Darkness curled around him, thick and wet, an endless void broken only by the taste of pleasure and loss. Damon floated, barely tethered to flesh, mind drifting in a fever dream of sex and shadows. He heard a woman's moan—high, clear, trembling between agony and bliss. For a heartbeat he thought it was Lilith, but the voice was older, sweeter, and haunted by something holy.
"Damon…"
He reached for it, tried to force his way through the darkness, but the world slipped sideways. Feathers—white-gold, stained with blood and something slicker, blacker—fluttered down. A hand, so gentle once, now trembled with desperate hunger, clutching at nothing. Eyes flashed: pure, then stained, their light twisting with some secret shame.
"Damon… help me… it hurts—no, don't stop—more, I need… more—"
The voice fractured, echoing with static, half a plea, half a command. The darkness pulsed with waves of want, each one dragging him down deeper. He saw her for a moment—her hair tangled, her lips bitten, her wings ragged and slick with filth. She reached for him, moaning, and the system's voice bled into hers, flickering, broken, desperate for pleasure and pain.
He woke with a gasp, cock already hard, sweat cooling on his skin. For a moment he didn't know where he was, panic rising, the scent of sex thick in the air. But then reality bled in—Lilith's room, the silk sheets twisted around his naked body, the ache in his bones a memory of being used and emptied, fucked and drained until even his soul felt hollow.
He lay there for a moment, blinking in the soft, smoky light. He felt… good. Too good. Not just rested, but alive in a way that felt dangerous—body buzzing with magic, nerves still singing with echoes of pleasure. He stretched, rolled onto his side, and groaned as his cock brushed the sheets, half-hard and rising. He could still taste her on his tongue.
The door creaked open and a voice piped up, bright and too fucking cheerful for this hour. "Oh, you're alive. Boss said you'd survive, but the staff pool wasn't so sure." A skinny demon boy stepped inside, balancing a stack of towels and a folded set of clothes on one arm, a tray with a steaming mug on the other. "Morning, demon. Name's Fizz. I'm your glorified babysitter until you prove you won't bleed out or bite someone important."
Fizz was short, quick-eyed, with little horns that curled over his brow and an oversized grin that said he'd survive any apocalypse as long as he could watch someone else get fucked first. He dropped the towels and clothes on the foot of the bed, eyed Damon's still-naked body, and snorted. "Still up, huh? Not surprising. Boss has that effect. You hungry or just hard?"
Damon sat up, stretched, and grinned back. "Why not both?" He grabbed the mug and drank deep, not caring what it was—bitter, black, full of some energy that snapped his mind back into focus. "How long was I out?"
Fizz shrugged. "About eight hours. Lilith says you can have the room for now, but don't get comfortable. Only reason you're not in the laundry is because you left her smiling—and that's fucking rare." He tossed Damon a towel. "Shower's down the hall. I'll walk you. Try not to grope anyone until after you're assigned, yeah?"
Damon wrapped the towel around his waist, cock still tenting the thin fabric, and followed Fizz into the hallway. The brothel was quieter now, the scent of sex faded under incense and soap, but still present, still alive. Other demons drifted past—some beautiful, some monstrous, all casting sideways glances at the newcomer.
Fizz led him into a cramped shower room, walls tiled in slick obsidian, steam swirling in the air. Damon stripped off, not caring who saw, and stepped under the spray. The water was hot, almost scalding, washing away the sweat, the crust of dried cum, the last shreds of Lilith's perfume. He closed his eyes, letting the heat pound his skin, trying to remember the dream—the voice, the feathers, the way her moans sounded more like prayer than pleasure.
Fizz's voice broke the spell. "You're lucky, you know. Most new demons last maybe a week before someone breaks them. You? You got the boss's attention. Some say she's looking for a pet. Others say she's just hungry. Me? I think she likes breaking things."
Damon stepped out, water streaming down his chest. He caught his reflection in the cracked mirror—still that perfect, too-handsome face, eyes dark and red, body marked with faint traces of Lilith's nails. Something shimmered just under his skin, a flicker of gold light at his collarbone. He ran a hand over it. The mark faded, but not completely.
Fizz tossed him the clothes—a loose shirt, tight pants, nothing to hide the bulge, not that anyone cared in this place. Damon dressed, combed his hair with his fingers, and let Fizz lead him out.
