I opened my mouth—to protest, to deflect, to say something rational.

Aria kissed my neck.

The words died. Heat spread from where her lips pressed against my skin, racing down my spine. My head tilted back without conscious decision, offering more access.

Isabella’s fingers traced the line of my jaw, turning my face toward her. Her eyes held mine for a heartbeat before she leaned in, mouth finding the other side of my neck.

Two points of contact. Two different sensations—Aria’s warmth, soft and insistent; Isabella’s cool precision, deliberate and measured.

My hands gripped the sofa cushions.

They pulled back. Looked at each other across my lap.

Then kissed.

I watched their mouths meet inches from my face, watched their tongues slide together, watched Isabella’s hand cup Aria’s cheek while Aria’s fingers tangled in silver hair.

And their other hands—those never stopped moving. Aria’s traced patterns along my inner thigh. Isabella’s palm pressed flat against my sternum, feeling my heart pound.

When did my own hands start moving?

I didn’t remember deciding. But my fingers curved around Aria’s waist, feeling the give of soft flesh over muscle. My other hand found Isabella’s shoulder—cool skin stretched over lean strength.

Complete opposites.

Aria broke the kiss, breathing hard. “You’re thinking again.”

“I’m not—”

Isabella’s teeth closed on my earlobe. Not hard. Just enough pressure to make me gasp.

“You are,” Isabella murmured against my skin. “Stop.”

Aria’s hand slipped under the hem of my skirt. “We can feel you tensing up every few seconds.”

“I’m just—”

“Overthinking.” Aria’s fingers walked higher. “Like always.”

My shirt had too many buttons. My skirt, too much fabric. When did clothing become suffocating?

Aria solved the problem by finding the side zipper and pulling it down in one smooth motion. Isabella lifted the material over my head.

The apartment’s cool air hit bare skin.

I reached for Aria’s top—some cropped thing that barely qualified as clothing anyway. She raised her arms, letting me strip it away. Underneath, nothing. Just golden skin and curves that made my mouth go dry.

Isabella stood. Stepped back. Her hands moved to the fastenings of her tailored outfit with methodical precision.

Aria and I watched her undress.

Each revealed inch of pale skin drew the eye. The elegant lines of her collarbones. The subtle definition of her abdomen. Breasts smaller than Aria’s or mine, but perfectly shaped, topped with pale pink nipples that tightened in the cool air.

She stepped out of her remaining clothes and returned to the sofa.

We pulled her down between us.

Hands everywhere now. Mine on Isabella’s waist. Aria’s cupping my breast. Isabella’s fingers tracing the curve of my hip.

Mouths followed. Aria kissed down my throat, pausing to bite gently at my collarbone. I turned toward Isabella, catching her lips with mine. She tasted like wine and something else—something cold and sharp that made me chase the flavour.

“Fuck,” Aria breathed against my skin. “You two are gorgeous together.”

Her mouth closed around my nipple.

The sensation shot straight through me. I arched, breaking the kiss to gasp. Isabella’s hand replaced her mouth, thumb brushing my lower lip.

Then her head dipped lower.

Her tongue was cool. Precise. She circled my other nipple, then flicked it.

I made a sound I’d never heard myself make before.

Every time. Every single time pleasure hit in this body, it eclipsed anything I’d felt as Liam. Not just different—fundamentally incomparable. And I was increasingly certain it surpassed what normal women experienced too.

Succubi were simply built different.

The thought spiralled into darker territory. If I found a way back—if I somehow returned to my original body—would that life still satisfy me? Could it, after this?

Fingers brushed between my legs.

My hips jerked forward.

“There you go again,” Aria said. Her hand cupped me through thin fabric, applying gentle pressure. “Thinking useless things.”

“I’m not—” Isabella’s teeth grazed my nipple. The words dissolved into a moan.

“Yes, you are.” Aria’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric. Found wetness. “But we’ll fix that.”

Enough.

I grabbed Aria’s wrist, pulled her hand away. She blinked, surprised—then gasped as I pushed her back against the sofa cushions and straddled her thigh.

Isabella’s laugh was quiet. Approving.

