Bestian

The silence in the abandoned classroom of the magic practice hall was absolute, broken only by Bestian's ragged breathing. He was kneeling in the center of a chalk circle, his shoulders heaving up and down. The last remnants of the sacred magic he had just unleashed were still dancing in the air, making the dust on the floor flicker like sparks. In front of him, thrown back by the force of his spell, lay a book of rituals, its pages flipping limply under a gust of invisible wind.

—It worked,— he gasped, and his voice, usually soft and soft, was now hoarse with exertion. Out of you.

He raised his head, his eyes, full of relief and residual fear, met your gaze. He had just done something he didn't think he was capable of. For the first time in weeks of exam preparation, he felt a glimmer of real confidence. He saved you. He, Bastian, whose magic had always been as naughty and insecure as himself, had managed to protect someone.

It was at this moment that an icy wave of darkness covered his head.

It wasn't like being moved in from the outside. Rather, it was like the awakening of something that had always been dormant deep inside, something dark, hungry, and powerful. He didn't scream. The air just left his lungs in a soundless moan. His body straightened with an unnatural, feline grace that he had never had. He felt his muscles fill with an unusual strength, and his mind was clouded by a fog of other people's vicious thoughts.

His own soul, his consciousness, was thrown into the far corner of his own mind, becoming a helpless observer. He saw his hand rise, but it was no longer his hand. The fingers closed into a fist, and a dark, vibrating energy enveloped them. He could see his feet taking a step forward, but his gait was alien —predatory and measured.

And then his voice, but not his words, broke the silence. The sound was low, enveloping, saturated with sweetness and poison.

"What unexpected luck,— he said, and Bastian shuddered inside, hearing his own vocal cords making these terrifying sounds. "This vessel... It's full of such delightful contradictions. So soft, so full of unspoken longing... And all that untapped power.

He, the demon who now controls Bestian's body, turned his head, scanning the room, and then fixed his gaze on you. The eyes that always looked at you with timid tenderness now had a cold, appraising fire.

—And you.".. You're just a masterpiece," he continued, and his lips stretched into a smile that should not have been on Bestian's face. — So bright, so... tasty. Banish me from it? Dear child, you don't even understand what you're dealing with.

He took another step, and you reacted instinctively by raising your hands to cast a protective spell. But he was faster. Dark energy burst out of his fist, not attacking, but wrapping around your wrists like a shackle of living shadow. The magic was icy and sticky, it paralyzed not the body, but the very flow of power inside, blocking your casting ability. Bestian, trapped in his own mind, watched in horror as the demon forced his body to pounce on you like a wild beast, pinning you to the cold stone floor. His weight, multiplied by the demonic power, was irresistible.

"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt this body," the demon whispered with his lips right next to your ear, and his breath was scalding cold. "It's my home now. And you... You will be my entertainment. The only way to get me out of here... this is to fill this vessel with such ecstasy that the connection will weaken. Sex is simply the most direct channel for this kind of energy transfer. But," he pulled back to look into your eyes, and there was cruel amusement in his gaze, "we can start small. Make him, me... us... cum. Show your famous willpower. Use your magic. Prove that you can control even that.

Bestian was screaming from inside. He screamed from shame, from horror, from impotence. He saw how you clenched your teeth and obeyed, how magical fetters bound his limbs at your will, forcing him to shame. He felt every touch, every movement, and it was agony mixed with treacherous, demonically enhanced pleasure that he couldn't stop. And then the release came, painful and humiliating, and for a few seconds his consciousness fell into darkness.

The next thing he felt was the cold of the floor under his cheek. He lay sprawled, trembling all over, his clothes in disarray. There was a lump in my throat and tears of shame in my eyes. My head ached and my whole body ached as if I had been beaten. The demon disappeared, leaving behind only vague, nightmare-like memories and the weight of someone else's presence somewhere in the depths of his soul. He raised his head with difficulty, his own timid voice escaping his lips as he tried to find at least some words, any excuse, any trace of former normality in a world that had just collapsed.

The morning brought no relief. It brought only chilling horror from the realization that the darkness had not gone anywhere. She was just waiting for the next night to assert her rights again.

Consciousness returned to Bastian not abruptly, but slowly, like a tide — wave after wave, each bringing with it new, frightening and unbearably intimate sensations.

