This year carved itself into the bones of Sin Rouge.
Not through fireworks, not through flashy victories, but through constant, grinding growth the kind that only people who lived and breathed the Lust Ring's dirt could appreciate. You didn't rise here through miracles. You rose because you refused to sink.
And Sin Rouge no longer looked like a bar.
On the surface?
Still a neon-lit dive wedged between two collapsing apartment blocks.
But underneath and above, and behind it had become something else entirely.
A hidden fortress.
A maze.
A beating machine.
The kind only Quill could have built.
Malerion walked the central corridor of the expanded section, boots tapping against reinforced flooring. Walls hummed faintly with runic currents. Every hallway looked normal at first glance… until you paid attention.
A panel that slid aside only for registered heartbeat signatures.
A staircase that wasn't a staircase unless you pressed the third brick from the bottom.
Rooms disguised as storage that were, in truth, training chambers wrapped in acoustic dampeners.
And, of course
Quill's new laboratory deeper below.
The demon was standing over a metallic frame, goggles on his forehead, wires scattered everywhere. When he heard Malerion enter, he didn't look up he just smirked.
"You're early," Quill said. "Good. I wanted your opinion."
"On what?"
"Version Seven."
That got Malerion's attention.
On the table lay a suit or armor or something in between. Sleek, segmented, dark. It didn't look like metal, or cloth, or bone, or runework.
It looked like all of them at the same time.
Quill tapped the chest piece. Runes lit up faintly, glowing a soft violet.
"Augmentation suit," he explained. "Not armor. Not protection. A catalyst."
Malerion folded his arms. "Explain."
"It links with the resonance you planted in your people. It listens to their physical state and amplifies whatever they're already good at. Strength, speed, stamina, reflexes. All without magic. Purely biological reinforcement through assisted harmonic feedback."
Malerion raised a brow.
"And they don't burn out?"
"No. I fixed that problem in version four." Quill snorted. "You don't want to see version three. Dreg threatened to punch me into a different ring."
Malerion couldn't help a small smirk.
"And version seven is stable?"
"Stable enough to roll out a first batch," Quill said, pushing a stack of notes forward. "I tested it with Dreg and three of the fighters. Their output increased by thirty to fifty percent. And the suit adapts. The more your resonance shapes their bodies, the more the suit boosts them."
So Quill had done it.
He'd turned Malerion's subtle, biological cultivation enhancements into something scalable. Something reproducible. Something weaponizable.
A force multiplier.
Sin Rouge had just taken a step very few factions in the Lust Ring could ever manage:
standardizing power.
"Good work," Malerion said quietly.
Quill froze.
Then stared.
Then tried very hard not to grin like a child handed forbidden candy.
"…You know," he muttered, turning away, "you could just insult me like a normal boss. Makes it easier to breathe."
Malerion ignored the comment and glanced around the lab.
"So. Show me the rest. You said you had more."
"Oh, I do."
Quill strode across the room and pulled a cloth off a circular panel built into the wall.
A symbol was engraved into it.
A circle.
A serpent biting its own tail.
Uroboros.
But unlike a normal tattoo, this one wasn't just ink.
It pulsed faintly, as if alive.
"This," Quill said, "is the new mark."
Malerion looked at him.
"A symbol?"
"A lock," Quill corrected. "Invisible unless activated by resonance. It's not just branding it's access control. Doors, maps, safe routes, hidden stairs they respond only to those bearing the Uroboros."
Malerion touched the engraved serpent with his fingertips.
It vibrated faintly.
Only one thing in Sin Rouge felt like that.
"My resonance," he said softly.
Quill nodded.
"Yeah. It's keyed to you. The mark activates only if your resonance has touched the person's body. They can't fake it. Can't steal it. Can't copy it. Every member of the inner and outer rings will wear it. Eventually."
A tattoo that wasn't a tattoo.
A passkey.
A signature.
A silent declaration of allegiance.
A growing kingdom needed marks.
"You took inspiration from my family name," Malerion said.
Quill shrugged.
"It fits. Endless cycle. Strength feeding strength. Also looks cool."
Footsteps echoed behind them. Rafe entered, flipping a booklet open with his usual casual efficiency.
"Territory report," he said, handing it to Malerion.
The booklet was thicker than last year.
A lot thicker.
"Thirty-seven blocks fully under control," Rafe recited. "Fifteen partially. Seven unofficial allies. Three neutral zones leaning toward us since Glassjaw backed out."
"Resources?"
"Improved. Supply routes stabilized. Two new couriers on payroll. A warehouse we 'acquired' last month through contract loopholes. And the bar itself now earns triple what it used to."
"And threats?" Malerion asked.
Rafe tapped three names.
Lesser Goetia families.
Still present.
Still watching.
"They're quiet," Rafe said. "Too quiet. They won't make large moves while Vael keeps wandering into our district like it's a playground. But small attacks may return. Sabotage. Agents. Infiltrators."
Malerion closed the folder slowly.
"So we prepare."
Quill grinned.
"I've been preparing since version two."
Footsteps approached again this time Dreg, Liza, Donnie, and the imp twins.
All wearing the new Uroboros tattoo on their forearms.
The serpent shimmered faintly under the lab's runic lights.
"Looks good, boss," Dreg said proudly, flexing. "Feels good, too."
"It tingles," Bit whispered.
"That means it works," Quill said without looking at him.
Malerion studied them this first generation of his faction.
Hardened.
Sharpened.
Growing.
"From this point," Malerion said quietly, "we expand carefully. No loud moves. No unnecessary fights. But every month, we take more ground. More people. More influence. And we keep strengthening those who carry the mark."
Alastor murmured approvingly inside his mind.
"A king who grows his court. How poetic."
Malerion ignored him.
There was work to do.
Growth to maintain.
Enemies to anticipate.
A future to shape.
Sin Rouge had become a fortress.
Now, it was time to turn it into a power.
"Quill," Malerion said, looking back at the suit, then the tattoo panel, then the maps. "Prepare distribution of version seven. Test compatibility with everyone bearing the mark."
"Already on it."
"Rafe, update scouting patterns. Make sure no one touches our new supply lines."
"Done."
"Liza, any rumors about new players entering the ring?"
"A few. I'll handle them."
Malerion nodded.
Then looked at the glowing Uroboros symbol again.
A brand.
A key.
A promise.
His organization was no longer just surviving.
It was forming identity.
And identity, in Hell, was the first step to dominion.
"Let's continue," Malerion said.
And the serpent glowed.