The Demon District was like nothing any of them had seen before.

  Darius had expected noise, chaos, maybe blood, but nothing prepared him for the otherworldly spectacle before him. The air felt heavier here. It was charged, scented with incense, spiced food, smoke, Vaylora, and the metallic tang of too much magic packed too tightly into one place.

  Behind him, Cassian let out a low whistle.

  "Well," he said, "this is more than I expected."

  Lucen didn't answer. He was too busy scanning the district. He took in everything as if preparing for war, and this district was a battlefield. Myrren, meanwhile, looked like she'd been dropped into a personal paradise—her gaze darting everywhere, her expression lit with scholarly delight as she scribbled notes into her journal.

  The Demon District sprawled before them in an elegant nightmare. Buildings rose in spires and curling shapes that mimicked Gothic architecture, but with strange angles that shouldn't have been possible. Everything was impeccable—carved marble, wrought iron, polished obsidian, but all of it carried a faint wrongness, as though gravity and geometry needed to be reminded who was in charge here.

  Vaylora moved through everything here. It made life both easier and unsettling. Every door opened on its own. No torches lit the streets. Instead, there were odd poles with dazzling lights at their points.

  Yet despite the eerie structure and the perceived wrongness, the streets were full of life.

  There weren't just demons that filled these streets. Darius's eyes caught Lycans in both human and half-shifted form, Phoenixes with ember-bright feathers woven through their hair, Titan Orcs wrapped in tribal tattoos and war paint. He saw two beautiful elven women, on each arm of a rather odd-looking demon. Darius recoiled as the demon in question gave him a seductive wink as he walked past. A pair of dwarves trailed by a Leviathan strode past them, muttering about losing coin at the pits.

  "Hard to believe one place can have so many different... things. It's like a small empire," Cassian remarked under his breath.

  "It's almost like the Vampire District," Lucen said, "but… sideways somehow."

  Darius nodded. The comparison fit. The Demon District had the elegance of the vampires, but everything was tilted into the realm of the strange.

  Yet strangely—comfortingly—everything felt alive and familiar even for guests such as themselves who had never seen even half the things before them.

  "By the gods," Myrren whispered, scribbling. "This is absolutely fascinating."

  A sudden weight pressed against Lucen's hip. He spun sharply, but the culprit was already darting away—a small demon teenager with curling horns and a wicked grin, tossing Lucen's coin pouch between his hands.

  "That little—" Lucen took one step forward.

  The demon laughed, flipped him a mocking bow… then tossed the pouch back at him as if it were a toy. His friends cackled and dragged him away before Lucen could retort.

  "They're not malicious," Myrren observed, adjusting her glasses. "They're performing social mischief. It seems to be a game to them."

  Lucen glared at her. "A game? They tried to rob me."

  "No, they successfully robbed you. So the game was over, and they gave it back. I doubt they have any use for your coin," she replied primly.

  Cassian chuckled.

  Further down, two well-dressed gentlemanly demons—tailored suits, perfect posture, delicate gloves—were engaged in a fistfight in the middle of the street. And by "fistfight," they were beating each other bloody with the enthusiasm of tavern brawlers. A crowd of equally refined demons watched, cheering politely as if attending a theater performance.

  Myrren's head whipped back and forth as she took notes so quickly she nearly tore the page.

  Lucen stared at her. "Why did Selene want to bring this one along?"

  Darius smirked. "She's a walking encyclopedia on nearly all—"

  He didn't get to finish.

  Myrren suddenly veered sharply toward a strange-looking demon standing near a glowing fountain. She assaulted him with questions before any of them could stop her. Where was he born? What was the symbology of his horns? Were those natural markings on his skin? Was he involved in the Great Demon War? Was that piercings or bone extensions?

  The demon blinked at her, stunned.

  Then, slowly, he smiled—and answered every question. Soon the two were deep in conversation, gesturing animatedly, while the three men watched in baffled silence.

  After several minutes, Myrren bowed politely and returned to them.

  "Here," she said, offering Darius a small metal token. "We can use this."

  Darius blinked. "A pass?"

  "VVIP access to the fighting pits." Myrren adjusted her glasses, pleased. "That gentleman gave it to me as thanks for the pleasant conversation."

  Cassian stared. "What did you talk about to earn something like that?"

  "We talked about him." She shrugged. "Demons really like to talk about themselves. Especially older ones."

  Lucen frowned. "How can you tell he's older?"

  Myrren tilted her head, genuinely confused by the question. "Isn't it obvious?"

  The three men collectively looked at the demons around them. They saw horns, claws, wings, markings—nothing that seemed to distinguish young from old.

  Myrren sighed softly and pointed.

  "Those over there are younger."

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  She gestured to a group of energetic demons bouncing between stalls, their eyes flicking to every noise, every motion, every spark of movement around them.

  "Those two," she pointed to another pair leaning casually against a building, "are older."

  Cassian squinted. "They look the same."

  "No, they don't," Myrren said, exasperated. "The younger ones are hyper-aware of everything. That one has been watching us for a while."

  Lucen followed her pointing finger. "Maybe because you're pointing at him?"

  "Oh, they don't care about that," Myrren said dismissively.

  "The older ones don't bother with the world unless it bothers them first. Their movements are subtle. They conserve energy. And other demons avoid them instinctively."

  Darius watched the groups again.

  She was right.

  The younger demons prowled, joked, or watched with hungry eyes. The older ones were statuesque—silent, self-contained, radiating a quiet danger. And sure enough, the younger demons skirted wide arcs around those older figures.

  "Well," Cassian muttered, "I'll be damned."

  Myrren beamed at their dawning comprehension.

  Cassian looked at Darius. Darius shrugged. "This is why she's with us."

