Chapter Text
Vi took some gauze, peeling away the old blood-soaked wrappings from her arms.
"Vi," Judas said, his gaze flicking toward the gauntlet lying in the corner, unused and gathering dust. "That gauntlet of yours... think we could get it fixed?"
Vi's head turned slowly toward him, her eyes cold. "Didn't know we were talking again."
She went back to winding the gauze.
"You expect me to talk to you after the stunt you just pulled?" she continued, finally turning fully to face him. "I should've known from the start you wouldn't be any different from them. I didn't think even imps could rot the same way overlords do." She shoved past him toward the table, snatching another roll of gauze.
Judas stepped in her path, not forcefully—just enough to make her pause. "God, Vi... you're still going on about this? One mistake, and suddenly I'm the devil in your story?" He gave a hollow laugh. "You're acting like I sold you out for fun. I was trying to keep us both alive."
Vi scoffed. "By throwing me under?"
"You think I wanted that?" Judas leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You have no idea what kind of trouble you'd be in if I hadn't said what I said. They were looking at you like you were already dead. I bought you breathing room."
Vi's eyes narrowed. "You bought yourself out of the fire."
"And dragged you with me," Judas snapped back. His tone softened immediately after, a snake retreating into velvet. "You're still here, aren't you? You're still breathing. That gauntlet of yours? Broken. You? Hurt. You think you're untouchable, Vi, but without someone watching your back, you're just a bleeding mortal with a death wish."
Her grip on the gauze tightened. "I don't need you to watch my back."
"Yeah?" His smirk didn't reach his eyes. "Because you've been doing such a great job keeping yourself out of trouble lately. Look at you—you can barely lift your arms without wincing, and you're still acting like you've got this all under control." He stepped aside, gesturing toward the gauntlet. "That thing won't fix itself. And the next time they come for you, you won't have the element of surprise. You'll need me."
Vi stared at him for a moment, her jaw working, before looking away. "You think I can't survive without you? Watch me."
"Vi," Judas said, softer now, almost pitying, "you're angry because you think I betrayed you. But in this place? Betrayal is just another word for survival. You can hate me all you want... as long as you live long enough to do it."
"Don't forget who's helping you make your way to your revenge," Judas murmured, his voice low enough to feel like it was meant for her ears alone. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the narrow hall.
Vi stood there, the gauze still clenched in her hands, her eyes fixed on his back until he disappeared from view. Her gaze shifted, narrowing for a moment before softening—just slightly.
Part of her hated how his words dug in like a splinter she couldn't pull out. A part of her wondered if maybe he was right. He had kept her alive when no one else would. He had taken risks—stupid, reckless risks—that had somehow worked in their favor.
But the rest of her, the stubborn, burning part, refused to let that give him any leverage. She'd been betrayed enough to know that help always came with a price, and Judas's price might be one she wasn't willing to pay.
Judas made his way down the creaking stairs, one hand pressed to his stomach as it growled in protest.
"Damn... when was the last time I actually ate?" he muttered under his breath.
He snagged the battered hat from the table and slid it on, pushing the brim low over his brow before stepping out into the streets. The air outside was heavy with ash and heat, the sky above the City of Wrath painted a bruised, smoky red. Judas kept his head down, hands buried deep in his pockets, weaving past the usual drunks and half-dead scavengers.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. Leaning against a soot-stained wall was a familiar figure, shoulders relaxed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Judas stopped, exhaling slowly before speaking.
"Thomas. Speak."
Thomas looked up through the haze, a thin smile pulling at his mouth. "Hello, traitor." His voice was dry and rough, like gravel. He took the cigarette from his lips, letting it dangle lazily between two fingers. "Any luck on that human yet?"
Judas smirked, shaking his head. "She's hardheaded. Stubborn as hell. But soon enough... she'll give in." He leaned against the wall beside him, watching the smoke curl upward. "It's almost funny—name 'Judas' doesn't even ring a bell for her. Makes me wonder if she ever learned religion at all."
Thomas arched a brow. "Can't charm her?"
Judas gave a short, humorless laugh. "Can't make her fall in love either. Swings only for some woman she cried to me about. One hell of a tragic story, too." He plucked the cigarette from Thomas's fingers, took a slow drag, and let the smoke pour from his nostrils.
"You still got that spark in you," Thomas said, reclaiming the cigarette. "Push her into it. Force it."
Judas chuckled darkly. "Yeah, sure—until I get fried. Literally. I'd be a pile of ash every time I tried to fuck her."
Thomas barked out a laugh, the sound rough and short-lived. Judas smirked faintly, but his stomach interrupted with another growl.
"You got any money?" he asked. "Haven't eaten in days. Been glued to that damn place just to make sure she doesn't slip out again."
Thomas shook his head, flicking the cigarette butt into the gutter. "Nah. But there's food at my place." He tilted his chin in the direction of the alley.
Judas pushed off the wall, following as Thomas stepped away. "Lead the way," he said, the brim of his hat hiding the faint, calculating grin tugging at his mouth.
