You may have noticed I haven't been around, but there's an explanation for that. Things unfold naturally, even if it takes time-even for blind, cursed musicians, thrilling accountants condemned to their emotions, or radio hosts with yellow teeth.
Looking at Hell from an outsider's perspective, social conventions aren't so different from human life. Dying doesn't automatically make you someone else. You carry yourself-your regrets, your habits, your truths-into the afterlife, no matter how much you try to change.
Maybe that's why the melody exists. A sung reflection of who we really are, of the truths we try to hide behind fake smiles or bury deep in our minds. But the, inevitable always catches up. No one can hide from themselves forever.
So, listen carefully. Try to hear what the melody is telling you.
And try not to go crazy.
10. The world of lust.
At the same time, on 17th Avenue, inside a boat bus gliding over the murky waters, four demons sat together, anxiously awaiting their arrival at Veildark Records.
"I'm nervous," one of them muttered, his expression filled with dread. His entire body was covered in red scales, and his clawed fingers fidgeted on his lap. "How do you think the Rhythm Demon is going to react after what we did to his studio?"
"We did? We did? No, no-you did," another demon snapped. Her pink eyes gleamed under the dim boat lights, and the electric guitar strapped to her back shifted as she leaned forward. "You really need to get a handle on that fire instinct, Vrim."
"You know I can't control it..." Vrim groaned, pressing his scaly hands against the sides of his face. "Whenever I start playing the drums, I feel a fire inside me. I need to let go."
His tail flicked anxiously against the seat, the memory of their last recording session- and the charred remains of the studio's-flashing through his mind.
Lost in his thoughts, Vrim suddenly sneezed-unleashing a burst of flames right in front of him. His eyes widened in panic as he immediately clamped his hands over his snout, suppressing any further sparks.
"Lucky for you he didn't charge us for the studio repairs," a third demon remarked, leaning casually against the boat's railing beside Vrim.
Unlike Vrim's fiery red scales, his were darker-almost gray-more akin to fish scales than reptilian ones. His sharp features and the sleek suit he wore gave him a composed, almost business-like demeanor, despite the long fish-like tail that flicked behind him. He also wore an earring in his left ear, one of those large, attention-grabbing pieces with a black stone that gleamed and reflected the boat's dim lighting. His nails, just as dark, seemed to match his serious expression and made his whole look more imposing.
"Thanks for the encouragement, Huxley," Vrim muttered, rolling his eyes, his embarrassment still fresh.
"It was a pleasure," Huxley replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, clearly enjoying the discomfort his comment caused.
Then, Sitting next to the demoness with the guitar, a fourth demon burst out laughing. He had a red band wrapped around his head, covering the upper part of his face, leaving only his chin, mouth, and dark, mischievous eyes visible.
"Those were great first impressions, huh?" the demon said, his voice full of amusement. "Blowing up the Rhythm Demon's studio on our first record session? Hahahaha. Right? Nyv?"
He leaned back, clearly enjoying the chaos they'd caused, while the others exchanged glances, half-amused and half-concerned about what would come next.
"You can't say it wasn't remarkable, Voltzecrig," Nyvra respond, a smile appearing on her face.
Voltzecrig stroked his chin, adjusting his band before turning to the others. "True. And Hux did a great job on vocals."
"I always do," Huxley replied smoothly, a hint of pride in his voice. "I love it. Maybe I feel the same way," he added, glancing at Vrim. "I think I get you, man. We love Heavy Metal. We have to let it flow-it's our thing!"
"And... the video went viral," the demoness suddenly announced, pulling out her phone.
All three turned toward her as she held up the screen, revealing a horizontally recorded video from their recording session at Veildark Records. The footage played, showing the band members lost in their music.
The highlight? Vrim-drumming with a calm intensity, matching the rhythm perfectly.
"I turned on those rebel machines,
To revive the oldest of the kings,
With his coldest eyes
In a destiny forged in lies."
Huxley's voice carried through the video, his tail swinging in time with the beat as he sang. The energy was raw, powerful. And completely unfiltered.
On the other side of the record booth window, Kain listened intently, his cane resting in his hands. His expression remained unreadable, but the subtle tilt of his head showed he was absorbing every note.
Beside him, Vixy adjusted the soundboard, fine-tuning levels, while Rash leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His usual laid-back demeanor started to shift as the music grew more intense, the beats surging into a raw, unfiltered explosion of Heavy Metal energy.