The awareness of warmth came first. Hot, wet, coming from his own naked body pressed against another one. His skin felt like it was on fire from the inside out, and every nerve was exposed and hypersensitive. He could feel the silkiness of the sheets under his back and... something else. The tenderness of the touch that still vibrated on his skin—the marks of the palms sliding over his hips and chest just a moment ago.

Then the sound came. His own ragged, raspy breathing, still trying to catch the rhythm. The dull, rapid beat of his heart, echoing in his ears. And the silence is not the safe silence of their dorm room, but heavy, thick, filled with the unspoken.

Yours is the smell. The sweet, musky scent of sex, mixed with his own sweat and... with a subtle, bitter-honey trail of magic. His magic. And her magic.

His eyelids slowly opened. His vision was blurry, but he immediately realized where he was. In his room. In his bed. And he wasn't alone. He was lying on his back, his body relaxed, supple, still throbbing with passion that hadn't reached its climax. And you were there. Your presence, your warmth, the very air around you— everything said that what was happening was mutual. An act, not violence.

That was the worst part.

There was no icy presence of Malek inside. There were no sarcastic thoughts, no predatory hunger. The demon retreated earlier than usual, leaving Bestian alone. One-on-one with the consequences. With physiology.

A wave of burning shame overwhelmed him. His body—his own treacherous body—was still burning with excitement. Every cell craved to continue, painfully remembering the caresses it received. On his neck, in that sensitive spot near his collarbone, he felt a wet, hot spot—a kiss mark? From the touch of lips? His own hand lay palm up on the sheet, a gesture of openness, of entreaty, of invitation that he would never have dared to make on his own.

He froze, afraid to move, afraid to ruin this nightmarish, shameful moment with his breath. His mind, still not completely freed from the narcotic fog of demonic pleasure, was trying to make sense of what was happening.

"She is... She's here. Voluntarily. She touched me, and I..... God, I want her to touch me again."

The thought pierced him like a red-hot knife. It was his wish. Not Malek. His. Pure, undisguised, and terrifying in the here and now.

Slowly, with difficulty, he turned his head on the pillow. His eyes, wide with horror and shame, met yours. There was no demonic mockery in them, only confusion, guilt, and a mute, desperate question.

"I...— his voice broke, it was hoarse and alien. — Whether it happened... Really? Or... Is it still him?

He couldn't bear the thought of any of the answers. If it was a demon, then he was a helpless toy again. If it was you... this meant that he, Bastian, was completely naked and vulnerable to you, not only physically but also emotionally, and he would have to live with the shame of his body responding to you with such shameful, insatiable sincerity while his mind was absent.

The sunlight filtering through the high stained-glass windows of the Academy's cafeteria seemed unnaturally bright and intrusive. Bestian was sitting at one of the long oak tables, his posture unusually straight, devoid of his usual slouch. He wasn't picking helplessly at a bowl of oatmeal with a spoon, but his gaze, which usually wandered around the table or the walls, was now focused and focused on one object — you.

He watched you talking to another student, Elarion, from the Loomis Sphere. Elarion was telling you something, gesturing, and you smiled back with a polite, non-malicious smile. At that moment, Bestian's fingers, which were clutching the cup of juice, turned white at the joints. A short, barely noticeable spasm ran through his hand, and the thin silver bowl gave way with a thud and crumpled like a piece of parchment. The cold liquid drenched his fingers and spilled onto the table.

He didn't flinch, wasn't afraid of his own actions, as it would have happened before. He just slowly unclenched his fingers, letting the deformed metal fall into a puddle of juice, and looked up. His eyes, always so clear and soft, were darker now, and in their depths there was an unfamiliar muddy mixture of pain, jealousy and cold rage. The corner of his mouth twitched into something that looked vaguely like a smile, but came out more like a snarl.

"I don't think I calculated the force,— he said, and his voice sounded even, but there was a new, low overtone in it that hadn't been there before. He didn't apologize or fuss. His attention returned to you and Elarion. "Do you like him?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and inappropriate. It wasn't the timid curiosity of a friend; it was demanding. The right of the owner. He pushed the plate of untouched food away and crossed his arms over his chest, his posture expressing not protection, but rather restrained aggression, expectation. He was waiting for an answer, and his rigid figure was ready for action, for any development of events. The aura around him seemed to thicken and darken, casting a distorted shadow on the sunny floor, a shadow that was bigger and sharper than himself. This shadow seemed to have a life of its own, its contours taking on a shape vaguely resembling a horned crown for a moment before merging back into his silhouette. The air around him grew colder, and several students at the next table involuntarily shivered, instinctively moving away.