Ares' boots sank into the snow, each step a calculated effort as he carried Velvira through the frozen ravine, her armored curves pressed against his chest. Her weight was deceptively light for a Demon Lord, her head lolling dramatically against his shoulder like a swooning maiden in a bard's tale. The pact mark on his wrist pulsed faintly, a warm throb that sent shivers through him, though he refused to acknowledge it. Her clawed fingers traced idle, maddening patterns along his collarbone, each touch a spark he forced himself to ignore.
"Oh, strategist," she sighed, her voice a sultry purr that sliced through the wind's howl. "Such a gentleman, carrying me like a damsel in distress. I could get used to this chivalry."
Ares kept his eyes on the path, his jaw tight. "You twisted your ankle," he said flatly. "You said you couldn't walk."
"Did I?" Her lips curled into a mischievous smile, her violet eyes glinting under hooded lids. "I might've exaggerated. But look at you, so gallant. So strong." Her fingers drifted lower, brushing the edge of his cloak, teasing the skin beneath through the worn fabric.
He ignored the heat creeping up his neck, his gray eyes narrowing. "Where's the pass, Velvira? You've been dodging the question for hours."
She waved a hand vaguely, her crimson nails catching the dawn's pale light. "Oh, you know, keep going… somewhere that way. Through the spooky trees, past the ominous rocks, into the demon lands of doom and delight. Details, darling, details."
Ares stopped mid-step, his grip tightening on her. "You don't know where we're going, do you?"
She gasped, feigning offense, one hand over her chest, the motion drawing attention to the lacquered armor that hugged her curves like liquid fire. "Me? Lost? I'm a Demon Lord, strategist! I navigate by instinct, by passion, by the call of conquest!" She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And right now, my instincts are telling me to enjoy this lovely ride in your arms."
He exhaled sharply, his patience fraying like a worn rope. "If you don't give me a direction, I'm dropping you in the snow."
Her laughter was a low, throaty melody that echoed in the ravine. "Promises, promises." Then, abruptly, she sat up in his arms, her expression shifting to wicked delight. "Fine, darling. Since you're so insistent…" She raised a hand, her fingers snapping with a crackle of crimson energy. The air shimmered, a rift tearing open before them—a swirling portal of black and red, its edges pulsing like a living wound.
Ares stared, his grip tightening on her thighs. "You're kidding."
Velvira grinned, sliding out of his arms with feline grace, landing lightly in the snow. Her armor glinted, the gaps at her hips and thighs catching the light, a deliberate taunt. "Surprise! I wanted to stretch my legs. And you, my dear, needed the cardio." She sauntered toward the portal, her hips swaying with exaggerated care. "Besides, it was worth it to see you play the hero. So noble, so… sweaty."
Ares set his jaw, fury sparking in his eyes as he stepped forward, snow crunching under his boots. "You could've done this hours ago. I carried you through a blizzard, dodged patrols, and you had a teleportation spell this whole time?"
She turned, her smile all teeth, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Guilty as charged. But don't worry, strategist. I'll make it up to you later." Her voice dropped, suggestive, her gaze lingering on him. "In ways you'll very much enjoy."
Ares pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "You're insufferable."
"And you love it," she purred, beckoning him toward the portal with a crooked finger. "Come, darling. Time to meet your new home."
Velvira paused at the portal's edge, her armor shimmering as if alive. With a flick of her wrist, the lacquered plates dissolved into dark silk, a gown that clung to her like a lover's embrace, its high slits revealing long, toned legs. Crimson heels materialized, clicking against the stone, and a veil of cursed lace draped her shoulders, glowing faintly with infernal runes. The transformation was effortless, sensual, a performance meant to captivate—and it did, though Ares would never admit it.
He watched, his expression unreadable, though the pact mark throbbed in response to her magic. "Showing off?"
"Preparing," she corrected, her voice a velvet taunt as she adjusted her veil, the lace brushing her collarbone. "A Demon Lord must look the part. And you…" She eyed his travel-worn cloak, caked with snow and mud, her nose wrinkling. "You need a proper appearance for demon high society."
Before he could protest, she snapped her fingers, and crimson magic swirled around him. His cloak burned away in harmless flames, replaced by a tailored outfit—military black, high-collared, with red rune-trim that echoed her gown. The fabric was sleek, part aristocrat, part warlord, molding to his lean frame like a second skin. The pact mark on his wrist glowed brighter, visible through the cuff, a badge of her claim.
Ares glanced down, his brow arching. "This is excessive."
"It's perfect," she said, circling him like a predator admiring her work. Her fingers brushed his collar, lingering too long, her touch sending a jolt through the pact mark. "You look… dangerous. Deliciously so."
He stepped back, his voice dry. "Focus, Velvira."
She pouted, then grinned. "Spoilsport." Gesturing to the portal, she said, "Welcome to the Underworld, strategist."
They stepped through, the world twisting and snapping into place. A wave of heat struck them, the air thick with sulfur and molten iron. They stood on a jagged outcrop overlooking Crimson Fang—a fortress carved from black stone, its spires piercing the cavernous sky like the ribs of some ancient beast. Rivers of lava snaked through the streets, casting an orange glow that danced across obsidian walls. The air thrummed with magic, oppressive and alive, as if the fortress itself watched their arrival.
