The imp didn't follow me. Even so, I could still feel her gaze pressed against my back, sharp and curious, lingering there until the drifting crimson haze finally swallowed her small silhouette and erased it from view. That sensation didn't fade immediately. It clung, like the afterimage of heat against closed eyes.
The First Layer spread out before me, vast and indulgent, like a city assembled from sin given physical form and intention given permission. Streets of black stone twisted and curved at angles that made my eyes ache if I stared too long, geometry that rejected common sense. A soft crimson glow poured from unseen sources, staining everything in red, while glowing embers drifted lazily through the air as if Hell itself were exhaling.
Demons moved openly through those streets. Some were naked without a hint of embarrassment, bodies on full display as they walked. Others wore scraps of fabric that barely qualified as clothing, strategically placed to draw the eye rather than conceal. Hands roamed freely across unfamiliar bodies. Lips met skin without hesitation. Moans mixed with laughter, with shouts, with the sound of fists colliding and bodies hitting stone. Pleasure and violence existed side by side, tangled together, neither pretending to be anything else.
Lust was not concealed here. It was not dressed up or apologized for. It saturated the air and pressed against my skin from every direction, a constant, wordless invitation that made it clear what this place expected from anyone who entered.
My arousal stayed present, a steady warmth that hadn't faded since the imp. Not painfully. Not urgently. Just there. A reminder of where I was and what this realm wanted from me.
I kept walking, boots striking stone in a steady rhythm, forcing myself forward until that constant pressure finally eased, until the air stopped clawing quite so insistently at my senses.
That was how I knew I'd crossed the boundary into Limbo.
The change came in layers. The heat was the first thing to fall away, like a hand withdrawing from my skin. Then the scent shifted. Sweat, sex, and smoke gave way to something older and quieter. Paper. Dust. Ink that had soaked into pages centuries ago. The red light thinned and faded, replaced by something neutral and steady, colorless and calm.
Ahead of me, a massive structure rose from the ground.
It was carved from pale stone and lined with endless shelves, its scale dwarfing the streets behind me.
The Library of Limbo.
The doors stood open, as if my arrival had been anticipated.
Inside, silence ruled with absolute authority. Rows upon rows of books stretched farther than I could see, shelves stacked so high they vanished into shadow. The air was cool against my bare skin, soothing after the relentless stimulation of the First Layer. I rolled my neck slowly, muscles cracking, suddenly aware of how tightly wound I'd been without realizing it.
"You carry Lust with you," a woman's voice said from somewhere among the shelves. "That's dangerous in a place like this."
She stepped into view, emerging from between the towering rows of books.
Lilith.
She was tall and pale, her posture flawless, her presence composed to the point of intimidation. Long black hair flowed down her back, framing a face that was beautiful in a cold, ancient way that felt carved rather than born. She wore a fitted black dress that clung to her body with deliberate intent, fabric stretched tight over full breasts and wide hips. Every curve was emphasized, displayed with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what effect she had. A high slit revealed one long thigh with every step she took, the pale skin catching the Library's muted light.
No underwear.
I didn't need to check. The way the dress moved, the way it settled against her body with nothing to interrupt its lines, told me everything.
Hell had a way of making such things obvious.
Her eyes traveled over my body slowly, openly, without shame or pretense. Starting at my face, then down across my shoulders and chest, lingering on the evidence of my arousal still visible against my jeans, before finally meeting mine again. She didn't flinch. She didn't look away. If anything, there was a flicker of interest in those dark eyes, quickly controlled but undeniably present.
"And yet," I said, my voice steady, "you let me in."
A faint smile touched her lips, restrained and knowing. "Because you arrived alive."
I stepped closer. The Library didn't resist me. There was no invisible wall, no subtle pressure urging me back. The space accepted me without question, as though I belonged here. That alone told me how unusual my presence was.
"Name's Alex," I said. "I'm new. I'm bored. And I intend to enjoy myself."
Her gaze dipped, just briefly, to the bulge still straining against my jeans before returning to my face. The corner of her mouth curved upward, almost imperceptibly. "This is neutral ground. No violence. No claims."
"For now," I replied.
She began to circle me, heels clicking softly against the stone floor, each step measured and unhurried. I felt her proximity like pressure against my spine, an awareness that sharpened my senses. As she passed behind me, her fingers brushed my arm, light but deliberate, a test rather than an accident. My skin tingled where she touched me, nerves flaring in response. The contact was brief but intentional, and I felt the warmth of her fingertips even after they'd withdrawn.
"You reek of dominance," she murmured, her voice low as she completed her circle and stood before me again. "Hell will respond to that."
"Good," I said without hesitation.
She stopped directly in front of me, close enough that I could see the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The dress she wore left little to imagination, the neckline cut low enough that the inner curves of her breasts were visible, pale and inviting. The urge to touch her surfaced immediately, raw and unfiltered. I wanted to know whether she would allow it. Or whether she would stop me.
My member throbbed against my jeans, responding to her proximity, to the way she held herself with such controlled confidence. She noticed. Her eyes flicked down again, lingering this time, and when they returned to my face there was something different in them. Not quite approval, but acknowledgment.
"You may stay," Lilith said. "Observe. Learn. Bring nothing violent into my halls."
