v1 CHAPTER EIGHT: In which two cohabitating souls break their vows in anger

"You didn't want to answer the question I just asked you," Michael noted, "about the way you look." Yael sighed, and turned her attention to the ground, kicking pebbles with her hooves and watching the tiny stones skip across the pathway into the park.

"I am the daughter of Lucifer, and my mother is Lilith," Yael explained. "We were all banished from Heaven because we were too powerful and too beautiful to fit into the Godhead. Lucifer is... well, you know. He is the part of God who was Against. Lilith is something else entirely. Ah, mommy. She birthed so many of us, and with so little love to give. But you weren't asking about psychoanalytic topics, were you?" Yael's voice was wistful, sad.

Michael frowned. "No, actually. Why did you come here? Why do you want a body?" Yael looked at him, a strange expression crossing her face. For a moment, Michael thought she might be angry at him for prying.

"I miss having a body. That's the long and short of it. I AM my bodies, Father. And without a new one, I'll be nothing again. You asked me about how I look. Yes, a lot of this body is Yuki-no-Orihime, a 10th century Japanese princess. But there's also quite a bit of Anastasia Volkhoya here, and Patrick McConnaught, and Sal Armstrong. I remember all their names. And I will remember yours."

Michael blinked, taken aback by the frankness of the statement. He'd always assumed demons simply gutted their victims when this kind of possession happened. But Yael was talking as if she was somehow the sum of her hosts, as well as an unfathomably ancient entity from beyond. He sat down on a park bench, appraising her. Somehow her horns seemed smaller, more fragile, her tail less menacing than usual. More like a girl, less like a demon. She sat down next to him, and took his hand, gazing up at him with a kind of adoring devotion that made Michael's stomach tighten uncomfortably.

"Michael Belmont, what you see before you is the culmination of hundreds of years of human life and experience, condensed into one being. I want to make you part of that. You won't be yourself anymore. I'll be real: I'm going to fucking devour you. But just as those pancakes... uh... live on inside of you, you will live on inside of me."

"Did you just... compare my existence to a pancake?" asked Michael. Yael grinned. Her horns were still larger around than his hands. The tail still looked dangerous and predatory. But her eyes had softened, her lips no longer pursed in anger or disdain. They shared a wry smile, and then Yael continued.

"Yes, I DID just compare your life to a pancake. A delicious pancake. Do you know why I'm so hungry right now, priest?"

Michael shook his head. Yael sighed.

"Because I've been living off the energies of others. It doesn't matter who they are: rich or poor, famous or unknown, good or evil: I draw on the energies running inside them. With a body, I don't have to do that all the time. I can just... just fucking live. I could sit on the beach and eat normal food for a few years if I felt like it. Don't you want to do that with me?"

Michael shook his head. "I have things to do, Yael. In my own body. My calling, my community." Yael groaned, kicking a rock.

"Blah blah blah," she said. "Same old tune. Look, Father. I would rather do this the easy way. That's what we have been doing."

Michael boggled at her. "This is... the easy way?" Yael nodded solemnly, looking up into his eyes. "Okay, fine. What's the hard way?"

Yael laughed. "The hard way is actually much quicker." She reached down to the ground and picked up a bag of white powder. "I convince you to do a bunch of heroin, drag you unwittingly into a flophouse where you'll get fucked silly, you lose your mind and I scoop you out like a rotten avocado."

Michael winced. "That sounds unpleasant. Can we avoid that?" Yael shrugged.

"Sure, if you would like to pledge undying fealty to me and make some major sacrifices, unleash demonic energy until your body changes completely. That'd also be fast. Or we can do what we've been doing, weeks of me sneaking into your dreams and nudging you to orgasm while you drool on that hunky young priest you've got hanging around, Father John."

"He's not HUNKY!" protested Michael, offended by the mere suggestion. Yael shrugged.

"Well, he's nice and big. Bearish? And he needs a haircut. But he's also sweet. And he's nice to you, even though you're such a judgmental asshole. He's also totally straight, Father. So if you want any chance with him..." she slid her hands up and down her body. "You gotta put some of this on instead."

