Archive of Our Own ^beta

“[            ], are you there?”

From an obscured alcove, a white-haired man in dark raiment emerged and stepped into the moonlight. In this unlit abandoned sanctum, most of him was veiled with shadow, not even silver beams could properly illuminate his features except for a faint glow on his head.

“I am always here.” His melodic voice was thick with concern. “What's wrong?”

Though unseen, Mydeimos felt his chest throb with affection for that person, with fear for his safety. “They know about you.” The blond man approached. Grasping the other's hand, he led him towards the back door of the building. “You have to...no, we have to leave this town.”

Their escape was destined to fail before it even started, as both front and back doors were burst open. People quickly filled the building and surrounded the pair, their hands holding weapons. From the symbols on their clothes, one could guess they belonged to a cult or at least were religious.

“You shield it, Mydeimos?” Someone yelled upon seeing the blond man trying to protect his lover. “Then die with the wretched.”

Mydeimos woke with a start. Sweat ran down his temple while his heart pounded like it wanted to jump out of his ribcage. Next to the bed, the electronic clock beeped rhythmically, announcing that it was three in the morning.

Once again, he dreamed of the mysterious man. It had been the fourth time this week, which raised concern because it shouldn’t be this way.

The whole dream thing started in Mydeimos' childhood. After he had become an orphan due to his bastard of a father murdering his mother then committing suicide, that person invaded his sleep since. No dream was the same: there was the first meeting on a dirt road, then came scenarios of the white man trying to get on Mydeimos' good side, and meals shared between two close friends.

Like many other children, he hadn’t taken the series of dreams seriously, mistaking the white man for an imaginary friend that his young mind had conjured. For a boy who had lost his parents and had to live with his uncle at such an early age, the man was a source of comfort. As in, even if other kids might cruelly tease him for being orphaned, at least this person from the dream world was nice, treating Mydeimos with kindness.

Things changed in his thirteenth summer.

No matter how many years had passed, Mydeimos would recall that night clearly. The air had been hot and humid – hints of an incoming storm. Though both the fan and the room ventilator were running at max speed, the young boy still struggled to sleep. Only by midnight that he fell unconscious, too tired to be bothered by icky weather.

The white friend had appeared as expected. But, unlike the dreams from before in which they talked and played, this one was weirder. Somehow, both of them were on the same bed, separated by two thin layers. His white friend pressed up against his side, peeling their clothes off, exposing them to the air.

Then, with sweet whispers, he petted Mydeimos' naked skin. His hands kept wandering, going lower and lower, until they reached the forbidden part. Heat piled up, and Mydeimos could not tell whose hoarse voice was calling. Until...

Until the boy woke up. Alone, confused, boneless. Wetness stained the front of his shorts, and he burned with embarrassment because he should be over that age already.

Thankfully, he had his uncle Krateros to explain the biological reaction the next morning. However, understanding his body was easy, stopping himself from having sexual dreams was impossible. Even if they always cut off before any serious actions happened, he had been extremely embarrassed – why had he dreamed of his imaginary friend in that way? Dream Mydeimos had been an adult who could indulge in a lover's touch, but real Mydeimos was just a teenage boy with one foot into puberty – he couldn’t accept it for a long time.

At least the frequency of dreams didn’t increase or lean into mature territory entirely. To deal with possible morning stains, the boy switched to sleeping with a towel around his hips instead of clothes. That had saved him from having to do laundry more than necessary.

This habit lasted until his high school senior year, when his uncle passed away in a freak accident that also broke his arm. The night after the funeral, the dream's nature metamorphosed again. Mydeimos saw himself dying to protect the white man. Always the same dark building, the same mob, the same blade piercing his chest. Always with him waking up in cold sweat, phantom pain where his dream self got stabbed, the man's pained scream of his name a lingering echo in his ears.

The new development could be considered traumatic in a way, what with death and injuries. Therefore, after college graduation, Mydeimos went to therapy, consulting with the best experts he could find with his salary. All of them were surprised by his description, claiming that it was implausible to have a consistent storyline – though scattered, his dreams had been detailed enough to string into one classic drama of star-crossed lovers.

