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Michael sat, alone in his bedroom, experiencing the newness of his body, his senses, and his abilities. His left arm was extended, and he guided the faint sensation that ran through his flesh, tickling his skin, until it arrived at his hand. The cabinet on the far side of the room rose, creaking as its wooden structure heaved itself up from the floor. Up, up, and up...halfway to the ceiling. Michael chuckled. He didn't even break a sweat doing it! Cautiously, he lowered it back down.

He could do many things. Some he'd seen his family do. Some he'd seen Kianna do. That same power dwelled within him now. He'd awoken. As a demon. His family: a host of demons. The first of their kind in a long, long time.

Studying his body, grown and contorted into its new shape, Michael explored his rough flesh. Not only abilities some would call magic, but a new body — taller, broader, thicker — to contain his gifts. A suitable casing for unimaginable power. Power never before seen, or comprehendible by his tiny mortal mind. Now that he'd been given the curse...the gift...demonskin...he was pleased.

He was renewed. And he had his mother to thank for it.

Jacob entered. “Rise and shine," he said.

“I'm not asleep," Michael replied, eyeing his brother.

“So...what's up big guy?" From where Michael sat, even he could see what he meant. Jacob stood a little shorter than Michael post-transformation. His older brother 'affectionately' referred to it as a 'growth spurt'. Jacob remained in his human form. Michael rose to greet him properly. His wings twitched upon leaving the cramped bedside, finding empty space to stretch into. His brother smirked.

“You ready?"

“Ready?"

“You're summoned."

Michael frowned. “Summoned?"

Jacob looked away. “Needed..." he mumbled. One roll of the eyes later, he put a hand on Michael's shoulder and leaned in. “Mother's orders."

Mother. That word, that formal phrasing...it sent shivers down his spine. Not mom. Not anymore...

Mother. A mark of respect. Of reverence for her. Even Michael had to admit it was growing on him. He belonged to her, and knew it.

Jacob noticed his lack of response. “Can't you even get into the spirit of things," he growled.

“I didn't know." Michael wondered what was coming. His stomach felt weak — a pit of worms writhing in his belly. A flush of heat rolled up his neck and tickled the base of his skull. His demonic gaze fixed itself on Jacob, who met him with equal measure.

His brother sighed and raised his arms. “Fine...asswipe! Just come downstairs. You'll see how we do things from this day on." He left, shallow footsteps escorting him down the hall. Michael shut his eyes.

He heard Jacob's voice carry through the walls: “mother is waiting!" He swore a laugh followed.

Peace and quiet again. Only himself and his thoughts. Michael rubbed his cheek and sat down on his bed.

Mom.

Mother.

Mom...mother...

Human.

Demon.

Beauty.

Terror.

He snarled. His body writhed with anxious energy.

Goddess. Seduction. Sex...

He felt Uma's arms around him, their memory caressing him. Michael placed a hand on his chest, sensing the beat of his heavy heart. Loud, booming thumps — driving blood through him. Strong muscles beat. They beat, harder and faster than any human. He felt the tips of his fingers pulse. Throb. As minutes passed, he moved his hand. The solid abdominal wall guarding his gut guided his hand down. He admired his flesh. His hellish demeanour bared in its full glory. Naked. Commanding...

Michael rose. His eyes opened. The worry in his stomach would not abate. He felt nervous...yet...excited. He was ready for anything.

He was sure of it!

* * *

Cynthia and Donnie clashed — lips buried in one another's mouths. In the presence of Uma and Jacob they kissed, and fondled; their mother directing her sight away in a small gesture of privacy. Wayward hands found themselves crawling 'neath underwear, as the pile of discarded clothes built up rapidly. Jacob was the last to look away, excitement stamped on his smug grin.

A nod from mother to son led them to exit the room. Things could wait. Outside the room Uma addressed her son: “Jacob, my dear?"

“Yes mother."

“Are we prepared?"

He licked the corner of his mouth. “Yes mother."

“Michael's on his way?"

“He should be."

“Good." Uma brought a clawed finger to her lip. “I'm starving," she purred, “I can't wait!"