I kissed Aria. Hard. My hands mapped her body—soft stomach, full breasts, the curve where her thigh met her hip. She writhed beneath me, making small desperate sounds.

Cool hands gripped my waist from behind. Isabella pressed against my back, her mouth finding my shoulder.

The last scraps of fabric disappeared.

Three naked bodies on black leather.

Aria’s fingers slid between my legs again. This time I didn’t stop her.

* * *

Aria’s fingers traced lazy circles just outside where I needed them most. Teasing. Promising.

Isabella’s breath warmed my shoulder. “Should I summon Brutus?”

The question landed like ice water. My body tensed before I could stop it.

“No.” Aria’s answer came fast. Sharp. “He’ll just get in the way. This is about us getting to know each other.”

Relief flooded through me so suddenly my knees weakened.

Not ready. I wasn’t ready to do this with a man without hunger forcing my hand. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Isabella’s fingers traced down my spine. “Very well.” She raised her voice. “Brutus. Leave us. You’re dismissed for the evening.”

“Mistress?” His deep voice carried from somewhere behind us.

“I’m not completely cruel. You may use Mercy while we’re occupied.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Footsteps retreated. A door closed.

What the hell is Mercy?

The thought scattered as Aria’s fingers stopped teasing and finally, finally pushed inside.

One finger. Slow. Deliberate.

My hips jerked forward. A moan escaped before I could trap it.

“Fuck,” I breathed. “Aria—”

A second finger joined the first. She curled them. Hit something that made stars explode behind my eyelids.

This was it. This was what I’d been chasing without knowing.

I twisted, found Isabella’s mouth. Kissed her while Aria’s fingers worked magic between my legs. Isabella’s tongue was cool. Her hands kneaded my breasts, thumbs circling nipples until I couldn’t think straight.

Had to stop. Had to maintain some distance. Had to—

Aria’s fingers curled again.

Fuck the distance.

I ground down against her hand, chasing the sensation. Isabella made a pleased sound against my lips, her fingers tightening just enough to send sparks racing down my spine.

“Good,” Isabella murmured. “Just like that.”

Stopping now would blow my cover. They’d ask why. They’d wonder what was wrong.

The excuse felt thinner than before.

“Move,” Aria commanded.

We shifted. Isabella ended up on her back, I straddled one of her thighs. Our breasts pressed together, pale skin against fair. Aria positioned herself above us both, those perfect curves on display.

Isabella and I latched onto her breasts simultaneously.

Aria’s gasp turned into a long, breathless moan. “Oh fuck yes.”

I sucked harder. Flicked my tongue across her nipple while Isabella did the same on the other side. Our bodies moved together, grinding, seeking friction.

My hips rocked against Isabella’s thigh. She pushed up to meet me, creating delicious pressure exactly where I needed it.

Asking questions would seem weird. Refusing would raise suspicion.

Who was I even convincing anymore?

Another shift. Isabella on her back again, legs spread. I settled between them, face level with her pussy. Aria positioned herself near Isabella, close enough that I could reach her.

My tongue traced Isabella’s slit.

She tasted sharp. Metallic. Cold.

Her thigh muscles tensed beneath my hands. I licked again, experimenting. Found her clit and circled it.

“There,” Isabella breathed. “Right there.”

I slipped two fingers into Aria while my mouth worked Isabella. Aria rode my hand, her moans filling the apartment. Above me, Isabella and Aria kissed, hands tangled in each other’s hair.

My tail lashed behind me. Useless. I’d barely managed basic control over the damn thing and now—

It brushed against my own thigh. Sensation shot through me like lightning.

When had my tail become so sensitive?

Too good. It felt too good to stop now.

Another position change. A triangle. My face buried between Aria’s thighs, tasting her sweetness. Aria’s tongue working Isabella with the same enthusiasm I’d shown. And Isabella’s cool mouth on me, precise and devastating.

We moved together. Three bodies, six hands, three mouths. Heat and wetness and the sounds we made—gasps and moans and whispered encouragement.

Aria came first. Her thighs clamped around my head, whole body shaking.

I followed seconds later, Isabella’s tongue doing something that made the world white out.

We didn’t stop.