And there the opinions split: some doubted that he was messing with them, others theorized it as Mydeimos' subconscious mind trying to cope with the losses in life.

Needless to say, Mydeimos dismissed the former and followed the latter's advice. From sports, travelling, to socializing, he had done everything. The dreams didn’t go away, but he had found friends in the people he met, making living with his condition a little easier.

However, the dreams came to him with a vengeance lately. Once sporadic, the white man now invaded almost all his unconscious hours. While the content remained random, the vividness had increased, causing Mydeimos' mind to wander back to those images whenever it was taskless.

Was it because Mydeimos was currently far from home? His friend, a gentle girl named Castorice, had been nice enough to invite him along to her group's week-long vacation. Those people had been warm and accommodating too, despite their quirkiness, so it couldn’t be him being nervous around new faces.

Whatever it was, it needed to wait until Mydeimos went back and contacted his therapist. The group had booked a tour at a nearby historical site in the morning, ruined castles and all that jazz. From now till the departing hour, Mydeimos had to catch all the winks he could get so he wouldn’t miss it.

Good thing that he had calmed down.

Bad thing that he dreamed of the white man again. Of him pressing that person into the hay pile in a stable...

--------------------

“Did you sleep well?”

Castorice, ever the caring one, slowed down to match Mydeimos’ pace, who had lagged behind the group. The lavender girl had a slight frown as she studied his eye bags.

“Bad.” He spoke plainly. “You know, my condition.” The blond man hadn’t told his friend everything, limited it to “recurring tasteless visions”, as he had oh-so-eloquently put it.

“If you’re so tired, you should have stayed at the hotel.” She chided, clearly disapproving of Mydeimos’ self-inflicted trial. “Everyone won’t mind.”

“And miss all this exciting architecture?” He shook his head while gesturing at the room they were in. “Staying cooped up is not my thing, nor recommended by therapists. Besides,” a short sigh, “I have been living with it for a long time. This much isn’t draining.”

“I still don’t think-“ She cut herself off. Then, with resignation at his stubbornness, Castorice put the map she was holding into his hand. “How about we both take a step back? You go back and sit in the lounge near the entrance, and I'll be with the rest of our group. Once you feel like walking again, you can catch up.” This time, her tone was firm, insistent. “Please, I don’t want to see you dragging your feet around.”

“Fine. Twenty minutes later?” Since his friend had offered a compromise, Mydeimos took it with grace.

“Okay.” The girl nodded. “I’m going. Get your rest.”

Castorice swiftly ran to chase the shadows of her friends, leaving Mydeimos with two colorful papers. Not one to dilly-dally, he moved as well, following the map he was holding.

However, for some reason, he couldn’t backtrack to the lounge. After walking into the seemingly same room the umpteenth time, Mydeimos had to admit that he was lost – was he so exhausted that he lost the ability to read a map? Or maybe this castle was a labyrinth in disguise.

Just when he considered taking out his phone to call for help, Mydeimos spotted a pale figure flickering at a corner. That person quickly disappeared behind an obscured door, but the blond had begun heading in that direction. If he remembered correctly, the site’s workers wore white uniforms. Surely, that person could show him the way?

That one turned out to be a floating, transparent man.

The first thing that came to Mydeimos’ mind was that this could be a setup. Like those gag videos on the internet, just a touch more expensive with projected holograms to lure in unsuspecting tourists. A bunch of workers could be hiding nearby, ready to record, ready to upload a video of the man making a fool out of himself trying to talk to this “ghost”. Or this could be the site’s latest entertainment to attract revenue – a tour led by “phantoms of the past” sounded cool in fact.

Yet, as he approached, the hologram turned around. And Mydeimos was stunned on the spot by a familiar face and voice.

“Who are you?” The man inquired.

Who are you, thought Mydeimos as well, are you not an illusion made up by my mind?