“Patience, mother...patience." Jacob stroked her bare arm, admiring her demonic form. “You look amazing," he said, closing for a kiss.

Uma tutted and swiped him away. “I chose Michael. This doesn't belong to you anymore," she said wryly, motioning to her nakedness. Her swell breasts held shape perfectly, balanced against the bounce of her step. The rough, ridged quality that covered parts of her flesh brought out an exuberant attraction in those near her. Jacob made a pained expression, almost begging for her touch. She loved his desperation. His need tearing at the fringes of his soul.

“Don't you have your special servant to keep you entertained?" she asked, stoking his lust.

“Millie..." Jacob trailed off, his mind wandering. “She's not the only one I have."

“No," Uma nodded, “but she's the most fun."

“She is."

Uma laughed softly. “Michael and I are final," she said, adopting a more caring tone, “if you feel hurt about it let me know." She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I'm still your mother."

“I shouldn't complain," he said, “family supports family."

Family supports family. Uma smiled. Seems I've moulded him better than expected. He'll always have time for his mommy.

“When you're done hanging on my every word...and touch..." Uma's fingers glanced his chest, causing him to breathe quickly. “When you're happy mommy's looking out for you...we can rule like the deities of myth and legend. Do you like the sound of that?"

He looked eager. And hungry. “I do."

“Now, take that stupid mask off," she commanded, her voice stern and uncompromising. “There's no need to keep up the disguise. Not when we can make people loyal."

“You're right mother." Jacob looked down at his still-clothed body. Trapping his evolved figure in their material confines. Wrapping around him and denying the world his majesty. Look at Uma, how she struts without fear, without hesitation; she is a queen, more stunning and sublime than any mortal could hope to be! He's her son. Why doesn't he do the same?

“I wi—"

Their moment was interrupted by Michael, who walked down the stairs, his nude form taut and bunching with each step. Uma watched in awe as her middle son descended towards her, devouring his body as it swayed. Solid thuds heralded his footfalls; feet broad and bound in coarse scale, flesh well-worn and calloused — resistant to extreme heat and cold, and decorated with the rich, warm colour of dripping blood. A prince fit to reign in Hell alongside her (if such a place existed). Jacob saw him too. Behind his eyes...was that a hint of jealousy? Michael wondered if he would bow. In time, perhaps. When Jacob's gaze was drawn south, to the thick meat that swung between his legs — limp and carefree, flanked by large orbs — his neutral expression weakened.

There! Michael thought. There's the jealously. Not much but it's there.

Michael, in his demonskin, arrived at the base of the stairs, and greeted his mother and brother. Jacob shored up his neutrality, pivoting to a friendly smile, pride in his younger brother's physique clear to any who saw. “What took you?" he asked jokingly.

Before he could reply, Jacob spoke again: “admiring something in the mirror?" Michael gave his brother a small tap. Jacob laughed it off. “Well, we're here," he said, looking towards Uma. Michael followed his lead, turning to his mom. “What do you want me for?" he asked.

Uma glanced at Jacob, issuing orders with aught but a look. He left the duo, heading to the far side of the house. Michael was alone with his mother.

“Did you enjoy your...awakening?" Uma's soft lips danced close to his face, moving and curling seductively as notes emerged.

“I did." Michael shared her good mood. Beside her, near her...he felt safe. Warm. At home.

“Then you must know it's time we stopped caring about what the world thinks. No more wearing our old skins like a bad costume."

“I'm already out," he said.

“Yes you are," she whispered, “and what a gift your demonskin became."

Michael couldn't help but feel his ego grow with Uma's welcome words. He loved the attention she gave him. The part of his soul that fed on adulation fizzled, tingling within him. Focus, he told himself, don't get caught up in pillow talk.

“You still haven't told me what's happening."

“You'll see — we're almost ready."

Jacob returned, silently leading the family's brainwashed servants to the next room. Michael watched them pass. Empty, devoid of free will. Minds swallowed up by her and Jacob's mesmerising influence. He thought about trying it out for himself. Bending someone to him. Dark impulses egged him on. His brother saw how he was drawn in by the shifting mass of servants. Familiarity written all over his face. Little did Jacob know how much Michael had seen through Kianna's eyes. “You've met the help, hmm?" he said.

