The word came unbidden. She didn't know how she knew. But the moment she saw this creature, the knowledge was just... there. Downloaded directly into her consciousness.

The succubus's smile widened. "It seems my subconscious memories are bleeding into yours." Her voice was like honey—sweet, thick, coating everything it touched. "Creating confusion. Though at least it's good you have the data. The consciousness transfer is a bit... messy."

Elara took a step back. The water resisted, thick as syrup. "You're... you're not me."

"Obviously not, dear."

"Then—" Elara's voice trembled. "Then who are you?"

The succubus moved. Each step created ripples that spread outward, distorting reality. She approached slowly, deliberately, like a predator stalking wounded prey.

Her hand extended—long fingers, sharp nails painted the same crimson as her eyes.

"That doesn't matter," the succubus purred, her hand reaching for Elara's face.

Elara tried to move. Tried to run, to dodge, to do *anything*.

She couldn't.

Her body was frozen. Locked. Sleep paralysis, but worse. She could feel everything—the water around her ankles, the non-existent breeze on her skin, her own heart hammering in her chest—but she couldn't move a single muscle.

The succubus's hand cupped Elara's cheek. The touch was cold. Not ice-cold, but the cold of something that had never been alive. Never been warm.

"Since you're not going to open the door for me to awaken..."

The succubus's face was inches from Elara's now. That crimson gaze boring into amber eyes, seeing through them, past them, into the very core of Elara's soul.

"...I'll just take over from here."

Elara's scream caught in her throat. Wouldn't come out. Couldn't come out.

The succubus leaned closer, her lips brushing Elara's ear.

"Either way," she whispered, her breath cold against Elara's skin, "you will die once I take over this body."

The hand on Elara's cheek began to sink. Not pressing harder—literally sinking. Phasing through skin, through bone, reaching inside.

'No—NO—'

"Sweet dreams, little merchant."

Everything went black.

Darkness.

Then—

Snap.

Eyes opened.

Not amber. Pink.

Bright, vivid pink with perfect heart shapes where pupils should be. They glowed faintly in the dying firelight, luminescent and unnatural.

The body—Elara's body—sat up smoothly. Too smoothly. The movement was fluid, predatory, lacking any of the grogginess that should accompany waking from deep sleep.

The succubus looked down at her new vessel, flexing fingers experimentally. She brought one hand to her face, touching her cheek, her lips, tracing the line of her jaw.

"Not bad," she murmured, voice still Elara's but with a different cadence. Slower. More deliberate. Dripping with sensual promise. "A bit plain, but workable."

She stood, the blanket that someone had draped over her sleeping form falling away. The pillow that had been placed under her head rolled aside, forgotten.

The succubus stretched, arms reaching overhead, back arching. The nightgown pulled tight across modest breasts, rode up pale thighs. She felt the body's responses—the slight soreness in muscles, the lingering warmth between legs, the ghost of arousal that Elara had been fighting.

'Ah,' the succubus thought, a cruel smile spreading across stolen lips. 'The body wants him already. How convenient.'

She scanned her surroundings.

The bonfire had burned low, reduced to glowing embers. The forge construction was nearly complete—impressive work for a single night. Rusty and Rustina had retreated into dormant blob forms, resting after hours of labor.

And the manor... dark. Silent. Everyone had gone inside to sleep.

Everyone except—

Viktor.

He stood alone near the forge's entrance, illuminated by a combination of moonlight and the faint glow from magical work lamps. His white shirt hung open, unbuttoned from the top down to mid-chest, revealing the carved muscle beneath. Sweat gleamed on his skin despite the cool night air. His black pants were dusted with stone powder.

In his hands, he held the blueprint, studying it with intense focus. His dark hair was disheveled, falling across his forehead. His jaw was set in concentration.

"Yawn... I need to sleep, I guess," Viktor mumbled, as his wives had already gone, and it was too late; he was feeling sleepy too.

[ Effect of the Proxy of the Goddess of Luck Triggering Plot Uncertainty. ]

'Hm? This thing again?' He focused on the window, which always presented him with strange coincidences and situations, Viktor raised an eyebrow while looking at it.

Unaware that to someone watching him in that darkness.

He looked... delicious.

The succubus licked her lips—Elara's lips—tasting the potential.

'I'll drain his essence first,' she thought, already planning. 'Suck him dry, take his power, then kill him. This place—this Tower, this territory—it's perfect for a base of operations. Remote. Defendable. And already equipped with servants.'

She adjusted her tone, softening it, adding a breathless quality that humans found irresistible.

"What are you doing, Young Lord?"

Viktor's head snapped up. He'd been so focused on the blueprint that he hadn't noticed her approach—unusual for him, his senses were sharper than that.

"Oh." He blinked, genuinely surprised though calm. "You woke up. I thought you'd sleep until morning."

The succubus took a step closer. Then another. Her bare feet made no sound on the grass. The nightgown swayed with each movement, clinging and releasing, revealing and concealing.

"I couldn't sleep anymore," she said, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. "I kept having such... intense dreams."

Another step. She was close now. Close enough to smell him—masculine sweat, wood smoke, something darker underneath.

Viktor set the blueprint down on a nearby workbench, turning to face her fully. His expression was unreadable because he was sleepy and found something odd about everything. "Dreams?"

"Mmm." The succubus closed the distance completely, her body pressing against his. Her arms rose, wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. "Dreams about you."

Viktor went still. Not tense—just... watchful.

The succubus pressed closer, her modest breasts flattening against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat—steady, controlled. Feel the heat radiating from his skin through the thin nightgown.

"I've been thinking," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear, "about what you could do to me. What I want you to do to me."

Her hands slid down from his hair, tracing the muscles of his shoulders, his chest. One hand moved lower, boldly cupping the bulge in his pants.

"I want to feel this inside me," she breathed. "Stretching me. Filling me. Breaking me."

Still, Viktor didn't react. Didn't pull away, didn't pull closer. Just stood there, his dark eyes fixed on her face.

The succubus took his hand—large, calloused, strong—and placed it on her breast. Through the thin fabric, he could feel her nipple, already hard.

"Touch me," she commanded, her voice thick with need. "I've been aching for it. Watching you with the others, seeing what you did to them... I want that. I need that."

Her free hand moved to the hem of her nightgown, pulling it up slowly. The fabric slid over her thighs, revealing white cotton panties—virginal, innocent, completely at odds with her behavior.

"See?" She guided his hand lower, pressing his fingers against the fabric covering her pussy. It was damp. "I'm already wet for you. Have been since I saw you."

The panties were thick—maiden-style, meant to preserve modesty—but the heat and wetness seeped through.

Above them, wrapped around her chest beneath the nightgown, was a tight binding cloth. It compressed her breasts, flattening them, constricting them.

The succubus grabbed Viktor's other hand, placing it on the binding. "This hurts," she whimpered, her voice taking on a pained edge. "It's been tied so tight all day. Won't you... won't you untie it for me?"

She stepped back slightly, reaching down to grip the hem of her nightgown. In one smooth motion, she pulled it up and over her head, tossing it aside.

Now she stood before him in just the white panties and the breast binding—strips of white cloth wrapped around and around, compressing flesh, the end tucked in to hold everything in place.

"Please," she begged, her pink heart-shaped pupils dilating. "Unwrap me. Free me. Then fuck me."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.