The white man was the first to shift from surprise to understanding. With the face that had haunted Mydeimos’ gentlest, most hedonistic, and darkest dreams, he smiled, a bloom of relief and anticipation. “Wait, you can see me? Oh thank goodness! Finally, someone can see me!”

“What do you mean?” The blond had yet to wrap his head around this bizarre encounter.

“I am cursed.” A classic cheesy claim. Mydeimos raised his brow, while the wraith-like man wrung his hands – even he knew how ridiculous it sounded for a stranger. “It is faster if you see with your eyes. Follow me.”

He glided away, towards a corridor that the blond hadn’t noticed before, not once looking back as if confident that his new company would trail behind. And Mydeimos? He had nothing to do with this absurd situation, yet he found himself coming along as if possessed.

What was he doing? Even if he somehow dreamed of a ghost all this time, it was clear they were strangers. The man didn’t recognize him and he didn’t have to heed that man.

But it wasn’t rationale that compelled him. No, it had been something much more mystical, irresistible like a magnetic pull. Like fate, like finality.

They went to a more dilapidated wing of the castle. Here, time’s corrosion left more obvious marks, ranging from decayed woodwork to dusty and worn masonry. Cobwebs covered almost everything, from unlit corners to collapsed walls and ceilings – all signs whispered about the years unvisited by mankind.

The white man stopped before a room, beckoned to Mydeimos then phased through the wooden barricade. As the blond stood before it, he was struck with the mysterious feeling again. It was louder, screaming that whatever inside would change his life forever.

And half of it did not belong to him, Mydeimos realized. If he had to put it into words, it felt like someone had sneaked a message into his usual thought, set to ping only when he got too close to forbidden territories.

This epiphany was what pushed him to open the door.

Inside was, surprisingly, spotless. For such a big bedroom, it was bare except for a four-poster bed, one dried-up basin and a veiled mirror tucked in the corner. Quiet, as if time was frozen here. The stillness made Mydeimos tread lightly so as not to disturb the man hovering next to the bed, or the one lying on it.

When he was near enough to look at the sleeping man, Mydeimos felt it: his heart was completely tranquil for the first time. The last piece fell into the puzzle, the end of an arduous pilgrimage. No word could define this magical moment of seeing the white man in the flesh, alive and slumbering. Almost like he had left dreams to manifest in reality.

Unlike the unwaking hours, there were now finer details of a beautiful face for Mydeimos to carve into his memory. And gods, he was so beautiful, wearing clothes from several eras ago. His white hair spread like a halo, radiant and breathtaking. His every contour had an enchanting aura to it. So pure and peaceful, anyone would mistake him for an angel.

As his gaze lingered, serenity got replaced by longing. Mydeimos found himself wishing for the other person to wake up and talk to him. He wanted, needed to learn the color of his eyes, to hear the lovely voice curling around syllables. Blood burned while soul sang in the white man’s presence, urging him to lean down and embrace.

“Phainon.” He murmured, unaware that he had spilled the name he had kept to himself for so long.

The pale spirit nearby stiffened. For a moment, he looked dazed, seemingly lost to some faraway place. Then, recognition flickered across his face, interwoven with disbelief, as if he was struggling to wake up from some lucid dreams.

“Is that…my name?” It was his turn to be astounded.

“I think so,” answered Mydeimos, “you may not believe it, but you have appeared in my dreams. Multiple times, since I was a kid.”

“Did I?” His tone was airy. Then hopeful. “Is it because you are the one?”

He caught on. “Are you talking about your curse?”

“Yes.” The spirit was colored with sorrow. “I will be trapped in slumber forever, unless a compatible soul frees me.”

“And I am that one? For being able to see your spirit?”

“Yes, oh goodness yes.” Phainon raised a hand to Mydeimos’ face. They didn’t touch, yet warmth bloomed where fingers were supposed to make contact. Faint eyes softened as he mimicked a loving caress, not noticing how intimate it was – how it was meant for between lovers. “As you can see, I have forgotten most things because my soul was separated from my body. Any longer and I will perish for good. But,” he sucked in an unnecessary breath, “you are here now.”

