He pushed through the door and felt the world change. The air inside the brothel was wet heat and perfume, a riot of moans and laughter, bodies twisting in every shadow. Desire's Dock—he barely understood what that meant yet, but even with his memories broken and his anger still pulsing, Damon recognized the currency in the room: want, hunger, filth, power. Sex wasn't just bought and sold here; it was the law, the food, the weapon.
The entryway was crowded, demons and mortals tangled together on plush cushions, some riding, some begging, some only watching. Lamps flickered, shadows danced on bare skin, and the stink of magic blended with sweat and alcohol. Damon stepped inside and felt every eye slide over him. Some looks were hungry, others wary, a few gleaming with cruel amusement. He realized how naked he was, how raw. But he didn't cover himself. He stood there, skin prickling, cock already swelling again with a hunger that didn't care if it came from anger or arousal or both.
The staff didn't stop him. One demon girl, horns glinting, looked him over from head to toe, lips curling in a knowing smirk. "New meat," she whispered to a friend. Damon caught her gaze and held it, just long enough for her to look away.
He moved deeper, letting the city's filth seep into his skin. Every sound was sharper, every taste on the air richer. He passed a couple grinding against a pillar, a succubus feeding on the moans of a trembling client. Coins and flesh traded everywhere. No one hid what they wanted.
He didn't know where he was going, only that the voice in his mind—Lilith, the one who'd called to him in the alley—pulled him through the haze. It felt less like an invitation than a dare.
A pair of bouncers watched him from either side of a velvet curtain, arms crossed, tusks jutting from thick lips. Damon kept his chin up, ignored the naked violence in their eyes. They let him through with a nod. Something about him made them wary, or maybe amused.
He stepped into the next room, and the world quieted, became intimate. The lighting changed, thick velvet shadows, the air electric with tension. A throne—no, more a decadent couch, red and black and sin all over—waited in the center, and sprawled across it, like a queen in a den of wolves, was Lilith.
She wasn't like the others. She was more—more beautiful, more terrifying, more real than anything his shattered memory could conjure. Her skin glowed, almost iridescent in the lamplight. Her hair spilled around her shoulders, a tangle of midnight and fire. She wore a dress that clung to her body, threatening to slide off her hips with every breath. Gold eyes tracked his every move, pupils slitted, lips curled in a smile that could break bones or make gods beg.
"Welcome, Damon," she purred, her voice sharp and rich, cutting through the room like a blade dipped in honey. "I see you found your way. Wasn't sure if you'd get lost, or just start fucking the first thing that moved."
He stopped, standing a few feet from her. The sound of his name—was it really his?—echoed through his skull. Something old and painful tried to rise up, but Lilith's presence pressed it back down.
He didn't answer. Words felt like a trap, and he didn't trust her not to laugh at whatever he said.
She let the silence stretch. Her gaze dropped, lingering on his naked body, cock half-hard and still rising. She didn't bother to hide her delight. "You look like a newborn colt—wobbly, confused, but all that muscle and fire. And what a cock. No wonder the angels wanted to keep you chained."
A servant, a slim demon boy in tight mesh, offered her a goblet of black wine. Lilith waved him away with a flick of her wrist, her focus never leaving Damon.
"Come closer," she said, voice sliding into him. It wasn't a request.
He stepped forward, muscles tensed for violence or worse. She patted the couch beside her. "Sit. Or stand. Or kneel. I like variety." The corners of her mouth quirked.
He stood. If she wanted to see him kneel, she'd have to force him.
Lilith sighed, stretching, letting her dress fall lower on her chest. Her tits were lush, nipples just barely hidden by thin fabric, daring him to look, to touch, to try and take. "So. The city's new demon. What did you do before, Damon? What do you remember?"
He tried. He really did. Images flickered—an altar, a sword, Seraphiel's scream, blood on feathers—but every time he reached for them, they burned away. "Pain," he said finally. "Betrayal. Rage. Nothing that matters here, does it?"
She laughed, the sound curling around him, making him harder, hungrier, angrier. "Oh, it matters. Everything matters here, if you know how to use it." Her eyes ran over his body, hungry. "But let's start simple. Here, all that matters is what you can take. What you can survive. What you can fuck and make yours."
He bristled, jaw clenching. "And what if I don't want to play?"
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palm. "You're already playing. Every breath here is a wager. Every touch, every look, every time you let someone see you want." Her gaze flicked down to his cock again. "You want. That's the only thing that counts."
He hated that she was right. He hated that he wanted her to see.
Lilith stood, dress falling around her like water, and began to circle him. Her nails trailed over his shoulder, leaving heat in their wake. "You don't know your own power yet, do you?" she whispered, breath hot against his ear. "You could fuck your way through this city, or bleed for it. Most do both. Survival's not guaranteed. Pleasure never is."