  Myrren pointed down a street lined with crimson lanterns and swirling smoke. "The fighting pits are this way."

  The group continued deeper into the district.

  ******

  As Selene had told them before, the manor was impossible to miss.

  A towering gothic building with blazing red windows, its entrance framed by two massive statues that looked like winged creatures half-emerging from the stone. A long line of people—dozens of species—wound down the street, all eager to get inside.

  Above the gate hung an ornate sign:

  THE FIGHTING PITS

  "Subtle," Cassian muttered.

  Lucen snorted. "This line is ridiculous."

  "Good thing we don't have to wait," Myrren said brightly. She stepped to the front of the line, ignoring the irritated murmurs behind her. The others followed.

  Two demon guards lounged at the entrance—both young, both broad-shouldered, both radiating smug superiority. One squinted at them.

  "What are you humans doing here?"

  The other chuckled. "They look like the ones here for the Accords."

  "Tsk," the first one scoffed.

  "Humans are so weak. Imagine needing a treaty to deal with a gaggle of witches."

  Lucen's lips curled. "Weren't your kind defeated by a gaggle of witches? Maybe you should go tell Morgan or Selene how easy Witches are to deal with?"

  Both guards snapped their attention toward him, snarling. Before they could speak, Darius stepped forward and held up the pass.

  The change in their demeanor was instant. Their eyes widened.

  "You are… guests of Arch Demon Vorthyx?" one asked, voice suddenly high with shock.

  Everyone in line audibly gasped.

  The guards exchanged a panicked glance—then bowed deeply.

  "R–right this way, please."

  They ushered the group to a side door, practically tripping over each other in their eagerness to be accommodating.

  Inside, a demon dressed in immaculate butler attire greeted them with a bow.

  "You are the invited guests of Arch Demon Vorthyx? Please, follow me."

  They followed him through a dim hallway. The air grew thicker, warmer, scented with incense and something sweetly intoxicating. When the hallway opened—

  Lucen stopped dead.

  "Oh… wow."

  The room before them was an elegant den of decadence lit by soft red and violet lights. Demons and other species lounged on velvet couches, draped over one another in a tangle of limbs. Scantily clad servers drifted between them, carrying trays of shimmering drinks and silver pipes of vapor.

  Myrren squeaked softly and slapped her hands over her eyes as a male demon server wearing nothing but the scantest of cloth to cover his shame passed by her.

  "This is—this is VERY—free-spirited. Good heavens," she said as she peered through her fingers. That tiny cloth failed to hide anything.

  Darius cleared his throat, trying not to stare too directly at a female demon server who passed wearing nothing at all.

  Cassian grinned. "This is more… spirited than the debauchery in the capital. Surprisingly classier, though."

  In one corner, a curtain slammed shut as a demon and a dwarven woman disappeared behind it. Myrren turned crimson.

  Darius, trying not to appear rattled, kept walking. "This way."

  They moved to the railing overlooking the pits.

  Below them lay the VIP box seats—elegant private alcoves filled with rich demons drinking and shouting encouragement. Beneath those sat the general audience, a roaring, frenzied mass of bodies waving coins and betting slips.

  And at the bottom of it all—the pit.

  A brutal arena of dark sand, stained with old blood. Chains dangled from the high walls, and sharp spikes jutted from the stone. The energy was electric, brutal, primal.

  Above the arena floated a massive orb of vaylora displaying the next contenders' names, records, and odds.

  Myrren leaned forward eagerly. "Two undefeated fighters. This will be exciting."

  "I imagine most are undefeated," Darius said, resting his weight on the railing.

  "Why?"

  "Because," he said, "if they weren't undefeated… they'd be dead."

  Cassian and Lucen nodded grimly.

  "Then why? Why participate in such a thing if it means almost certain death?" Myrren asked.

  "Blackmailed..." Lucen said.

  "Thrill seeking," Cassian added.

  "Quick, easy money..." Darius chuckled.

  "For every reason why you shouldn't do it, there are at least five other reasons why you should," Darius said.

  "Or have to," Lucen scoffed.

  Myrren didn't say anything. She just looked at the men.

  "Seems like you three have been through more than I can imagine."

  Their attention was drawn to the pit as the next two fighters entered the sand.

  On one side: a titan orc, pale red skin, hulking muscles stacked atop muscles. His teeth were jagged, his tusks gleaming. He carried a hammer twice the size of a full-grown man.

  On the other side, a phoenix male, tall, sleek, carved with lean muscle. He looked mostly human aside from the fiery wings folded against his back, glowing faintly. His hair flickered like a living flame.

  Lucen leaned forward. "Who do you think wins?"

  "My money's on the orc," Lucen answered himself.

  "I'll need to see the first few exchanges to be certain," Cassian murmured, analytical.

  "The phoenix will win," Darius said flatly.

  Both men turned.

  "How are you so sure?"

  Darius pushed off the railing. "The look in his eyes."

  They stared at him and then looked at the two combatants again. The Orc did seem confident, yet not cocky. When they looked into the eyes of the Phoenix, they both instinctively jolted. He did not have the eyes of someone confident. He had the eyes of a killer, but beneath that, there was purpose, determination. It's not that he would win; it's that he could not afford to lose.

  "He'll win."

  Without waiting for a reply, Darius turned and began walking back toward the room of decadence.

  Cassian called after him, "Where are you going?"

  "To do my job," Darius said. "You two should watch the match."

  Cassian sighed but turned back toward the pit as the announcer roared out the fighters' names.

  Lucen grinned, leaning eagerly over the railing.

  Myrren scribbled notes furiously, trying to capture the spectacle.

  And Darius disappeared into the shifting red lights behind them.