Thud! Thud!
Heavy steps echoed in a barren wasteland of cracked earth that took the color of dried blood under a sky bruised in perpetual twilight.
Five figures walked.
Each one wore a red cloak that billowed like captured flames, their faces hidden beneath the shadow of deep hoods. They moved in perfect synchronicity, their boots striking the dead ground with a single, resonant thud.
As they drew closer to their destination, one of them couldn't help but notice a skeleton lying on the ground, its bony hand reaching for something long since lost to the wind.
At first, he didn't think much about it. A corpse in hell is as common as a rock. But as they moved further, he saw more skeletons.
"Aah... boss," he called out, his voice a low, nervous rumble. "Is there a beast lurking around here? I'm seeing a lot of dead bodies."
"Hmph! Don't be an idiot, grunt," the one in front—the leader—replied in a harsh, cold tone. "There is no beast here. These are the foolish slaves who tried to escape."
"..."
The grunt went silent. The boss's words made sense to him; however, he couldn't shake the unsettling feeling when he gazed at the hollowed eyes of a skull that was staring back at them.
'Weird?'
After a few minutes of walking in this grim silence, they finally reached their destination.
The Fist Rock.
It loomed over the wasteland like the calcified remains of a giant, its jagged stone knuckles punching toward the crimson sky. It was a place of ill omen, even by Hell's standards, where the wind whistled through the gaps in the stone like the screaming of the damned.
The leader of the red-cloaked quintet halted a dozen paces from the base of the formation. He was taller than the others, his silhouette sharp and predatory. He didn't look at the skeletons; his eyes were fixed on the shadows pooling at the base of the "wrist" of the rock.
Three figures stood there, waiting.
One of them was a black-haired female succubus—the 'goods' that his boss had sent him to receive. He recognized the 'good' by the black crystal on her forehead and the lifeless look in her eyes, like she was a puppet.
She was a pretty little thing, he had to admit.
The other two were cloaked, but he could make out some of their features. Both were men.
The one to his left had black, charcoal-like skin and two blazing red eyes. No—the redness didn't come from the color of his irises, as they were amber in color, but from the sclera. He looked like a demon made of pure darkness. He had long white hair that slipped from the hood of his black cloak. As for his build, he was strong, with well-defined muscles that made him look too perfect.
As for the other man... he looked normal. A pale, human-like demon with long purple hair and red eyes. He was smaller than the other demon, with a slim, almost soft build that made him appear less intimidating.
"Is this the 'goods'?" the leader of the red-cloaked demons asked, his voice flat and devoid of curiosity.
"Is that the payment?" the purple-haired demon countered, gesturing to a heavy-looking chest sitting between them.
The leader gave a short, sharp nod to one of his subordinates. The grunt moved forward, dragging the iron chest with him. The screech of metal against the dead earth was painfully loud in the stillness.
"Sigh..."The leader sighed in exhaustion as he kept searching for the key he had in his pockets. "That fat bastard could have made this easier."
"Thought day?" the white-haired demon asked.
"What?" the leader looked up from his search.
"Thought day?... shitty boss?" the demon repeated again. This time, the leader understood.
"Three days from now," the leader said. "And not one shitty boss, but four."
"Four bosses?" The white-haired demon let out a low, melodic whistle that didn't sound like a demon's at all. It sounded like a blade sliding out of a sheath. "That's a lot, man. I hope they pay you well."
"I get to keep my head at the end of the day. That's payment enough," the red-cloaked leader retorted, finally locating a small, ornate key on a chain around his neck.
He knelt and inserted the key into the complex lock on the chest. With a deep, satisfying clunk, it released.
He lifted the heavy lid.
Inside, nestled on black velvet, lay a collection of crystals. They were not all the same. Some glowed with a faint, sickly green light. Others pulsed with a soft, desperate blue. And a few, nestled at the very bottom, were a deep, vibrant crimson, throbbing with a life of their own. Essence. Harvested from who knows how many souls.
The purple-haired demon took one step forward to look at the contents. As he did so, the leader of the red-cloaked demons held up a hand, a silent command for his men to stay back.
"Nice," the purple-haired demon said. "Very nice."
The white-haired demon didn't even glance at the chest. His amber-red eyes, glowing like embers in a dying fire, were fixed on the red-cloaked leader and his men.
