Sin Rouge was louder than usual that night, but it was the kind of loud that felt alive rather than dangerous. Bottles clinked. Quill argued with a supplier through a broken phone. Dreg yelled at the imp brothers for stacking crates in a way that defied physics.
Malerion watched all of it with a quiet sense of satisfaction.
One year of steady growth.
One year of stability relatively speaking after surviving Goetia sabotage, blocked supply routes, hired gangs, political pressure, and the endless whispers in the Lust Ring.
None of it stopped them.
None of it even slowed them much.
But tonight, Sin Rouge wasn't the focus.
A small flyer lay on Malerion's desk, bright and obnoxiously pink:
VEROSIKA MAYDAY
LIVE — ONE YEAR SHOWCASE
He didn't need to read it twice.
"Going out?" Donnie asked from the doorway.
"Just taking a walk," Malerion replied.
Donnie snorted.
"That's what you call it now?"
He didn't bother responding.
He left the bar and let the noise of the street swallow him.
THE WALK
The Lust Ring's nightlife pulsed like a heartbeat. Neon bleeding into neon, perfume drifting through the air thick enough to taste, the constant mix of seduction, desperation, and hedonism that defined this place.
And somewhere among the lights a small club glowing magenta.
He slipped in quietly.
She was already on stage.
Verosika Mayday.
Pink skin, white hair tied up in a messy high ponytail, a mic in one hand, and a confidence that didn't match her fame level yet the kind of raw presence that wasn't taught, only born.
Her voice hit the room like honey and alcohol.
Smooth. Warm. A little intoxicating.
Malerion leaned against the back wall.
He wasn't here to be seen.
He wasn't here as a patron.
He was here because he needed to know something.
THE RECOGNITION
As her voice rose, something inside him tightened.
Recognition.
Not of her face that was expected.
Not of her voice he'd heard clips before.
It was recognition from a different life.
A living person reflecting a memory from a screen.
Back when he was human.
When Hell was fiction.
When Verosika Mayday was a chaotic, broken, charismatic hurricane in a cartoon.
He remembered her episodes.
Her messy relationships.
Her arrogance.
Her pain hidden under glitter.
Her jaw-dropping confidence masking all the fractures.
He'd liked her.
Not because she was perfect but because she burned bright in a world determined to snuff her out.
And now she was here.
Not famous yet.
Not corrupted by exploitation yet.
Not broken yet.
Still soft around the edges.
Still hopeful.
Still starving for success but not desperate enough to twist herself for it.
Malerion listened closely, not for flaws, but for her.
The part of her that the world would eventually twist.
"Is she really the same?" he murmured quietly.
A different timeline.
A different path.
Same soul?
Different scars?
Only one way to find out.
Alastor chuckled faintly inside him.
"Oh, how rare. You're seeing someone before the world ruins them."
Malerion ignored the comment.
RISE
The truth was simple:
Verosika had risen fast this year.
Not explosively.
Not in the dramatic, scandal-ridden way she eventually would.
Just steady.
Real.
Earned.
Liza had scouted her events.
Rafe removed a few inconvenient "problems" from her path.
Quill quietly fixed two venues she performed at (under false names).
Dreg scared off one persistent agent who didn't know how to stay polite.
Nothing direct.
Nothing traceable.
Just invisible support keeping the vultures away long enough for her talent to grow naturally.
Now she stood on stage confident, flirtatious, charming completely unaware that Sin Rouge had made sure her climb wasn't cut short by the wrong hands.
And she didn't need to know.
Not yet.
AFTER THE SHOW
The crowd roared when she finished.
She smiled not a forced celebrity smile, but a real one.
Pride. Relief. Hunger.
As she disappeared backstage, Rafe appeared beside Malerion with a drink in hand.
"You know what stood out?" he asked casually.
"What?"
"She's sharper than she lets on," Rafe said. "She reads the room like a predator. Smart girl."
Malerion hummed.
"Good."
"You planning to approach her next year?" Rafe asked.
"No," Malerion answered. "I'll give her opportunities not instructions."
Rafe smirked.
"So you want her to choose your hand without knowing you're offering it."
"That's how you respect someone's ambition," Malerion said simply.
THE THREAD
As they walked back toward Sin Rouge, the neon washed over them in shifting colors.
Sixteen years until canon.
Sixteen years until the chaos of Helluva Boss.
But the threads were already forming.
Characters were rising early.
Paths crossing sooner.
Stories shaking free from the timeline he remembered.
One day, Verosika Mayday would break.
Ambition always broke under Hell's weight.
When that time came, someone would have to decide whether she should be caught…
…or allowed to fall.
For now, she was just a rising singer with a glow in her eyes and a voice that could bend a room.
And Malerion would watch.
Not as a savior.
Not as a collector.
As someone who understood potential and the cost of it.
Sin Rouge would continue growing.
She would continue rising.
And fate would handle the rest.
For now, the thread between them remained thin.
Unspoken.
Invisible.
But real.