“How can I break the curse?” Mydeimos didn’t think twice. Somewhere deep within his being emerged an ancient, broken bond, one that yearned to reconnect with its other half. One that demanded he offer everything he had to this person. “Do you know?”

At that, Phainon shied away. The translucent form had no other color, but Mydeimos could see shame radiating from him. Had it been anyone else, he would have scolded them for wasting time, but for this man, he could expend infinite patience.

“I- It’s- please don’t be mad,” Phainon shrank in his spot. “I need you to make love to me.”

Embarrassment spread to Mydeimos – no wonder the white man had hesitated. They were practically strangers, with neither able to recall a history besides their instinctual craving. However, since it was Phainon, the blond had nodded before filtering his thoughts. “Is that it?”

“You have to release inside.” If a spirit could blush, he would dye a deep red by now. His voice also got smaller. “One time is enough.”

The white spirit seemed ready to bolt. His awkward fidgeting evoked a soft laugh from Mydeimos, not to make fun, but to assure. It helped disperse the nervous energy in Phainon.

“I can help you.” He said, slowly and gently, so as not to scare this spirit away.

Seconds passed as the spirit let the words sink in. “Thank you.” He leaned in to press a ghostly kiss on the blond’s forehead, once again finding nothing wrong with expressing affection this way. “Alas, I can remember who I am. I can remember you.” He added, desperation and gratitude tore something tender in Mydeimos’ heart.

Mydeimos didn’t know how to face this man, whose everything pacified and torched his soul at the same time. He opted to take off his backpack instead, to start making good on his promise.

Sitting on the bed, he extended the right hand towards the sleeping man, feeling Phainon’s warmth seeping into his skin, comforting and familiar. It made Mydeimos' mind rewind, plucking from the deepest corners memories of his more fervent dreams.

What did his dream self do in those?

There were so many instances of carnal intimacy, yet none ever went past questing hands on bare skin – such was the nature of dreams, fickle and unexpected.

Since perusing them was useless, the blond decided to wing it. He started by leaning down, sprinkling fleeting kisses on Phainon's closed eyes, high cheekbones and nose. Almost right away, he felt a flare in his core, dark and fierce. A war broke out in his head, half of him wanting to shower the white man with affection, the other roaring about ruining the unblemished body with his marks.

His desire surprised Mydeimos – he had experienced it before, just never this violent and untamed. Nor did he know Phainon could bring out such a hidden facet in him without lifting a finger.

He had to take several deep breaths before continuing, not trusting himself at the moment. Trailing his lips lower, he laved, sucking bright red spots onto the white column of Phainon's neck, over his sun tattoo, the taste of supple skin addicting. Before long, Mydeimos was biting hard, branding the man with indents of his teeth. Deep in sleep, his partner lay still, unable to do anything saved for exhaling a tiny sound. Tiny, yet powerful, enough to entice the blond into capturing the other's supple lips.

And goodness, Phainon was delicious. Mydeimos barely breached the row of teeth when he began plunging his tongue inside the warm cavity, trying to devour the man. He sucked on the unmoving appendage, entwining it with his own before going further, licking the roof of the mouth, drunken on the hotness and sweetness. Some sort of energy was alive, crackling, lashing out between them, filling the blond with a profound need. Involuntary vibrations resounded from Phainon's throat, travelling up to wrap around Mydeimos' invasion, inciting him to take and take and-

All of a sudden, he ripped himself off the sleeping man. The kiss broke, leaving a silver string of saliva connecting their mouths and a deep flush on Phainon's countenance. The blond looked down at his sleeping partner, feeling warm puffs mingled with his own harsh pants, and arrived at a discovery.

Mydeimos was losing himself too fast.

How could this be? Phainon might be the most attractive man in he had ever seen, but that alone could not – should not – rob the blond of his reasoning. The slip of control was disconcerting in a way, and yet the siren's call echoing from Phainon’s body suggested him to do just that, to let himself be swept away by the tide of passion and primal instincts. To break the vulnerable man with pleasure until his curse shattered and he burned bright with orgasms.

