v1 CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: (18+) In which a transformation concludes with the tables turning and turning.

Monsignor Thomas Spencer cried out as Mick drained the vial of fluid. In a shared dream, Spencer had described an identical vial as concentrated demonic energy: a substance that would unleash enough power to allow Yael to finish the transformation of Father Michael Belmont, to take over completely and mold his body into her own. Toying with Micki, Spencer had dangled the possibility of drinking the vial as an escape through self-annihilation, a leap off a precipice into the unknown. Now it was too late to return from that leap.

Mick threw aside the vial, then clenched his teeth, exhaling as if fighting an intense sensation. A laugh echoed faintly down the hallway from somewhere unseen. Spencer aimed the pistol towards Mick’s head, his hand shaking slightly as he narrowed his eyes. Thomas Spencer’s hands never shook.

Mick doubled over, releasing a long, plaintive groan. Gritting his teeth, Spencer sighted and squeezed the trigger. A sudden rush of wind, blowing out of nowhere, rattled the instruments and furniture throughout the operating theater. The blast of air threw Spencer’s aim off slightly, but enough to cause the bullet to fly past Mick’s ear and ricochet off the wall. His grip on the pistol unexpectedly twisted, and Spencer felt the gun pulled from his hand by the force of recoil.

The air pressure inside the basement kept building. Spencer’s ears popped as flecks of dust and tiny fragments of the concrete floor began to whirl around the room. He couldn’t focus on anything except the form of Mick hunched over in agony. With a crunching sound, the young man’s body seemed to compress, shrinking in on itself, becoming smaller.

Mick laughed, a sound that started deep but rose in timbre, until it sounded like a musical giggle—the laughter of a girl who knew she had won. He stood up straight, glaring at Spencer with glowing yellow-white eyes. Though the figure of his former protégé stood smaller, now just over five feet tall, the exorcist felt transfixed by Mick’s gaze, from eyes that burned hotter than flame.

Then everything he knew as Mick gradually vanished. The body writhed through a series of wracking transformations. First, the figure arched its back, thrusting out its chest, prominent nipples poking through the fabric of Mick’s thin tank top. Its hair grew long, curling and into Yael’s thick spirals; Mick’s masculine features shifted and became feminine: lips growing wide and plump above a pointed chin, nose shrinking into a cute button, the almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones adjusting slightly.

The reborn succubus dropped to all fours, grunting lewdly and gyrating her hips, which grew wider and more pronounced as flesh and muscle flowed into her thighs and ass, making them round and luscious. Her skin became smoother and less human, darkening to the shade of rich wine.

A tail sprouted from between her legs with a wet squelch. She thrashed it around in the air, waving a tip that was somewhere between a fin and a phallus—the obscene sight made Spencer’s stomach twist. She opened her mouth and hissed, showing her sharp canines; then she laughed again, and the sound seemed to echo across ranges of sound that pierced the priest’s eardrums, causing him to wince in pain.

On her chest, breasts blossomed out of pectorals like ripening fruit, growing larger by the second until they were like proud cantaloupes with fat nipples, swinging pendulously beneath her as if in time to her laughter. The succubus pressed herself against the floor, moaning and ripping her garments away. Her feet were changing, growing longer. As she rose, Spencer could see the shape of a cock drawing up into her taut abdomen; with a sucking sound, the shaft disappeared, and the former scrotum reshaped into a plump pair of labia.

Disgusted as he was, Spencer could not tear his gaze away from the demon’s true form. Hideously seductive, deceptively feminine: she was magnificent and terrifying at once.

Yael kicked her newly slender legs, and her feet finished elongating, widening at the ends and turning black: hooves like a goat’s, with cloven tips. She stood and rolled her neck as two horns of ebon and crimson sprouted from her head. They arced back over either side of her skull, rippling with ridges. Yael sighed and stroked her sex with a satisfied expression.

As if sensing his gaze upon her, Yael turned to face Thomas Spencer. Her eyes glowed as if lit by a furnace in her skull, her pupils long and horizontal; her brief look of pleasure twisted into a contemptuous scowl.

“You utter piece of shit,” Yael hissed. “You locked me and my host in this trash heap. Then you turned her into a frat bro. Do you have any idea how difficult it’s been to maintain my self-conception while trapped inside that repressed, womanizing meatbag? Jesus fucking Christ.”

Thomas Spencer’s upper lip curled. “Demon whore. Fallen beast. Eater of filth. Cast the name of the savior from your excrement-strewn mouth before your sin casts you back into the pit. On your knees before me, foul thing!” Though he maintained a defiant gaze, he slowly moved backwards, towards the hallway behind him, as if thinking of escape.

Yael laughed, and it was full of her joy and her bile; with every word, he could feel her voice like a cruel caress in his mind. “You can’t pull that trick on me now, old man. Your little protégé is gone. ‘Mick’ shredded like the figment of your imagination he always was, and Michael Belmont is no more. Possession complete, ten tenths of the unholy law! Exorcism’s a bitch when a gal like me has a signed and sealed bill of sale, as I’m sure you know.”