The tour started on the main floor. Fizz rattled off the rules fast, never stopping to see if Damon was keeping up. "You work the lounge and the private rooms. Only the boss or the manager lets you upstairs. Try to stay off the second floor unless you're invited—VIPs and high-tier staff only. Human pets, succubi, incubi, all mix here, but everyone's got a price and a pecking order."
They passed through a lounge, sunlight filtering through stained glass, painting bodies in crimson and gold. Two succubi giggled on a couch, one licking cream from the other's breast. A pair of incubi argued over the best way to make a noblewoman squirt. Damon grinned. This was his world now—competition, hunger, and no shame.
Fizz jabbed a thumb toward a heavy door. "That's the laundry. Don't end up there. The staff bet on how long new guys last before they're wrung out and tossed. You want to get anywhere, you need points, status, or a sponsor. Otherwise you're just meat."
Damon eyed him. "And you?"
Fizz smirked. "I run errands. I see everything. Nobody fucks with me because I know where the bodies are buried—literally." He leaned in, voice dropping. "And the girls? They're already whispering about you. Survive Lilith, and every bitch in this place wants a taste. Watch your back. And your front."
The next stop was the workroom—a wide chamber lined with beds, mirrors, racks of toys. Demons lounged everywhere, some prepping for work, others gossiping, a few already half-naked and teasing each other. As Damon walked in, conversation stopped. Eyes tracked him—some cold, some hot, some openly appraising.
A tall, broad-shouldered incubus stepped forward, muscles rippling, hair cropped short and black. He looked Damon up and down, unimpressed. "So this is the new one. Survived the boss, huh?" His voice was rough, mocking. "Name's Marek. Don't think I'll go easy on you because you're pretty. I eat boys like you for breakfast."
Damon grinned, refusing to back down. "Careful, Marek. I bite back."
Before Marek could respond, a slighter demon with a shock of green hair slipped between them, slinging an arm around Damon's shoulders. "Ignore the meathead. He just wants someone to wrestle. I'm Jinny. I'm here for the fun, the tips, and the stories. You got a story, right? You look like you've got at least three." Jinny winked, mouth curled in a wicked smile.
Damon shrugged him off, but couldn't help the chuckle. "We'll see. Maybe I'll make a new one tonight."
A chorus of whistles, a few lewd remarks, some outright offers. The women eyed him differently—hungry, speculative, lips curling in secret promises. One, a curvy redhead with horns and a split tongue, dragged her eyes over him like she was already tasting him. Another, sharp and silver, whispered to her friend, "Lilith's first in months. He's gotta be special."
Fizz led him on, out of the workroom and down another hallway, past kitchens and supply rooms, until they reached a small, plain door at the end. "This is you for now. Two to a room—unless you get promoted, win enough, or fuck your way into a solo suite."
He opened the door. The room was basic—two beds, a battered wardrobe, a chest for personal things, a window looking out over the alley. Fizz dropped Damon's new key on the nightstand. "Don't worry, your roommate's not too bad. Just don't touch their stuff. And keep the noise down unless you're getting paid for it."
Damon tossed his towel and clothes on the empty bed, sat down on the edge of the mattress. He stared at his hands, feeling the marks under his skin, the weight of last night's sex, the aftertaste of Seraphiel's voice in his mind. He wondered what she would have said—what she would have done—if she could see him now.
Fizz lingered in the doorway. "You'll do fine, demon. Just remember—everyone's a rival. Even your friends." He winked, then slipped out, leaving Damon alone with the silence and his racing thoughts.
He lay back, closing his eyes. The room was still, but his mind was not. The system buzzed, a low electric hum at the base of his skull. He felt the echo of Seraphiel's plea, the glitch in the darkness, the promise of power and corruption tangled together.
Somewhere down the hall, he heard laughter—deep, guttural, chased by a scream of pleasure. The world beyond this room was alive, hungry, always waiting to swallow him or spit him out. He was hard again, his body responding to the memory of Lilith's cunt, her womb swallowing every drop, her laughter echoing as she rode him.
He didn't know if he was hungry or just lost, but he didn't care. The rules were simple here: survive, fuck, win, or be forgotten.
He rolled over, arm slung across his eyes, letting the system's whisper thread through the quiet.
"Welcome to the real game, Damon. Next quest coming soon…"
He almost drifted off when the door clicked, hinges creaking. Damon didn't look up, just listened as footsteps crossed the threshold. The room grew colder, tenser, the promise of a new challenge thick in the air.
He smiled, lips curling around the hunger that never left him, and waited to see who—what—would walk into his world next.