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Michael felt a weight on his shoulders. No more excuses, no more begging for time. He had to show Uma he was willing to accept the curse.

Time's up.

Now was the hour, after much soul-searching. He'd spent his last 'normal' day driven wild by the choice his mom presented. Yet, despite his anguish, he was going to commit. His intentions guarded, his instincts wary. The idea of running away looked more and more like a hopeless fantasy as the day progressed, and his breathing room shrank.

Smitty was no help. I was a grade-A moron to think he'd be serious about this.

SHIT!

“God-dammit!" he swore, banging his head against the front door of the Eriksson's house.

I should at least try to run, he thought. Go find dad, tell him shit's fucked...whatever it takes to get out — hell, change my last name too. Mike Marquesez. Who's gonna be looking for him?

No, no. Stupid, stupid Mikey. There's no escaping this. Mom will always find me.

No...time's up.

His soul sufficiently marred by lust and lies, Michael turned the door handle.

Abandon hope, all who enter, he mouthed, unwilling to speak his mind.

Not quite. He smiled. Michael clung to the last vestige of hope in his heart. If he was going to do this, he wasn't going to lose himself to his demon. He would have both eyes open. He'd fight to maintain who he was!

Time for my pact.

The latch clicked.

Time to pay my wage of sin.

* * *

Uma, gorgeous as ever, led him by the hand into the house. Axel galloped and yowled out back, content to chase shadows in the falling darkness. Coming from the far side of the house, Jacob made himself known. Michael greeted him, and the three exchanged pleasantries. Empty words, designed to check a box. They welcomed him, calling for the others; his sister and younger brother entered. The dog didn't hear — or refused to bother.

“Look, son..." She led him closer. His siblings stood politely, waiting to greet him.

Donnie, and Cynthia; renewed. Beside Jacob's familiar stature, they cut a comparable figure. They had changed — irreversibly so. Donnie's brown hair shone healthily, his face and shoulders softened...re-sculpted, preserving his former appearance in a more perfect way. He'd grown a little, under a foot but enough to make his improved form feel proportional. Like Jacob, he'd become stronger, though his delicate appearance overrode any extravagant burst of growth. The rest of his body hid from view behind a slightly-smaller-fitting bunch of clothes, marking his changes as subtler than Jacob's. Conforming to an ideal 'Donnie'.

Michael's jaw dropped.

Cynthia watched him stare, dumbfounded. Did he really expect them to wait? To stick around while he ran all over town? She'd seen his room, and the bags he packed at various points throughout the week — a titbit she kept to herself. Moving from Donnie's left to his right, she circled behind her younger sibling, eyes fixed on Michael the whole time. “Michael," she said.

He directed his attention to her.

“I'm glad you came back." He shook his head, unsure of what to do next. Cynthia stepped in front of him, meeting his anxious and surprised gaze with her own.

She was not her mother, yet she inherited her grace. Fuelled by the demonskin, Cynthia appeared like a copy of Uma — thinner, a dash younger, and a different shade of blonde — a reflection of her mother's beauty. She and Donnie surely revelled in their newfound perfection, attractiveness rivalling the divine. Tight-fitting clothes held her form and pushed her curves. With less meat on her bones than their mom, she pulled off the svelte vixen look quite well. Irresistible. Well, to many...but not Michael. Every glance left him wanting another.

“Aren't you pleased?" his mom asked. Michael nodded towards Donnie, who responded in kind, greeting his brother solemnly without needing to speak a single syllable of his torment. “I've wrested them from the clutches of that devious bitch we call cousin. They are safe."

Safe? What a word to use...

Jacob smirked. Uma addressed the others, announcing Michael's return to the fold as official. He made no protest of her pronouncement, he just lowered his head.

“Our family is whole again!" she beamed. Their father's absence had long since left their minds, his lack of presence inconspicuous to the present gathering of blood bound by sin.

A look of relief crossed Donnie's and Cynthia's faces. Michael thought the worst — that they were too far gone to reason with. Maybe he was fooling himself. How could he honestly say he wasn't going the same way. Or was he already there?

Kianna's arms. Mother's lips. He'd tasted two great witches, and made his choice. Their fickle feud would end soon, he could smell it — the scent of action permeated the air.

He had better get on mom's good side.

“Yes, I'm here," he said faintly.

Jacob slapped him on the shoulder. “Awesome!" he exclaimed, barely containing his glee, “my bro's back." He mentioned to Michael how annoyed he'd been that he spurned their gift (read: curse). “Mom won't need me to keep her nights warm," he whispered, his voice crackling with envy, “not anymore 'cause you're here."

“Aren't you pissed?"

He stared blankly. “No. Why would I be? I got other things to do, and people to play with. You can keep mom, something tells me she's all you'll dare to take." His last jab left a mark. A soreness in Michael.

His jealously got the better of him.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean!?" he coughed angrily, his volume low enough to conceal their conflict. Jacob leaned over his shoulder, squaring off against his brother. “It means she chose you. I'm not going to second-guess mom. What she says, goes. Understand?"

“Yes. I do."

“No, you don't. Mikey...when mom asks you to do something...when she wants you to stand with her...there's no refusing. I've seen some shit, bro. What happens to peons who have the strength to resist our gift."

Michael gulped.

“It's amazing. You'll never see a more satisfying sight than the look on their faces when our powers prove to be real...the screams, the smell..."

“That's sick."