Isabella and I ended up on the sofa, facing each other. Kissing. Hands kneading breasts, thumbs and fingers working nipples. Aria knelt between us, hands sliding up our thighs.

I broke the kiss, breathing hard. “What’s the reason you approached us?”

“I told you already.” Isabella’s hands never stopped moving.

I kissed her again. Deeper. Then pulled back. “The real reason.”

“Aah—” Aria’s fingers slipped inside Isabella. “Since our first meeting, something about you intrigued me.”

“She’s right.” Aria’s other hand found me, mirroring her movements. “There’s this something about you, Lily.”

“What something?”

Isabella’s eyes locked on mine. Her hips rocked against Aria’s hand. “You’re exactly what I’d expect from a freshly turned succubus. The hesitation, the awkwardness, the—fuck—the learning curve. But there’s this… this quality underneath. Something that only—”

Aria’s tail pressed against Isabella’s pussy while her mouth latched onto my clit.

I cried out. Isabella moaned. Words dissolved into incoherent sounds.

Aria giggled against my skin, the vibration almost enough to send me over the edge.

“If you’re going to interrupt,” I managed, “don’t you dare stop.”

I locked my legs around her head, holding her in place.

Her tongue did things I didn’t have words for. Her fingers filled me, curled, found spots that made my vision blur. And her tail—that clever, flexible tail—worked Isabella with the same devastating precision.

My own tail finally obeyed. I managed to curl it between Isabella’s legs from behind, supplementing Aria’s efforts.

Isabella gasped. “Lily—”

I was aiming for the clit, instead my tail tip brushed against her ass.

She pushed back against it.

Oh fuck. They actually used it for that. Both holes, no hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And from the way Isabella moaned, it was.

Aria shifted, freeing one hand. Her fingers, slick with Isabella’s wetness, traced down. Found my ass.

I tensed. “Wait, I don’t—”

She pushed inside.

Panic first. Wrong. This was wrong. I didn’t want—

Then the sensation registered.

Not wrong. Different. Intense. Overwhelming in ways I couldn’t process.

Another piece of Liam eroded. Another boundary crossed.

I didn’t even care.

“Fuck!” The word ripped out of me. “Fuck, Aria, Bella, I—”

Isabella’s mouth found mine. Swallowed my moans while Aria worked us both toward the edge.

We traded positions. I ended up on my back, Isabella straddling my face while Aria rode my fingers. My tail finally responded to my commands—clumsy still, but functional enough to press into Aria’s ass while my fingers filled her pussy.

She threw her head back. “Yes! Like that!”

Isabella ground against my tongue. I could barely breathe, but I didn’t care. The taste of her, the sounds they made, the way our bodies moved together—

Reality narrowed to sensation.

Aria’s fingers found me again. In both holes now, stretching, filling. The dual penetration sent electricity racing up my spine.

My tail worked on instinct. The arousal made it sensitive—every movement sent feedback through my nervous system that shouldn’t exist but did.

“I’m close,” Isabella gasped.

“Me too.” Aria’s rhythm faltered. “Fuck, me too.”

My hips bucked. Pressure built inside me, different from before. Bigger. Overwhelming.

Aria’s thumb found my clit. Pressed. Circled.

The pressure released.

I came.

Fluid gushed from me while I screamed against Isabella’s pussy. My whole body convulsed, every muscle locking as the orgasm tore through me.

Isabella and Aria followed. Their cries mixed with mine, three voices rising together.

We collapsed.

Bodies tangled on black leather. Breathing hard. Skin slick with sweat and other fluids.

Aria recovered first. Giggled. “Holy fuck.”

Isabella’s laugh was quieter. Satisfied. “Next time I’m bringing my favourite toys.”

“Can’t wait.” Aria’s grin was wicked.

I just lay there.

Processing.

Despite everything—Hell, demons, transformation, the complete destruction of my old life—I was growing fond of them. Not this world. Not Hell. Not the Academy or the politics or the casual cruelty everywhere I looked.

But Aria and now Isabella as well.

That terrified me more than anything else.

* * *

Isabella’s fingers traced patterns on my shoulder. Aria’s tail brushed against my ankle. Our breathing slowed.