Inside the booth, Huxley's voice soared.
"I DON'T HAVE THE TIME TO BE RIGHT!
FOR THE OLDEST KING, I GIVE MY MIND,
TO THE OLDEST KING, I GIVE MY LOVE AND THE TRUUUUUTH!"
The energy was electric. But then-
"To the oldest king, I gave my youth."
Vrim threw his head back-and with that final line, his mouth opened wide, unleashing a blast of infernal fire. The flames roared out, swirling with passion, rage, and pure, unrestrained metal.
The heat in the room spiked.
Huxley froze mid-lyric. His eyes snapped to the side as the wave of fire flared dangerously close.
"Vrim!? What the fuck!?" Huxley shouted, his voice breaking into panic as the temperature skyrocketed.
Voltzecrig panicked, dropping his bass with a loud clang before bolting for the door. Nyvra, on the other hand, casually slung her guitar over her back and kept recording the chaos, laughing hysterically as the scene unfolded.
"Holy shit!" Rash yelled, realizing the situation had gone from bad to worse. He turned to sprint toward the power switch but, in his panic, tripped over his own feet and crashed face-first onto the floor.
Kain, hearing the sound of flames and glass breaking, slowly stood up, With smoke filling his nostrils he screamed, and the sound of chaos invading his old ears, "WHAT IS HAPPENING!?"
Before anyone could answer, the recording booth door burst open. The members of Luxuria Mundi-minus Huxley and Vrim-spilled out, running for their lives. Voltzecrig was in full panic mode, while Nyvra continued to film everything, completely unfazed.
Inside the booth, Huxley frantically tried to shut Vrim's mouth, struggling against the sheer force of the fire still pouring out.
Vixy, who had been focused on the soundboard, now stood frozen, staring at the flames. The bright red glow reflected in her mask, stirring something deep within her-something oddly familiar.
Meanwhile, Rash, still sprawled on the floor, noticed the thick glass of the recording booth starting to crack from the heat. His eyes widened.
Without thinking, he reached out and yanked Kain's leg, pulling him down just as-
BOOM!
The glass exploded, sending shards flying at high speed.
Huxley barely had time to react-he tackled Vrim to the ground, shielding him from the razor-sharp shrapnel.
Outside, the others hit the floor just in time. The fragments shot across the studio, slicing through equipment and severing exposed wires. Sparks flared. Smoke thickened, making it harder to breathe.
And just when it seemed like things couldn't get worse-
The fire alarms didn't go off.
They were dead. Batteries drained.
Because, really-who expected to actually need them?
Flames spread rapidly. The ventilation system struggled, coughing out smoke as it failed to clear the air.
But just as panic reached its peak, Rash pushed himself up, stumbled toward the exit, and grabbed the fire extinguisher mounted beside the door.
With a firm grip, he yanked the pin and aimed.
Fssssshhhhh!
A thick cloud of suppressant foam engulfed the flames.
Slowly, the fire receded, smoke curling upward as the room fell into an eerie, tense silence.
Rash took the first look around, towering over everyone due to his height. He surveyed the wreckage with a grim expression, his eyes landing on the broken soundboard and mixing desk, now punctured by shards of glass. Buttons were missing or broken, wires sparked with a dangerous energy, and most of the equipment was rendered unusable. The walls were stained with dark smoke and ash marks. The recording booth itself was a disaster zone, with glass shards scattered everywhere like land mines, and the microphone was completely melted. Despite the chaos, the bass had survived, but even that was not spared-half the drum set was melted, and the lights and noise insulators were charred and burned.
One by one, everyone started to stand up, notably Vrim, who, seeing the damage he had caused, shrank away from the others. He seemed to try to make himself as small as possible, hoping to disappear into the ground.
"So this is the power of Heavy Metal?" Vixy remarked, shaking her head with a hint of disbelief.
Rash turned to Kain, who was still dazed, wiping his face and trying to make sense of the situation.
"Rash, what happened? The recording booth window broke?" Kain asked, his voice strained.
"It did, a huge loss, along with half the drums, the recording desk and..." Rash trailed off, the word loss echoing in his mind. He couldn't help but feel the weight of it all.
Kain only understood one word of what Rash said, loss.
"Oh no..." Vrim whispered, his face turning pale as he realized the full extent of the damage.
Nyvra, however, seemed almost amused by the situation. "Hehehe, this is going to get so many Likes," she said, grinning as she lowered her phone and stopped recording.