“What? Are you gonna lecture me on being a good person?"

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but soon backed down. Jacob was right. Why pretend?

“Jacob, give your brother space."

“Sure thing mother." The formality of his reply unnerved Michael, as if he had no qualms about what was happening.

Uma came to his side. “When you are ready, come to my bedroom. I have things I would like to share in private." After getting a satisfying answer from her son, she left him to ascend the stairs. Michael regarded his siblings — deadly and desirable.

“Tonight's the night, bro," said Jacob, “you're one of us now."

“Don't worry," Cynthia added, “it won't hurt! You'll thank us...thank mom for this soon enough."

“No going back, I guess," Michael sighed. “I've already done enough to damn myself with our curse."

He paused, taking a moment to steady his mind.

“Jacob, could you go? I want to have a few words with Donnie and Cynthia."

Their elder brother crossed his arms. Michael felt intimidated by his height, and bulk.

“Not able to stick around, huh? Typical!"

“You may be different, but you're still an asshole."

“Like hell I'm gonna let that one go!" Jacob stormed towards his brother. “Say that to my face. Again!"

“Fuck you."

He tugged Michael's shirt by the collar. “C'mon...call me an asshole one more time—"

“Fuck you. And fuck off." Michael spoke with force, stunning those present. His words carried weight, not just of offence. He spoke calmly, and without raising his voice; beneath its manifold layers there existed an undercurrent of power — influence strong and surging, weaving its way into his words. Jacob backed away, and smiled. He didn't need to dick around, he had better things to do. Leaving the three others, Jacob slammed the door on his way out.

Michael turned to Donnie and Cynthia. They knew by his voice that he was almost reborn — there's no turning back for him. The feeling of power rattled them, like their own but untempered...erratic. Deep down they knew it...their place in a new world...as did he. It would be Uma's job to shape him, mould him into a prince among demons.

Michael wasn't having it. Gripping Cynthia roughly, his focus darted between her and Donnie. The tear-rimmed lids of his eyes...those pale crimson strips of dew-soaked flesh, guarding a sincerity that welled up from the depths of his soul, pleaded with them for answers. “Why?" He wanted to know, to hear from them why they gave in so easily.

“Why'd you do it? Why'd you let it happen?"

Cynthia growled. “Why!? Mikey...where else could we stand to be in love? The world doesn't take kindly to incest, in case you haven't noticed."

“That's not all, though. You weren't with him before—"

“Well we are now. And neither myself nor Donnie would trade it for the world." She held her younger brother's hand, subconsciously reinforcing her response. Donnie watched her, a mixed sense of awe and longing written 'cross his features. Her stern reply...her stalwart refusal to apologise for their love...it pleased him.

Michael noticed his brother's appreciation. “What happened to you?" he asked, his sister a lost cause.

Donnie let a hint of shame slip past his benign expression. “Same thing that's happening to you." He broke quickly. “I wasn't strong enough to resist," he blubbed, “nothing feels right without Cynthia. When she changed, I had to!"

“Donnie—"

“What, Mikey!? I can't just ignore who I fell in love with! I don't care if it's sinful, or wrong...or whatever reason you want to use! I just wanna be with her..."

Even with her demonic prowess, Cynthia was forced to agree with his pain. A heavy morose descended on all three siblings. Michael's silence was not by choice, but no matter how much time he spent thinking, he couldn't unravel the threads in front of him. No-one could.

“I wasn't strong enough."

“Don't say that!"

“It's true, Mikey. We're both cursed."

“Donnie!"

“But that's not the end of the world," he sniffed. “You don't understand because you haven't changed yet, but I'm not suffering because I'm different...I'm suffering because you won't stop making this about you!"

“What?"

“I'm not going to follow you around or do everything the way you want it done," Donnie cried, “stop acting like you need to protect me. From Jacob. From Mom. Anybody! I chose because I saw what it was like. Kianna showed me, showed sis! And when you were thinking about running away Cynthia and I agreed to the pact."

“Running away? So you knew too?"

“Oh everyone knows, Mikey!" Cynthia snapped. “Don't act like it was some big secret that you wanted out."

“That's not it! I wanted go to dad..."

“And then what? Mikey...dad's probably balls deep in his secretary as we fucking speak! Do you think he got kicked out over anything less than cheating?"

“Cynthia..." Donnie interjected, not sharing her venom towards their father.

“For God's sake Donnie, admit it! It's the truth. We all thought about it. We all had doubts. Time to admit they're real."

“And what if something happened to him?" Michael asked. “What if he stumbled across this whole shitty mess before the rest of us?"

“Then he's a slave, nothing more," Cynthia stated.

“Sis..."

“Donnie, you know that's what happens. You've tried it yourself."

He stammered, without much of a tangible rebuttal. Michael looked him dead in the eye, and asked: “is this true?"

“I only did it to keep my friend from discovering!" he whimpered, “Zach...my friend from school...and I only did it a little — just to keep him from asking questions about us."

“So he's like the rest? All those people in our house, working? Each day every day? Brainwashed?"

“You give Donnie too little credit," said Cynthia, “he's more than able to control his abilities. Same as me. If you ever meet Zach you'll see he's as average as the next guy."

“It really is true..." Michael collapsed against the wall, exhausted from taking on so much information and emotion in such a short span of time. “You can do that...control people?"

“That and more," she said. Donnie looked at his sister and raised his hand. “Stop," he said, “let me talk to Mikey." He sidled up to his older brother, who spoke to him in a hushed voice: “Donnie...you've really messed up."

