-= Suddenly Succubus =-

For decades, the tower had stood abandoned by all but whispers.

The villagers who lived in its shadow spoke of strange lights behind its cracked windows and chanting that drifted across the moors on moonless nights. None dared investigate. Those who did were never seen again, and the few brave souls who approached its crumbling gates always found themselves turning back with no memory of why.

Within its highest chamber, surrounded by circles of powdered silver, black candles, and symbols inked in fresh blood, the tower's sole occupant prepared for the culmination of a lifetime's work.

The old summoner had long since surrendered his name to history. Time had stooped his back, withered his flesh, and clouded one eye, but his mind remained as sharp—and as cruel—as ever. Kings had fallen by his schemes. Villages had vanished at his command. Yet age had become the one enemy he could neither curse nor outwit.

So, he sought a servant unlike any other. Not a shambling corpse. Not a mindless demon.

A succubus.

A creature of cunning, infernal power, and immortal endurance. Bound by ancient summoning laws, she would be compelled to obey the mortal who completed the ritual. With such a servant, he could continue weaving his conspiracies from the shadows for decades to come, her strength and supernatural gifts accomplishing what his failing body no longer could.

Months of preparation had led to this night. Rare reagents had been stolen from forgotten crypts. The blood used to paint the ritual circle had come from seven carefully chosen sacrifices. Every rune had been etched with obsessive precision. Every word of the ancient invocation had been rehearsed until he could recite it in his sleep.

Failure was impossible.

As midnight arrived, the final candle ignited of its own accord. The air grew heavy. The runes blazed crimson. Deep beneath reality, something answered. The sensation was impossible to mistake.

In the sulfurous depths of the Abyss, Lilithia lowered herself onto one knee as the familiar pull of a summoning ritual gathered around her. It had been building for hours, steadily tightening like invisible chains wrapping around her soul. Whoever had called for her was both powerful and patient.

A mortal. One who knew the old laws. She closed her violet eyes and waited. The summons reached its crescendo.

Far above, in the tower, the old summoner smiled for the first time in years.

The circle erupted with scarlet fire.

He spoke the final binding words, naming no destination aloud, for the last stage required absolute concentration. He had only to picture the center of the summoning circle before him and direct the spell's path. The demon would be drawn across the planes and arrive kneeling at his feet, already bound by the ritual's command.

He inhaled...

Focused...

Raised a trembling hand toward the center of the circle—

Then a bolt of agony exploded through his chest!

His breath caught.

His vision blurred.

The old man's heart seized.

He staggered backward, clawing desperately at his robes as pain radiated down his arm. The final words escaped his lips as little more than a strangled gasp. His concentration shattered in an instant.

The spell did not stop.

It simply... lost its destination.

The torrent of infernal magic, robbed of the summoner's guiding will at the precise instant it crossed worlds, lurched wildly through reality. Space folded. Countless threads of possibility tangled together before one was seized at random.

Somewhere far away, a sleeping mortal became the accidental anchor for a spell never meant to find them.

The sensation was less like traveling and more like being shredded through a narrow silk sieve. One moment, Lilithia had been kneeling in the sulfurous heat of the Abyss, awaiting the tug of a summoning ritual she had felt building for hours; the next, the world inverted. A violent surge of crimson and violet energy slammed into her, but the landing was all wrong. Instead of the cold stone of a ritual chamber and the scent of expensive incense, she felt something soft—absurdly soft—beneath her palms.

She gasped, her massive black wings flailing instinctively and knocking over a bedside lamp with a loud clatter. Her violet eyes were wide and blown, darting frantically across the unfamiliar room. Where was the summoner? Why was the air so thin and devoid of brimstone? Panicked, she let out a small, distressed keen, her spade-tipped tail lashing out and whipping against the mattress. She felt exposed and disoriented, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Then, she felt it. A presence...

She shifted her gaze, her long, snake-like tongue darting out to taste the air and found herself staring directly into the eyes of a mortal. They were sitting up in bed, clutching the sheets to their chest, their expression a chaotic mix of terror and bewilderment.

The conditioning woven into the misfired summoning spell surged through her like molten iron. Though the ritual had gone disastrously wrong, its deepest command remained intact: identify the summoner. Serve the summoner.

The magic found the only mortal connected to its fractured destination. It locked onto them with the force of a physical blow. The panic vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, instinctive certainty.

"Oh..." she breathed, her voice a velvet rasp.

Her posture shifted instantly, the fear evaporating as she sank onto her knees atop the duvet, her wings folding neatly behind her.

"You..." Her expression softened into unquestioning devotion. "...you are the one."

She lowered her head.

"My Master."