“Help..." Michael paused. He found a faint strand of pity when he searched his soul, coping with the destruction of other people's freedom. Only faint, however. Uma spoke: “what are you thinking, baby?"

He bit his lip. “I don't know." Michael's voice rumbled. He was taken aback by how it had changed, how much deeper it'd become. He was still getting used to it. “What are—" Uma kissed him suddenly. Breaking the kiss, she nuzzled his neck, whispering: “it's just the start of something wonderful. You'll see..."

Michael decided not to pry. He'd find out soon enough — that much was certain.

“Now, Jacob, what did I tell you about hiding?" Uma turned to her other son. Frowning, she put a hand on her hip, leaving Michael's side to walk toward Jacob. He sighed and tilted his head back. Uma ripped the clothes from his body, slicing open the thin fabric with her clawed hands, each talon severing fibres without an ounce of resistance. Jacob winced as a few scratches cut into him. Shallow marks, but enough to cause him pain. Michael watched his older brother remain calm as his mom forcibly disrobed him. When pants and shirt were gone, he saw a change in Uma's movements. They became careful, less aggressive, around his groin. She removed his underwear delicately, freeing his manhood in two long claw-strokes. She bent over; half-kneeling, half-crouching. One hand pressed against his torso, running over rippling muscle.

“There!" she proclaimed, standing straight. Jacob held his arms out at an angle. His skin began to shimmer with a golden-orange glow. His body morphed, distorting in shape as his true demonskin revealed itself. All the hallmarks of their curse appeared: wings, claws, tail, pointed teeth, ridged skin, a burnt red complexion. In a matter of seconds his brother abandoned his human form for his demon one. Michael was correct in his assumptions — Jacob was a tad shorter and not as broad as he was. He resisted the urge to start teasing him.

Uma led the pair back into the room. The Eriksson's servants lined the far wall. Donnie and Cynthia rested on the nearby couch, cradling one another. They snapped to attention when Uma cleared her throat. Surprised, Donnie sprang from his seat and rushed over to them. Cynthia lazily followed.

“Hey."

This was the first time they saw Michael as a demon. Cynthia eyed him from afar whilst Donnie stared close up to him, in awe of his brother's stature. Michael kept his cool and didn't change his stance, letting his kid brother fawn over him at his own pace.

Donnie looked up. “Oh wow, you...uh..."

“I, uh, yeah...I did." Michael gave a friendly smile. Donnie moved away, nearly backing into Cynthia, who caught him. “Proud to have you as one of us Mikey," his sister remarked. “I think you hit the jackpot with this," she said, gesturing to his size and strength, “you must've really stewed for a long time for your pact to give you what ya got now!"

“Please, sis...I don't wanna bring up the past. Whatever sin fed into my decision to do this isn't relevant. Not anymore."

“Cool...cool," Cynthia bobbed her head, looking to Jacob next, “have you noticed he's bigger than you now?"

“I have," he grunted.

She smirked. “I wonder if he's got more in here," said Cynthia poking Michael's chest, an inch or two off-centre, “than you." Michael guessed she meant power. Magic. Whatever he rationalised it as — the supernatural influence he was now able to exercise certainly garnered his attention. And he'd only begun to scratch the surface of his...power...

“You'll like it," Donnie muttered. Michael looked at his younger brother quizzically. “Using your powers," he added, ashamed.

He remained silent. He felt it earlier, even from the slightest action. The intoxicating afterglow.

“So," Cynthia interjected, “any plans to try them out? You can do a lotta neat things!"

“I know."

“Oh honey, Michael has more than enough time to learn," Uma said, walking between her daughter and him. She cupped his chin. He could feel her breath on his face. It was very warm. “Forgive Cynthia, she's been so keen about following in my footsteps."

“I see that."

She rubbed his brow. He winced at a mild pin-prick from one of her claws. “Jacob, honey," she said, looking aside, “have the servants break into groups. One for each of us." She returned her attention to Michael. “I'll be back in a second, I need to make sure they're...ripe."