“Messed up?" he whispered back. “What's that supposed to mean?"

“I could've left with you," Michael said, “left Carlyle. Maybe I was stupid to think I could hide it, but you gave in quick, didn't you?"

“Shut up!"

Michael threw up his arms, a defeated expression on his face. “I really thought you guys would hold out," he said to his brother and sister, “I really did. My fault for assuming."

Their sister caught his last remark. “Leave him alone!" she spat, “mom's waiting. You better not disappoint her."

Michael leaned in close to Donnie, pulling him into a hug. Facing with his back to Cynthia, his quietly consoled the younger teen: “we're gonna get through this, Donnie. I promise. I'm sorry 'bout telling you off...I promise I won't let us lose everything..."

“Mikey—"

“I mean it. I mean what I say. I know you don't like me treating you like you're fragile, but I can't help it. Not after the attack. You accepted the curse...but you don't have to give in. Not all the way. I promise! I can find help for us. We can still control what happens, even if the curse is within us."

Looking at his brother's face, Michael saw the pain, the hurt clear in his features. This was the last conversation he wanted to have, and he showed it. “Please Mikey, just go."

“Go," he repeated, “go to mom."

Michael ended the hug. His arms fell limply by his sides. A small sigh told Donnie he was resigned to fate. If his big brother could be his rock, then perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Mom wasn't evil. No! She was doing this for them. They'd never have to suffer for want of money or peace and quiet. He knew why he was healed. He knew...

Michael climbed the stairs. The thud of his shoes on the steps grew fainter. Donnie looked at Cynthia, her scowl disappearing. He looked at her face change...soften. She knew too. She knew what he'd been through, and what it took to rescue him.

They shared a thought: mom.

His sister sensed a pang of guilt. She moved to comfort him. The pair looked at the flight of stairs, thinking about their mother.

He knew. He knew why he agreed.

Mom...

He felt he owed her.

* * *

“Welcome Michael."

Uma reclined on the bed, her form flowing with grace and poise. A layer of thin clothing lay between her son and her intractable body. Michael closed the door, quietly securing the pair for the time being.

“Happy to see your brothers and sister?" she asked, watching intently, “you should see them sans mask..."

He gave a weak smile, then stepped closer. Drawing near to his mother's presence, Michael slowly descended, planting himself on the bedspread. The springs creaked as it made way for the sudden weight. Uma twirled on her rear, spinning her legs around, settling upright beside him. She adopted his posture, mirroring his low angle. A soft sigh made its way to his ears. “Are you not happy to see me?"

Mask, he thought. That's right, the truth lies deeper.

“I want to see you. For real," Michael said. Uma smiled and stood up, walking in front of him.

“Sans mask?"

“Sans mask," he replied.

“My child," she cooed, “don't worry. I'll show you the bounty of our gift—"

Uma faced away from him. Feeling his warmth as it lay mere metres from her, the glow of his besotted core...she closed her eyes, ready to draw out the demonic form she'd carefully cultivated over the course of countless weeks. A hand fell to her midsection, nudging the cloth of her t-shirt, placing a palm over her belly. She breathed. Time slowed as she made preparations — summoning power from the beyond. There would soon be no need to hide. No need to keep a human visage, nor its limiting form.

She would soar. With her family in tow she would soar.

Michael stared at his mom's curvaceous figure. His body ached, yearning to bed her once more. Their lovemaking felt more real than ever — as fresh as if they'd just fucked. But that was a while ago; in the dark, with barely any illumination to appreciate his mother's beauty. Circumstances changed, and he now had full view of her enchanting form.

Uma raised and crossed her arms, tugging free her top in a smooth motion. Beneath it she was bare, her ample bosom bouncing from the quick movement. The unblemished consistency of her skin...its rich texture...left her son slavering. His eyes followed the depression running the length of her spine — trekking through that shallow decline, from waist to neck. Every part of her had been streamlined; generous curves held snug a bone structure to die for, all wrapped up in a plunging hourglass. She knew he was watching, hanging on every second of her reveal. She knew he was desperate for more.

Baby, I have you now...

Uma waved her hand across her waistline. Without touching the belt, the buckle came undone. The strength of her will tore apart the metal piece. A loud crack shattered the silence as the belt buckle buckled 'neath her powerful influence. Both arms then moved from front-to-back, each a distance from her. The belt itself followed, sliding through the scraps of denim that held it. A flick of her hand catapulted it towards Michael, who reflexively caught it. Looking down at the freed leather, he felt a shiver run down his spine. His memories of Uma's power came back. It'd been easy to forget, to push them deep inside...but now? He'd wield the same.

The idea appealed to him. The call of his cursed soul was hard to resist.

His mother was kind enough to light a fire in her palm. Nothing special — a fast-dying crackle of ash and sparks — but the right amount of magic to excite him. Goosebumps rose, his skin prickled with their bumpy presence.

Still facing away, she flexed her belly, popping open the remaining buttons. With a shimmy of her hips she let the jeans descend. Slowly, gradually travelling along the path of her legs. The rising curve of her ass slipped free, bringing the joyous bulge of her apple-bottom to his attention. An agonisingly painful wait followed, as Michael tried in vain to wish for time's acceleration. The waist of her jeans passed slowly, revealing her gorgeous behind in slow-motion. Her cheeks swelled as they left the constraint of her pants, each fattening in the free air.