The rest of the group stared at the screen, where the chaos had been captured in all its glory. Vrim's embarrassment was palpable as he saw himself on camera, visibly cringing with every second.
"Fuck... Wait, did you record this!?" Vrim exclaimed, his face flushing with frustration.
"And I posted it on our fan page," Nyvra replied casually. "It's already got 230 likes and 1000 views."
Vrim's anger flared up again. He lunged at Nyvra, but before he could reach her, Huxley intercepted, catching him mid-air.
"Relax, Vrim. At least if the video goes viral, our band will get more attention. That's why we signed with Veildark Records, remember?" Huxley said, his tone calm but persuasive.
Vrim sighed, slumping down onto a bench, his frustration slowly melting away.
"I hate it when you're right," he muttered, staring at the floor.
After a few minutes, an announcement came over the boat's intercom, prompting the band members, along with a crowd of demons, to get up and head toward the exit.
"That's in the past. From now on, only good times," Nyvra said, placing her hands behind her back as she walked with the others.
"Oh man, I'm so excited to record our first studio album! It's going to be amazing!" Voltzecrig shouted, unable to hide his excitement.
"I just want to see what the studio looks like after all that," Huxley added.
The intercom crackled again, this time with the voice of a tired-sounding woman.
"The doors are open. Disembarkation authorized. Thank you for traveling with... HGNS, or something. Ugh, screw it, my morning's been awful."
As the vessel emptied, passengers were once again pushed forward in a wave, spilling onto the bridge leading to the terminal. Luxuria Mundi moved with the crowd, but something caught their attention.
Near the middle of the bridge, an imp stood waving a newspaper in the air, surrounded by scattered copies on the ground.
"EXTRA, EXTRA! NEW INCIDENT AT THE SEA OF PRIDE! GATE WORKERS' UNION DEMANDS PENTAGRAM BANK TAKE ACTION AND IMPLEMENT NEW SECURITY MEASURES!" The Imp shouted.
"Another industrial story... This is so common in this city," Nyvra said as she walked alongside the other band members.
"It's an industrial metropolis. What did you expect?" Vrim replied.
"This kind of thing intrigues me," Huxley said before stepping away from the group.
He approached the imp, bought a newspaper, and unfolded it to read the headline. The article detailed an incident from the previous night-no survivors had been reported. Huxley frowned, his expression darkening as he turned back to the waiting band. Without a word, they continued across the bridge toward the terminal docks.
Voltzecrig broke the silence by snatching the newspaper from Huxley's distracted hands.
"Hey!" Huxley protested.
Ignoring him, Voltzecrig unfolded the paper and skimmed through the article.
"The accident occurred when a delivery vessel failed to report to the Sea of Pride gate. Attempts to establish radio contact were unsuccessful, and-blah, blah, blah-oh! The barge was carrying spare parts for vehicle maintenance, including supplies for Twisted Lucky Enterprise's fleet of delivery trucks in another city! Andrey Fortuna, CEO and founder of the company, has yet to comment on the incident."
His eyes widened at the last part, and a wide grin stretched across his face, distorting his bandana slightly as he turned toward Nyvra.
Nyvra met his gaze and rolled her eyes.
"Your father's involved in this!?" Vrim asked.
"He's not my father. He's my stepfather," Nyvra corrected.
"And isn't that the same shit?" Voltzecrig said, lowering the newspaper slightly.
"No, it is not!" Nyvra snapped.
"Whatever, that's not our problem. We're musicians, not engineers or public safety specialists," Vrim retorted.
The band continued walking, leaving the terminal behind and stepping into the streets and canals of Hellquiem-a district that, while far from pristine, wasn't as polluted as the rest of the city. They made their way toward Veildark Records, their footsteps echoing against the pavement. The streets were emptier than usual, most demons busy working at the Sea of Pride. Even so, true silence was impossible, with the distant hum of heavy machinery carried by the wind.
As they walked, Voltzecrig kept his nose buried in the newspaper, flipping through the pages.
"Succubus caught red-handed with angelic weapons in the Sea of Pride. The demon, whose identity remains undisclosed, was arrested while attempting to sell illegally trafficked cargo in Sector 9, west of the Electrodante Inc. factory. Hahaha, this is hilarious," he read aloud, following along without looking up.
"You shouldn't read while walking like that. You'll end up falling into a canal," Huxley warned.
Voltzecrig responded by sticking out his tongue and making a loud fart noise with his mouth.