The pleasant glow lasted. And lasted.

Not like before. Not like those brief, sharp moments as Liam where satisfaction faded almost immediately into awkwardness or sleep. This warmth spread through my whole body, lingering in my muscles, my skin, the space between my thoughts.

I could stay here forever.

The realization didn’t even frighten me anymore.

Aria stretched, arms over her head, back arching. “Nothing like a good fuck to build friendships.”

I hated that it seemed to work.

Isabella’s laugh was quiet. “It is tradition for a reason.”

“See?” Aria rolled onto her side, grin unrepentant. “Good tradition. Hey, you two want to go out? Have some fun in the city before the day ends?”

Isabella raised an eyebrow. “You’re certainly the energetic one.”

“She really is.” The words came out before I could stop them.

Aria stuck her tongue out. “Means I’m not boring.”

My muscles ached. Pleasant, satisfied aching that settled into my bones.

I couldn’t pretend anymore.

Not really. The excuses were getting thinner. Hollow.

This was for the alliance. Except it didn’t feel transactional.

This was playing my role. Except I wasn’t playing.

I should be scared. Should be horrified at how easily I was getting used to this. How fast I was fitting in. It wasn’t easy—nothing about Hell was easy—but it felt too natural. Too quick. I should have fought harder. Resisted more.

Except I couldn’t. Not in the beginning. The hunger made choices for me.

And now?

Aria’s finger booped my nose.

I blinked. She hovered in front of me, purple eyes bright with amusement.

“Stop disappearing into your head so often.” Her smile softened. “Even if you do look cute while doing it.”

The compliment landed. Warmth bloomed in my chest—genuine pleasure at being called cute.

It wouldn’t have worked on Liam.

I grabbed a random skirt from the floor and threw it at her face. “Dress up.”

She caught it mid-air, laughing.

Isabella pushed herself upright. “Perhaps we could take a bath first?”

Not necessary. Succubi didn’t smell—not in the human sense. Even sweat served aromatic purposes, designed to attract rather than repel.

“Yes!” Aria bounced to her feet. “I want to see what kind of bathtub you’ve got in this place.”

A bath would be nice. Probably better than whatever chaos Aria had planned for the city. But after today—after this—I doubted I’d complain about either option.

The admission sat in my mind like a stone.

I wouldn’t complain. Didn’t want to complain.

That should terrify me.

It didn’t.

Isabella stood, offering me her hand. I took it. Let her pull me up.

Aria was already at the bedroom door, skirt forgotten on the floor. “Come on! I bet it’s huge.”

“It’s adequate.” Isabella’s tone carried dry amusement.

We walked naked through her apartment. No shame, no awkwardness. Just three succubi heading to the bath after sex.

Normal. Routine. Expected.

My tail swayed behind me. Content.

I didn’t try to stop it.

* * *

The next day arrived whether I wanted it to or not.

I woke in our dormitory bed with Aria sprawled across me, one arm flung over my waist. Morning light filtered through the window—crimson and gold, because even the sun didn’t work properly in Hell.

My mind caught up slowly.

Yesterday. Isabella’s apartment. The three of us in the bath afterward, water hot enough to boil a human alive. Aria’s laughter echoing off tile. Isabella’s rare, genuine smile.

I’d forgotten everything. The research. The scrying ritual. The desperate timeline counting down to when I’d need to feed again.

All of it. Gone. Replaced by warmth and pleasure and the feeling of being wanted.

My chest tightened.

Dangerous. Sex was dangerous. It didn’t just override my body—it dismantled every mental defence I’d built. In that moment, tangled between them, I hadn’t cared about London or Liam or escaping. I’d accepted it. Wanted it.

The memory made me shudder.

Not from disgust. From how real it had been. How good it felt to stop fighting.

Aria stirred, mumbling something incomprehensible into my shoulder.

I extracted myself carefully and reached for clothes. The practical part of my brain reasserted itself, cataloguing what I’d lost: four hours of research time, maybe five if I’d stayed awake after returning to the dorm instead of collapsing into bed with Aria.

But could I really avoid it? Not as a succubus. Physical intimacy wasn’t just expected—it was necessary. Biological imperative wrapped in social ritual.