"Welcome to my domain," Velvira announced, sweeping an arm toward the sprawling city. Her gown shimmered, the silk catching the lava's light like liquid flame. "Impressive, isn't it?"
Ares took in the sight, his calm exterior masking the storm in his mind. This wasn't the demon lair he'd imagined—hulking monsters and crude chaos. This was an empire, hidden beneath Ruveria's surface, pulsing with wealth and power. "Impressive," he muttered, his voice betraying a hint of awe.
Velvira tilted her head, her smile playful. "Just impressive? Darling, you wound me. You haven't seen the half of it."
They descended a winding path, the stone warm underfoot, and Ares felt the weight of unseen eyes tracking his every move. Velvira strode ahead, her heels clicking with authority, her presence commanding the air itself. Demons—all female, as she'd promised—lined the streets, their forms a spectrum of elegance and lethality. Some wore armor that accentuated their curves, others draped in silks that shimmered with curses. Each carried an aura of control, their eyes flicking to Ares with curiosity, suspicion, or hunger.
At the main gates, a tall demon with raven-black wings and glowing amber eyes barred their path. "My lady," she said, bowing to Velvira, her voice smooth but wary. "You bring… a human?"
Velvira waved a hand dismissively, her lace veil fluttering. "I bring what I please, Sylra. Step aside." The guard hesitated, her gaze lingering on Ares, then bowed and moved, her wings rustling like silk.
Ares noted the exchange, his mind cataloging the subtle power play. None questioned Velvira openly, but the tension was palpable. "They're not thrilled about me," he said quietly.
Velvira's lips curved. "They'll learn to love you. Or fear you. Either works." She glanced at him, her voice dropping. "All demons are female, born of the void's primal power. Our forms are fluid, our strength absolute. Some choose monstrous shapes, others…" She gestured to herself, her gown clinging scandalously tight. "Prefer refinement."
Ares blinked. "Huh."
Her laughter echoed through the gates, rich and unrestrained. "You'll adjust, darling. They're more than capable."
They passed through the city, the streets alive with vendors hawking cursed relics, shadow-forged blades, and vials of glowing ichor. The air buzzed with chatter, clinking metal, and the hum of infernal magic. Ares' mind raced—this was no mere stronghold. Crimson Fang was a hub of commerce, strategy, and ambition, a shadow empire manipulating Ruveria from below.
Velvira led him to a towering obsidian structure, its iron doors etched with the Crimson Fang's sigil—a serpent coiled around a bleeding heart. Guards parted without a word, their eyes flicking between Velvira's commanding presence and Ares' rune-trimmed attire.
"My seat of power," she said, pushing open the doors to reveal a grand hall. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting Velvira's victories—leading armies, felling titans, her form radiant in each. The hall was vast but eerily empty, its silence heavy with authority.
"Impressive," Ares said, his tone carrying a new edge. He felt the weight of her domain, the solitude of her rule.
"You're not the first to say that," Velvira replied, her smile wicked. "But you're about to learn something vital." She led him through fire-lit corridors, their shadows dancing on the walls, until they reached heavy double doors flanked by guards. "This is my court. My people. Some are loyal, others…" Her voice hardened. "We're working on them."
She turned, her eyes locking on his. "They answer to me, strategist. Not you. Respect that."
Ares raised an eyebrow but held his tongue, noting the steel in her words.
The doors swung open, revealing a chamber crackling with tension. A massive stone table dominated the room, surrounded by demons—each a vision of power and danger. Their eyes snapped to Ares, their gazes ranging from curiosity to outright hostility. A tall demon with red tattoos snaking up her arms stood, her voice sharp as a blade. "A human? Velvira, you dare bring a mortal into our sanctum?"
Velvira's expression didn't falter. "I dare what I please, Zorya." Her voice was silk over steel. "This is Ares Caelum, my strategist. You'll treat him as you would me."
The room stilled, the air thick with unspoken challenges. Zorya's eyes narrowed, but she didn't press further. Velvira's magic flared, a pulse of crimson energy that chilled the air, her gown glowing like embers. "Respect him," she said, her voice slicing through the silence. "Or I'll have your heads."
The demons shifted, some lowering their gazes, others bristling but silent. Zorya sat, her tattoos pulsing faintly, her defiance banked but not extinguished.
Velvira turned to Ares, her smile returning, though her eyes held a warning. "Take a seat, darling. I have matters to attend. Don't start a war while I'm gone." She swept out, her heels echoing, leaving him with the council.
Ares didn't hesitate. He strode to the table, his rune-trimmed coat catching the firelight, the pact mark a glowing testament to his bond. The demons watched, their skepticism palpable. He pulled out the chair at the table's head—Velvira's seat—and sat, his posture relaxed but commanding.
The room froze, tension coiling like a spring. Zorya's eyes flashed, but she held her tongue. Another demon, with silver hair and claws like daggers, leaned forward, her voice a hiss. "You dare sit there, mortal?"
Ares met her gaze, his voice cool, almost casual. "Here's what we're going to do next."
The demons stilled, caught off guard by his audacity, waiting to hear how this exiled human would dare lead them.