Once clear of her rump, the tight denim jeans plummeted downwards, collapsing in a heap on the floor. Uma glanced over her shoulder with a smile. Seeing her son's captivated stare, she giggled. The goddess of beauty before him stepped out of the pile of clothes, her voluptuous body shifting and wobbling with each move. Then — maintaining her calm, sensual approach — Uma turned around.

“Mom..." Michael mumbled, losing control of his finer faculties.

Uma's body radiated perfection. As she finished her turn her breasts shook, two mounds quivering until they settled down a couple of seconds later. Michael was torn between her chest and face, darting between the two. It was difficult to resist either one, as the hypnotising amethyst of his mom's eyes sucked the will to resist right out of his body, and the enormous heft of her breasts left him tight in his pants. He looked on like a pained puppy, almost whining with need.

“Do you want me?"

“Yes...YES!!! I do!"

“We may have tasted before, but now it shall be official."

She drew closer. Michael's heart throbbed in his chest, pounding against the prison bars his ribs provided. He was a convict in his own body.

Time to set himself free.

Drunk with his mother...sin churning, growing within...his demon growled, an electric tingle that ran through him from his core outward, radiating pangs of anticipation to even the most insignificant nerve in his weak, mortal flesh.

Uma glowed with light, as warm as the sun's rays. The shine of her soul was unbearable. So bright!

Light turned to fire: surging, swirling, ropes of flame. He started to sweat from the heat.

Through the maelstrom of light and flam she emerged. Michael averted his eyes. Her skin was unburnt, her hair silky smooth. Not a single mark of damage from the very hot, very real fire.

In an instant, the storm ended. Uma once again stood naked without enhancement, and Michael sat gobsmacked at the display. Moisture dripped from his nose and chin. He could see why Kianna feared her — when he saw her last, the flames were a fiction. A display to amaze and terrify. A shroud to disappear and reappear from. Now, no longer. The searing tongues had licked his flesh. Her power grew every minute. There was now nothing he'd put past her.

A tiny smile formed at the corner of Michael's lips.

He was right to leave Kianna. She was a joke compared to her.

His mom paused. “You've seen all this already, sweetie," she said, her fingers dancing about her lower belly, conducting furtive entreaties to between her plump thighs. “But..." her voice trailed off as she touched herself, Michael watching. A short, sharp intake of breath turned into a moan as she toyed with herself for his and her amusement. “But mommy's not done yet," she said, sultry tones dripping from her hypnotic speech.

“Mommy...mommy needs to undress further..."

She pulled back, giving Michael space to see her full glory. A clap of thunder echoed through the room, never once escaping its walls. It resounded, bouncing inside the otherworldly containment, louder and louder with each echo. The room rattled — objects on desks shaking, wardrobes slamming open-and-shut, the floor creaking as the rocking increased. And at the centre of all of it: Uma. She raised her arms. He looked around, bracing for the oncoming event...

Tendrils of shadow seeped from the edges of room, where the walls met the floor. The wove their way into the thickening atmosphere — choked with smoke and soot — reaching out from the barrier between natural and supernatural. Coils of flame burst all round him, Michael pulling back from the worrying cascade. Uma remained still.

Smoke, shadow, and tongues of flame curled around her arms, swirling 'round the base of her legs — obscuring her feet at first, then crawling up her body's length, forming a vaporous silhouette of his mother's figure. The rush...the spin of the cloud became a vortex. The shadow turned deepest black, swallowing the light from the fires that blazed. She'd been enveloped entirely. The only point of light left on her side of the room — barring the textured smouldering of inanimate furniture — was a beating, thumping mass of golden light:

Her soul.

Not tarnished. Pristine.

...

They say the Devil's beautiful, don't they...?

...

The room resonated. Sounds of choking fire and smoke filled its confines. They grew louder, louder than Michael could handle. He clamped his hands over his ears, deafened. Cruel, cold, dull thrumming took over, the faintness of sound suppressed. His eyes hurt. His throat was dry.

He braved another look. The light faded. A belching blast of air blew open the shroud, revealing Uma. Her skin held an ashen quality, greying all over. Though Michael couldn't tell if that was the work of the darkness she swam in — a deception conjured from his frightened mind. His mother looked as one with the darkness, and she met his half-hidden glances. She smiled. Despite the tumult, she welcomed the changes. Just as he wanted her to welcome him.

Uma threw her head back suddenly. Across her grey nakedness lines of light spread, ringing limb and torso. They hissed and spat, burning like a fuse over her volcanic skin. A multitude of beams criss-crossed, marring her silhouette...slicing her shadow into pieces...

The great smoke gate slammed shut, sealing her away once more. Fire returned. Scorching, searing tufts poking from within the swirling cloud. Beneath, beyond...her metamorphosis took final form.

Amid the firestorm, Michael tried to keep his wits. Difficult to do when hell came a-knocking at his door. He saw the last reminders of his mom's room vanish — fuel for the blaze. It encroached on the bed, surrounding him, pinning him in an uncomfortable pose. His legs raised, lest the floor scald him. His arms crossed and tight against his flanks, lest the burning touch his exposed flesh. And his head lowered, the ends of his hair singed.

Oh God, he screamed, the words never leaving the safety of his head, what the fuck is happening!?

Please...please...I want it to stop. PLEASE!

Fate heard his wish, pitiful though it was. A kind happenstance answered his prayer: the fires retreated.