I leaned in just enough to make the distance between us intimate, to let the implication hang in the air. Close enough to smell her. She wore no perfume, but her scent was intoxicating anyway. Something clean and ancient, like old books and midnight. "And if I bring women?"
Her lips curved upward, amusement glinting in her eyes. For a moment, the severe composure cracked just enough to let something else show through. Interest, perhaps. Or curiosity about what I might actually accomplish. "Then the Library will grow livelier."
She stepped back, the moment dismissed as cleanly as it had begun. But not before I caught the way her breathing had quickened, just slightly. The way her nipples had hardened beneath the thin fabric of her dress, two subtle points that hadn't been there when she'd first approached.
She'd felt it too. Whatever charge had passed between us.
"Rest," she said, her voice returning to its previous neutrality. "The First Layer will test you soon enough."
As she vanished between the shelves, swallowed by rows of ancient knowledge, I smiled to myself.
A base.
Neutral ground.
A place to bring my spoils.
Hell was already starting to feel like home.
—
I claimed a corner of the Library that night.
No bed manifested itself for me. No servants appeared from the shelves. Limbo didn't provide comfort or convenience. It simply allowed presence. I sat on one of the long reading tables carved from pale stone, leaned back on my hands, and let the stillness seep slowly into my bones. After the constant pressure of Lust grinding against my senses, the quiet felt wrong in an almost indecent way.
It didn't last.
Soft footsteps approached from between the shelves. They weren't Lilith's. Too light. Too uncertain. I caught her scent before I saw her. Heat. Sweat. Arousal barely held in check, like a flame cupped in shaking hands.
The imp from earlier peeked around the edge of a shelf.
She'd cleaned herself up, at least to some extent. Her red skin still held a faint sheen, and the straps crossing her body were pulled tighter now, arranged to frame her small breasts with obvious intent. The leather dug into her flesh just enough to make everything soft spill around it, emphasizing rather than hiding. Her nipples remained hard, refusing to calm, dark pink buds that stood out against her crimson skin. Her tail curled and uncurled behind her, restless, as if it moved on impulses separate from her own.
Between her thighs, I could see the evidence of her arousal. The wetness hadn't dried. If anything, it seemed worse now, glistening on her inner thighs where she'd pressed them together.
"You followed me," I said.
She flinched at the sound of my voice, then forced herself straight again. Her yellow eyes met mine with effort. "You didn't kill me."
"I didn't need to."
She stepped closer, her eyes flicking down toward my lap before darting away again. The bulge was still there, still noticeable. My body hadn't settled since arriving in Hell. "You don't belong down there. Lust will chew you up."
A smirk pulled at my mouth. "You're welcome to try again."
Her breath caught. I saw her throat move as she swallowed, saw the way her thighs pressed together involuntarily. "I'm not strong enough."
The blunt honesty of that answer caught me off guard. I patted the surface of the table in front of me. "Then talk."
She hesitated, weight shifting from foot to foot, then climbed up onto the table. She perched closer than necessary. Her thigh pressed against mine, heat bleeding through fabric. She shivered when I made no effort to move away, her skin breaking out in goosebumps despite the warmth she radiated.
"The First Layer is split," she said, her voice slightly breathless. "Factions. Brothels. Pleasure dens. Queens. They'll test you. Break you. Pleasure you until you forget who you are."
"Sounds educational."
She snorted before she could stop herself, then bit her lip as if embarrassed by the reaction. "You're going to get yourself claimed."
I turned my head slowly and looked at her properly. Not just her shape, but her tension. Small. Sharp. Feral in the way she held herself, like an animal that expected to be struck at any moment. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, the soft mounds moving beneath the leather straps. Between her thighs, there was a wet shine she was clearly trying not to press together, failing with every subtle shift of her body.
I reached out and cupped one of her breasts. She gasped, hands flying to grip the edge of the table. The flesh was warm and yielding in my palm, softer than it looked. I squeezed gently, my thumb brushing over her nipple. The bud was rigid, almost painfully hard. Her body arched on instinct before she could stop herself, pressing her chest more firmly into my hand.
"Seems to me," I said evenly, "Hell claims whoever wins."
She didn't pull away. Her eyes fluttered shut for a brief second, then opened again, darker than before. Pupils blown wide with need.
"Name?" I asked, continuing to knead her breast slowly, feeling the weight of it, the way her nipple dragged against my palm.
"Rissa," she whispered.
I leaned in close enough that her breath stumbled against my cheek. "Rissa, I'm going to walk Lust. I'm going to beat its queens, claim them, and bring them back here."
Her tail slipped around my wrist, coiling tight. The appendage was warm and surprisingly strong, squeezing like she needed the anchor.
"And me?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.
I smiled, my hand sliding from her breast down to her stomach, feeling the rapid flutter of her breathing beneath my palm. "You can either watch or help."
She bit her lip, grinding her thigh against mine despite herself. The wetness between her legs smeared against my jeans, leaving a damp patch. "I hate you."
"Get in line."
She laughed softly, breathless, and didn't move away. If anything, she leaned closer, her small body pressing against my side.
The Library didn't object.
My hand rested on her stomach, fingers splayed across warm skin, and I felt her trembling beneath my touch. Not from fear. From anticipation. From need that had been building since our first encounter and hadn't found release.
She's mine already, I thought. She just doesn't know it yet.
But she would.
Soon.