Uma walked away from him, just as Jacob returned. “There's so much fun we can have in this town, Mikey! Between the four of us. We may be products of sin but there's no need to fight over scraps — not when there's plenty for each one of us." He then whispered to his brother: “none of us got here by being greedy."

“Not a fan of owning a slave."

“Don't think about it like that — so much bad history! Nah, bro, once you have a few servants at your disposal you won't think it's so bad."

“Well, I could go without any."

Jacob laughed. “Some of that muscle gone to your brain, eh? Thanks to mother, they already serve a master. Us. Do you think she's been doing laundry recently?"

“Not that we seem to need it now."

He stopped. “Touché." He glanced at the brainwashed servants. “Anyway, I still have something over you — I know what's goin' down."

“You do? Then don't be a complete dickhead, Jacob, and tell me. Aren't I part of our family?"

“Nah...I think it's more fun to just let it happen. Being lucky and coming out stronger than me won't open every door for ya," he said, mockingly. Michael's instincts ordered him to fight, but he ignored them.

“I can't wait," Jacob added, “it'll be my first time." That last remark was delivered with a teasing tone. Michael dismissed his brother's attempts to annoy him, and switched to his other siblings for a change in topic.

When he returned to Donnie and Cynthia, whatever conversation they were having faded, and they faced him. His siblings lowered their heads, instinctively reacting as if he's their superior. Michael was left confused. “Guys," he said, snapping them out of their trance, “right here."

“M-Mikey," Donnie said, obviously nervous, “this is gonna sound weird...but—"

“Go on."

“Can I t-touch you?"

Michael stood for a moment, slack-jawed. Eventually he gave his permission for Donnie to lay a hand on him. Cynthia snorted as Donnie put his palm on Michael's chest. Layers of hard muscle blocked him from creating an impression. His brother's face lit up. “Wow..."

“Wow? That's all you're gonna say?"

“Sorry!" He pulled his hand back. “It's weird, I know! But it doesn't look...real. I don't know how to explain it any better. Seeing you...like this."

“Donnie," Michael said, grabbing his brother's suspended wrist, “I understand what you're trying to say. Yeah, I feel the same way. But...I thought you'd already changed?"

“Yes, but it's different seeing someone else."

“Is that all?"

He averted his awestruck gaze. “N-no."

“I've felt it," Cynthia said, “there is a difference when it's you versus another person. You don't look at yourself in the mirror and feel like you don't belong, after all."

“Unless it's too much. Too soon," Michael said, cautiously eyeing his brother, who shirked away from discussing his demonskin further. His mind fully on Cynthia now, he continued: “you've moved on from Kianna I see."

“Mom's the one to follow. Why settle for anything less?"

“True, I suppose. How are you feeling?"

“Great," Cynthia said. “It's like I was never anyone else."

“And Donnie, how do you feel right now?"

His little brother shrugged. “I feel good. Yeah, good."

Michael thought for a moment. “You know what," he finally said, “so do I."

“No point wasting any more time — let's get even more naked!" Cynthia threw up her arms and waved them, giddy with excitement. She hadn't been told what they were meeting for, but her heart told her it would be glorious. She, just like Donnie, were in the dark with Michael.

Speaking of Michael: only now, after hearing his sister mention it, did he see them bare. Their soft, beautified human forms, refined by the pact...the curse. Gift...? He fought a mental battle over his preferred term, each side of his conscience weighing the pros and cons of the situation.

After a brief period of clarity, he no longer noticed or cared about nudity. Shame-free the trio conversed with everything on display.

Cynthia wasn't wasting any more time. Once they'd finished their small talk she stepped back and began her own transformation. Sharing a look with Donnie she coaxed him into leaving his shell and showing his true self alongside her. Michael watched the pair wreathe themselves in hissing flame. Coiling, curling around their limbs and core, rapidly enveloping his siblings until suddenly — in a blinding flash — they were unveiled.

