Soon, the shadows were gone, and the screams were silenced.  Instead, flashes of colored lights replaced the armies, and crowds of sweaty bodies rubbed against Ira’s skin. Ira reeled back in disgust, feeling the glamour works its magic as she made her way to the bar. A club–a place that once was the Limare fae’s territory due to uncapped lust and vigor was now the best location for any sin to work its magic. It was a place most vulnerable to fae influence, especially to her sect’s sin–rage. These days, anger didn’t play a vital part in changing history anymore. It was now petty and disheartening. Ira couldn’t tell if it was because her sect has gotten stronger or the mortals have grown weaker–more boring.

Oh well. 

Ira tuned out the noise, focusing on the colored threads floating throughout the room. Each mortal had at least one thread of his soul unattached, rising at the top of his skull–the more fallible they were, the more susceptible they were against the fae’s influence. Each was different–some were as thin as a line, some were as thick as branches, some were spiky, while others were smoother. Sensing the threads was how she traced her next victim, anyone who had called out to her sin more. Ira scanned the room before stopping at one–a dark red vine with bright green entangled around the string like a knot. 

Easy. Ira smirked, narrowing her vision to the thread’s owner. 

He was a man, slumped into his chair at the corner of the bar. There was a group of other guys surrounding him, but he was purposely ignored as they all clinked their glasses in jest. He wasn’t that shabby-looking, she decided. With sharp blue eyes and a chiseled jaw, he could be a movie actor if he wanted to. He was wearing a cleanly cut suit, standing out from the baggy clothes and greasy hairdos.  Intrigued, Ira moved closer, analyzing the situation at hand.

“Come on, man,” Someone from his group edged closer, throwing an arm around his shoulders and shoving his glass against the man’s face, roughly enough that the rim bumped the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be such a fucking loser, Steve.”

“Yeah!” Another one rang out. “You invited us here to sulk? Have some fun!”

Steve rolled his eyes. “From what I remembered,” he muttered, soft enough for them not to hear him. “You were the ones who barged in uninvited.” 

Interesting.

Ira leaned back on her seat, raising a finger to alert the bartender. “The usual.” She then directed her attention to her victim. He doesn’t need a direct intervention, she thought, these idiots are doing well at pissing him off already. Ira felt herself grasping at the thread, feeling it grow thicker right before her eyes. So-called friends, she made him think, feeding the thread just a little bit more. 

Steve stopped swinging his glass, setting it down. His forehead creased, and his lips shaped in a thin line as her thoughts registered in his mind. “Why are you here?” His voice wavered from the vodka he had. A lightweight, Ira noted. This was easier than she had previously thought. 

Her whiskey had arrived, and Ira grabbed the glass, swishing it before taking a sip. It had a similar taste to Landid–her favorite–but it was weaker. “We want you to have some fun.” One of them stumbled forward. 

At his pointed look, one of them smiled sheepishly. He seemed to be the more sober one among them. “We need some money,” he started, and Ira was biting her tongue not to laugh at their predicament. The devils must’ve truly loved her. “For a project we’re working on. You’ll benefit, of course! We could earn billions from this, you’ll see. So what do you say?”

Steve scowled. “Another idea? Don’t you have enough of them, Ken?”

Ira looked at their threads; some of them were already tangling with each other. They were growing painfully red, but she noticed a green vine taking hold of all of them–jealousy. “This time, it’ll work out!” She took another sip from her glass, eyeing the man’s defensive stance. 

“That’s what you said all the times before!” Steve shouted, stumbling up. Ira’s eyes glinted red. “Fuck man, you owe me a hundred grand, and you want to waste another batch away so that you could push your ideas? I’m out.” He was already on his way to leave when Ken grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back, towering him.

“What? You’re looking down on us already? After all the shit we’ve done for you?” He sneered. People were surrounding them now, a few jeering for a fight while the others were holding up their phones, unbothered by the upcoming violence. “I knew that corporate crap had gotten to you.” 

“You want money? Here’s your fucking money.” Steve grabbed his wallet, holding a few bills before throwing them to his face. The next thing that had happened was a complete blur. Ken threw the first punch, causing her victim to stumble back. Steve grabbed the glass from the bar behind him before smashing it right on the man’s skull. The bartender ran towards the whole thing.

Ira snickered, downing the drink. She felt their threads attaching to her back, feeding her wings the emotions they were feeling now. Her eyes darkened under the lights as her pale skin colored slightly. A shot of adrenaline soared through her, and she flicked her wrist. It’s such a shame that she was finished so soon. The loud strings of curses halted, and soon the world around her vanished. 

This was her fastest yet. It had been months since she was able to lure her victim into sinning that quickly.

“Fast, I admit.”

She froze at the voice, and shivers shot down her spine. Of course, he had to be there.

As if he could read her mind, the man waltzed from the trees. His eyes squinted in disapproval. He was wearing Ceptorae armor–its sharp scales prominent around the breastplate, lined with green runes, contrasting the dark red of his armor. “But you could’ve done better.”