Sin Rouge had grown into more than a bar.
Four years had carved it into something sharper, heavier, more meaningful a quiet power in the Lust Ring that few understood, and even fewer dared to disturb. The neon glow outside was only a mask; inside, beneath the laughter and the noise, everything ran like a living organism, pulsing with intent. And at the center of that organism stood Malerion, the man whose secret could have shattered everything if revealed to the wrong people.
But he had told them these six demons who worked beside him every day. Not because he was reckless. Not because he needed to. But because over four years they had proven themselves worthy in ways that no oath, no contract, no blood-pact could ever match.
This was why he trusted them.
Dreg (Hellhound)
Strength alone had never impressed Malerion. Hell was full of the strong violent, unstable, hungry for power. But Dreg was different. Over the years, Malerion watched him handle conflict with precision, not fury. He saw how Dreg stepped into danger without hesitation when the bar needed protecting, yet never used his strength to intimidate the weak. He saw a man who could be a tyrant choosing, instead, to be a shield.
Dreg didn't swear loyalty. He lived it.
He spoke little, but every quiet act reaffirmed that he didn't follow out of fear or opportunism he followed because he believed in stability, order, and in Malerion's vision. That was the kind of loyalty that could not be bought, broken, or manipulated.
So when Malerion revealed the truth about his cultivation, Dreg said nothing only nodded, as if acknowledging a weight he was ready to share.
Donnie(Sukkub)
Empathy was a death sentence in Hell, yet Donnie carried it like a weapon. Over four years Malerion saw how she became the emotional backbone of Sin Rouge calming tempers before they exploded, guiding frightened demons back to clarity, resolving disputes with nothing but patience and intuition.
She could read people.
Not their energy, not their power their hearts.
And Malerion understood that if anyone could comprehend his cultivation without fear or greed twisting it, it was her. Donnie didn't want power. She wanted people to be okay. She wanted her small world Sin Rouge to be safe.
When he told her the truth, she didn't recoil.
She didn't worship him either.
She simply said, "Then let me help you carry what you can't show others."
That was why he trusted her.
Quill(?)
Quill had always been different. Sharp-minded, fast-thinking, restless. But the past four years had turned him into something unparalleled l the inventor of a new branch of Hell's technology. While everyone else chased pleasure or violence, Quill chased understanding. He studied resonance without ever sensing it directly, deciphered runic patterns that shouldn't have made sense, and built devices that interacted with Malerion's energy instead of rejecting it.
He wasn't intoxicated by power he was intoxicated by knowledge.
And Malerion knew that curiosity, not ambition, drove him.
When Malerion revealed his cultivation, Quill didn't react with awe. He reacted with fifty questions, a sketchbook, and the unspoken promise that understanding this power would become his life's work.
Trusting him felt natural. Almost inevitable.
Liza(Sukkub)
Liza had no interest in being seen.
For four years she moved through Sin Rouge like a shadow given shape listening, watching, predicting danger before it arrived. She dealt in secrets, but never weaponized them against her own. She could have sold Sin Rouge's information a thousand times, yet she never took advantage of a single weakness she uncovered.
She was loyal because she chose to be, and because Malerion offered her something no one else had: a place where her skills were valued, not feared.
She never asked how Malerion did what he did but she noticed everything. She pieced together truths long before he voiced them. And when he finally told her, she responded with a calm, "Good. Then I know who I'm guarding."
He trusted her because she never once betrayed his silence.
Skit(imp)
Skit was chaos wrapped in nervous energy, always moving, always talking, always too soft-hearted for Hell. But it was that heart that convinced Malerion. Over the years he watched Skit give away food, coins, even his own time to demons who had nothing to offer in return. Skit never once exploited his position for personal gain.
He was the pulse of the organization the first to show up, the last to leave, the one who knew every alleyway, every rumor, every subtle shift in the mood of the slums. His loyalty wasn't strategic. It wasn't calculated. It was instinctive and genuine.
When Malerion shared the truth, Skit nearly fainted—but said, "I'm still staying. You saved me once. I don't forget things like that."
And Malerion knew he meant it.
Bit(imp)
Bit wasn't loud, nor cunning, nor dangerous. But he was indispensable.
For four years Malerion saw Bit carry burdens no one else could, fix things others broke, and handle work no demon wanted to do. He never complained. Never sought praise. Never asked for more than a steady place to stand.
Bit didn't inspire fear he inspired trust.
He was the quiet foundation of everything Sin Rouge accomplished, and Malerion knew that telling him the truth was the same as carving it into stone. Bit guarded secrets the way he guarded supplies: with unbreakable steadiness.
He didn't react to the truth with shock or curiosity.
He simply said, "Then I'll make sure no one bothers you while you grow."
And he meant it.
Four years built something stronger than a pact something Hell rarely allowed to exist:
a real family.
Each of them had flaws, scars, histories drenched in survival and compromise.
None of them were perfect.
None of them were saints.
But all of them had proven, over and over again, that they would rather break than betray him.
That was why Malerion revealed his cultivation.
Not because he needed allies
but because they had already proven themselves worthy of becoming his foundation.
The organization wasn't just growing.
It was becoming unstoppable.