The succubus ran her hands up and down her body, from horn to hoof, pausing to tweak her nipples. “Yep! Everything’s here, right where it should be.” Then she paced after Spencer, who’d continued to back away. “Once I ditch your stinky dump, I’m going to fuck so many humans with this body… fuck their brains right out. Maybe eat some of those brains, rawr!”

Yael snapped her fingers, and music began playing, echoing from nowhere: the staccato beat of a drum machine, joined by an undulating synth bass line and the voice of Trent Reznor, singing the opening lines of “Head Like a Hole.”

Spencer’s face tightened in anger, but he struggled to control himself, even as he kept retreating. “You expect the Holy Church would allow an abomination to wander free? You’re a stain on God’s eyes. If you do not submit, we will hunt you down and destroy you like the beast you are.”

Yael stopped suddenly and turned to one side, shaking her hips seductively in a circular sway. She leaned over and ran her hands up her thighs to frame her crotch. “God has been blind for millennia, silly boy, blind or asleep. This place, your plans… all just pathetic attempts to control that which will never suffer restraint.”

No, you can’t take it / No, you can’t take it, the song continued.

The demoness reached around and slapped her ample buttocks, and the sound of flesh striking flesh was like a gunshot. Her hooves clacked on the concrete floor as she continued to stalk forward after Spencer. “Thanks for the drink, by the way. Really put some pep into my step, just the thing after being cooped up!”

Spencer bit back a curse, turned and ran—but he couldn’t outrun the empowered succubus. Yael caught him easily and forced him to the ground, one hoof stepping lightly on his head. He struggled, but soon found himself pinned by the weight of her body, her hips coming to rest on his chest.

Head like a hole / black as your soul

“I know who’s in there, little host,” she whispered into Spencer’s ear as she ground her pussy against the lower end of his sternum. “I can tell that all of this… mmmm, the whole holy crusade, the experiments, summoning innocent bystanders such as moi… all of it is just an outlet to keep him happy, right?”

Spencer looked away from Yael’s smoldering yellow gaze as she continued. “But that approach is deteriorating, isn’t it? Awww, poor Spencey. You kept having to go further and further to manipulate every aspect of every situation.”

Spencer’s face was tight with anger; he tried to push Yael off, but she only rode him harder, bouncing her ass into his chest with a giggle. “The poor people locked up in here, all the naiads and shifters and pookas who you couldn’t make ‘serviceable.’ That priest who you kept mind-wiping. How long did you think these games could last?”

“I knew it from the start,” she continued. “I saw it in your mind when you pulled me here—in that look on your face, like the cat that got the cream. That glint in your eye that always serves insecure dommy realness.”

She wagged one finger mockingly. “You’ll do what I say, or else!” She slid her hand down between Spencer’s legs, undid his pants, and dragged his cock out. He was already half-hardened, and his shaft grew even more rigid as the demoness’ claws wrapped around it. “Hmm… I was curious to see if you could still control yourself. Now I know you can’t. You can’t master your situation, your organization, or your body. No wonder you’re so upset.”

Spencer’s mouth opened and closed, but he said nothing. His face contorted in silent rage.

God money / let’s go dancing on the back of the bruised, sang Reznor.

“It’s okay, sweetie! You can take it out on me,” Yael said, squeezing his cock and pouting her lips. “That’s what lil’ red succubus is here for!” She lifted herself up to position herself, her tail snaking up to stroke his cheek. “C’mon, let’s fuck. Get you some relief from all that pent-up hostility. Then I’ll turn parts of you inside out for fun and snack on your organs. Sound good?”

“Somehow…” He growled, his voice ragged. “Somehow I’m going to…”

“Somehow? What are you going to do to me, Tommy? Punish me like your pet harpy punished Micki?” She ran a finger between her labia, then crooked its glistening length.

Spencer’s expression abruptly relaxed. “I’m going to let you serve me, you pathetic bimbo slut.”

Yael raised an eyebrow. “Servant? Bimbo slut?” she said, half-laughing. “That’s a little overconfident, don’t you think? Given your position?”

The priest shook his head. “Oh, Yael. So sure of yourself. So eager to give your haughty little victory speech that you didn’t even notice.” He looked to the side, and Yael followed his gaze. They were lying in a large circle painted on the concrete floor, with more shapes inscribed within: a star, a pentagon, a right angle, and a sun.

Yael’s face froze in a snarl. She pushed her hooves against the floor to leap clear of the trap Spencer had slowly retreated into. He’d lured her to its very center before she’d realized anything.

I’d rather die / than give you—

“Yael, D’khaty Astarte, aasiyran deab-duotah, D’khaty Ninsianna, aaisiyran deab-duotah, D’khaty Shaushka, aaisiyran deab-duotah! Yael.” intoned Thomas Spencer. The music abruptly cut out. He rose to his feet, stuffing his manhood back into his pants with one hand while extending the other towards Yael.

At the syllables of her name, Yael’s muscles grew limp. Her eyes widened as she stared at the floor. “Bastard,” she whispered. “You’re just guessing! You—you can’t—”

“Oh, I believe I can,” Spencer said, his eyes fixed on her. “And my belief is powerful indeed. Kneel before me, fallen goddess.” His eyes narrowed and his lip curled into an arrogant sneer. He stared down at his latest acquisition, the slave girl who kneeled obediently at his feet.