I pulled on the academy uniform. The shirt sat cropped just below my breasts. Regulation. Normal.

Nothing about this was normal.

Today. Today I’d go straight to the library after classes. No arguments from Aria. No diversions from Isabella. I’d learn that scrying ritual and finally see what happened to my body in London.

* * *

The General Lecture Hall felt different today. Larger. More bodies packed into the curved stone benches.

Professor Vox stood at the centre of the amphitheatre, chalk moving across a suspended slate board that floated at eye level. Numbers appeared—quadratic equations, factoring problems, basic algebraic manipulation.

Secondary school material. Maybe year ten if I was being generous.

Isabella sat to my left, posture perfect. Aria had claimed my right side and currently fought a losing battle against her own eyelids.

I copied the equations into my journal more from habit than need. My hand moved across parchment while my mind catalogued the gaps in what I still needed to research. The scrying ritual required three components I hadn’t located yet. Crystallized salt from the fourth circle. Mourning bells—whatever those were. And a personal anchor to the target.

That last one worried me. I didn’t have anything from my human body. No hair, no blood, no—

“Miss Nightstar.”

I looked up. Vox Cardinal’s rhinoceros head tilted toward me.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Solve the third equation on the board.”

I glanced at it. 3x² + 12x + 9 = 0

“x equals negative one or negative three.”

Vox’s dark eyes studied me. “Show your work.”

I stood, walked down to the demonstration space, and picked up the floating chalk. It felt warm in my hand.

3(x² + 4x + 3) = 0

3(x + 1)(x + 3) = 0

The factoring came automatically. I wrote each step, awareness prickling at my neck. Too fast. I’d solved it too fast.

“Adequate.” Vox dismissed me.

I returned to my seat. Aria had given up and rested her head on folded arms. Isabella watched me sit.

“That was faster than he expected,” she murmured.

I shrugged and returned to my notes.

The lecture continued. Vox moved through logarithms, then touched on the basics of trigonometric functions. I’d mastered this material a decade ago—back when I’d actually been preparing for university entrance exams as a human teenager.

“Lily.” Isabella’s whisper barely carried. “What’s the period of sine wave again?”

I glanced at her notes. She’d written most of it correctly but stumbled on the relationship between frequency and wavelength.

“Two pi,” I murmured back. “It repeats every two pi radians. Here—” I sketched a quick sine curve in the margin of her parchment. “Peaks at pi over two, crosses zero at pi, bottoms at three pi over two, returns to zero at two pi.”

She studied the drawing, then nodded.

Vox’s voice droned on. Aria’s breathing evened into sleep.

Isabella leaned closer. “The amplitude calculation for—”

“Amplitude’s just the height. Measure from the centreline to the peak.”

“And phase shift?”

“Horizontal translation. If you’ve got sine of x minus c, the whole graph moves right by c units.”

She copied my explanation, filling in her notes.

The lecture ended mercifully. Aria jerked awake as bodies rose around us.

“Finally,” Aria groaned, stretching. “I thought I was going to die.”

Isabella gathered her materials. “You seemed quite comfortable with the content, Lily.”

“It’s review material. Not exactly challenging.”

“For you, perhaps.” Isabella’s ice-blue eyes held calculation. “You explained phase shifts better than Cardinal did. And faster than my family’s tutors ever managed.”

Warmth crept up my neck. I’d been careless.

“Your mother must have hired exceptional instructors,” Isabella continued.

Aria snorted. “Her mum’s a textile merchant, not a—”

“I didn’t have tutors,” I said.

Both of them looked at me.

I manufactured a small smile. “Must be leftover memory from my mortal life. Engineering background, I think. The math just… stuck.”

Isabella accepted this with a slight nod. “Fascinating. Most transformed succubi lose technical knowledge during the transition. Your retention is unusual.”

Unusual. Right. Because I didn’t transition—I just woke up in someone else’s body.

“Lucky, I guess.” I moved toward the exit before she could ask more questions.

Behind me, Isabella and Aria followed. Neither of them knew how close to the truth they’d just come.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident. History dragged through the War of the Third Circle—dates and bloodlines I copied mechanically into my journal. Physical Education consisted of flying drills I completed by letting muscle memory do the work.

