus in the city's seediest part.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  She was on a cruise, knowing their thoughts.

  She missed her chance, and her past did not want her escape.

  Their leer-filled eyes and lick of their lips sent a shiver down her spine.

  But she kept her focus on the plan. The only safety was one of your rank. But her status as a fallen noble meant nothing. Her family name and her father weren’t around to protect her anymore. She was just a body of flesh in a den of sex-hungry beasts.

  She shook her head, snapped her tail.

  “Focus,” she hissed.

  She needed to find a small, discreet clue to follow---anything would suffice. Just... some form of evidence.

  The thump of boots continued; they approached, still behind, still soulless. Walking up the ornate stairs. A constant motion that never changed, just like the Archdemon.

  Neither changed speed nor deviated from the path. And guessing because nothing else seemed less likely. Lore began to walk. At two paces, at twice the motion she heard.

  Thump thump.

  Thump thump.

  Thump thump, Click.

  “There.” A voice said.

  Ego’s voice said?

  Lore blinked. Her pulse stuttered, her tail flicking against the rail. She was used to Ego’s voice whispering in her skull---but this? This was... different.

  But more so, the light hue of red that ran up her neck. The image of herself using Hermirte was effortless. Ego moved, her heels clicking against metal, her shape barely shifting the air around her, like heat haze warping reality.

  “Follow me.” Ego said, “Don’t get lost.”

  Then she watched as the woman’s ears scrunched up, her agitated face staring far beyond to a sound she couldn’t hear. Ego silently clanked against the metallic panels.

  And Lore... well---

  She had to follow.

  And even as she did, her eyes didn’t deviate. Didn’t look away.

  Rot gnawed at Ego’s elongated, dry, silver-touched hair. Her tired crimson eyes: dark. Her horns: chipped and bent. Her flaky skin: grey.

  She looked like a version of Lore that had aged decades in a single night.

  A perfect carbon clone, yet---

  Something oozed from her.

  Harder.

  Crueller.

  ...

  Wrong.

  Nevertheless, she chased the demon into the sea, swimming into the tide. She couldn’t tell if she was hallucinating or if Ego had somehow appeared outside her mind. Like a wave, the woman’s body splashed into a crowd, her presence elusive but tangible.

  Steps. Rows. Water. Bodies.

  A ride inside a storm.

  The sweat, smells, and heat were her only metrics. She paddled, steered and battled the tide. Until the flowing woman stopped.

  Stopped at an empty hall.

  Ego stood at the edge of the hall’s ring. Where the crowd thinned into whispers. Where nobody wanted to go. Then Ego pointed with a single finger, issuing a directional arrow that guided her forward.

  “I can’t help you further.”

  And before Lore could ask, her red-eyed clone glittered away. Slapped into a noble spinning an optical illusion, like a twist in reality. Like magic.

  Ego was imaginary, right?

  And maybe unaware of it all, the Batrakin thugs just continued their actions. In fact, no one noticed Lore at all. The whole spectacle: fairy dust.

  Instead, all eyes were narrowed at the centre of the room. Lore remembered this place, where the beams and columns loomed like stilts holding up the massive space.

  Her tail twitched involuntarily at the sight of the corpse, sprawled on the tiles and smeared in gore. The deck was littered with fine tiles and many tables, all painted red for everyone to see. Chunks, and a scaly gore smothered every surface, including the lifeless body of a Saurian sprawled in the centre---the very same one from earlier.

  It was a stark contrast from the last time she came through here. Better yet, where was the inquisitor? The giant woman who guarded the lift was gone, and the mess of gore could be related to it. Lore leaned to watch the servers scrub the blood, but a white-haired woman blocked her view.

  Instead, the General narrowed her gaze and observed intently, examining the sight. Her eyes flicked between the scene and the cleaners. She tapped her tail in irritation, as something seemed to bother the Archdemon.

  “Can you believe it?” a dry-scaled Saurian asked.

  “Believe?” a bark-skinned Verdantis replied, “It’s right before us. Or are you blind?”

  Looking closer, Lore noticed it.

  The body---

  No. The remains.

  The Theri Inquisitor lay crumpled, her muscular frame hollowed out, gutted like a discarded husk. Her crystalline skeleton---gone. Her chest, flayed open, her twin cores missing. And her heart---

  Flattened. Like something had pressed it into the tiles and scraped it away.

  A fuzzy-tailed Pathix cleared her throat.

  “I, eh, thought Inquisitors were immortal?”

  The Saurian and Verdantis waiters exchanged glances before.

  “What is it?” asked the waitress, her and Lore’s tails twitching in sync.

  “You see,” the Saurian started, flicking a nervous tongue over his teeth. “I heard... Inquisitors---they’re connected to the Void.”

  The General’s tail moved at that.

  The Verdantis waiter snorted. “Oh, come on, you believe that superstition?”

  “It’s not superstition,” the Saurian insisted. “On dusty Void nights like this---“

  He stopped.

  Dead silent.

  Lorelai leaned forward. Even her tail had stilled.

  The Saurian swallowed hard, his scales paling. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper.

  *“They don’t stay dead.”*

  The elevator slammed into place, causing the Feline woman and Lore to jump.

  The two waiters’ laughter bubbled up like a cauldron.

  “You did that on purpose!” the Pathix hissed.

  The men laughed harder, their mirth echoing through the hall.

  “You’re so gullible,”

  “Enough of this!” the Pathix snapped, her dark skin flushing red. “To hell with this! Clean up this mess yourselves!” With that, she stormed off, her fluffy feline ears flapping indignantly as she left the blood-soaked tiles behind.

  The Archdemon let out a sigh.

  “I have enough work as it is.”

  Ignoring the laughter, she snapped her fingers, and the Batrakin guided Lore to the humming elevator. Unfazed. Expressionless. Lore squeezed in like a fish.

  And behind them, the Warmachine’s body was nothing more than spilt parts, wiped away like a stain on the floor. An Inquistor. Demon kind’s greatest weapon, mutilated.

  Lore’s eyes lingered, shivering at the warm air.

  The shutters slammed shut, sealing the mess---and whatever remained of its soul---out of sight.