Succubated!

Una couldn’t even scream. She only fell, her body spinning, her arms and legs flailing. One hand still held fast to the sword, the other clutching at nothing. Her hair whipped about her face and obscured her vision. Below her, the pavement longed to meet Una, a mosaic of stone, asphalt, and metal moving towards her, each component slowly enlarging. Her heart hammered against her breast, a pounding drumbeat threatening to drown the roar of the wind.

Wings! Where are my wings? Only a week or two before, she’d jumped off Susan’s rooftop, spread her great raven feathers and swooped through Manhattan. But she’d been a red-skinned, fully demonic powerhouse then, not the small and helpless girl created by a dream of her own past mingled with nanotechnology. She tensed her shoulders—and nothing happened at all.

Fall like a meteor, came a strangely calm thought. The rest of her panicked and thrashed, desperate for any purchase, anything to slow her descent, but an unseen director—Yael?—commanded her limbs. Go faster, strike from above. Use the blade. Time seemed to slow; she’d been falling for seconds, but the street seemed strangely distant.

Una tucked in her legs and rolled her body, turning to face downward. She straightened her arms, and her momentum shifted, bringing her into an arc. The wind buffeted her fiercely, but then the sensation changed, as though it had become a current instead, a flow that pushed her in the desired direction. Layer after layer of window, concrete, brick, and steel flashed past her, each one swifter than the last. She closed her eyes, and her mind seemed to open; long and multitudinous experience guided her. Fuck… we’re really gonna do this.

Una brought the curved blade in front of her, fighting air resistance to grip the long handle with both hands. She held the blade vertically, and then angled it downward, pointing its tip straight at the street below. Her speed increased, the wind whipping tears from her eyes; she gritted her teeth against the force.

As her body hurtled towards the street, Una opened her eyes fully and saw the pavement racing towards her like an oncoming train. She aimed herself like a javelin at a spot in the middle of the street, a small blot of darkness where the overlapping halos of street lamps failed to reach. As she plunged downward, the blade glowed, its light a faint orange. Una felt its energy, a thrumming vibration, traveling along its entire length, into her wrists, her elbows, into the muscles of her back and shoulders. Her hair billowed out behind her, a dark corona.

With every iota of strength, Una brought the blade down as she landed, its point driving through asphalt and concrete. At the moment the sword struck, Una’s shoulders tensed reflexively and her wings burst from beneath her scapulae. Their span opened wide, and she felt the impact of their sudden growth, the pain lancing across her back, as they snapped taut to either side, slowing the force of her landing.

Una crouched in a three-point stance as the pavement buckled, cracks spider-webbing outward from the point she'd struck with the blade, moments before. The ground roiled and substantial chunks of street broke away, crumbling as though they were clay. A cloud of dust and smoke erupted, and a shockwave rippled across the street in all directions. Una struggled to maintain her footing as the surface beneath her quaked.

All around, the sounds of shattering windows and car alarms rang forth, accompanied by the crunch and squeal of crumpling metal and a deep rumble like an earthquake. The pavement crumpled and sucked her downwards with the rush of air filing vacuum. Flying rocks and pebbles pelted her wings, and though she tried to lift off, she could only manage a single feeble flap.

Her sword remained embedded in a hunk of concrete. She struggled in vain to pull it out, her feet scrabbling against the buckling pavement. The street seemed to want to swallow her, and she shrieked in anger. As the world spun and the ground withdrew its support, the sword slipped free of her grasp. She reached towards it as she plummeted into the subway tunnels below.

Una's wings flexed, and she felt them beat once, hard, as she tumbled downwards. The force of her flight pulled her sideways in an arc until she slammed against the wall. She slid, her wings folding beneath her and vanishing into nothingness as she bounced off the rough bricks, hit a metal box on the wall, then fell into a pile of rubble.

Dazed but conscious, Una blinked away dust. Her ears rang, and she coughed, spitting dirt. She rose unsteadily from a heap of broken concrete. Above, she saw the hole in the street she had fallen through: a circle of darkness framed by streetlamps. The sounds from above were dim and far away: the crackling of fire and the howls of sirens.

Above the lamps and lit from below by all the glowing urban lights, she saw shapes moving against the glass surfaces of nearby buildings: flying creatures of some sort, circling and descending. The harpy, Mary Margaret? But there are many of them. Likely some sort of minions—those horrible moths, or something larger.