By the time we returned to the dorm, Aria had recovered her usual energy.

“So.” She flopped onto her bed, grinning. “Den of Debauchery? There’s supposed to be some incubus from the Fifth Circle performing tonight—”

“Tomorrow.”

Her face fell. “What?”

“I said tomorrow.” I pulled off my boots and set them by my wardrobe. “I need to study tonight.”

“You’re going to the library again?” Aria sat up. “You go literally every day.”

“I didn’t yesterday.”

“Because we were at Isabella’s!” Aria gestured broadly. “Which was basically an orgy with a study session stapled to the end. That doesn’t count as a break.”

My tail flicked. “Tomorrow. We’ll go out tomorrow.”

Aria studied me, purple eyes narrowing. Then she smiled—sharp and satisfied. “You promise?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She sprawled back against her pillows. “Because I’m holding you to that, Nightstar. You can hide in the stacks all week if you want, but tomorrow night? You’re mine.”

I grabbed my journal and headed for the door before she could extract more commitments.

Behind me, Aria’s laughter followed me into the corridor.

* * *

The library’s upper reading area was empty save for a gargoyle perched on a distant shelf. I spread the scrying materials across the table—my notes on ritual geometry, the copied diagrams from Planar Mechanics and Observation, the list of required components.

Three things needed. I had none.

I traced the outermost circle of the diagram. The personal anchor requirement sat at the center—a physical object tied to the target. Something they’d touched, owned, carried. I didn’t have anything from my old life. No wallet, no keys, no watch. Just memories.

Could a soul work as an anchor? The text didn’t say it couldn’t. But the diagram assumed material resonance, not metaphysical connection.

I leaned back. The chair creaked.

What was I doing?

Even if I completed the ritual, even if I saw London through the scrying circle—what then? Best case: my body was alive, walking around, occupied by whatever consciousness had swapped places with me. Worst case: a corpse in a London flat, rotting for three weeks while the neighbours complained about the smell.

And if it was the worst case? What changed?

I’d still need to get home. Scrying only told me whether to mourn.

But the need sat in my chest anyway, sharp and insistent. I wanted to know.

I gathered the papers and crossed to Meridia’s desk.

She didn’t look up from her book. “Back already?”

“I need two ingredients. Crystallized salt from the Fourth Circle. Mourning bells.”

Her eyes flicked toward me. “For?”

“Research.”

“Mmm.” She marked her page with one finger. “Crystallized salt—Campus Merchant Row. Alchemical Reagents shop. Ask for Abyssal-grade. The other kind dissolves in air.”

I pulled out my journal and wrote it down.

“Mourning bells.” Meridia’s tone flattened further. “Also Merchant Row. Arcane Trinkets. But they’re expensive. Fifty souls minimum for a functional set.”

Fifty souls. More than most students carried in a month. I had thousands sitting in my spatial ring—Lilith’s allowance—but spending that much would draw questions.

“Anything cheaper?”

“Steal them.” Meridia returned to her book. “Or find someone who died badly and harvest the resonance yourself. Your choice.”

I closed my journal. “Thank you.”

She waved one hand in dismissal.

I left through the main entrance and headed east toward the perimeter wall where the merchant shops clustered. The evening air tasted like distant rain. My tail swayed as I walked—balanced, automatic.

* * *

The covered arcade was darker than I’d expected. Obsidian columns supported a vaulted ceiling where crystal lights flickered, casting uneven shadows across shop windows. The light had a yellow-green quality, like old fluorescents about to die.

Students moved between storefronts in small clusters, laughing, voices low. A pair of succubi emerged from the cosmetics shop carrying small vials that glowed faintly blue.

I walked past the first few shops—Academic Supplies, Fashion & Uniforms—and tried not to look too closely at what occupied the displays.

The Stationery & Organization shop had notebooks in the window. Normal enough. Except the leather binding on one of them had a texture that looked wrong. Too smooth. Too uniform. And when I looked closer, I saw the faint outline of pores.

Human skin.

I kept walking.