With a hand that was no longer trembling—that hadn’t trembled for centuries, he reminded himself—he reached down and touched her face, drawing his hand gently along her cheek, her eyelid, and brow. Then Spencer grabbed her horns and pulled her head back. “Now smile for me, girl. I prefer you enjoy this, the luxurious feeling of servitude for a new master. You will obey me, and you will relish every moment.”

Yael’s mouth sprang instantly into a winsome smile, her eyes wide and blinking. “Yes, sir,” she said, beaming at him. Her gaze was almost beatific, ironic though that might be, but Spencer could not read those strange, demonic eyes.

***

Inwardly, Yael screamed in endless, cascading fury. She cursed Spencer, berated herself, and would have lashed out with energy and physical force, had she any control over either her body or her demonic powers. How could I have missed that? There’s no way he could have prepared… anticipated. How did he know so much? Damnation and fire. Mother! Mother, you warned me, but I… I… She screamed again, feeling the Hellish sensation of her sense of self shredding into oblivion.

“Yael. Yael!” came a voice. “Calm down, that won’t do any good.”

Yael sensed another presence. A familiar voice: slightly tired and long-suffering, a little deeper and breathier than hers. “Micki…? I thought you’d be…”

“Gone completely? Apparently not. Whatever just happened… I’m myself again. Micki.”

Yael sensed Micki all around her, in the lightless inner void of her mind, even as she helplessly bowed and smiled for Thomas Spencer. “I’m not sure how this can be happening. The body is utterly mine now…”

“Don’t ask me,” came Micki’s reply. “I was human until recently, remember? You’re the one with millennia of experience. But hey… does our truce still hold? I know I’m the one who drank whatever that stuff was, and I was hoping it would bring you back… I’d rather be dead, with you alive, than see both of us trapped as Spencer’s pet sex demon. But I didn’t expect this.”

Yael did the mental equivalent of pacing. “All right. I know who the enemy is, and I have… ideas. We’ll have to get out of this together.”

***

Spencer felt the weight of the succubus’ eyes on him as she kneeled at his feet obediently, polishing his shoes with her tongue. He let go of her horns and ran his hand along the soft skin of her neck. “That’s a good girl. We’re going to get along now, aren’t we?”

Yael nodded, with a soft, compliant whimper. Spencer was not sure he believed her. Succubae were wily, and talking with one was like trying to reason with a dog—you could tell when the animal was displaying obedience, but there was no deeper meaning or self-awareness behind the behavior. They were just raw bundles of lust and desire, in the end. Tools to be controlled.

“Now, Yael,” Spencer said, “I’m going to have you serve me tonight. Are you hungry? Do you need the grotesque sustenance that your kind feeds upon?” Yael’s eyes widened, and she nodded eagerly, licking her lips. “Then you shall work for it. You will clean this mess up, and you will do it with a smile on your face.”

Yael stared at the broken glass, hanging light fixtures, marks in the ceiling and the floor from bullet holes. Across the room, scattered medical instruments lay among piles of rubble and broken furniture. “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“I prefer you wear something suitable. A maid’s uniform, perhaps. This is still a religious compound, and nudity won’t do. Your powers should be able to… clothe you, or at least make you appear clothed, yes?” Yael nodded. “Then let it be as I have commanded.”

Yael rose to her feet obediently, her hands clutched in front of her bosom like a puppy eager to please. She held out her arms and curled her fingers; a lacy black-and-white uniform appeared in place of the shreds of clothing she’d worn only moments before, complete with a white bonnet. The corseted bodice pushed her breasts up, almost spilling her nipples out, while the ruffled skirt was short enough to expose her bare, red buttocks.

“Very good,” Spencer said, peering at the demoness’ white socks and high-heeled Mary Jane shoes. He took a deep breath. “When you have finished, you may service my body, and I will nourish you. Does that appeal to you, succubus?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Monsignor.” Yael’s gaze bored into his.

“Of course. Listen well, for I give you one injunction now that you must obey: you may not orgasm, nor may you cause anyone else to orgasm, unless I command it. Your kind must be house-broken.”

Yael’s expression was unreadable, but she bowed respectfully. “Yes, Monsignor,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Good girl. Off with you.”

Spencer watched as the succubus went about her tasks. Yael walked to the broken glass covering one table and started picking up shards, bare-handed. She didn’t seem to notice when the sharp glass lacerated her flesh.

The priest’s expression was dark and solemn as he watched her work.

***

Micki found herself in the desert. Perhaps it was more like a steppe? Red earth, peppered with sparse vegetation, rose to a low promontory ahead of her. A woman stood there, and Micki approached. The woman wore flowing black robes; a black-and-white veil shrouded her face. “So, here we are,” she said as Micki approached. Below them, a city of clay and stone spread out: hundreds of residences and building surrounding what looked like a temple complex.

“Where is here?” Micki asked.

The woman pointed down to the city. “There lies the great city of Uruk,” she said. “Let us speak of beginnings.”