The club smelled like smoke, sweat, and power. Gold light dripped from chandeliers onto velvet booths where men with sharp teeth and sharper wallets laughed over bottles worth more than Elma's old apartment. She carried the tray like it was a crown, her heels clacking against marble floors, her smirk already daring someone to say the wrong thing.
Nitron's voice echoed in her head even before she saw him.
"Tonight, you prove yourself, little half-breed. Tonight, you stop being a waitress and start being my weapon."
Elma balanced the tray on one hand, letting her hips roll just enough to keep every pair of eyes on her. She wasn't new to attention—she'd grown up in alleys where the only currency was what you could make men do with a smile and a sway. The difference now was that here, in Master Club, it wasn't scraps she was chasing. It was levels.
"Booth six," Nitron's floor manager whispered as she passed. His voice shook. Poor bastard knew what kind of monster sat waiting there.
Elma's grin widened. Good. Fear meant the client was worth her time.
Booth six was draped in heavy curtains, the table shining with untouched crystal glasses. Inside lounged a man too perfect to be human: broad shoulders, hair slicked black, eyes glowing faint gold. A rival demon's son—she'd overheard enough gossip to know his father hated Nitron. That made him prey.
"Finally," the man drawled, raking his gaze over her body like he owned it. "Nitron sends me a drink girl? He must think very little of me."
Elma set the tray down, sliding into his lap before he could blink. Her nails dragged down his chest, slow enough to make his breath hitch. She leaned close, her lips brushing his ear.
"I'm not here to bring you drinks," she whispered. "I'm here to ruin you."
The man chuckled, low and arrogant, his hand clamping on her hip. "You've got a filthy mouth, half-breed. I like that."
Elma smirked. Half-breed. Always half-breed. They thought it was an insult. For her, it was a weapon. Humans underestimated her. Demons despised her. Which meant she always had the element of surprise.
She rolled her hips against him, slow and deliberate, the cocky tilt of her smile never fading. "Then let me show you how dirty it gets."
For a moment, the booth was nothing but tension—his grip bruising her waist, her hand sliding down his thigh, their mouths inches apart. To anyone watching, it looked like foreplay. To Elma, it was war.
Then he shifted. His claws slid free, black and glistening under the low light. Power pulsed through his veins, making the air thick.
"You'll serve me tonight," he growled. "Nitron can watch his favorite slut get used. Consider it tribute."
Elma laughed, sharp and cruel, biting his ear until blood bloomed. "Wrong girl."
[System Alert: Assignment Initiated]
Objective: Break the Rival.
Failure: Level reset to Zero.
Her heart thrummed, the familiar thrill sparking in her chest. This wasn't just sex. This was survival.
He shoved her back against the booth, claws scraping her throat, fangs bared. "Obey me, or bleed."
Elma tilted her head, lips curling. "Why not both?"
Her hand shot forward, seizing the untouched wine glass from the tray. Before he could react, she slammed it into his jaw. The glass shattered, shards digging into skin. Blood sprayed across her chest, hot and metallic.
The rival roared, power bursting outward, the booth rattling. He clawed at her, one strike ripping through her crop top, another grazing her stomach. Pain seared, but Elma only laughed harder, straddling him as he bled beneath her.
"You thought I was a waitress?" she hissed. Her nails plunged into his neck, sharp as knives, ripping flesh. "I'm Nitron's executioner."
The booth filled with chaos—shouts, the stench of blood, the wet crack of bone as she drove his head into the table. The rival thrashed, magic flaring, but Elma's weight pinned him, her hips grinding down with brutal dominance. She dragged his face close, blood dripping between them.
"You wanted me obedient?" she snarled. "Beg."
He tried to speak. She shoved her thumb into his throat until he gagged, choking on blood.
"Pathetic," she spat, biting into his lip until flesh tore. "You can't even keep up."
Her body moved with violent rhythm—half seduction, half slaughter—as she drove him to the edge of death and humiliation. When his power sputtered, when his eyes dimmed, she finished it.
A shard of glass through the throat.
One last grind of her hips.
One last smirk as he gurgled his last breath.
[System Update: Assignment Complete]
+1 Level
Skill Unlocked: Demonic Allure (Passive)
Your presence increases seduction success rate by 20%.
Elma rose from his corpse, blood staining her silver crop top, her skirt torn, her smile radiant. She tossed the broken glass onto his body and pushed the curtains aside, strutting out into the glow of chandeliers like she'd just finished a shift instead of a killing.
The floor had gone silent. Every patron stared. Some with fear, some with hunger. Elma licked blood from her lip and winked.
Nitron stood at the far end of the hall, slow-clapping, his smile all fangs. "Congratulations, my little half-breed," he called, voice booming through the club. "You've leveled up."
Elma bowed, dramatic, her laughter echoing over the corpse cooling in the booth.
"Keep the drinks coming," she said, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "I'm just getting started."