As they made their way through the narrow streets, the air heavy with the faint stench of ash and iron, Thomas finally pushed open the creaking door to his place. The dim light from the candles on the table cast jagged shadows along the cracked walls. He set down two plates, each with a thick slice of bread, and poured dark red wine into glass goblets.
"Bread and wine," he murmured with a dry smile, sliding into his chair. "How ironic."
Judas sat opposite, leaning back in his seat as Thomas tore a piece of bread. The quiet clink of the goblets was the only sound for a moment before Thomas spoke again, his voice low.
"Tell me, Judas... do you really think Lucifer's going to hand you your overlord powers back even if this whole thing with the human works out? He's been silent through all of this. Even when the problem with that girl started—he could've stepped in, crushed her himself, but he didn't."
Judas smirked faintly, swirling the wine in his glass. "I heard he's off chasing his 'mystery wife.' Been gone for years, yet he runs to her like she's the only thing that matters." He took a slow sip. "Guess some woman is worth more than an entire kingdom rotting in his absence."
Thomas gave a short, humorless chuckle. "You know... if you actually succeed in getting rid of Vi, the respect you lost might just crawl back to you. But you're going to have to try harder than this. Remember why you're here, Judas." His words lingered, almost a warning, almost an invitation.
He reached out under the table, brushing his fingers along Judas' thigh. The movement was deliberate, testing.
Judas' gaze sharpened, the glint in his eyes shifting from amused to predatory. Without a word, he leaned forward, grabbing Thomas by the jaw and pulling him into a hard, unrestrained kiss. The taste of wine still lingered on both their tongues.
Chairs scraped against the floor as they rose, the air between them thick with heat. Fingers clawed at fabric, tearing away layers until clothes pooled on the floor. The table groaned under their weight as they slammed against it, the bread and wine toppling to the ground—forgotten.
Vi sat on the cold stone of the balcony floor, her shoulders slouched, head bowed. A faint scrape of movement pressed against her back — the solid weight of someone leaning there. She turned her eyes just enough to catch a flicker of blue in the moonlight... a long, frayed braid swaying softly in the night air.
"Why are you here?" Vi's voice came out thin, almost brittle, a whisper swallowed by the wind.
"Are you actually going to trust him?" Jinx's voice was sharp, playful, yet hollow — echoing too much inside Vi's skull, like it came from somewhere behind her own eyes.
"Not a good idea." Vander's voice slid in right after, distorted, as if bubbling up from deep underwater.
Vi's hands curled into fists. She slammed one down onto the stone, the sharp jolt grounding her for a second. "I'm not! He's the only one helping me right now — I don't think Judas would— no. Not after the promise he gave me—" Her words came out ragged, punctuated with short, shallow breaths.
Her vision flickered — the blue braid gone. Jinx was no longer behind her but now teetering on the balcony's edge, toes hanging over the drop.
"You know, sis," Jinx said, voice smooth, almost sing-song, "you never let your guard down. When you don't trust someone, you follow your instincts. And your fists..." she wiggled her fingers in mock cheer, "always start the conversation."
Vander's tone slid beneath hers, blending like oil into water. If you think Judas is here to save you... just don't hate yourself when you find out otherwise.
Jinx tipped her head, then leaned back. Her braid caught the wind as she fell, her figure dissolving before she could hit the ground.
Vi staggered to her feet, chest heaving. The air felt heavier now, thicker, like the city below was pressing up at her. She pushed inside, stomping down the steps, her mind fixed on finding Judas — on demanding answers before the whispers could root any deeper.
"Judas, look— I don't know what I'm doing here, and maybe you should just stop trying to—" She froze.
His hat was gone.
The absence hit harder than a punch.
Vi stood there, silent. She didn't call his name. She didn't search the rooms. She just sank into a nearby chair, her arms loose at her sides. Strangely... she wasn't angry. Not even disappointed.
Just empty. She stood up, grabbing her cloak.
Judas panted heavily, leaning over Thomas before slowly pulling away. He straightened, buckling his belt with hands still trembling from the moment. Thomas sat up, chuckling as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
"It's been a while, huh?" he murmured, brushing Judas' neck with a lazy trail of kisses.
Judas' breath steadied. "I need to get going. You wanna come with me to the hideout?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Thomas nodded, rising to his feet. He grabbed his bag, slid his phone inside, and zipped it shut before falling in step with Judas. Together, they stepped out of the cramped apartment, met immediately by the chaos of the city—the car horns, the shouting, the uneven hum of neon signs buzzing overhead.
They hadn't gone far before a figure blocked their path.
"Hello, Judas."
The voice was oily, stretching into a smile that didn't touch the eyes.
"Juke," Judas breathed, taking an instinctive step back.
The grin split wider before Juke lunged. Judas barely had time to shout before the impact sent him crashing onto the pavement.
"Thought you weren't coming around anymore," Juke sneered. "Remember me?"
His arms warped grotesquely, metal weaving through flesh until each limb became a pair of gleaming, curved razors. He slashed in rhythm, his attacks flowing with an unsettling, dance-like precision. Judas scrambled backward, boots scraping on the concrete, but Juke was already on him.
Fingers like talons seized Judas by the chest and hauled him up until they were nose to nose.
"Aww, look at you," Juke taunted. "Powerless."