"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you," Huxley replied.
As the band continued their way through the Hellquiem district, they turned left toward Veildark Records-except for Voltzecrig, who was too distracted by the newspaper to notice. He walked straight ahead and tripped, plunging headfirst into the canal.
The others froze for a moment, startled-except for Huxley, who let out a quiet chuckle.
The newspaper floated away, lost to the polluted waters. Meanwhile, Voltzecrig surfaced, sputtering and cursing as he swam desperately toward a nearby ladder. The chemical stench of the canal was nauseating, but he managed to climb out, his clothes completely drenched. His red bandana clung to his skin, outlining the shape of his head.
Laughter erupted from the rest of the band, but their amusement was cut short by the blaring wail of a siren, followed by rapid gunfire at the end of the street. Their heads snapped toward the commotion just in time to see a jet ski tear across the canal at high speed. Two demons onboard howled with laughter, gripping a bulging sack of money, loose bills whipping into the air and vanishing into the water.
Right behind them, a speedboat closed in, the words Gate Operators, 59th Theft Battalion painted across its bow. A demon stood at the boat's helm, gripping a rifle from Hell At Arms Co., firing round after round at the fleeing thieves as they zigzagged to avoid the shots.
"UNIDENTIFIED VEHICLE, STOP NOW!" a booming voice commanded over the boat's intercom, echoing through the district.
"No fucking way, cops! Good luck trying to catch us!" one of the thieves shouted back, laughing wildly.
Voltzecrig, still clinging to the ladder, gawked at the chase barreling toward him-then scrambled up the last few rungs and threw himself onto the sidewalk just in time for the boats to roar past.
"Are you okay?!" Nyvra shouted from across the canal.
"Told ya," Huxley said with a smirk.
Voltzecrig scowled in irritation but said nothing, dragging himself back to the others, dripping wet.
"Ugh, you stink," Vrim muttered, covering his nose.
The demons continued walking, leaving the canal incident behind.
Meanwhile, inside the opulent office of the Rythmn Demon on the second floor of Veildark Records, Kain and Ronnie were still deep in conversation, waiting for their journalist guest.
"So... who exactly is this Shadow Dusk?" Ronnie asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.
"An independent journalist I met yesterday," Kain replied.
Ronnie raised an eyebrow. "Independent journalist? In Hell?" He scoffed, shifting his stance. "That doesn't exist, Kain."
"That's what he says he is," Kain said simply. "Cinder just called-he's already at reception, coming here. So I'd say he does exist, Ron."
"Don't call me Ron," Ronnie grumbled. "Only Claude calls me that."
"You're definitely a romantic," Kain remarked with a hint of irony.
Ronnie narrowed his eyes. "Why did you say it like that?"
"Because I felt like it."
Ronnie sighed. "I'll ignore your picturesque attitude. Look, it's not that I don't trust your judgment, but isn't picking a guy you met yesterday a bit... presumptuous?"
Kain shrugged. "Do you have a better idea? He's a journalist-he should know how to investigate places, or at least dig up useful information."
Ronnie exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. "If you say so. But I still have my doubts. We're not dealing with toys here, Kain. And honestly, even after seventy years, I still don't fully understand what it is."
Kain's expression darkened. "That makes two of us. But at least we know what it causes."
Ronnie nodded grimly. "Something worse than death."
Ronnie spoke out of the corner of his mouth, leaving Kain slightly confused.
"But it's important to know more about this Shadow Dusk guy. Since he's a journalist, there's bound to be something about him on the Infernet-maybe an article he wrote or some kind of record."
With that, Ronnie pulled out his phone and started searching, hoping to dig up anything on the Hellhound.
Meanwhile, just outside the office, Shadow Dusk strode confidently down the hallway toward the Rhythm Demon's office. The red walls and yellow lights reflected off his orange fur as he held his microphone, exuding a cool, composed demeanor. Behind him, Netze followed closely, camera perched on his shoulder, capturing everything-the platinum albums adorning the walls, the speakers mounted on the ceiling, and the warm, smooth jazz that flowed through the halls, a signature of Kain Longheart's record label.
But suddenly, Shadow Dusk spotted a mysterious figure at the end of the hallway, near the office door. It looked eerily similar to him, yet something was off. A faint grinding sound accompanied its movements, and its jaw remained unnaturally still as it scrubbed the floor with a mop, pushing a classic cleaning cart beside it. The dim record company lights reflected off its glowing red eyes, locked onto Shadow.
