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« Last post by Coolcat207 on March 15, 2026, 09:42:18 pm »
Sin City wasn’t on any official map. Not the real one, anyway.
On paper, it was a dusty Nevada township with a population of a few thousand and a mayor who smiled too wide in newspaper photos. In truth, it was a festering pit carved into the desert by greed, blood, and the kind of men who believed laws were just polite suggestions. Las Vegas glittered to the north like a polished lie; Sin City was the truth beneath it—raw, ugly, and hungry. Danae Levesque stepped off the Greyhound bus and felt the city’s breath on her skin. Hot. Sour. Thick with cigarette smoke and desperation. The neon signs flickered like dying stars, buzzing in the dry night air. Somewhere in the distance, a woman screamed. No one reacted.
Danae: Home sweet hell. Danae muttered sarcastically
She adjusted the strap of her leather satchel and walked toward the main strip. Her heels clicked against the **** pavement, echoing between buildings that leaned like drunks. She kept her head down, but her eyes—sharp, amber, inhuman if you looked too long—missed nothing. She didn’t want to be here. But she didn’t have a choice. The Witches of Salem had sent one of their own west. Danae had tracked the cult across three states, following whispers, scorch marks, and the occasional corpse. Chicago had been her last stop before the trail went cold—until she found a clue pointing here. Sin City: A cesspool even demons avoided. Her father would have loved it. Lucifer always did have a taste for the dramatic. Danae pushed the thought aside and headed toward the Velvet Hour, the nightclub mentioned in her lead. The sign outside flickered in violet and gold, casting the sidewalk in bruised colors. Music thumped from inside—jazz, sultry and slow, the kind that made promises it never kept. She stepped through the door.
The Velvet Hour was a haze of smoke, perfume, and bodies pressed too close. A singer crooned onstage, her voice dripping like honey over broken glass. Men in suits whispered deals in dark corners. Women with painted smiles leaned over tables, their laughter brittle. Danae slid onto a barstool. The bartender, a man with a scar across his cheek, eyed her.
Bartender: What’ll it be?
Danae: Information, but whiskey will do until it arrives.
He poured without comment. She didn’t have to wait long. A shadow fell over her shoulder. The smell hit her first—cheap cologne and cheaper morality.
Sh*tbag Cop: Detective Roy Haskins... The man said, flashing a badge that looked like it had seen more bribes than justice. Heard you were askin’ around.
Danae: And? She asked with disinterest as she takes her glass and sip it. She didn't even look at him
Haskins: And information ain’t free. His voice oozed smugness. But I’m sure a pretty thing like you can figure out a way to pay.
She finally turned to face him. Her smile was slow, dangerous. Mortals were so easy. She leaned in, letting her voice drop to a whisper.
Danae: Detective… I think you’ll find I’m very persuasive.
Haskins maintained his sleaziness, believing that he managed to easily get Danae. To him, women are easier to sweet talk. Too bad the fool doesn't realize that he's the one being played. And she didn’t even need magic. Pathetic. Haskins gave her the location: an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. A place where screams wouldn’t echo far enough to matter. Perfect. They drove there in his rusted police cruiser. The headlights cut through the desert darkness, illuminating nothing but sand and broken fences. The warehouse loomed ahead, a hulking corpse of metal and shadow. Danae stepped out first. Something was wrong. The air tasted like sulfur.
Danae: Stay behind me
Haskins: scoffs Lady, I’m the cop—
The warehouse door exploded outward. A skeletal demon lunged into the night, its bones charred black, its eyes burning with hellfire. Haskins screamed as claws tore through him like wet paper. His body hit the ground in pieces. Danae didn’t flinch.
Danae: Finally... She said smugly Something interesting.
The demon snarled and charged. Shadows curled around her feet, rising like serpents. She moved with inhuman grace, dodging its strikes, her hands glowing with dark energy. The fight was brutal, fast, and loud enough to wake the dead. But Danae was Lucifer’s daughter. The demon never stood a chance. With a final burst of fallen light, she shattered its spine. It collapsed, twitching, and whispered a name with its dying breath. A politician. A powerful one. The same bastard who had trafficked her friend. Her blood boiled. He had hired a demon disguised as a hit man to take her out. Danae wiped the ash from her hands and walked back to the car. He would die tonight. And he did. In his mansion, surrounded by luxury he didn’t deserve, the shadows rose from the walls and wrapped around his throat. His heart stopped before he could scream. The coroner would call it natural causes thanks to magic. Danae called it justice. She searched his study and found a list—names of corrupt cops, judges, mobsters. All tied to human trafficking. All complicit. She memorized every one.
Over the next few weeks, bodies dropped like flies in Sin City. From using magic to cause hexes that riddled some with diseases to literally taking others apart and cementing the evidence. The underground whispered superstition in the shadows. A ghost. A curse. A reckoning. Danae didn’t care what they called her. Besides, there are as much killers and assassins in the city as there are roaches in cheap motels. But someone else did. Someone from the supernatural world.
Far from the city lights, in a basement lit by candles and blood, the Witches of Salem gathered. They felt the death of their demon. They sensed Danae’s presence like a stain on the air. And the people she has been killing had ties to them... ties that are leading her right to them.
Cult member: She hunts us. They hissed
Cult member 2: Then we send a hunter of our own. One who knows how to deal with pesky magic users like her. They replied.
A figure stepped forward—tall, pale, eyes burning with violent hunger. A Brujah vampire. An assassin. A monster built for war. He smiled, fangs glinting.
Brujah Vampire: Danae Levesque. I've been waiting for a challenge.
End
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