A plethora of demons in polished suits and eloquent jewel encrusted dresses filled the hall, sipping turquoise liquids in tall glasses embellished by a golden rim. Even the waiters held a poised eloquence, weaving their way through the regal guests, offering refills and whisking away drained tumblers, with swift efficiency. Up front, the curtains were drawn over a podium, shielding the goods from the persistent scrutiny of trained floodlights.


    Walking with an unsteady gait, Azrael brushed his hair aside, combing through the wealthy demons where the shadows undulated, zeroing in on a vacant spot away from the bustling extravagance. Last thing I need is drawing attention behind enemy lines.


    Despite his best efforts, he felt a jolt shoot up his spine when a hand grabbed his bare shoulder.


    “Ignoring me, are we, Missss Raen?” asked a lizard demon, his scales shimmering with each movement, reflecting the faint glint from the strewn lights of the venue. He viewed Azrael up and down, with a pair of voracious ochre orbs for eyes as he stroked his walrus-moustache, bushing over his top lip, extending off a snout.


    “I-It’s been a w-while.” Tugging at his purple streaked hair, Azrael smiled wryly. Could have fooled me. I’d have thought it was Requiem’s cousin. Except a lot more… diminutive.


    “Don’t tell me you forgot the good ol’ Lizardman, eh?” The demon continued, his glimmering scales rustling as he slipped a hand over the masquerading redhead’s shoulders and slid his coarse fingers down the space between his bare shoulder blades.


    Clearing his throat, Azrael said, “enough about me, how have you been?” He wanted to strangle Raen for leaving him in a plaster mask for a face, topped up with a wig and flowing white dress, but he held himself back after his iffy first mission. The wind rustled against his body around the sinuous bits, leaving him on edge. The makeshift plaster on his face didn’t alleviate his displeasure, prickling his skin beyond belief. To top it all off, the Lizardman laying hands on him stuck his hairs up in gooseflesh, urging him to flee the auction. Quite the plan she thought up. I’m forced to cross-dress and keep a low-profile, awaiting some signal?? Fuck, was there any point in me coming along!?


    He masked his turmoil behind a forced smile, trying to subdue his twitching eyebrow. He cursed his supposed ‘mentor’ internally, while the scaly demon had his way with him.


    Merik stole a quick glance at his watch, stifling a teary yawn. Bleary eyed, he could feel his lids drooping. Cracking his burly neck, a satisfying pop salvaged his dipping vigilance, albeit momentarily.


    Eyes darted to his watch yet again, noticing his earlier five spans to freedom dropping down to four. Drumming his foot in a heightened beat, he synced the rhythm of his incessant taps with the watch’s timed ticks.


    “Hey restless.” An older beefed-up man showed up, waving a hand at the younger, fidgety Merik.


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    “You sure you want to join four spans earlier, Bob?” asked the younger guard.


    “I could feel your tremors from a league away,” he said, smirking. “Besides I’ve got nothing to do since I got here quicker than expected.”


    “Your choice, old man.” Merik shrugged, eager to leave his shift.


    “Who you calling old?” asked Bob, squinting.


    The younger guard watched the older one quicken his fuming pace, till he came to an abrupt standstill.


    “Regret showing up already?” Merik scowled derisively, walking towards the older guard.


    Bob stood wordless, glumly staring past the horizon.


    “What’s wrong? Got a cramp?” He continued, walking up to the frozen guard. He clucked his tongue, while Bob wilted onto his shoulder, leaning the entirety of his weight unconditionally. “Hey, you sleeping with your eyes open, old geezer?” He gripped the limp body, marked by a clammy shoulder.


    In that instant, a flicker of movement caught his attention, shifting his gaze from the guard to whatever lurked behind him. “That’s in poor taste.”


    A woman in a steel plated mask had appeared, her purple streaked hair flowing in the windless hallway. A cocked gun occupied the space separating the duo, firing a noiseless round.


    “What the–” Merik instinctively raised a hand to defend himself, earning a carmine spatter smearing his face as the older guard dropped to the ground. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed Bob’s side profile, filled with rounds like holes in a slice of cheese. On top of him lay a familiar severed hand with a watch. The thicker needle of the timepiece struck 12. “What do you know, my shift just ended!”


    A second round of gunfire followed, clocking him out.


    Blowing the smoke off her gun, Raen dispelled her miasma, reverting her sleek length of metal back to flesh. She clenched and unclenched her fingers on reflex, free of the metallic touch. “A shame the regular ones aren’t this silent and deadly.” She kicked the lifeless corpses to the side, heading past a sign that read: Restricted Access.


    Twenty guards were on standby at the hallway, past whom the backstage lobby of the auction was visible.


    Running her tongue over her lips, she morphed her arms into a hexagon of guns, hailing bullets through the air, as freely as snow in a blizzard. The guards lost in idle chatter were reduced to crimson smears amid the lead-led avalanche, before they had a chance to react.


    She couldn’t stifle her current rounds as eloquently as the ones she had used for assassinating the first set of guards, but it was a softer hum than a machine gun on full throttle. Dispelling the miasma, she waltzed past the red splatters, heading towards her target.


    The truth was, Lilith wasn’t the one who had assigned her the mission. But it wasn’t a mission for a lightweight either, considering the pay she had been wired. The floorplan of the venue and the private jet had been included too, pinging her suspicion that the mission had come from an affluential patron. The lone condition she had to abide by, was bringing along the latest recruit under Lilith, a strange condition but hardly one she was against.


    Plus, she had a bone to pick with the lecherous lizard who ran the exquisite trafficking auction. She could feel the skin beneath her navel crawl. Biting her lip, she had to stop herself from running her fingers over the skin.


    She thought back to how desperate she was, scouring information on the higher echelons of the demon underworld, and barely landing a single cookie crumb leading to the reptilian demon known as the Lizardman. The mission was more a blessing in disguise than her usual-usual, covering pay and intel in one go.


    Kicking down the door to the auction’s backstage entrance, Raen waltzed in, noting the large array of caged merchandise, bound and gagged. Plates were melded onto the cages, embossed in bold with species and worth. Clenching a fist, she pulled up a photo from her pocket, sifting past the caged merch. Comparing the prisoners with her target, she chewed on her lower lip, forging on ahead.