"What the- Are you recording this?" Shadow Dusk asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Of course," Nezte replied, keeping the camera steady.
The creature tilted its head to the side, its expression unreadable. Then, it took a slow step forward. Instinctively, Shadow and Nezte did the same.
The creature took another step closer. Shadow Dusk now realized the distance between them was shrinking-and that the figure looked like him because it was also a Hellhound with no fur. But something was off. As the dim light reflected off its body, he noticed the unnatural sheen of metal. A robot?
His tail twitched nervously, while the machine's remained eerily still.
Nezte recorded everything, his wings fluttering lightly, instinctively preparing to take off at the first sign of danger.
The robot drew closer, step by step, until it was just inches from Shadow Dusk. His body tensed, trembling slightly as the machine loomed over him, a mop clutched in its left hand. Then, without a word, the robot ran its metallic fingers over Shadow's snout, wiping away some of the industrial grime that clung to his fur.
It turned away, resuming its slow, methodical scrubbing of the floor.
Shadow Dusk blinked, momentarily stunned, before shaking off his confusion.
"Wait... who are you?" he asked.
The robot paused, then turned its head toward him. Its red eyes flickered as it responded in a robotic voice:
"I am Rashe Bot, Operational Unit 40. Current directive: clean the floor."
"Rash? Were you built by the spider demon?" Shadow Dusk asked, raising his microphone toward the robot.
"Designated as workshop assistant," RB replied.
"And why do you look like a Hellhound? That's... really strange." This time, Nezte spoke up, his camera still rolling.
"Hellhound starts with Hell."
Nezte raised an eyebrow. "Uh... weird. Well, whatever. That's not what we're here for—You have a musician to interview."
With that, the journalist coyote and his cameraman walked past the robot, which simply returned to scrubbing the floor.
Meanwhile, inside Kain Longheart's office, Ronnie was practically tearing through every bit of information he could find on the journalist.
"He has a personal blog," Ronnie muttered, clicking a link.
The page loaded with all sorts of exposés-scandals involving Overlords, arms trafficking across the rings, even shocking reports on the disgusting state of some restaurant kitchens. Shadow Dusk was relentless. He seemed to say whatever was on his mind, which left Ronnie baffled that someone like him was still alive.
The blog also featured videos and photos from Shadow Dusk's fights-because, because at that moment Ronnie had discovered, that the Hellhound was a boxer in his spare time. But what really caught Ronnie's attention was something else.
Something strange.
He narrowed his eyes at the screen. "His résumé is impressive, but... I swear I've seen this guy before."
Before he could finish that thought, a knock at the door interrupted him.
"That must be him. Can you get the door, please?" Kain asked.
Ronnie stood up, slipped his device back into his pocket, and opened the door-only to find himself inches away from a camera lens. His eyes widened. He was no stranger to the spotlight as a renowned conductor, but this was a bit too close for comfort.
And there he was-the much-discussed Hellhound.
"Hello! You must be Ronald-classical composer, creator of Grim Void opera, its lead conductor, and manager of Veildark Records, correct?" Shadow Dusk said with enthusiasm, shoving his microphone toward Ronnie.
Ronnie barely flinched. "Correct."
"I'm Shadow Dusk. This here is my cameraman, Nezte. We're here for the interview with Mr. Longheart-I was told this was his office."
Ronnie nodded. "You got it right, my dear. You must be the journalist Kain mentioned. Come in." He stepped aside, allowing Shadow Dusk to enter-but just as Nezte was about to follow, Ronnie subtly blocked the doorway with his foot.
"Look, Mr. Nezte, can you give us a minute?"
Nezte hesitated. "Uh... okay, I guess?"
"Thanks."
Ronnie closed the door behind them, then turned to Shadow Dusk.
"You're not letting my cameraman in?" Dusk asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Relax, this will be quick. Before that interview you're so eager for, I have a job to offer." Kain smirked, upon hearing the Hellhound's voice. "And keep your voice down-my crow is sleeping."
From the corner of the room inside a cage on the roof, a sleepy, raspy voice mumbled:
"Caw... sandwich..."
Greasy still slept peacefully.
"Job offer?" Dusk raised an eyebrow.
"Exactly. Please, sit down, and I'll explain."
Shadow Dusk hesitated for a moment before settling into the chair in front of Kain's desk. The creak of the seat told Kain exactly where he was. Without missing a beat, Kain continued.