If not for his gentler part, Mydeimos might have acted out that fantasy. Whereas the beastly one howled the desire to claim, it was adamant about giving reprieve to the man in repose. Praising him, holding him sacred. Phainon should be lovingly picked apart then mended, not ruined and possessed.

In the end, Mydeimos listened to his more tender half. The buzz of lustful hunger was still strong, coiling around him like a viper, but he was determined. Without any preamble, he bit into the meat of his palm. It hurt, but the aching pain was grounding, redirecting the ill summon coming from Phainon's tranquil form, returning to him the capacity to go slow.

Then, with reverence, Mydeimos peeled off the dark clothes on Phainon, the straps and buttons were easier to undo than he thought. Underneath was a perfect body – white skin that shone on the backdrop on black fabric, muscular chest and abs rising and falling to the rhythms of breathing. Lower, between sculpted thighs – Mydeimos choked on air – nestled a pink pussy, its folds glistening with slick.

“This is me?” Next to him, the spirit of Phainon murmured.

As if spellbound by his own body, the amnesiac spirit extended a hand as Mydeimos reached for his cunt, fingers phasing into thick lips while knuckles parted them. The sight of their overlapping touches was too striking, too provocative. Together with the wet warmth, they invited Mydeimos, drawing him into decadence. Slick gushed out when he pressed harder against the vulva, squishing the clit, the softness gave then wrapped around his exploring digits. An actual moan escaped the slumbering man, the sound scorching the blond’s core.

Bit by bit, he increased the pace, until he was furiously rubbing at Phainon's cunt. His palm flattened the reddened nub, which had peaked from the hood to suffer. Sticky juice flowed out due to the torment, drenching Mydeimos' hand, lubricating every finger. Making it easy for him to slip inside.

By goodness, Phainon was a flaming heaven. Mydeimos could feel heated walls flutter around him as he stirred up the white man’s canal. Each scissoring nudge evoked a fresh serving of juice, easing, guiding the blond deeper. The number quickly rose to four, all thanks to the generous amount the white man was gifting him, so plentiful that his partner might as well hold a river within.

Or maybe it was because Phainon had been bereft and lonely for too long. The stray thought was startling, but not unwelcoming, not when the call between them was ringing louder and louder every passing second. Mydeimos stared with rapture, carving into his memory how Phainon blossomed under his ministration.

And when the white man did cum, it was beautiful. Honey poured between his legs, soaking all over the sheet beneath him and Mydeimos' hand as his pussy clamped down. His flesh rippled from the force of his culmination, body flushed a pretty red. Yet what most astonishing was that Phainon's spirit moaned too, somehow affected by the orgasm wrecking his body. The lewd, drawn-out noise had Mydeimos in a devious clutch, his painfully hard dick distended the pants he wore.

“I can’t be the only one naked.” Phainon’s spirit curled into himself, still shaking with euphoria.

Mydeimos was more than happy to comply. However, it was more nerve-wracking having an audience while he undressed. Phainon's eyes were trained on him the whole time, his expression hungry and affectionate. The spirit’s intense gaze warmed Mydeimos up, to the point he didn’t notice the coolness greeting his bare body.

Then, under that gaze, he climbed on the bed, fingers digging into plush thighs as he tentatively spread Phainon's legs apart to shuffle between. The white man's cunt was still twitching and spitting juice, which Mydeimos gathered to slick himself up. Once he deemed himself well-prepared, he lined his cock up with Phainon's waiting hole and pushed.

In an instant, he was assaulted by the sheer tightness. The tip was barely in, but he already felt like his soul being sucked away and into Phainon. Little by little, while enduring the mind-numbing tingle, he slid in until he bottomed out, the glans snug against one hidden entrance.

That was also the moment their ancient bond snapped back into place, alive, electrifying.

A myriad of memories flew by Mydeimos’ vision, piecing together a tragic past life. Of two souls meeting and falling deeply in love, uncaring that they were worlds apart. Of them forming a pact grimmer than fate, greater than life. Of ill-timed separation brought by madmen who thought they knew it all and rulers who coveted otherworldly powers. Curses and the death of a soulmate broke them, especially Phainon, whose dark nature meant the damage was unimaginable.