The words came with a brutal shove of steel into Judas' stomach. He gasped, the air leaving him in a single, broken sound.
Down the street, Vi caught sight of the struggle—and froze.
Her eyes widened. The black cloak she'd been wearing slid from her shoulders, falling to the ground as she broke into a run.
Imps nearby turned their heads at the commotion, but Vi was already scaling the steep walls with practiced precision, vaulting from ledge to ledge until she dropped into the fray.
Her fists came down like a hammer, slamming into Juke with the force of a collapsing wall.
She rolled off him, planting herself on both knees, crackling blue arcs racing across her legs.
Judas stared at her in stunned silence—only to turn and see Thomas already fleeing.
"Thomas!" he shouted.
The man looked back once, then kept running.
Judas' voice caught in his throat. Helplessness set in like a weight in his chest. He didn't even see where Juke had gone—until the demon stood once again, now facing Vi.
"Why are you playing hero, Vi?" Juke asked with a smirk.
Vi didn't answer. She only shifted into her stance and began to close the distance.
Juke moved first, his blade-arm slicing through the air toward her. Vi sidestepped and drove her fist into his gut, the impact exploding outward in a shockwave that threw him back. She followed in a blur, her uppercut snapping his head back and sending him reeling again.
But Juke's scream turned into a feral grin. His arm came down, deflecting her next blow, and the edge caught her skin—a shallow cut, followed by a sudden thrust of steel into her stomach. The air fled her lungs in a sharp gasp. She stumbled to her knees, the world swimming, then collapsed, her body twitching before going still.
For her, the streets fell away, replaced by an endless void.
Other versions of herself waited there, shadows moving in the dark.
"Vi! Wake up!" Judas' voice was distant, muffled.
"No—no, no!" Vi's voice cracked in the emptiness.
One of the other Vi's—the one with the red jacket—approached, her boots echoing on invisible ground. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a hex gem, its surface pulsing faintly. Without hesitation, she pried Vi's mouth open and shoved the gem inside.
Reality snapped back.
Vi's eyes flared wide. She surged forward with inhuman strength, closing the gap to Juke in a blink. Her hands clamped around his waist, fingers digging through skin and bone until, with a single tearing motion, she ripped him in half.
Blood painted her face and arms, spattering onto the street.
Judas stared, frozen in shock, as Abaddon and Veritas arrived just in time to see Vi seize him by the collar and vanish into the night.
When they reappeared, it was beside the hideout. Vi's cyan-glowing eyes faded back to their normal hue as she lowered Judas to the ground.
He leaned against the wall, coughing blood.
"Dammit, what the hell were you doing out there?" Vi demanded, yanking up his shirt to inspect the wound.
Judas could barely form words, his voice rasping.
"Vi..."
Her brows furrowed. She dragged him inside, grabbed gauze, and wrapped it tight around his stomach.
"Hey, don't die on me, man—" her voice wavered.
"There's... a gem. In my bag," Judas groaned.
Vi scrambled through it, pulling out a small purple gem. "Okay—what do I do with this?"
With the last of his strength, Judas guided her hand to press the gem against his wound. A blinding light bloomed between them.
Vi squeezed her eyes shut—then saw, for the briefest moment, the figure of Lai—before a small explosion of force knocked her back.
The gem had shrunk.
"You're alive!" she gasped, relief breaking through the adrenaline. "Shit, man—what the fuck were you doing out there? Were you leaving me?"
Judas blinked at her, the words a blur, but the sight of her—bloodied, breathing—was enough. His gaze flicked down to her stomach.
"Vi... you're still bleeding."
He stood, staggered, and pulled her into an embrace.
She froze, surprised. "Okay, I—" She swallowed, glancing down at her wound. Strangely, she couldn't feel it at all.
"You saved me," Judas said softly.
"Yeah," she replied, a faint laugh in her voice. "I was looking for you, and there you were, being dragged around like a damn rat."
His expression eased, but somewhere behind his eyes, his plan lingered.
Would it still be worth it?
Veritas cradled Juke's lifeless form in her arms, her hands trembling as golden tears spilled freely down her cheeks. "Brother..." Her voice cracked, soft yet laden with grief so heavy it seemed to press upon the air itself. "Oh, my dear brother..." she whispered, her words breaking into a sob as her tears dripped onto his still chest, each drop shimmering like molten gold.
Beside her, Abaddon knelt, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles whitened. "That wretched human," she seethed, her tone sharp enough to cut stone. "We must end them—tear them apart until nothing remains." Her fury grew palpable, the ground beneath them rumbling as if responding to her rage. Her hair lengthened in wild, silken waves, and the golden stripes across her face began to blaze with light.
Veritas lifted her gaze, the grief in her expression slowly sharpening into wrath. Her eyes ignited into a searing emerald glow, strands of her hair bleeding into the same verdant hue. She drew in a breath and released a guttural, soul-deep scream that reverberated through the Wrath Ring, the very air shivering at the sound.
From the shadows, the imps watched in uneasy silence, exchanging fearful glances. They could feel it—if this fury was left unchecked, it would not be vengeance alone that tore the land apart.