With a shout of pain, Una pulled her right leg from a pile of rubble, scraping the skin of her calf as she yanked it free. She looked at the opening again, gauging the distance. No way I can climb back up. I'd have to summon my wings again…

She concentrated on the space between her shoulders, but felt nothing. The sword, she thought. If those things chase me down here, and if I have no way of escaping by air, I'll need a weapon. Una's gaze darted around the rubble-strewn tunnel, and she saw the sword, its dark blade shining with reflected light and its hilt pointing towards her. She hobbled to it and grasped the handle, pulling it free with some effort. She felt the same thrumming vibration as she had when the weapon had been sheathed in her body. It seemed to pulse, matching her heart rate.

A trickle of rubble fell from above, and Una backed behind a concrete pillar as several large chunks dropped to the tracks. She glanced up again at the edge of the hole, and saw it: a large, blackened claw gripped the rim, followed by a bulbous, horned head. The monster peered down into the tunnel and sniffed the air. Not the harpy, nor the moths; something more like a gargoyle or a golem

, she thought. She shuddered at the way the creature's head tilted, listening. After a moment, a second creature appeared, its head slightly misshapen, with crooked horns and twisted features.

Una shifted her grip on the sword's hilt, her fingers sliding into position almost instinctively. The weapon felt light and well balanced, and she knew she could wield it with ease. Then a conflicting impulse stopped her: What am I doing? I’ve never used a sword before! How can I fight these things?

Moving as silently as she could, Una pressed her bare back against the wall and slid sideways, hoping to remain unseen. She heard the first creature snuffling, sniffing, its nose questing. She held her breath and listened. The creatures' heavy treads crunched and clicked across the broken concrete—enough noise to suggest one or two more. She heard a wet sound, as of a tongue licking dry lips, and a low growl.

“Scent,” said one beast, its deep voice a bass rumble. “I smell it. Demon blood, fresh.”

The other creature growled, a lower, longer sound. Its voice was rougher, more bestial in tone. “Human woman. Eat her.”

Una's pulse pounded in her ears, and the sweat on her palms slicked the handle of the sword, but she kept moving, sliding along the wall with gradual motions. She felt the cool concrete on her skin, smelled the dust and earth in the air, and heard the creatures continue their guttural conversation.

The one who had spoken first grunted, then spoke again. “Not a real human. Changed. And not to eat, stupid. Lord wants her alive. Bring back for his glory.”

“Eat a little. Lord doesn't know.”

“Lord knows. Always knows. Don't argue.” Still inching along, Una now stood in deep gloom, far from the light shed from the lamps above.

“Hungry! Want her. Smells sweet.”

“Shut up!” The sound of a blow, a howl of pain or rage, then a scuffle. Enough noise erupted from their conflict for Una to seize the moment, running forward as quietly as possible, though a few small pieces of rock rolled away from her feet with a click.

The creatures fell silent, then growled in chorus, and she heard loud thumps as the monsters dropped to the tracks. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw four pairs of eyes reflecting the light above. The monsters moved slowly, cautiously, spreading themselves apart. They were large, roughly humanoid, hunched over with long, thick tails trailing behind them. Each carried a weapon, crude clubs or axes, and their horns curved in varied patterns around lumpy skulls.

Her feet bare against the wooden trestles of a New York City subway track, her skimpy garments torn and dirty, her body bruised and battered, Una ran quickly and quietly. She clutched the curved sword tight to her chest as her legs pumped, thighs and calves straining. Behind her came sounds of claws on stone; she dared not look back.

The tunnel curved in an arc but seemed to go on endlessly, dim blue lights lining one side; fearful of being seen, she hugged the opposite wall, keeping to shadows. She passed an indentation in the wall, then quickly darted back when she realized it concealed another passageway. She paused and peered into the deeper shadows, but could make out no detail. Anything's better than fighting those things in the dark, she thought, and slipped in.

If this was a maintenance corridor, it had been designed for someone as short as she was in her current body, but far slimmer. She squeezed herself along the passage sideways, holding Velisatra ahead of her as she went, careful to keep its point from catching on the brick walls.

Damn squishy body, she thought. Her barely clad bosom rubbed uncomfortably against one side of the passage while the soft globes of her backside scraped against the opposite side, with her tail wedged painfully against the small of her back.

The tunnel was warm, and the air was stale and dusty; she fought to suppress a sneeze. She could still hear the monsters moving through the main tunnel, though she hoped the sounds would mask the scratching of her movements in the narrow passage.

