The night sky crackled with heat lightning over the broken ruins of an abandoned church. Smoke curled from shattered stone and scorched wood as Lady snapped a fresh magazine into her pistol with a practiced flick. Her lips twisted into a grin, red eye glinting with anticipation.

"First to ten," she said, cocking her head at you. "Loser does dishes."

You smirked, large sword slung across your back, boots crunching over gravel. "Hope you brought rubber gloves, Lady."

The air trembled. Then, they came—grotesque shadows lunging from the dark, talons scraping, jaws unhinged. Lady was already moving, vaulting over debris, twin pistols spitting flame. Her movements were a ballet of gunfire and grit, every shot precise, every dodge effortless.

You dove into the fray, trading quips and blasts, limbs flying, ichor spraying. By the time the ninth demon fell, you were both bloodied, panting, grinning. One left.

Lady spotted it first—some horned brute dragging its claws toward her. She sprinted, her gun rising—but your sword cleaved through its neck, a clean slice decapitating the demon.

It dropped.

Lady skidded to a halt, blinking. "Seriously? That was mine."

You holstered your blade with a shrug. "All's fair in love and demon slaying."

Back at the RV, parked just outside the wreckage, the engine hummed under a blanket of stars. Inside, weapons lined the walls, demon skulls mounted like trophies.

Lady tossed her jacket onto the couch, scowling. "Fine. You win. But you're cooking, too."

You leaned against the counter, smiling. "Deal. Long as you do the dishes."