The Books & Literature shop was worse. The titles were displayed spine-out on wooden shelves, but three of the featured volumes on the centre table had covers that moved. Not metaphorically. The embossed faces on the leather twitched, mouths opening and closing silently. One of them had eyes that tracked me as I passed.

My stomach turned, but my feet didn’t stop. My tail swayed. My wings stayed folded.

I should have been terrified. Any sane human would’ve run screaming. But the fear didn’t come. Just this creeping, clinical disgust—like walking past a dissection lab and noting the smell.

Maybe my supernatural sight made it worse. I could see too clearly. The faces weren’t abstract horror—they were detailed, specific, individual. Or maybe it was better. Maybe if I couldn’t see them, my imagination would’ve filled the gaps with something even worse.

I didn’t know.

The Alchemical Reagents shop sat three doors down, light spilling through the windows in amber streaks. I pushed through the door.

Glass vials lined the walls floor-to-ceiling. A counter dominated the centre of the room, and behind it stood a succubus whose breasts pressed against the wood, spilling over the edge in a way that defied physics. Her horns curved forward, polished to a mirror shine.

She looked up. “Evening, love. What can I get you?”

“Crystallized salt. Fourth Circle. Abyssal-grade.”

Her smile widened. “Smart girl. The standard stuff will dissolve before you finish your ritual.” She turned, wings folding tighter, and reached for a shelf behind her. Her tail flicked once, lazy.

She returned with a small leather pouch and set it on the counter. “Five souls.”

I pulled the coins from my spatial ring and counted them out. She swept them into a drawer.

“Anything else?” She leaned forward, chin resting on one hand. “I’ve got fresh aphrodisiac compounds—just came in yesterday. Liquid form, powder, even edible crystals if you’re feeling fancy. Great for parties. Or personal use.” Her grin turned sharp. “First-year special—buy two, get the third half off.”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You sure? Because I’ve also got sensory amplifiers, stamina boosters, pheromone enhancers—”

“I have everything I need.”

She shrugged, tail curling upward in a lazy arc. “Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, we’re open till midnight most nights.”

I pocketed the salt and left.

Even in Hell, merchants upsold.

I continued down the arcade, scanning the shop signs. Jewellery & Accessories. Confections & Treats. Personal Services.

Finally—Arcane Trinkets.

The window display featured enchanted mirrors, focusing crystals, and a set of bone dice that glowed faintly red. No bells.

I stepped inside.

* * *

The door chimed as I entered.

A man was strapped to a table in the centre of the room.

He was screaming—muffled by the gag stuffed in his mouth. Naked. Chest heaving. Sweat pooling beneath him on the dark wood surface.

A succubus leaned over him, hands steady, fingers buried beneath his ribcage.

I stopped just inside the threshold.

The man’s head turned. Eyes locked on mine.

His expression shifted—horror compounding on horror. Pupils blown wide. Face red, veins standing out against his forehead like cords.

He thought I was here to join in.

The succubus straightened, pulling her hands free. Clean. No blood on her fingers despite the open cavity in the man’s torso. She wore a simple black dress, hair tied back in a neat bun. Professional.

“Be with you in just a moment, dear.” Her voice was pleasant. Like a shopkeeper apologizing for being on a call.

I didn’t move.

The man wheezed. His ribs flexed, exposed muscle twitching. Something inside him kept him conscious. I could feel magic threading through his nervous system like copper wire, keeping the pain sharp and immediate.

The succubus returned to her work.

She reached into his chest cavity again, fingers disappearing between the ribs. The man convulsed. His scream turned into a wet, choking sound.

She withdrew her hand. Something dark and glistening came with it—his spleen, slick and intact.

“Good quality.” She set it on a cloth beside the table, where other organs already rested in neat rows.

I should have left.

I should have turned around, walked out, gone to another shop. There were ten stores on this row. One of them had to sell bells without requiring me to watch this.

But I didn’t move.

My feet stayed planted. My hands hung at my sides. My tail swayed once, slow.

The man looked at me again. Not horror anymore. Pleading.

Help me.

The thought surfaced: Could I?