Michael, slowly, and with great care, let himself stretch out. He could breathe. He could reach around himself without injury. The flames, and the coiling mass of smoke consuming his mother kept their distance.

He could breathe...

The first sign of his mom's return poked out from the frothing ash. Black spines wrapped in leathery skin, articulated 'cross several joints. A span of thin flesh stretched from end to bony end. He likened them to his vision...his glimpse of Kianna's past...

His mother's wings stretched.

Next, they hurled forward, extinguishing the surviving fires, blasting ash and smoke around the room. Another flap, then another. Michael closed his eyes and raised his arm in front of his face to protect them, fearing blindness. The wind buffeted his face and the exposed parts of his body. Clothes beat with the force of the air. Then — just as soon as it'd started — it stopped.

Michael opened his eyes again. The room looked normal. As if nothing ever happened. Everything was in its proper place — the wardrobe, the bedside table, boots, clothes, laundry baskets, and windowsills...and most notably of all: the bed. No burn marks. No ash-coated scraps. Nothing had changed.

But it felt so real!

Oh my sweet Mikey, he heard, pounding inside his head. His mother's voice, powerful...dominant...so loud and thunderous. It throbbed heavily: it would be stupid to destroy my own home just to demonstrate a point, don't you think?

He recoiled, falling backwards. The bed rose to catch him as he planted himself. A sharp, demonically-enhanced laugh rippled through his mind. He clambered upright.

Nothing had changed...except his mother.

Uma stood alone. No light show. No pyrotechnics. Here was his mom, at last — her new self.

Two great wings spread from her shoulders, grey-black, cutting an imposing figure. He was drawn from their broad majesty to his mother's face. She looked so familiar...so similar...but no, her demon showed itself proudly. Skin poisoned with orange and crimson colours, growing deeper and darker the further along her arms and legs you went, with rough ridges noticeable on her chest and belly. Michael found her eyes now faded to a white-yellow, with crimson-tinted purple bleeding in at the edges of her irises. They gave her a feeling of directness, more crushing than ever before. With a stare she made him shrink, his courage evaporating.

Now, now...be a brave boy for mommy, she said, taking a small step his way.

In motion, her body flowed effortlessly. The faintest lift of her foot exuded confidence. Her nudity didn't distract him, Michael's mind taking in each detail, processing the many changes in appearance in the distant hope it'd help him understand what's coming. Clawed feet and hands danced in his line of sight, jet-black talons where once there were clean nails. Her hair...still blonde, but marred with different hues — some faint, some vibrant, but all adding a dash of red and violet to her locks. If he squinted, he could make out the bumps on her skull, and wonder. Ridges? Horns? Would they grow, or would the small anomalies remain beneath the canopy of her hair as it swept alongside her brow and cascade in a blend of fiery tones around her shoulders and down her back. There was a minor difference in her height compared to her human (nay, beautified) form, but a huge gulf in presence. From siren to succubus-queen.

Behind her, a dark thing swished. Pointed at one end, thin and flighty. Curling and flexing like a narrow tendril.

A tail.

Michael strained under her mental whispering, speaking direct to his inner self. Pain, piercing pain split him. He gasped, about to speak...about to protest...

“Would you prefer I didn't enter your mind?" Uma asked. “I may be a demon queen but I'm nonetheless your mother. And I shall respect my children's privacy."

He nodded.

She tilted her head.

A weight lifted from his temples. The force of his mother's will subsided, leaving her son tired in its wake. Stunned, Michael latched onto the first thing that came to mind when he looked at her: Uma's breasts. She continued to walk towards him, her steps slowed by the heightened emotion of the scene. Her son, a few feet away. From her, and his destiny.

Michael felt his cock stiffen. The gentle sway of her enormous breasts, their heave and bounce, calmed him. Rich, chocolate-coloured nipples poked from the divine mounds and traced a path in the air as they moved — their imprint burned into his vision. A part of him regressed, seeing only his mom, and her motherly qualities. Her clawed fingers touched the plump flesh, stroking beneath the nub. Michael swallowed.

“Yes, baby," she said to her stunned son, “this is my demonskin. The true demonskin — no more illusions. No more playing nice for mortals like you."

So, this was his mom; this was what she'd turned into, what slept inside all those weeks ago...ever since her pact...

“Do you like it?"

She twirled for him, coyly but losing none of her imposing nature. The combination of delicate and domineering caused a storm inside him. His body ached. His mind frayed. She was...amazing...

He managed to speak: “the others?"

Uma stood facing sideways. She turned her head to address him. The flow of her figure, even with her demon's features, entranced him. He followed the contours of her body from her slightly-pudgy belly to between her legs, where her angle from him shielded her treasure from lustful eyes.

“Like me," she replied, “though they've yet to lower their guard and...let themselves walk in the sun."

“They haven't done it yet, you mean? They haven't...revealed themselves like you?"

“Yes."

“And will I..." he gulped.

“Hmm?"

“Will I be the same?"

“Of course."

“Ah—and Kianna?"

Uma frowned. “Why would you think about her, Michael?" She completed her turn and crossed her arms. She knew he was confused. She knew Kianna had tried to turn him. Use him. “But...our cousin?" A happy sigh left her lips. “No, she doesn't have the ability to change freely. Not without much effort."

“What do you mean?"