He fought the urge to grab her, to claim, to bite. Every nerve screamed at him to act, but something about her—her smell, her aura—kept him off balance, teetering on the edge.
She stopped in front of him, eyes level with his. Her lips were inches from his. "Do you want me, Damon? Or do you want to hurt me?" Her words wrapped around his brain like a fist.
He didn't answer. He didn't trust himself to.
She laughed again, low and wicked. "Maybe both." Her hand slipped down his chest, stopped just above his cock. "Here, you earn everything. Sex, pain, power. You want to fuck me, prove you deserve it. You want to kill me, you better win." She leaned in close, breath on his lips, the world spinning. "No mercy. No gifts. Everything's taken."
He gritted his teeth. Her aura pressed against him, waves of charm and hunger, threatening to drag him under. He felt his resistance crumble, the last vestiges of whatever angelic pride he'd once held flickering out.
"You'll have to do better than that," he managed, voice rough.
Lilith's eyes glittered. "Good. I don't like weak men. Or boys who don't know what they want." She stepped back, sashaying to her throne, the dress barely clinging to her hips. She sat, legs crossed, one finger trailing lazy circles on her thigh.
He forced himself to stand still, fists at his sides. His whole body ached, not just with need but with something deeper—an ache for violence, for vengeance, for release.
She beckoned a servant over, whispering something in his ear. The boy scampered away, eyes wide with fear and lust. Lilith looked at Damon, one eyebrow arched. "Here's how it works. The city doesn't care if you're a king or a whore. It only cares what you can survive. Me, I'm both. You could be, too—if you're not too stupid, or too soft."
He felt his rage build, mingling with his lust. "And if I don't want to play your games?"
She smirked, slow and cruel. "You already are. Your cock's telling on you. So is your anger. There's no out, Damon. There's only through." Her voice grew sharper, the edge under the honey. "You'll fight, or you'll fuck, or you'll die. And if you're lucky, maybe you'll find out which you're best at."
He swallowed, the urge to attack—or beg—almost overwhelming.
She uncrossed her legs, spreading them slightly, the slit of her dress opening just enough to show the barest glimpse of skin. "See something you want?" she taunted, her voice thick with sin.
He took a step forward before he could stop himself, the desire too strong, too raw. She held up a hand, palm out, stopping him dead.
"Not yet," she purred. "Not until you know the rules. Not until you prove you belong."
He could taste her on the air, musk and magic. His cock throbbed. The room felt small, too hot, every other sound faded away except the blood pounding in his ears.
She stood and walked up to him again, so close their bodies nearly touched. "You think you're the first lost thing to crawl in here, looking for meaning? The first monster with a hard-on and a grudge?" She brushed her lips along his jaw, just enough to burn.
"No," she whispered. "But you might be the first who can take me and survive."
He shuddered, the words lighting something inside him he didn't have a name for.
She slid her hand down, cupping his balls, testing his reaction. "You want to fuck me, Damon? You want to bleed for me? Or do you just want to see if your anger's bigger than your cock?"
His voice came out as a growl. "I want to win."
She smiled, delighted. "Then you're in the right place." She squeezed, not gently. "But here, victory is earned. Pain and pleasure, both. I'll break you before I let you take me. And if you break me first—maybe I'll thank you for it."
She let go and walked back to her throne, leaving him hungry, burning, humiliated and wanting more.
A flicker in his mind—a stutter of heat, the world shimmering at the edges. Words, not his, whispering through his skull: Quest initializing…
He staggered, grabbing the arm of the couch to steady himself. The world seemed to slide sideways, just for a second, as if something deep inside him was waking up. But it passed, leaving only the echo: Not yet. Get stronger. Get dirtier. Prove yourself.
Lilith watched him, eyes dark and knowing. "You felt it, didn't you?" she said softly. "This city knows what you are. It's hungry for you. So am I. But I won't settle for a broken toy. Come back when you can take what you want."
He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already dismissing him, her attention shifting, dismissing him like a queen with too many suitors.
He turned and left, each step heavier, every nerve screaming for release. The sounds of the brothel hit him like a wave—fucking, fighting, pleading, begging. It all blurred together. He barely saw the faces as he pushed through the crowd.
Outside, the night felt colder, sharper. He stopped in the alley, hands shaking, cock still hard and aching. The system's voice whispered again, softer now, curling in his thoughts like smoke: Next quest: Fuck Lilith. Survive. Earn SuccuBucks.
He laughed, the sound wild and joyless, then pressed his fist to the wall, leaving blood on the stone.
He was still a weapon. He was still burning.He just needed to get strong enough to use it.