Shirley’s beautiful eyes gleamed like jewels as they caught the dying sunlight, her voice smooth. "Enough... speculation,"she purred, rolling the words like a delicious cherry on her tongue.
A slow, deliberate step forward—hips swaying, the fabric of her robes clinging to every curve. "We’re alone now," she murmured, her gaze dragging over each of them with deliberate hunger. "No more sect comrades. No more... pretending."
Her lips curled. "You guys want to play hero? To save dear Garrick Blackthorn?" A throaty laugh, dark as the shadows stretching around them. "How... noble."
She leaned in, close enough for her breath to ghost over skin. "But I? I want to raid that shrine. To peel back its secrets and see what screams." A flick of her tongue over her teeth. "And if the Treasury House is waiting there, buried under all that rot and ruin? Well..."
"Let’s just say I love getting my hands dirty."
Shirley’s arms crossed beneath her chest, pressing her curves together. "But not yet," she murmured, each word a slow, deliberate caress. "Patience, my loves... the game isn’t over."
A wicked smile played on her lips as she leaned back, the fading light catching the predatory gleam in her eyes. "I’ve already dangled the sweetest bait for Jorge Blue and his Thirst Bull Squad—oh, they’re so eager for that cosmic path prize." She let out a low, throaty laugh. "Let them charge headfirst into the shrine, let them bleed for it."
Her fingers brushed against her own collarbone, tracing idle circles as she purred, "While they’re busy playing heroes... we’ll slip away. Just for now." The promise in her voice was intoxicating—like a lover’s whisper before betrayal. "We’ll rest, recover... and when dawn breaks?"
She tilted her head, her gaze smoldering. "We’ll return to Twin Peak Hill and pick through the ruins they leave behind." A slow, sinful exhale. "And if any of them survive... well. We’ll just have to thank them properly, won’t we?"
With a final, lingering glance, she turned, her silhouette cutting through the twilight like a blade. "Come. The night is young... and I have plans for us."
Cade Barret shifted, his broad frame tense, his deep voice hesitant. "Captain Quinn... what if they snag the Treasury House tonight?"
Shirley’s gaze sharpened, a glint of cunning flashing through her eyes. "Better for us, don’t you think? Picture it: we four rest safe, fresh, and ready. Tomorrow, we face them when they’re battered, their spirit energy drained from whatever hell the shrine unleashes."
Her voice dipped, laced with calculated confidence. "Don’t you see that just now? Jorge’s Thirst Bull Squad is barely scratched—only two men down since we arrived. And Donovan’s Dominators? They’re the strongest of the five squads, every Eighth Layer member a walking war machine, the elite of the Outer Sect. Well that’s why Jorge, Garrick, and I targeted them early on, stirring trouble to keep them in check. We can’t let those elite brutes seize the advantage now."
Shirley’s eyes gleamed, her lips curling into a smirk. "Isn’t this perfect?" she purred, her voice a velvet blade. "While they claw through the shrine’s horrors, we’ll be... recovering." A slow stretch of her sexy body emphasized the word, as if savoring the thought of rest—and the power it would bring.
She stepped closer, her breath warm against her companions’ ears. "Tomorrow, when they stumble out—bruised, broken, their spirit energy drained—we’ll be fresh. Hungry." Her tongue flicked over her lips. "And they? They’ll be nothing but exhausted prey."
A low, throaty laugh escaped her as she tilted her head, raven hair spilling like ink over her shoulder. "Don’t you see that just now? Jorge’s Thirst Bull Squad is barely scratched—only two men down since we arrived." Her fingers toyed with the hilt of her dagger fan, tracing the edge with idle fascination. "And Donovan’s Dominators?"
Her gaze darkened, a flicker of something primal in its depths. "Oh, they’re strong. Especially Mister First Dominator, he’s a cruel beast." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Dominators are the strongest of the five squads, every Eighth Layer member a walking war machine, the elite of the Outer Sect. Well that’s why Jorge, Garrick, and I targeted them early on, stirring trouble to keep them in check."
A wicked smile. "Because if we let those brutes seize the advantage now?" Her nails dug into her palm, drawing a bead of blood. "Well. Let’s just say I hate losing to overgrown thugs."
She straightened, her tone shifting to a command—soft, but undeniable. "So we rest. We wait. And when the time comes?"Her eyes flashed. "We crush them."
Shirley paused for a moment. She had no intention of revealing everything to the trio. The truth—that she and her now-dead Suicide Squad had discovered the Venomflame Blood Wyrm Staff in that ancient stone well, the very artifact tied to Soren Langley and his lethal disappearance.
Shirley leaned in, her breath hot against their ears—a whisper like silk unraveling in the dark. "And let’s not forget Soren Langley’s little ghostclaws," she murmured, her voice a velvet threat. "Oh, they’re out there. Watching. Waiting." Her tongue traced her teeth, savoring the danger. "That cunning fox wants us to slaughter each other so he can slither in and steal the prize from our cold, dead hands."
Her gaze slid over Ruru, Cade, and Lordi—slow, assessing, hungry. "Look at us," she purred, dragging a finger along a shallow wound on her arm, smearing blood like war paint. "Battered. Bleeding. Beautiful." A dark chuckle. "Even I’m not as light on my feet as I’d like, thanks to that delightful massacre at the Ancient Stone Well."
She let the silence linger, heavy with the weight of their losses. "My demon monster battle pets? Dead. My Gworms? Slaughtered." A flicker of something scary in her eyes. "And this mountain? It’s itching to finish the job."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "If Jorge, Donovan, or that treacherous Soren catch even a whiff of how weak we are..."She trailed off, nails digging into her palm. "They’ll leash us like dogs. Use us to spring every trap, soak up every curse—clear their path with our bones."
Then, she straightened, her spine steel, her voice a command wrapped in silk. "But they don’t know. Not yet." A slow, beautiful smile. "So we vanish. Slip away before they can taste our weakness."
Her eyes burned with dark promise. "Tell me, darlings... when will we ever get a chance again?"