The leader stood up, and with a gesture, one of his men moved forward to collect the black-haired succubus. He grabbed her arm, and she moved without resistance, her eyes vacant, her body pliant.
"Check the goods," the leader ordered. The grunt complied, placing a glowing red stone on the succubus's forehead. The black crystal on her own forehead pulsed once, then dimmed.
"She's clean." The grunt nodded.
The transaction was complete. Payment delivered. Goods received.
Time to leave.
The red-cloaked leader turned, preparing to lead his squad back across the wasteland.
He took one step.
And then he noticed it.
The silence.
It wasn't just the absence of noise. It was an unnatural, pressing silence. The wind that had been whistling through the Fist Rock had stopped. The air felt thick. Heavy. Charged.
His men had noticed it too. They stood frozen, hands hovering near their weapons, their heads swiveling, searching for a threat they couldn't see.
Slowly, the leader turned his gaze, falling back to the two figures who had sold him the succubus.
The purple-haired demon was smiling. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was a predator's smile, all teeth and no warmth.
The white-haired demon, however, hadn't moved at all. He was just standing there, looking at them.
And in that moment, the leader realized something.
"KILL THE—" before he could finish his sentence.
The purple-haired demon placed two fingers on his lips and blew them a kiss.
Whooosh!
Instantly, the leader and three of his men froze, their eyes glowing pink. Their bodies stopped obeying them. They were now nothing more than living dolls.
"!!!" The fifth demon—the one who was a bit nervous before—didn't freeze, as his sight was focused on the succubus's lovely boobs. He didn't see the kiss. But he was still shocked by what happened.
"Shit!"
Immediately, he turned and ran for dear life.
Surprisingly, none of them followed him.
Instead, the white-haired demon raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
As soon as the demon in red passed the corner—
BOOF!
"AGH!" He tripped on something and fell. When he looked back to see what made him trip, he saw the same skeleton he had seen earlier, but this time... its bony fingers were wrapped around his ankle.
"W-WHAT!" he cried out, trying to free his leg, but the grip was too strong.
FUSHH!
Before he could even scream for help, blue, icy flames burst alive inside the skeleton's hollowed eyes and started to crawl up its arm like a parasite, the bony fingers tightening their grip.
"AHHHHH!" The demon screamed in agony and terror as more skeletons started to rise from the ground, their empty sockets glowing with the same blue flames.
They were everywhere. Dozens of them rose from the ground, their bony fingers reaching for him.
"HELP! HELP ME!" he cried out, but no one came.
One of the skeletons appeared out of thin air in front of him, but instead of killing him, the skeleton simply kicked him on the head, knocking him out cold.
...
"Show off," the purple-haired demon said, rolling his eyes as he watched the white-haired demon's display of power.
"An ambush is an art, Beatrice," the white-haired demon replied, his voice a low, calm rumble. "I'm an artist."
"..."
Beatrice, who was disguised as the purple-haired demon, stared at the white-haired demon, not knowing if she should be impressed or annoyed.
"The art that I am interested in is you." She approached him, her hips swaying with a practiced, predatory grace. "You really surprised me, Aza... how could you take a male incubus form?"
The white-haired demon was Azariel in his male incubus demon form.
"You like it?" Azariel asked, turning to face her, a smirk playing on his handsome lips. "I can always turn back to my female succubus form if you'd prefer... or we can mix things up."
"Yes, I do like it." Beatrice's eyes roamed over Aza's form, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "But the question is... how did you do it?"
Azariel's male form was perfect. She had never seen an incubus that was this... perfect. Not even in the royal demon family.
"Why do you ask? Isn't it the same thing as you right now?" Aza said, trying to find the right answer to her question.
He couldn't simply say that he was a Nephalem and could change forms at will.
"No, it's not," Beatrice said. "I am simply using shapeshifting and illusion magic to hide my true form, but you... You are not. You are truly an incubus right now."
Aza smirked—a confident, knowing smirk that made Beatrice's stomach flutter with a mixture of irritation and desire.
"Let's just say..." Aza leaned in, his lips brushing against Beatrice's ear, "I'm full of surprises."
Beatrice shivered, her eyes darkening with hunger. She loved a good mystery, and Aza was the most delicious one she had ever encountered.
"Sigh..."
"Let's round them up," she said, pulling away from Aza, trying to regain her composure. "We have a lot of information to extract."