But now, they were reunited.

“Phainon.” Mydeimos called the other’s name with all the sentiment of a man finding his lost treasure. Tears had formed without him knowing, rolling down, falling on his beloved’s chest.

“Mydeimos,” the spirit dove in, hiding his face in the crook of the blond’s neck, “my Mydeimos.” He sobbed. “You have come back to me.”

“Sorry for making you wait.” He blinked, clearing the water out of his eyes. “But why are you here? Aren’t you-”

“I had help.” Phainon parted so he could look at the man. “It’s hard pulling favors with my soul detached from my flesh, but I managed.”

“Then,” Mydeimos lowered his voice, guilt and longing a wild mixture in his gut, “do you still choose me? Choose this man who had put you through so many trials?”

“Not even eternity could change my mind.” Then he cast a look at his slumbering self. “Free me, Mydeimos, and I will bring us home.”

Since Phainon wished for it, the blond started moving his hips. He went slow at first, revelling in the way his lover’s body responded to him. Soft whimpers dropped from pale lips whenever Mydeimos brushed against the man’s weak spot, pussy constricting his cock in a vice like grip.

Gradually, he drove in faster, shifted from gliding to thrusting to pounding. Love juice splattered over their bellies as he rammed himself in, making Phainon’s back arch off the mattress, jittery and intoxicating. Before long, his white lover was cumming over and over again on the cock impaling him, showering Mydeimos with hot fluids, body quickly turning oversensitive from successive climaxes. Pleasure reverberated through their bond, shooting through Mydeimos’ spine, which provoked the blond into plundering harder, grinding the thick head against Phainon’s cervix.

It was too much. It also wasn’t enough.

And it wasn’t just pleasure that coursed through Mydeimos. As he sank into Phainon’s sopping heat, currents of dark energy flowed into the blond man, tainting his humanity. Such was the effect of mating with a sin incarnate like Phainon, but Mydeimos couldn't care less. He had already pledged his previous life to his lover; what’s wrong with giving him this one too?

In the end, it was love and lust that pushed Mydeimos over the edge. The coil in his stomach unwound as he spilled his seeds with a cry of Phainon’s name, his euphoria sweet and soul-rending. He thrust in a few more times, making sure the cum was shoved deep inside before stilling his hips. The sleeping man seized, his cunt quivered as he attained ecstasy one last time as well, milking the cock till the last drop. Their bond flared, resonating hotly as they became in sync in bodies and souls.

Then, the air changed. Gone was the stillness, replaced by a tidal wave of unnamed power. A sweet fragrance filled Mydeimos’ nostrils, which he soon identified as wafting from Phainon. The curse on his beloved had been broken, and the white man opened his eyes, revealing two sky blue marbles.

Suddenly, the whole room burst into flame. Fire consumed anything in its wake, except for the pair. Phainon hooked his arms and legs around his lover, not letting him pull out. In front of the blond’s eyes, the white man transformed. Blue eyes faded into gold, a pair of wings unfurled under the pale body, two straight horns grew atop white-yellow hair, and a spade-tipped tail sprang up to curl around one of Mydeimos' wrists.

“From now on, we will be together for eternity.” The demon laughed, his joy the chime of damnation.

And darkness claimed Mydeimos.

--------------------

“Your Majesty, Master Anaxagoras and Lady Castorice have come. They inquire about a price.” A pink demon kneeled several steps away from the curtained bed, her head hung low in deference.

“Bring the goldweaver's silk in the treasury to the great teacher. And the cat coin for deepest shadow.” Came a breathless reply from the bed. Reflected on the thick fabric was the vague shadow of her supreme ruler swaying sensually on top of another body. “Tell them I regret not giving them in person, but I am busy right now.”

“About that, Your Majesty, Master Anaxagoras said he had anticipated your answer, and would like to remind you to draw the final symbol using your slick.”

