Max teleported straight into Gluttony in a soft implosion of shadow—and instantly knew something was wrong.
The after-party was supposed to be legendary. Bee's parties always were. Music so loud it rattled bones, neon lights burning into the eyes, food stacked into obscene towers, demons dancing themselves half to death and then getting back up for more. Gluttony didn't sleep—it feasted.
Instead, there was silence.
Not peaceful silence.The wrong kind.
The massive hall stretched out before him, bathed in dim, flickering light from chandeliers that hadn't been turned off properly. Tables were overturned. Drinks lay spilled across the floor in sticky, rainbow-colored puddles. Demons, imps, and hellhounds were everywhere—collapsed in chairs, draped over counters, half-hanging out of windows, some snoring, some twitching, some completely still except for the rise and fall of their chests.
Max stared.
"…Huh."
He took a few cautious steps forward, boots crunching lightly over broken glass and discarded plates. The smell hit him next—alcohol, sugar, spice, and something faintly chemical.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly.
"Thank the Pit my poison immunity finally kicked in," he muttered. "Bee must've spiked the entire bar again."
That tracked. Bee had a habit of getting carried away when she was stressed, excited, or bored—which was most of the time. Still, something gnawed at him. This wasn't just a party that got out of hand.
This felt… staged.
He moved deeper into the building, senses flaring. His wolf hearing filtered through the layered sounds—drunken breathing, the distant clatter of something metal shifting, a faint, muffled thud that didn't belong.
Max froze.
There it was again.
Metal.Heavy.Restrained.
He followed the sound, every step silent now, shadows clinging to his frame as he slipped down a side hallway toward the kitchens.
The moment he saw inside, his blood ran cold.
The Kitchen
A group of hellhounds and imps stood in a loose semicircle around a white, coffin-shaped box.
Too clean.Too pristine.
Blessed sigils were carved into its surface—subtle, expensive, precise. Holy wards pulsed faintly along the edges, and thick, sanctified chains were wrapped around it like a grotesque gift ribbon.
A containment casket.
Sized exactly for Bee.
Max's jaw tightened.
"For fuck's sake," he growled quietly. "Who supplied you idiots with that?"
He stepped fully into the room and calmly reached behind him, shutting the kitchen door.
Then he locked it.
The sound echoed louder than a gunshot.
The largest hellhound turned, towering and broad-shouldered, flipping a knife lazily between his fingers. He grinned when he saw Max.
"Get the fuck back," the hellhound said. "She's gonna be our little plaything until someone pays the ransom."
Max's fist clenched so hard his nails pierced his palm. He didn't even flinch at the pain.
"You dumb fucks," he hissed. "She'll kill every one of you the second you open that box."
The hellhound laughed. "She's tied up in holy chain. We're pumpin' holy water straight into her veins. Royal or not, she ain't goin' anywhere."
Another hellhound squinted at Max, recognition dawning.
"…Boss. That's the guy who was drinkin' with her last night. The one tryin' to get a little extra friendly."
The boss's grin widened, ugly and cruel.
"Ohhh. So you're mad we grabbed her before you got the chance." He chuckled. "Don't worry—I'll leave you whatever's left."
The room erupted in laughter.
It cut off instantly.
The boss staggered mid-laugh.
His knife clattered to the floor.
He looked down—confused—then back up at Max, eyes wide and unfocused.
Everyone followed his gaze.
Max was holding something.
Red.Wet.Still beating.
The hellhound boss's heart.
Max crushed it in his hand.
The body dropped like a sack of meat.
"She," Max said flatly, his voice devoid of warmth, "is mine."
He lifted his gaze, eyes burning.
"And now you all have to die."
The Slaughter
Hell earned its name in those next few minutes.
They tried to run.They tried to fight.They tried to beg.
It didn't matter.
Max moved like a force of nature—silent, precise, merciless. One hellhound screamed as Max tore him in half with bare hands, spine snapping like a twig. Another barely got a word out before Max slammed his skull into the counter again and again until bone gave way. An imp dropped to his knees, sobbing, swearing he didn't know anything—Max skewered him through the jaw without breaking stride.
Blood painted the walls.Guts littered the floor.The holy wards flickered and failed under the sheer pressure of his presence.
When it ended, only one imp remained—barely conscious, choking on his own blood, sprawled in a widening red pool.
Max grabbed him by the throat and lifted him effortlessly.
"Tell me," Max snarled, teeth bared. "Where did you get the equipment?"
The imp coughed, spraying blood across Max's face.
"Why… would I tell you…?" he wheezed. "You're gonna kill me anyway…"
"You're right," Max said calmly.
He squeezed.
The imp's skull burst like a dropped fruit.
Rescue
Max didn't waste time.
He turned to the casket and punched it.
Wood splintered.Metal bent.His knuckles tore open—but he didn't slow.
Inside, Bee lay bound in glowing holy chains, tubes sunk into her arms, holy water pumping steadily into her system. Her skin was burned in places, her breathing shallow and uneven.
"Bee…" Max whispered, fury trembling under the softness of her voice.
He snapped the chains like thread. Ripped the tubes free. Carefully—gently—lifted her into his arm.
He laid her on the cleanest counter he could find and began working fast, magic sealing puncture wounds and burns. Holy water couldn't be healed away—it had to purge naturally. He hated that.
"Hang in there, sweetheart…"
He turned back to the boss's corpse.
Placed a hand over the chest.
Resurrected him.
The hellhound gasped awake, soul bound tight, terror flooding his eyes.
"Where," Max said, eyes glowing, "did you get the casket."
The boss sobbed. "It—it just appeared! Someone left it! With a note—and an angel feather! Said to use it on any royal!"
Max decapitated him with a single punch.
"Fantastic," he muttered. "An angel handing out containment gear."
Behind him, Bee groaned.
Max turned instantly.
She blinked slowly. "…What happened…?"
"Attempted kidnapping," Max said gently. "I handled it."
She wrapped her arms weakly around him, then noticed the carnage.
"…You must've been pissed," she said, stomach audibly growling.
Max sighed. "At least your appetite's still intact."
Bee smirked tiredly. "I'm the Queen of Gluttony. Nothing kills my appetite."
Max set her down and summoned a mountain of food—more than most cities could eat in a day.
She smiled. "Snack."
Max kissed her cheek.
"Call me if you get too drunk to fly."
He vanished into shadow.
And Gluttony slowly, uneasily, began to wake.