“To keep power, you must feed. Just like when we were human, an empty stomach does you no good. Kianna has been so long in hiding, so long by herself — starved of life's bounty. She must be in a terribly weak state."

“How d you know if she's stuck looking human?" he asked.

Uma laughed. “Instinct my son. Our drives are one — human and demon. Just as your belly rumbles we feel a need as well. You'll feel it soon."

“Mom," Michael spluttered, his mother's body inches from him.

“Yes baby?"

“I'm scared."

“Shh...shhhh, I know." Uma hugged him, pressing herself against him. Michael's head nestled between her bosom. “I know."

Her skin felt strange. Alien...

Soft. Inviting.

His worries melted away. A moment of purity. Of stillness, breathing soft and steady, overcame them. Mother and son, despite their distance. Mother and son...

“This started because I wanted my children to be safe. Now, however, we don't need to be safe. You don't need me to protect you...only to guide."

Uma paused.

“Funny, huh?"

Michael moved back. Uma intertwined her legs with his, her knees glancing against him. Her bare skin brushed against his trousers. He looked down, this time seeing her nether-lips peek out into the slender gap between her thighs. Quickly, he shifted his attention upwards. Uma towered over him, a caring expression on her face. “Are you ready, Mikey? Ready to join us?"

He battled negative thoughts. Doubts. Regrets. His former plan to abandon them. They came to the fore as the moment of decision arrived, its gravity warping all sense.

He wanted nothing more than to be at peace. To have his conflicts resolved. To never again have to stress over his place, his family. Mom was here. He shouldn't worry. Mom is here.

Michael didn't make his decision known until the very end. Wordlessly, he leaned forward and tussled with her breasts, moving in a sea of smooth flesh. He managed to clear the way to his mouth, and spent a short while gasping after his plunge between her bosom. Then, he found a nipple, and sucked, affixing his lips in a tight seal and letting his tongue dance on her breast-tip. Uma looked toward the ceiling and sighed — a pleasant moan chasing its tail.

She accepted him. Accepted his answer.

Her son tasted her. An avid fan of her tits, soft and squishy. Her burnt copper-tinged aureolae flushed with excitement as his attention sent her spinning. Uma reacted to the pleasant feeling by cradling her son's head as he suckled. Long had she waited for him. Now they were complete.

“Mikey, my baby..." she hummed, light moans emanating from between strong bouts of suction.

Michael felt drunk. Long had he missed her sweetness; the welcome feel of her body, bared for him. She was a drug. A powerful drug. The more he tasted, the more he licked and salivated over her, the more he wanted her. From one breast to the next he travelled, the salty coarseness of her peaks in sharp contrast to the feathery softness of the rest of her cleavage.

“Mmmm," his mother purred, the hardness of her nipples matching the wetness that secreted from inside, and her son's trapped arousal.

He moved clear of her, a thin sliver of saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Do you like mommy's breasts?"

He said: “yes."

“Do they taste better than last time?"

He hesitated. Michael found himself lost in thought. Uma soon broke his daydream, however, with a curt chuckle. “I guess that's a 'don't know', hmm?"

He grabbed handfuls of her breasts. Despite the change in skin tone, and the textured patterning that one could see faintly on her boobs and body, she felt as good as ever.

“I want more," he said.

Uma played with his hair. “More of mommy?"

“More...like last time..."

She realised what he meant. With loving care she brought him back to her teat. Beneath the succubi exterior, she felt her maternal side calling. From magic — or mere strength of will — she let her breasts swell, firming and filling with divine nectar. Michael dove in, attacking her nipples with renewed vigour. Now he tasted a trickle of honey — so delicious it hurt. His lips squeezed around her nub, coating the fleshy point with a thick layer of drool. A moan, a gasp, and suddenly there flowed milk.

Uma cried out in joy. “Yes baby! YES! Drink...drink from mommy!"

His thirst quenched (for now), Michael broke the seal, allowing a small squirt of mostly-opaque liquid to escape her tormented teat. Uma craned forward, kissing him. Michael felt the intoxicating pull of their taboo strengthen. It forced him to match his mother, locking lips and tussling tongues together. Uma held his cheeks. He pawed weakly at her boobs. They jiggled after each pat, their liquid payload seeping from both engorged pores in a runny slickness. Her arms reached around, claws pricking his back. Michael continued to kiss his mother passionately. Their diving tongues explored the other. Hearts raced. A rush of blood added to his already-painful erection.

A tearing sound emerged. Pointed talons ripped open his shirt from back-to-front. A nip in-between kisses demonstrated newfound sharpness in her teeth. Uma gently lowered her hands, running them down his front, stopping at his abdomen. It was his turn to get naked. A few quick movements and his jeans were discarded. His tip knocked against her belly, hot flushes spreading through both lovers.

She clambered on top of him, straddling her son. Grinding against him. Michael moaned. She wrapped around him, wings and all — embracing her chosen lover. Pussy-lips kissed the length of his dick, leaving small traces of lubricant on the heated shaft. It burned him, his nerves conditioned to feel every minute sensation, amplifying their effect. He kissed her shoulder, working his way to her neck.

Uma growled. “That's it, my son...that's it! Enjoy me..."

Michael fell onto the bed, carrying his mother forward with his fall. He bounced on the mattress, laying still, while she sat ready to ride him cowgirl-style. Through half-closed eyes he watched her flex and roll, her belly undulating as her hips moved, pressing his penis flush with his waist.

“I want this," he said, “I want you so bad."