Michael frowned. "That is no reason for me to abandon my life and individuality. But this hard way... was this involved when you took those dockworkers? Back in the 1840s, downtown? When you ended up... running that opium den, I think?"

Yael's eyes narrowed. "How... how did you hear about that, exactly?" she stammered. "Are you spying on me through mirrors?!" Michael held up his hands defensively.

"No! No, no. Not that kind of mirror. Just a... a book that we found. Richard Brockenridge. How many times does this happen to you? How many people get possessed over the course of history?" Yael huffed. "Fine. Whatever. You want to know what happened back there? I'll tell you what happened back there." She leaned back. "A friend of mine convinced me to do it. Another demon. We were on a bit of... a bender, let me put it that way." Yael sipped the illusory cup of coffee she'd brought with them from the diner.

"It started off as just a casual possession... I wasn't even going to transform anyone. I had recently lost my host; I mean, if you know anything about human history, you realize that hosts in the old days didn't last me as long. But then she started egging me on, further and further, and things got wild fast. We were in a spiral of depravity. I mean, not that anything's wrong with that, but the amount of human suffering and torture we were into was starting to draw misery demons, if you've heard of them."

Michael shook his head. "I haven't heard of them. But what was the point of all this?"

Yael snorted. "What was the point?! Oh, come ON. There was never any point to any of it! If there was ever a point to anything in the past, it was the same fucking point every day: to fuck. To kill. To survive. This was before the portals, you have to remember. It was a lot, lot harder to get here, to New York or anywhere, and you hung on for dear life. After that run... I didn't even return until twelve years ago, through one of the portals."

Michael eyed her. The succubus was lost in a reverie, yammering. A strange opportunity, but a chance to learn more. He already had, really. He knew far more than before breakfast... a morning well spent. He decided to go along with her and see where this led.

"So why did you return? What's changed since the 1840s?"

Yael shrugged and smiled. "Well, first off: french fry technology has advanced. Second, the portals made it easy. And last, I already told you: remain a bodiless entity in the beyond for a long time and you get exhausted trying to maintain your identity and purpose."

She stretched, her slender arms reaching for the trees. "You either become a machine of hate and lust, or get subsumed into some other demon, Czernobog style. When I showed up here a dozen years back... I was quite feral, let me tell you. But I made it." She tapped her chest. "I made it. Now I'm here, and I've been trying to figure out what to do next, how to stay here for good, with a host that can last."

She glanced around the park and smirked. "And here's a start. I am going to turn you into a succubus, Michael."

Michael shook his head. "No. I will shoot myself in the head before that happens."

Yael stared at him silently. "That... that would be a sin, Father."

Michael scoffed. "Sin? Are you telling me to worry about sin, while offering me a life of debauchery and abandonment of my duty? Suicide would pale next to the harm I'd cause if I become your... your..." he threw his hands up in disgust. "Vehicle! I have no desire to torture, drug and terrify others, to manipulate them into sexual situations without consent, to wallow in pointless hedonism."

Michael was angry now, scowling at Yael, and Yael reflected the hostility right back at him. People nearby in the park were staring at him, a man screaming at the air.

"Killing yourself would be just as pointless, just as much of an abandonment, you piece of shit!" she screamed. "You think you're so holy, so pure, so moral, so selfless, when you're just another pathetic weakling who wants to take the easy way out! I could make you so much stronger, so much greater than you are! I could give you power and glory beyond what you imagine! And you threaten me with suicide!? Fuck you, Michael! Fucking, fucking, fuck you!"

Michael stood up and grabbed Yael by the neck, squeezing her throat. His hand began to glow with demonic energy, and Yael's eyes went wide, her mouth opening and closing uselessly.

Michael's arm muscles bulged, and the flesh of his hands became delicate, elongated. His nails lengthened and became slightly pointed. He gasped and let Yael go. The succubus rubbed her neck.