Una felt as though the walls were closing tighter around her and fought down a wave of claustrophobia. I've made it through worse, she thought, remembering the collapsing pipes she'd dragged Sherill Kincaid through during their escape from Spencer's compound.

Finally, she emerged into a small, square room that stank of mold and rust. Metal access panels and circuit boxes lined the wall, along with a caged lightbulb; a short corridor of ordinary dimensions led to a door. Given the direction I came, the train tracks are probably just on the other side, Una thought, then realized she'd been holding her breath. She slowly exhaled, trying to calm her thundering heartbeat.

The creatures' growls sounded distant and faint, and she relaxed a bit, trying to take stock. Her calf was throbbing where she'd scraped it; a strong candidate for infection. The absurd gold bikini her tormentors had dressed her in was now reduced to little more than straps and tatters, hanging in stretches of filmy fabric across her breasts and hips. She was barefoot, though fortunately, she no longer had to pick her way through painful rubble.

Despite a welter of other bruises and scrapes, and the lingering taste of Nezz's blood and semen in her mouth, she was otherwise unharmed. The sword she'd drawn from insides pulsed gently in her hands, as though alive and content.

Una's thoughts remained a whirlwind of confusion and fear, however, and she found it hard to think deliberately. Her body trembled with the aftershocks of adrenaline, and she worked to calm herself. Breathe, the succubus told herself. Just breathe and think. Her body gradually heeded her advice.

The Chrysler building was in front of me, and beyond it the river. She strained to listen, trying to pick up the distant sound of trains. I'm probably somewhere on the Sixth Avenue line, which explains the curve in the tracks. I haven’t heard any trains; the MTA probably halted everything. Or they would have… if any of this is real.

The thought dizzied her again, but she had to admit the possibility. Too much was strange and inexplicable: the way she’d passed in Chinatown, wakened in a building in the Catskills, then returned to Manhattan; the presence of a schoolyard nemesis who was the wrong gender and age; her vision of an enormous hand; and the fact she’d destroyed a city street with a magical sword that she’d somehow summoned into her cunt.

What had happened? Had Kyber cast a spell over her, trapping her in some kind of illusion? Or was she trapped in another realm entirely, some world of nightmares on the far side of a portal? I don’t need to pinch myself to check if I’m dreaming, she thought ruefully. My body aches too much, and these cuts sting like a hellhound’s teeth.

Una shook her head. She needed more information, but her options appeared to be limited. Her wings wouldn’t pop, and as for the nanobots… she glared at her hand and tried to concentrate, willing forth muscles, or hard scales, anything. Nothing, of course. Maybe they’re not even keyed to me anymore.

Fortunately, the noises of pursuit had faded; she decided to investigate. The door creaked loudly when she turned the knob, its hinges protesting with metallic screeches, but the thin walkway on the other side was quiet. Only a faint electrical hum broke the silence.

The subway tracks lay a few feet below the short catwalk, but Una could barely make the railings out in the darkness. Even if trains aren’t running, she thought, I can’t stumble along a subway tunnel in the dark without getting electrocuted by the third rail.

Then Una remembered another moment from her earlier escape, from a time when Yael’s voice was more present, less integrated with her own muddled consciousness. She could light her way. She held her left hand out, palm up, and spoke the word “Lux.”

A pale green light glowed in her palm, illuminating her fingers and casting a soft radiance across the walkway. Una smiled. The simplest cantrip, Yael had called it, and yet she felt strangely grateful for the ability to create light, even something as small as this.

Una walked forward to the end of the catwalk, peering into the shadows of the tunnel. Her light illumined enough to see the curve in the tracks, as well as the electrified third rail… and the dim outline of a hunched shape loping along the tunnel towards her. Una stifled a curse.

She ducked back around the corner into the short corridor, extinguishing the light with a thought and plunging herself into darkness. Una held her breath and pressed herself against the wall, listening as the creature's clacking footsteps approached.

“I smell you. Human smell. Tasty.” The voice echoed in the tunnel, bouncing off the walls to make its words difficult to distinguish. Its tone was low and guttural. “Master will destroy you, anyway. Hungry. Let me eat.”

At least it’s just the stupid one, Una thought. But if I wait to let it find me here, it’ll have me cornered, with no room to move.

Once more, she shifted her grip on the hilt and adjusted her posture, her bare feet braced against the gritty floor.