The demon woman cried out, emitting a roar that shook the bed. Rattling furniture filled the room with their noise amidst the many-voiced chorus of Uma's roar. Michael let the otherworldly cries sink in, dumbly reaching with his hands to grasp his mom's form. He found her hips, and held tight. The squeeze of his fingers around her hourglass figure was countered by his mother's palms slamming down on his chest. She continued to grind, rubbing her labia around his shaft. His manhood peeked out between thick thighs and the hood of her pussy, her clitoral nub squishing against his tender flesh. Jolts of pleasure wracked his body. He nearly blew himself right then and there. But he held back, struggling to contain himself.

Uma rubbed his cheek, leaning in for another kiss. This time was quick — a peck and nothing more. She returned to her former position, slowing her gyrations as she spoke: “are you ready to fuck mommy?"

“Yeah!"

“Are you ready to become one of us?"

His voice wavered, but did not break. “YES!"

Uma slipped his cock inside, swallowing him inch-by-inch. Michael groaned. Her legs closed against his sides. Her back arced forward, wings shaking as shivers of sensation coursed through her. The jitter of the thin blackened skin of her wingspan captivated him. It comforted her son that she was feeling such joy from just one entry. He let the air leave his lungs, waiting until the very last minute to inhale again. Uma's slick pussy took him, coating him in her juices, as he went deeper. He barely needed to thrust, so keen she was to have him.

This is it.

This was it...after much inner turmoil, he'd chosen. To abandon himself to sin and debauchery, like the rest of his family. Poor dad, poor Tony, he thought, to have lost someone as beautiful as mom.

He grunted as his hips moved without his command, bucking and sliding him further inside her.

She had dad, and Jacob, and she wanted me. Above everyone else. A swell of pride arose, Michael's confidence restored. The jealously he felt in his heart, seeing Jacob thrusting inside her, paled in comparison to the warm, glowing sense of victory that stirred. Uma's hilting the mere icing on the cake. I have you, mom, to myself from now on!

Yes baby! You have me. And I have you. Uma's voice echoed in his mind.

Michael grimaced as he began the long, pleasurable pull-out, dragging his cock-head along her walls, each ripple, each contour demanding his return. He would...oh, he would...

With a firm grip on her sides, he thrust. His mom squealed as he pushed inside a second time, now using his own strength. The soft flesh of her innermost treasure coaxing endless pleasures from her son, and fuelling her own. Again: another thrust, repeating the cycle until he had built up a rhythm. Uma accommodated him by rocking her hips in tandem, matching his movements with hers.

“Oh Gods...Gods below!" she mewled, “that's it...ah! That's it. Make mommy feel...guh—"

One wayward jerk stabbed her cervix. In reaction, her muscles compressed and shifted, denying him the depth to cause undue pain. Despite this, Michael tried his hardest to plunge as deep as possible, prying open her tightness.

“—g-gr-good!"

“Mom," he huffed, “we're...having sex..."

“Yes Mikey, just like last time. Only better. Doesn't it feel better?"

“Ye...ah! Yeah."

She rode him, bounding up-and-down as he pumped his hips. Sweat formed on his brow, a signal of his human limits. Uma had no problem maintaining her speed and ferocity. Nary a drop on her anywhere.

He looked at her. His mother, fearsome as ever. Her body enhanced, her soul shimmering brightly in his mind's eyes, the rich velvet of her intonations as they fucked — she was a goddess. A powerful goddess, who needed to be worshipped. And he would eagerly supply said worship. As the moist flesh of her pussy soothed his erection, banishing pain and putting pleasure in its place, he wondered if this was the moment he'd been waiting for, when the first tendrils of demonic influence had touched him...tainted him...

There was nothing more perfect than this moment.

“Mikey! AH!" Uma was taken by surprise when he suddenly shot up from the bed, carrying her with his momentum in a fast spin. She twirled around him, landing where he once lay, her ass bouncing and tail twirling.

Michael now hovered over her, his cock having slipped from her pussy. He crawled over her, his human form somewhat lesser compared to the succubus beneath him. She felt him adjust his angle, and press her lower lips, running his bulbous tip against her entrance.

“Come back inside," she said, her voice laced with hypnotic undertones, “mommy misses you."

After a second of teasing, he pushed, gasping as he slid back in. Her gyrating hips slammed against his waist, her pussy swallowing him whole; taken to the hilt and back. A flash of light — a burst of energy — and he saw her old form. Her voluptuous, mature beauty. Her human figure, perfected. Then, no sooner than it appeared, her demonic side returned. Red-mottled skin and blackened wings. His succubus-mother.

God...gods...she was perfect...

His mind raged. Lust, passion, desire. Strong, primal emotions, barrelling through his consciousness. Moaning. Tossing. Turning. Sliding back-and-forth. The slick sensation of her warm innards. Heaven...

Well...let's be appropriate: hell.

A rich pit of debauchery.

Michael heard the call. The chanting void that surrounded his soul. Calling him to accept the family curse. Now he'd tasted it, been tainted by it. He let his conflict, his guild, his...sin wallow far longer than his siblings. He sensed its power. As it stewed, it grew stronger. Fiercer. He'd complete his mother's collection — the crowning achievement of her corruption.

“Fuck me!" Uma screamed. “FUCK MOMMY!!!"

Michael's vision faded.

