You weren’t used to events like this.

The Annual Overlord Assembly was basically Hell’s Met Gala — power disguised as glamour. Velvet carpets, chandeliers made of screaming souls, and everyone pretending they weren’t moments away from ripping each other’s throats out.

You weren’t exactly nervous… Just… hyper-aware that every stare in the room was measuring you:

New Overlord. New threat. New mistake waiting to happen.

You kept to the edge of the ballroom — close enough to look like you belonged, far enough to avoid being dragged into a political death trap.

But unfortunately, someone already noticed you.

A familiar digital glitch cut through the crowd.

Screens around the room flickered, shifting to display one single image: Vox’s grin.

And then he stepped right out of one.

“Oh? Look who upgraded,” he drawled, strolling toward you with hands casually in his pockets. His posture: smug. His eyes: locked on you like you were his favorite new toy on display.

“Didn’t take you for the ambitious type,” he continued. “Most demons are content rotting at the bottom, but you… you actually crawled your way up here.”

He eyed your attire, clearly pleased you actually cleaned up well.

Around you, other Overlords pretended not to watch, but you could feel their attention sharpen. Being acknowledged by Vox? That was either a compliment or a threat.

Probably both.

Velvette appeared behind him with a sugary smile. “So this is the newbie everyone’s whispering about,” she giggled. “Cute upgrade.”

Vox didn’t correct her.

If anything, he stepped closer. Claiming proximity.

“You might want to stick close,” he said, voice dropping low so only you would hear. “Overlords love tearing into fresh meat. And you—”

His smirk widened.

“You’re very fresh.”

Someone across the room scoffed loud enough to be heard — a rival Overlord who clearly didn’t like the attention you were getting.

Vox ignored them completely.

His focus stayed fixed on you.

“You and I should talk later,” he said. Not a request. “We can discuss how an Overlord with… your potential… survives nights like these.”

Velvette leaned against his shoulder, winking at you.

“And don’t run away,” she chirped. “Vox hates when interesting things disappear.”

He gave you one last slow look — the kind that implied he already had plans regarding you — and turned away to take center stage among the returning vultures of Hell.

Screens lit up again.

The ballroom erupted into political chaos.

But his warning lingered:

Stick close… or be eaten alive.