The forge roared with life.
Iron hissed in water. Sparks leapt into the air in bursts of gold and orange, crackling against the shadowed rafters above. Heat curled around the walls in waves. At the center of it all stood Veronica, backlit by flame, green-black hair tied high and tight, sweat sliding in glistening lines down her spine. She adjusted her grip on the hammer, eyes locked on the glowing gun barrel resting beneath the flame's kiss.
This was the hardest part—crafting a barrel that could shoot stylized coin-slotted bullets shaped like playing card symbols. Each chamber had to align perfectly, the internal glyphwork tuned so that the loaded coins sparked to life with a unique color and elemental charge. It was temperamental, tight work—one misshaped rune and the entire thing would misfire or melt. But she was nearly there now. One more adjustment, and the deck would finally deal its death right.
The heavy door swung open with a groan, inviting a gust of scorched wind into the forge—thick with soot and the spiced tang of molten alloys. Outside, the blacksmith district of Lust Ring bustled with clangs, bellows, and curses in at least six languages. Though Lust was known for indulgence and temptation, it had become a haven for creators too—where artisans, exiles, and devil-born engineers came to work on passion projects that couldn't exist anywhere else. In this part of hell, Lust meant more than pleasure. It meant desire to make. To shape. To dream in steel.
"Aluminum," purred a familiar voice, low and lazy. "That thing better be prettier than me when it's done. And considering I taught you how to shape a barrel without splitting the weave, I'll be personally offended if it's not."
Veronica smirked, not bothering to look up. Her hands moved with purpose, tracing the beginnings of a greed-aligned demonic inscription into the cooling metal—carefully etched symbols in infernal tongue blooming beneath her fingertips. "Tall order, Cox. You're a real work of art."
Cox sauntered into view like sin wrapped in denim, hips rolling in grease-streaked overalls that clung in all the right places. Her teal and pink hair was a tangled crown of oil and rebellion, and her bare arms flexed as she hopped onto the edge of the workbench, a chain-wrapped lollipop dangling between her lips. Her eyes flicked down to the runes forming on the barrel with a glint of mentor's pride.
She whistled low, nodding at the metal. "That the new glutton-forged alloy? Veronica, you gotta try these new lollipops they've been making. Same company. Made 'em for people like you and me—something to chew while you're elbow-deep in volatile enchantments. Tastes like molten sugar and spite. Demon who started the line said he got tired of passing razor wire after eating his own scrap. Smart bastard. Burn-proof, hunger-resistant, and still etches like gold."
"You know," she drawled, eyes glittering, "we've been working together a long time. Real long. And I gotta say... if I could fall for anything, it'd probably be this forge."
Veronica glanced over her shoulder. One arched brow. "Is that so?"
"Mm-hm." Cox popped the lollipop free with a snap of her teeth and a smirk. "Romance makes my skin itch. But flirting? I like the heat. Keeps my brain sharp."
But there was more to it than that. Cox had seen that look before—the trance Veronica slipped into when she worked too long, too deep. It wasn't just focus. It was obsession. Dangerous, especially with a father like hers paying the bills. If someone didn't jolt her out of it, she might vanish entirely into that glowing metal, and not even know it.
The hammer landed with a metallic thud on the table. Veronica turned fully now, arms folded, sweat catching on the curve of her jaw. Cox felt a flicker of satisfaction—Veronica was back, grounded in the room again instead of drifting deeper into obsession and her father's shadow. Without a word, Cox reached into her pocket and tossed a wrapped lollipop across the bench. It slid to a stop just beside Veronica's hand.
"Try this. Glutton-Forged Alloy Company's latest treat," Cox said, grinning. "Made for people like you and me—can survive forge heat, doesn't melt until you do, and tastes like molten pride. Wrapped in glutton-demon script too. Adds flavor if you read it out loud."
Veronica snorted, unwrapping the candy and popping it into her mouth. She bit once, then tilted her head in surprise.
"Tastes cheap in price," she muttered, then immediately made a face—eyes widening, one brow arching like she'd just accidentally licked lightning. "But damn... the flavor's rich. Like someone melted a bribe and dipped it in sin."
Cox smirked, twirling her own chain-wrapped stick. "Greed demons say flavor and value go hand in hand. Guess they figured out how to season with sin and underpricing."
She leaned back with a smirk and added, "Honestly, I'd like to see how expensive I taste. I hear I'm quite the investment—maybe even more than that roulette gun you're making."
They both laughed at that—sharp and easy, the kind of laugh that cracked open the firelit haze, grounding them in the here and now.
"Come on," Cox said, nudging Veronica's elbow. "That was a good one. Admit it."
Veronica laughed again, low and dangerous. She turned back to the forge, lifting the nearly finished roulette gun—sleek and sharp, with glimmering runes etched along its barrel.
No ordinary weapon, this. The barrel housed a rotating prism of compressed elemental channels—earth, fire, ether, and shadow—each one able to be charged on spin, fired through alchemical conductors and refined mana fuses. A relic-style roulette gun, once believed extinct, said to have originated when the concept of Russian roulette was still a whispered dare in demon courts. Every demon eventually builds their own version of a signature weapon—some lean funny, some edgy, some eerily traditional—but no two are the same. This one was Veronica's alone. It had evolved with her, refined through madness, purpose, and bloodline. And she was crafting it like an artist sculpting vengeance in motion.
"Focus, Foxy. We've got a weapon to finish."
"Tease," Cox muttered, already stepping in with the practiced rhythm of someone who knew exactly how to break an obsession without killing the momentum. She passed Veronica a copper-bound wrench, caught a demon-bit drill tossed her way, and tightened a valve with a snarl of sparks. They moved like dancers locked in some molten duet—passing tools back and forth in sync with the hammer's rhythm.
Sparks flew as Cox welded plates and threaded wires, her touch equal parts violence and elegance.
For a moment, there was only the sound of fire and metal—until Cox broke the silence, voice just loud enough to snap the air.
"Speaking of focus... your old man's been sniffing around. Says he wants a word."
Veronica's jaw tightened, just a fraction. Her expression didn't change, but the temperature in the room shifted.
"Of course he does," she said, voice cool.
Cox glanced sideways, playful edge sharpening. "Want me to stall him? Maybe throw a pipe through his voicemail."
Veronica clicked the chamber into place. The gun purred—yes, purred—with satisfaction.
"Let him wait," she said. "I'm busy building something better than a deal right now."
Cox let out a low whistle, impressed. She stretched, catlike, and dropped from the bench with a thump of boots on concrete.
"That's my girl."
And for just a moment, the forge belonged to them.
Sparks danced like fireflies. Steel sang beneath their fingers. And in the haze of smoke, sweat, and perfectly passed precision tools, two women shaped the future with grit, grins, and the ghost of something wild burning in their blood.