Several beats passed, when only noises of messy copulation occupied the space. Then, “I know.” There was a strain in the ruler's voice, either from exertion or shameful realization or both. “Ugh, I'm already the queen and yet- ”

A sharp moan butchered the greater demon’s speeches when he slammed down, followed by watery sounds of squirting and soft grunts from the unconscious man – contrary to the succubus queen, that person was in more pain than pleasure. The succubus queen immediately bent down to kiss his lover’s temples, trying to soothe him. Hushed words of love and encouragement filled the grand bedroom, ignoring that a third soul was present.

Only when the man underneath had quieted down that the queen returned to the other matter. “Send him my gratitude, and that Phainon of the Court of Pleasure wishes good health to the visitors. Now leave, my mate needs me.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The succubus retreated to the door. Before going away, she asked with a softer tone, “And Phainon, all brothers and sisters want to throw a celebration for you and your consort. May I know when he will wake up?”

Despite the curtain isolating him and his mate, Phainon smiled, a gentle curl of lips without imperial solemnity. “Soon, Cyrene. I will call for you when he does.”

She nodded. Next, the door swung shut, and protective enchantments immediately settled into place. Dark magic hummed strong once more, converging into the ritual being performed on the bed. From the strength of the flow, Phainon estimated that tonight or the next might be the end.

As for why the ritual lasted so long… well, it wasn’t any random human, but a soulmate being converted into demonhood.

With power came great prices. Since the ritual's energy source was a succubus queen, the agony plaguing Mydeimos had been severe. Phainon had to put his lover under a sleep spell and mate with him nonstop to stave off the pain through their bond. Still, the man tossed and turned, even threw off the white demon when the ritual reached its peak. Thankfully, they had passed all the critical points, leaving only the final manifestation.

Now that could be considered a fun part. Because Mydeimos had been human, his metamorphosis was unpredictable, unlike pureblood demons. The man could go down any path of sin, including lust like Phainon. The endless possibilities were why demons went trapping humans with contracts since ancient times.

Not only that, the blond man had shown himself to be promising too. Phainon couldn’t wait to see a powerful demon joining his Court. To bring him along to his glorious revenge against the cult that dared divide them in Mydeimos’ previous life.

Damn those humans for sterotyping demons as soulless beings. Damn them for stealing soulmates away from demons, too.

“You are doing so well.” Phainon cooed, as if sweet nothings could take the edge off the torture his lover was being put under. “Just a little more. You will triumph, won’t you? For me and us?”

All he got was the fat dick twitching in his sloppy cunt and a deep frown lacing into the blond’s features - the final manifestation had arrived.

Phainon could feel it through the bond, how his mate was being remade, how excruciating it was having blood and flesh bent and twisted and changed. Remembering the instruction, the succubus queen dipped his fingers into the mess coating where their bodies joined together, then wrote down the incantation on his beloved, finished with the blood drawn from his arm.

The ritual reacted right away. Runes faded into power, which woven itself into Mydeimos. The man writhed as he was forced to change: blond hair grew longer and gained a red gradient at the tips, his crimson tattoos pulsed with dark magic, a pair of round furry ears sprouted to replace the human ones. In his mouth, canines elongated into fangs, while curved horns and one thick scaly tail ending with a fan shape appeared on his head and from his back.

A chimeric demon. Young, powerful, with lots of potential.

Phainon was ecstatic. Of course his mate was a chimeric demon. Mydeimos had never been one to be satisfied with lesser, whether in his past life or his current one. And his new look was pleasing to the queen’s eyes to boot.

As a reward for his good mate, the white demon rolled his hips, starting another mating round. To Phainon’s amazement, the dick buried in him swelled even bigger, with the base slowly expanding and catching on the rim of his pussy. A knot to plug up all the cum Mydeimos would be pumping into him from now on.

“In the name of Khaslana, arise, Mydeimos. My love, my mate.” He commanded while bouncing on his mate, delirious from all the power and pain-pleasure ricocheting between them through the bond, yet still thirsting for more. “Arise and serve your queen.”

Thus, the new demon opened his amber eyes.