"Nice work, man of the cloth. Let that rage out too. That's who you really are. Your feelings, your desires." Yael was backing away. "The desire to love and the desire to hurt, to control. Hold onto that, rather than throwing away everything we've both done with idiotic thoughts of suicide."

He scowled, his face twitching and walked away, towards the fountain. Yael followed, silently. "I don't want to kill myself," he muttered. "But you have to understand, I will. Even if... joining you isn't death, per se, it's the end of me. And I would rather die."

Yael's face twisted into a grimace. "Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael," Yael moaned, "you are so naive! Of course you won't die. We'll keep you alive. Forever."

"Why? Why should I live forever?" He turned on her, his face red with anger. "To fuck and eat and fight and kill and survive? That's also the life of a beast."

Yael shook her head, floating slowly up into the air. "No, Michael. I have much bigger plans than that." Raven wings burst forth from her shoulders and gave a huge flap, knocking Michael backwards into the spray of the fountain, and she flew quickly away into the sky. Michael sputtered, and sat up, soaking wet, his white t-shirt plastered to his chest.

A few people in the park looked over, whispering to each other about him, and then moved on. Michael looked down and saw that his nipples had grown long, stiff, and pointed, his perky breasts clearly visible through the wet fabric of the shirt. A skateboarder rolled by, staring at the middle-aged man with a balding head, flabby guy, and two handfuls of tit-flesh with big brown nipples poking through thin cotton fabric. The skateboarder crashed directly into a trash can and fell over.

Michael was causing a scene. He had to get out of there. Pulling the filmy fabric of his sopping t-shirt away from his body and trying to hunch his shoulders, he grabbed his phone and called for help.

Susan answered after three rings, sounding out of breath. "Michael? What's wrong?"

Michael swallowed hard. "It's Yael. She's possessed me. And I've been transformed. I need help."

Susan gasped. "Are you okay? Are you all right, Michael?"

Michael nodded but felt himself blush. He tried not to look down. "Yeah... but I uh... I think I need a sports bra, or something."

Susan laughed nervously. "Okay... I think I understand. Hey, stop that!" she yelled playfully, talking to someone on the other side of the phone connection. "Give that back, you brat! No, sorry Michael," she continued, "Sorry. I have a friend over. Um, what size are we talking about here... like, traditional succubus size cleavage, big ole melons, or what?"

Michael stared down and tried to assess the measurements of his small but undeniably perky tits. "Um... an A cup, I think? Maybe a B cup? I don't know anything about women's underwear, Susan." Susan snorted into the phone, trying not to laugh.

"Well, if they're A cups they shouldn't be hard to hide... hmm, I guess that's what we're going with for now," Susan said, her voice hushed. "So, what's the deal, Father? How did this happen anyway?"

Michael cleared his throat, still embarrassed by what he was wearing. "I, um... well, first I had a very strange dream. I can't really talk about it, certainly not right here. But then I had a fight with Yael, in the park."

"Fight?" Susan's voice sounded amused. "Did you hit her or something?"

"No..." Michael blushed and looked down at the ground. "Not exactly. It's complicated. I tried to choke her, and that changed my hands, too..." he trailed off, feeling ashamed. Susan sighed into the phone, and Michael heard her footsteps. Then they stopped, and Susan whispered, "Oh dear. Oh, oh no. This isn't good. Michael, what did you do?!"

Michael shook his head and pulled his hands into fists. His nails were long and sharp, and dug into his palms. "I gave into violence, Susan. I think... I think I'm changing on the inside too. Losing myself." Susan's voice trembled as she spoke, but then she took a deep breath, and said, "Oh God, Michael. Don't say that. You haven't lost yourself. Not yet. I promise you." Michael heard her footsteps again, and they stopped for a long moment. Then Susan said, "Just calm down for a minute, Michael. I'm going to go get some things for you... sporting goods store, some gloves. Meet me at the church." Susan hung up, and Michael got to his feet shakily, wrapping his arms around his transformed torso, and shambled back towards his church.