"Now that you're here, I need to make something clear-whatever is said in this room stays in this room. I get that you're a journalist, but if any of this gets out... well, let's just say Ronnie is very good at finding people." Kain's smile carried an unsettling ease.
Dusk blinked. "Uhh... what?" He shifted, crossing one leg over the other and resting his tail on top. "Alright, what exactly do you want from me? And more importantly-what's in it for me? I don't work for free. Well... only sometimes. And you did promise me an interview."
"I know that, but what I have to tell you is bigger than any scoop you've ever had."
"And what guarantees me that?"
"Right now, only my word. And Ronnie's. But I'm sure you'll be interested. If you are, I'll give you more than just a couple of questions-I'll give you as much time as you need for a full, uncensored interview. Plus, an exclusive cover on the museum opening about me at this label."
Dusk blinked. "Wait... you're opening a museum about yourself?"
Ronnie smirked. "That should tell you just how exclusive this is."
Shadow Dusk didn't know exactly how to react to this, as refusing such a proposal was impossible. Demons are cunning creatures, but there are journalists who cower and those who find the truhth no matter where it hides. Shadow Dusk was of the second type. If Edward R Murrow, were there, he would probably say "Accept it."
Dusk leaned back, tapping his claws against the armrest. "This could be big for my repertoire..." He exhaled sharply. "Alright then, I'm in. Sounds like you need my investigative skills. Who do you want me to tail? I'm good at it."
"No, I don't need you to stalk anyone," Kain corrected. "I need you to dig into something. You've heard about the recent incident at the Sea of Pride, right?"
"Yeah, apparently everyone died. Nothing unusual for Hell's industrial sector."
"Something is off about it. And it's familiar to me-but I can't just go around asking questions or involving the authorities."
Dusk tilted his head. "One of your relatives was on that ship?"
Kain scoffed. "I have no relatives in Hell, thank God."
"Then where did 'Longheart' come from?"
Kain grinned. "I just thought it sounded cool."
"Hmm, okay." Shadow Dusk replied.
"One more thing," Ronnie said, leaning forward. "Are you good at keeping secrets?"
Dusk smirked. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't have lasted this long in this job."
"Fair enough." Ronnie nodded.
"Alright, back to the real issue," Kain said, shifting in his chair. "I need you to go to the barge."
Shadow Dusk blinked. "What? You want me to infiltrate a Gate Operator outpost in the Sea of Pride, board a barge filled with dead demons, and snoop around? Can't you just wait for the full report? It should be out by now-I saw something about it on the news this morning."
Kain raised an eyebrow. "Do you trust the media, independent journalist?"
Dusk paused, then sighed. "Point taken. What exactly do you want me to find?"
"They mentioned an audio recording on the news, a recording that exists but no one can hear it. I can't explain why yet, but I need you to look for anything related to audio-recorders, radios, the barge's black box. The Gate Operators need prior authorization before they search a vessel, and since the incident happened just last night, the official report won't be out until tomorrow morning. That gives you a window to get in and check things out tonight."
Dusk crossed his arms, considering it for a moment, then nodded. "Consider it done."
"That's what I like to hear. Good luck, Mr. Dusk." Kain extended his hand.
Dusk hesitated briefly, then shook it.
"Why do you trust me so much? You met me yesterday."
"I trust you as much as I trust that Sea Of Pride wine is made from grapes, but you are a golden opportunity that came out of nowhere. Greasy helped me research you a little more. I heard you've done similar things, some Overlords really hate you, " Kain said, still shaking Shadow Dusk's hand.
"I guess so."
"One last question," Ronnie chimed in.
Dusk let go of Kain's hand and turned to him. "Yeah?"
"Have you ever been on the cover of a magazine?"
Dusk chuckled. "Glad you noticed. I've been on a few adult magazine covers. I'm actually in town for a Losing Claws photoshoot, plus I'm an official reporter for this year's Hell's Gate Run 500. Oh, and I'm a top model in my spare time-usually shirtless."
Ronnie snapped his fingers. "I knew I recognized you! Claude subscribes to that magazine."
Kain grinned. "Well, that's that. Good luck. I'll be expecting to hear from you tomorrow."
Shadow Dusk chuckled, got up, and walked out.
Outside, Nezte was sitting on the floor, camera resting on his lap. He looked up expectantly. "So, are we starting the interview?"
Dusk shook his head. "Change of plans. We've got a job."
Nezte furrowed his brow. "What?"