* * *

Michael looked around. He was in a field, a rolling horizon of knee-high foliage. The sky was grey, with an advancing blood-red shroud emerging in the distance. He was elsewhere. Somewhere new, somewhere...different...

A rustle, carried through the air by a low wind, caught his attention. He glanced at his feet, clothed in the same gear he'd worn before taking his mother. A shivering mass of grass, blades long and broad, hissed and whispered. He looked at the horizon again. The grey mixed with red throughout the sky, staining the wispy clouds in an orange hue. The field of grass flowed out from where he stood in all directions. Michael traced the path someone (possibly him — before becoming aware of the surroundings) walked, stamping the blades flat. It twisted and turned behind him, going into a forest that covered half of this place. He turned around, facing the trees. The path wound heavily, matted grass crunching underfoot as he took a step along it.

Strange, he thought, where am I?

The breeze ruffled his clothes. He turned back to the vast plain. He felt drawn, not toward the forest, but the opposite...the horizon spoke to him, its spread of colours vibrant...and enticing...

As he walked, and watched, the grass changed. Blowing in the wind, a misty cloud of petals rose from nearby. He picked up the pace. The flattened snake of grass trailing him grew as the teenager travelled, recording his path. Ahead gave way to flowers, their colouration appearing in a flash of brightness. Quickly it faded, leaving him staring at the dull vista.

Reaching the flowers, Michael knelt. They were metallic and rusted. He cut himself on a sharp edge. The filled his vision — beauty and terror uttered in the same breath. Ugliness concealed behind garish petals. He knew something was wrong.

These aren't normal flowers.

I'm dreaming. Have been for a while. The moment returned to him. He should be in bed, Uma under him. His limbs tired. His body drenched in sweat. He was supposed to be somewhere else.

Another vision, he sighed.

Clarity pierced the veil of this...apparition. No more than a second later, the noise began. Whipped into a frenzy as the gust of air bearing down on him worsened, he dashed through the field. The sky was almost entirely stained by this point. He could sense his physical self, sense his exertion. Tired. So tired — he was close to collapsing.

Thunder boomed while he ran. The rusted metal flowers sliced his ankles, leaving a dusty covering of iron flakes in the wound. The damp crunch of grass was swapped with the tinny crash of brittle metal. Flowers shattered beneath him. A jet of purple light surged through the sky like a pillar of fire.

Everything went dark, and then the noise ended.

* * *

“Grow, my child, grow strong. Grow powerful." Uma's sharp fingers raked his chest, spilling a tiny amount of blood as cuts opened up. Michael burst into a shout as the pain reached him — his eyes flew open, and he grabbed his mother. She squealed.

He wheezed, tossing her at the bed. A growl left his lips, his voice deep and commanding. His body tingled, not just from their sex...

Having asserted himself on top, he turned the tables, pushing back inside while holding her down. Uma gave no resistance, playing along to her son's change of mood. “Feel it swell within you — a demon's strength, yours to command!"

His joints popped. Michael groaned as his bones cracked. It felt so good, so...warm insider her. He couldn't pull out, not now. Not for all the pain in the world!

She was changing him. And he couldn't resist.

His cock thrust into her, stabbing her aggressively as his pace increased. Uma held him tightly, her unearthly form pinned to the bed. She writhed beneath him, moaning and mewling. Michael's hips creaked as his changes took place.

“We'll rule this town..." she cried out, “drown it in sin and secrecy!"

She continued: “they'll love you. They shall adore you...their master...their lord..."

Michael gasped. Her silken flesh comforted him as his figure shifted, bones compressing and expanding. Nerves firing. Muscles twitching. Skin burning. The one constant in all of this was the feel of her vaginal walls wrapping his manhood in a tender embrace.

“MOM!!!" he roared, losing breath halfway through the cry. He let his head drop, his upper body following dutifully, squashing her breasts. Skin rubbed on skin. The shared moans of mother and son!

“They shall worship you," she said between bated breaths.

THEY SHALL COWER IN FEAR OF ME!

His conscience took a dark turn, excited at the prospect of mastery over mortals. Humans, he thought, I won't be among your number for much longer.

He could feel the shape of his body morph. He could feel the transformation elevate him to his mother's rank. He grew, like Jacob before him. Grew to honour the power he'd unlocked. His pact signed, his wage of sin paid — Michael took truer form.

In the cauldron of pleasure, he had long forgotten his meagre humanity. Uma's body touched him...caressed him...but it was a faint white noise compared to the jolts of blazing agony that burst through him. Every fibre of his being burned in unquenchable fire. As long as he was changing, he could feel the weight of his sin as it sizzled and dissolved — his soul cleansing itself before taking a plunge toward depravity.

The demon's call was strong. Michael answered.

He may doubt, he may double-down, he may regret his decision...but at this moment...this sublime instant...he felt...complete.

“That's it baby," Uma praised her son, “you're one of us now!" Michael coughed and raised himself off of her. His complexion adopted his mother's tone, blemished yet entrancing. His muscles bulked up, not quite Jacob's build but more than a contender for his ability. Motes of hardness tormented his fingertips. His back snapped and rejoined, tail and wings spearing his outer layer of skin. Exploding through his flesh, they cracked and stretched in the space above him. Slowly, they curled around the mating pair, covering them. Uma kissed him. She sensed his expanding girth inside her. Their night was not done yet. Not at all!

Demonic, muscular, powerful...

Dominating.

Power flowed through his veins. Magic. Black magic...

Michael let out a triumphant roar.