The night in Lust Ring never truly ended.
It simply changed flavor.
less neon fever, more neon fatigue. Inside Sin Rouge, the air was thicker than the day before, packed with bodies and tension. Word had spread fast.
Faster than even Donnie expected.
Dozens of demons now filled the club lean, battered, exhausted, wearing bruises instead of jewelry and fear instead of perfume.
They watched me with a mix of hunger and hope they probably didn't understand.
But what mattered wasn't their faces.
It was their echo.
The Third Ring in my chest trembled every time someone in the room acted, breathed, or even shifted their weight.
Their emotional signatures reached me like faint soundwaves fear came sharp and cold, desperation buzzed like static, greed pulsed in heavy, uneven beats.
Alastor's voice slid into my mind like a lazy serpent.
"Well, now… this is a symphony.
Listen closely, boy.
They'll reveal themselves before they speak."
Quill stood beside me with crossed arms, scanning the crowd tense, alert, but clueless about the invisible storm I felt washing over my senses.
"Looks worse than yesterday," he muttered.
Looks clearer than yesterday, I corrected quietly.
Quill raised an eyebrow but didn't ask.
Good.
He didn't need to know.
THE FIRST FILTER: SILENCE AND ECHO
"All of you," I called out. "Sit."
Most did.
Some hesitated fear trembled in their emotions like a shiver across water.
A few stayed standing defiance ringing sharp and metallic.
One demon in the back crossed his arms, echoing pure arrogance.
His emotional signature scraped like rusted metal.
Marked.
Another looked around, gauging escape routes cowardice, jittery, panicking.
Marked.
A trembling imp sat instantly, not from obedience but from hope.
Marked but for the opposite reason.
Quill leaned toward me.
"You're categorizing them, aren't you?"
Yes.
"By what?"
Instinct.
"Based on how they sit?"
Yes.
He blinked.
"…that's stupid."
It works.
I didn't bother explaining the emotional echoes humming through my senses Quill wouldn't understand, and he didn't need to.
THE SECOND FILTER: MOTIVATION
Raise your hand if you want strength,
I said.
Almost every hand rose.
No surprise.
Raise your hand if you want to hurt someone.
Seven hands stayed up.
But more importantly?
The emotional spikes were unmistakable.
One demon radiated murderous hunger heavy, acidic.
Another pulsed with obsessive jealousy sharp and ragged.
Another's emotions were muddy with tangled grudges.
Even if they lied with their hands, I still would have seen the truth.
"These seven," I said calmly, "are not eligible."
They exploded in protest.
"You don't even know us!"
"You think you can judge"
I cut them off with a quiet, pressure-tightening ripple of resonance not to expose myself, but to shut them up. It vibrated against their negative emotions, suppressing them like static noise.
You want destruction, I said.
I'm building discipline.
Quill exhaled softly behind me.
"That's fair," he admitted.
THE THIRD FILTER: THE WALK
Then I walked through the room.
I didn't need to touch anyone.
Their emotions touched me.
When I passed Lira-like demons soft desperate hope they lit up like warm, quiet lights.
Grounded.
Teachable.
Safe.
When I passed the ambitious ones, their emotions tightened, calculating, already imagining how to use me.
Untrustworthy.
Others shrank into themselves, afraid I might pick them.
Broken, but safe.
A few very few fell into rhythm with my heartbeat without even noticing.
Their breath synced.
Their emotional pulses synced.
Their focus synced.
These were the rare ones.
The resonance-ready.
Potential elites.
Alastor hummed approvingly.
"There. Those. The ones who hum in rhythm with you. They're yours in ways the others can never be."
I didn't answer aloud.
QUILL NOTICES THE PATTERN
When I returned to him, Quill was staring at me with suspicion.
"You're not just looking at them," he said.
"You're… sensing them."
My pulse froze for a moment.
Observing. I corrected.
"Yeah," Quill said dryly. "Observing. Through walls."
I didn't respond.
He sighed.
"Fine. Whatever you're doing it's working. Just don't get us killed."
GROUPING THE CANDIDATES
Finally, I faced Quill directly.
"There are three groups," I said.
Quill's tail flicked.
"Let me guess. The good, the bad, and the doomed?"
"Close."
I pointed subtly to the first large group the obedient, stable ones.
"They get basic reinforcement one or two strengthening cycles. Enough to make them useful, tougher, reliable."
Quill nodded.
"The workers."
"Exactly."
Then I motioned to the smaller set the emotional signatures that burned with loyalty, love, protectiveness, devotion, not rage.
They get deeper strengthening.
Quill frowned.
"Isn't that risky?"
"They won't betray us."
"How do you know?"
"Because they want to protect something, not ruin something."
That made Quill fall silent.
Then I pointed at the last, smallest group.
Only six demons.
The ones whose emotional echoes matched mine like two tuning forks vibrating in harmony.
These, I said softly, are the elite.
Quill swallowed.
"You're going to fully enhance them, aren't you?"
Yes.
"How many sessions?"
"As many as I can safely perform."
Quill rubbed his forehead.
"This is bigger than I thought."
This will be bigger than we think.
DONNIE'S PART
Suddenly, Donnie popped up from behind a column.
"Boss! Boss! Guess what!"
Quill groaned.
"Please say it's something normal for once."
"It's great!" Donnie said proudly.
"I went back to my old neighborhoods and spread the word! The poor districts are talking about us already!"
Quill's expression collapsed.
"You WHAT?"
But Donnie continued, oblivious:
"I got connections, boss! People trust me! They know I don't lie only exaggerate!"
That was… true.
"I told them you're training people! That it works! That you're not killing anyone! And there are more people coming tomorrow!"
A wave of emotional echoes rolled through the room hope, excitement, panic, fear, curiosity.
Quill hissed:
"You just invited half the slums into our operation!"
I didn't look away from Donnie.
Good, I said simply.
We'll need them.
Quill stared at me.
"…you're serious."
Yes.
Alastor whispered gently, like velvet sliding over a blade:
"And so the seeds are planted. Your army begins not with princes… but with the forgotten."