The veil between realms was hers to command.

When she chose to cross, it was like slipping through silk. The mortal world was a banquet, brimming with the ripe energies of lust and fear, and she savored every moment of the hunt. The rush of power when she found willing prey, the ecstasy of feeding—it was a cycle as old as the stars, and she and her kind were among its masters.

Tonight, she stepped into the rift once again, anticipation sparking through her as she searched for a soul to indulge her hunger. The mortal plane opened before her, its promises tantalizing.

And then it twisted.

The pull came sharp and sudden, ripping her off her path. She snarled, the energy around her warping into jagged edges that sliced into her essence.

This wasn’t a natural crossing. This was a summoning. The succubus fought it, claws raking at the air as if she could tear free of the invisible chains that dragged her downward. But the tether was too strong, its grip too precise. Whoever had constructed the ritual knew what they were doing, and they’d bound her tightly.

With a wrenching snap, she was dragged into their world, crashing into the summoning circle. For a brief moment, she tasted Earth’s air. Its crisp vitality should have been exhilarating, intoxicating—a playground of endless appetites. But something was wrong. The circle beneath her glowed with blood-red sigils, their edges jagged and broken, almost crude in their construction. The power that had summoned her was raw, twisted, and it clung to her skin like oil.

Her lips curled into a snarl as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. No prey waited for her, no trembling victim to feed the gnawing hunger in her core. Instead, there were figures—hooded and chanting, their voices a droning cacophony that scraped against her senses. She took a step forward, her hooves clicking on the stone, the chains of the summoning spell still pulling faintly at her wrists.

“You dare—” The first chain snapped out, faster than she anticipated. It looped around her wrist, burning where it touched her skin. She shrieked, more in fury than pain, jerking backward. Another chain followed, and another.

“No!” she roared, the room trembling with the force of her cry. The circle cracked beneath her feet, sparks flying as the sigils warped. She lashed out, claws slicing through the air, but they caught only empty fabric as the hooded figures scattered like frightened rats.

Her wings snapped open, dark and leathery, filling the space as she surged forward. She grabbed one of the figures, her claws sinking into their shoulder. Their scream was delicious—a fleeting taste of the fear she craved.

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But the chains tightened. One caught her leg, pulling it out from under her. She hit the ground hard, the impact jolting through her body. More chains coiled around her, pressing into her flesh, pulling her down.

She fought. She screamed. She tore at the restraints with every ounce of her strength, the taste of rage and defiance briefly sharpening her thoughts. But it wasn’t enough.

The chanting grew louder, more insistent, until the words pressed into her skull like a bludgeon. Her movements slowed, her limbs heavy as the circle beneath her flared with an unnatural light.

When the glow faded, she was no longer standing.

Her arms were shackled above her head, chains bolted into the cold stone wall. Her legs were bound, unable to find purchase against the slick surface. The hooded figures loomed closer, their chanting fading into muttered laughter.

They reached for her, their hands grasping and rough, their intentions as clear as the leering hunger in their voices.

For a time, the chamber was alive with activity. They drained her blood into ritual bowls, her glowing ichor feeding their dark spells. Their chants filled the air as they carved runes into her flesh, making her part of their unholy work. Each slice of their knives burned with twisted magic, leaving her trembling but not broken.

Her rage fueled her. She snarled and snapped, her claws lashing out whenever they drew close. They struck her in return, bludgeoning her into submission, but even through the haze of pain, she clung to the hope of escape.

Then the blood grew thin. The rituals began to falter, the ichor they extracted from her veins dimming with each passing day. Their frustration grew sharp and violent. They blamed her for their failings, their punishments becoming more severe.

And then, one day, they took her wings.

The memory burned. They’d pinned her down, their hands pressing hard against her frail, starving body. The blades they used were jagged, serrated things, meant to make her suffer. She’d screamed—louder than she ever had before—her cries shaking the chamber as the bones cracked and tore.

When it was over, she could feel nothing but the ache of loss, a hollow void where her wings had been. They left her hanging there, her once-proud figure reduced to a mutilated husk. At first, they returned sporadically, their resentment sour in the air as they performed weaker and weaker rituals. Over time, even that stopped. The chamber fell silent.

Days passed. Maybe weeks. Time had no meaning in the endless darkness of her prison. They fed her nothing—not even the barest scraps of pleasure that her kind needed to survive. Her body withered, her once-sleek form reduced to angles and shadows. Her hair, once vibrant as freshly spilled blood, hung in tangled, matted strands.

The hunger gnawed at her, relentless and cruel. It ate away at her thoughts, her memories, her sense of self. She clung to fragments—faint images of her realm, of laughter, of warmth. But they slipped away, one by one, like sand through her fingers.

The worst was the silence. At first, it was filled with her own snarls, her curses, her roars of defiance. But as the hunger deepened, even those faded. Now, she growled low and soft, her breath shallow, her mind more instinct than reason.

A sound broke through the haze.

A crash, loud and jarring, echoed through the chamber. Dust rained down from the ceiling, at the far end of the dark basement and her chains rattled with the vibration.

Her head lifted slightly, the motion slow and feral. Her pink eyes glowed faintly in the dark the only spark left of what she had once been.

Something was coming.

And she was hungry.