Probably not. I’d been in this body for less than three weeks. The shopkeeper had been torturing mortals for decades, maybe centuries. If I attacked her, she’d kill me. Or worse—she’d ask questions. Lilith and Lucifer would hear about it. They’d want to know why their daughter tried to save a damned soul from its punishment.

And even if I could overpower her—what then?

The man was already dying. His chest was open, organs missing. Whatever magic sustained him wouldn’t hold forever. All I could do was end it faster.

But that would require explaining why I cared.

So I stood there.

The succubus selected a knife from a tray beside the table. Long, thin blade. She positioned it beneath the man’s ribs on the left side and cut.

His liver came free in three clean motions. She set it beside the spleen.

Next came the kidneys. She hummed while she worked—something light, almost cheerful. The blade traced precise lines. No wasted movement. The kidneys joined the growing collection.

She moved lower.

The man thrashed. His legs jerked against the restraints, metal cuffs biting into his ankles.

The succubus made a single incision. His testicles came away, still connected by thin cords of tissue. She severed them and placed them on the cloth.

I catalogued the technique.

Efficient. Minimal damage to surrounding tissue. The cuts were shallow enough to avoid major blood vessels, but deep enough to separate cleanly. She wasn’t just torturing him—she was harvesting. Each organ preserved in optimal condition.

I could improve it. The angle on the kidney extraction was awkward. If she approached from the posterior side, she’d have better leverage and reduce the risk of nicking the—

I stopped.

What was I doing?

I was standing in a demon shop, watching a woman butcher a human being, and I was critiquing her methodology.

Was I always like this?

Even as Liam?

I’d never been good with people. Daniel had been the exception—the only person who’d made sense. Mark had been fine, but surface-level. Faith had been… different. I’d loved her. I thought I had.

The orphanage surfaced in my thoughts. Ages three to five. I’d earned a reputation. “Unsettling,” they’d called me. The staff would look at me strangely. I didn’t remember why. Just flashes. Images. The way adults smiled too much when they talked to me, like they were trying to convince themselves I was normal.

But I’d grown out of it. By the time I left, I’d been well-liked. Friendly. Maybe a bit manipulative, but nothing uncommon.

This wasn’t the same.

The succubus moved to his throat. The man’s eyes rolled back.

She cut into his larynx, fingers peeling it free from the surrounding cartilage. He couldn’t scream anymore. Just wet, rattling gasps.

She placed the larynx on the cloth and stepped back, surveying her work.

Then she picked up a smaller knife.

She wasn’t harvesting anymore.

The blade traced lines across his stomach. Shallow. Decorative. The man twitched. His fingers curled, nails scraping the wood.

She moved to his thighs. His arms. Each cut deliberate, measured. She wasn’t rushing. She was enjoying it.

The man stopped moving.

His chest still rose and fell—barely. His eyes stared at the ceiling, glassy.

The succubus set down the knife and picked up a ceremonial dagger. Brass handle, curved blade.

She positioned it over his heart.

One thrust.

Something pale green and blue rose from his chest—vapor, glowing faintly. It spiralled upward, then down into a vial she held in her other hand.

The light swirled inside the glass.

The man went still.

The succubus capped the vial, set it aside, and turned to me.

“Sorry for the wait. Fresh mortals make the best ingredients, you know? The emotional resonance is so much richer.” She smiled. “What can I get for you?”

My throat was dry.

“Mourning bells.”

Her smile widened. “What a great timing! I was just collecting resonance for my next batch.” She glanced at the table. “From the fresh stock. You’ll get excellent quality.”

She named a price. “Sixty souls.”

I pulled six larger coins from my ring and counted them out. My hands didn’t shake.

They should have.

She swept the coins into a drawer and picked up the vial. She opened it, letting a thin tendril of vapor escape. It drifted toward a set of brass bells on the shelf behind her, seeping into the metal. The bells chimed once, soft and mournful.

She handed them to me. “Anything else?”

“No. Thank you.”

I left.

The arcade was brighter than I remembered. Cleaner. The light didn’t bother my eyes.

I walked back to the dormitory.

My hands still weren’t shaking.

I needed to perform the ritual tonight. I needed to see if my body was still in London. If there was anything left to go back to.

I needed to get out of here.