Alquett was gripped by the Demonlord. A flash of light later, she found herself in a tranquil courtyard.

The Demonlord strode lightly into the picturesque grove, humming a cheerful tune. Behind her, the Hero she dragged along stumbled with heavy steps, her heart weighed down—a bitter sense of leaping from the dragon’s den straight into the tiger’s jaws.

Strangely, no grotesque demons, towering statues, sacrificial altars, or bloodstained skulls lined their path. Everything defied Alquett’s expectations of the Demonlord’s lair. Had Lilith and the others not confirmed it, she’d never believe the quaint wooden cabin before her was the legendary Demonlord’s palace.

“Inside!”

Lucy yanked her through the cabin door, opened a hidden staircase to the basement, shoved her down, and slammed the door shut.

Alquett stumbled and fell, her frailty on full display.

*Heh heh heh…*

Lucy grinned down at the silver-haired girl kneeling on the floor.

“Once this door closes, no one will ever find this perfect hideout. Whatever happens here stays secret—”

She savored Alquett’s reflexive gesture—hands flying to her chest, eyes wide with tension.

“Heh heh… Scared? Want to scream? Go ahead. Even if you scream your lungs out, no one’s coming to save you!”

“W-What are you going to do to me?!”

“Hmph…”

Lucy smirked, settling into a chair beside an easel. Only then did Alquett notice the room: shelves and cabinets lined the walls, cluttered with paints, brushes, cameras, and printing tools.

“Remember your place, Hero. I’m the victor. You’re my little slave. You’ll do exactly as I say.”

Lucy flicked her fingers. Two black wardrobes swung open automatically.

One overflowed with maid outfits, swimsuits, backless sweaters, nun habits, wedding gowns, sailor uniforms, business suits, evening gowns, apron-only outfits, latex bodysuits, tentacle costumes, nurse uniforms, corseted skirts… The other held stockings, fishnet socks, lace lingerie, thongs, bandages—and below, open-toe heels, thigh-high boots, festive red slippers, and tentacle shoes.

Alquett’s sharp eyes even caught handcuffs, chains, clamps, blindfolds, strange orbs, and double-headed rods tucked deep inside.

Under Alquett’s wary gaze, Lucy pulled out a small sketchbook. Flipping through pages while rummaging the wardrobe, she muttered:

“School uniforms done… Swimsuit arc waits for holidays… Hmm… Nun outfits drawn too many times already…”

She glanced lazily at Alquett’s figure.

“Silver hair, crimson eyes… average build… For a first-timer, maybe start conservative? Or…”

Alquett squinted at the sketchbook’s cover. Recognition struck.

“T-This… isn’t this *100 Ways to Humiliate a Defeated Hero*? The legendary black-market series by the artist Abaddon 666?!” Her voice sharpened with shock. “You—you’re a fan of Miss Abaddon 666 too, Great Demon King?!”

Lucy looked up, intrigued. “Oh? You read *100 Ways* too?”

Alquett trembled with excitement.

*100 Ways*—only true connoisseurs knew that title! The Demonlord was one of them!

All tension vanished. Her lips curled uncontrollably as she gushed:

“O-Of course! *100 Ways* is the holy grail of indie comics! Her unique plot structures, fluid linework, expressive coloring—and those daring, steamy costume designs for defeated heroes! She single-handedly pioneered a whole new genre!”

She raved on, oblivious to the Demonlord’s amused stare at her beaming face.

“And those explosive inner monologues! The vivid object details! Unmatched in eroticism, practicality, and immersion! My favorite part is how the fallen heroines surrender to sinful pleasure, drowning in depravity… Plus, the monsters are so lifelike—you learn things while reading! Volume 3’s *Trapped in the Undersea Cave*? A masterpiece among masterpieces!”

Lucy waited for Alquett’s breathless pause, then interjected smoothly:

“Mmm… I did put extra care into the tentacle monsters in Volume 3. But personally, I prefer Volume 6’s school arc—”

“The school arc is trash!” Alquett snapped.

“Confining everything to a campus killed the sinful thrill of monster corruption! Boring characters recycling tired tropes! The protagonist even gets a yuri subplot with a classmate who randomly becomes the Silver Dragon Queen—what a mess! We came for humiliated heroines, not some botched romance with a simp protagonist—”

She caught herself. The Demonlord had *liked* that volume. Alquett cleared her throat.

“Ahem… Anyway, the art’s still brilliant, but the story feels off. Not as gripping as before… Maybe Miss Abaddon’s run out of inspiration? Every volume used to be instant legend…”

“…”

Lucy fell silent. Then she pulled a large backless sweater from the wardrobe.

“Put this on.”

Her tone left no room for refusal.

“H-Huh?!” Alquett blinked, lost in the sudden shift.

“I said, put it on.”

The Demonlord thrust the sweater into her arms, eyes burning.

“Why all of a sudden—”

“…I’m Abaddon 666. The artist behind *100 Ways*.”

The Demonlord licked her lips, mischief dancing on her delicate features.

“Y-You… You’re—”

Alquett’s lips trembled. She gasped, eyes wide.

Her body froze—then jolted awake.

“Miss Abaddon 666?! I-I’m so sorry for those rude comments just now—

“P-Please sign for me! I’ve been your superfan since the orphanage! I followed your serials religiously!”

She fidgeted, head drooping, voice fading to a whisper:

“Kingdom bans made me sneak to the black market… Only secondhand copies… Never got the latest volumes…”

“Of course. I always reward true fans.”

The Demonlord’s smile turned playful.

“But first—I have a request. Be my live model, Hero.”

“Eh—?!”

Alquett stared at the revealing sweater in her hands, swallowing hard.

“Remember: you have no choice.”

The petite Demonlord sauntered back to her easel in two quick steps, pencil in hand, her smile widening.