The monster clattered up onto the catwalk, and Una heard sniffing, the creature's wet nose questing for her scent. She heard claws clicking against metal. When she judged the sound close enough, she spun out of concealment and swung her weapon, striking blindly in the near darkness.

Her blade met resistance, and Una heard the creature's bellowing howl as her weapon sliced through flesh. The monster reeled back, and Una pressed her advantage, stepping in closer with the curved blade and swinging upwards.

The weapon cut through something soft—perhaps the beast's throat?—and Una felt hot fluid splash her arm as the creature's body tumbled backwards. The thing's bulk crashed against the catwalk railing and toppled over, hitting the tracks below with a thud.

She was panting hard, but managed to say “Lux” one more time, with her arm extended. Her light revealed the monster's body lying prone on top of the subway tracks, blood pooling beneath its head. The thing still exhaled ragged gasps, but did not rise.

“I'll tell master,” it said, its voice a gurgle. “He knows all.”

“Yeah? Well, tell him his dick tastes like week-old roadkill.” Una raised Velisatra and brought it down hard, slicing through the monster's neck and severing its head from its body. She watched as the head rolled a few paces along the tracks, then stopped.

“On second thought, just go straight to Hell,” Una muttered, and kicked the head into the shadows.

The succubus wiped the sweat from her brow. She was exhausted, but knew she couldn't afford to rest; she could already hear the distant clatter of clawed feet running towards her.

Una clenched her fist tight around the light and broke into a run, moving as quickly as she could away from the sounds of pursuit. The dampened glow provided her enough illumination to avoid the rails and to spot what she’d hoped for: a split in the tracks. The Sixth Avenue line diverged into eastward and southward branches here, and she took the latter, heading towards Times Square.

Wherever they were, the monsters behind her seemed to sense her movement, and she heard them pick up their pace. Una forced herself to sprint, ignoring the ache in her legs and the stitch in her side. As she ran, her mind raced alongside her legs: am I trying to escape, fight, wake up or make sense of this madness? I don't think I can handle all four at once.

Ahead of her she saw something unexpected: the three lights, suspended above the tracks, that she recognized as the tail end of a train. The lights were stationary; the train must have halted, perhaps waiting for clearance to resume operation. If she could reach the train and board it, she might lose the creatures, or find help. Or just put everyone on the train in danger, she considered grimly. It wasn’t as if she had much choice; the train filled the tunnel, and a dark wall divided the track she ran on from its westbound counterpart.

Guttural snarls erupted behind her, growing louder. She could hear their harsh footsteps pounding, the sound echoing in waves as their claws clicked against concrete and steel. “Capture!” one of them bellowed, its voice a deep growl, and the others howled in response like hounds on a hunt.

The train loomed before her, its rear door glowing yellow with welcoming light. An orange circle with a white F in the center showed the subway line. If I can just grab onto those bars at the back, I’ll pull myself up…

With a hydraulic hiss and a sudden lurch, the F train began moving down the track, slowly gathering speed, and Una cursed her luck. She sprinted faster still, pumping her arms and willing her tired body forward. Her thighs and calves burned as her feet slapped the concrete; behind her, the gargoyle-creatures roared. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat poured down her forehead, stinging her eyes. The gap between her outstretched hand and the edge of the car widened, inch by inch.

“No!” she shouted, her voice hoarse with exertion. The rear door of the train slid open, and a silhouetted figure leaned out, extending an arm. The train continued to move, and Una hollered “Utsahate!” without knowing what she meant or why. A sudden rush of energy flowed through her, and the world seemed to stop.

In the instant before time resumed, the train seemed to slow, and her hand closed around the offered arm. At nearly the same moment, a clawed hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled hard, and she screamed, torn between her own grasp and the monster’s. She kicked out with her other foot, then lashing backwards in a wild swing with her blade. The sword connected with something, slicing through it, and the clawed grip released her.

Una felt her feet leave the ground as the dark-robed figure inside the train hauled her in, and she landed in an awkward sprawl on cold linoleum, Velisatra slipping from her hand. The train picked up speed, and the door slid shut as she struggled to regain her breath.

A helpful arm supported her and helped her back to her feet. “Oh dear,” said a voice she almost recognized. “That was much too close for comfort.” She looked up at her rescuer: a middle-aged man with a gentle smile, thinning grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Una blinked. She stared at her own face… but hardened by a masculine adolescence, then softened by mortal years.

Father Michael Belmont clasped her warmly around the shoulders. His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Hello, Una,” her former self said. “Welcome home?”