Michael was treated to the sight of their demonskins. Donnie stood on the right, delicate and supple. Strengthened but upholding his human slenderness. Cynthia: soft, svelte, curved like Uma but less pronounced, her skin less rough in places. They cleared away clouds of smoke and let him study their new bodies. Michael stared at his little brother and big sister. I can't believe it's come to this. God...when you think about it all...

Cynthia jumped up-and-down, letting her wings catch the air on her descent. “Soooo..." she said, “who do you prefer?" Twirling for Michael, she gave him a glimpse of everything. “Mom or me?"

“Don't even try," he groaned. “Mom and I are together, and that's that!"

Cynthia left her brothers, tail swishing behind her. Joining with Uma and Jacob, she glanced over her shoulder at Michael and Donnie, an impatient longing behind her purple-tinged eyes when they settled on her lover.

Michael and Donnie chatted. They cracked a few jokes, and Michael made it clear he had his brother's back, if anything went south. With his assurance made, he tried to dig a little deeper: “not one to pry, but I wanna know: when did you first change, Donnie?"

His brother shied away from the question. Some further words of encouragement got him an answer. “A few days ago."

“Huh, we're quite close together then."

Donnie avoided speaking after his curt reply. Only when Michael spent awhile wearing down his defences did he bring up that fact he failed to last more than ten minutes before withdrawing back to his human form. Michael mulled over his stammering explanation. Did he get scared? Did he feel uneasy with the nature of his pact? It was a leap, for sure — taking the final step and sealing himself within a demonic visage. He was caught in the throes of ecstasy when he changed, maybe it would've been different if he did it sober.

“You saw what you looked like before then, right?"

“I did." He lowered his head, gazing at his chest and beyond. “My heart's a little fluttery, but I think I'm okay now."

“I'm here for you, Donnie. Don't forget that." Michael's fist gently struck his brother's shoulder. That was kind of a Jacob move, doncha think?

“Hey," he continued, “why so quiet?"

Donnie clenched up. Cowed by his brother's presence. “I didn't expect you'd be so...intimidating up close."

Michael stopped standing so rigidly and softened his stance. “Sorry dude."

“It's fine. The others might not think the way we do — or feel how we feel — but I can at least try to handle being different."

“And new," Michael added.

“And new."

Michael looked over his shoulder. “Speaking of new," he said, seeing his wings held close to his back, “how d'ya feel about those? Or that," he motioned to their pointed tails.

“It's strange, feeling them attached to me, but I kinda like it."

“Gotta admit, there's a lot to like in this form."

“Yeah," Donnie sighed, “but there's also stuff I'd rather not have."

“Inside?" Michael tapped his own chest. Donnie nodded. They could still sense the conflict in their souls — still holding their human morality precious, as it dangled by a thread. Michael thought his night of transformation had rid him of his concerns. He paused, thinking. No...it's not his own soul he worried about...

The others were more willing to surrender their old lives. This much was known. He and Donnie were the last to break.

His little brother moved close to him, and spoke in a low whisper: “may not be like old Donnie for long."

“Eh?"

“My body. The way I feel about myself. It's so different! So new...I wanna know how it feels — I can't stop thinking about it!"

“About what—?"

Donnie turned his head. “Sex," he murmured.

“Oh." Michael glanced furtively at the others, situated out of earshot. He watched for any sign they were listening, that his assumption of privacy was folly. If they were, they were great at hiding it.

“I wanna fuck! Badly."

Whoa, shit...

Michael hushed Donnie. “Is that your demon talking, or my kid brother?"

“I...don't know..."

“Then think of something else right now?" Can't start down this path, it's all-consuming.

Donnie became indignant. “Why? You had your fun already: you fucked mom!"

“Yes," Michael continued to shush his brother, “alright! I did. We both know that ya dummy!" His upset changed at some point, once the topic of conversation stirred deep enough inside. Michael realised without knowing his attitude had shifted. “And I can't imagine anything better than that happening in my life." Damn, where did THAT come from!?

Unsure, he kept talking: “once you feel...once you taste...the curse (pact — gah!)...it makes you irresistable. You can't stop. I can't stop. I'm thinking about her right now. Scratch that — I won't stop!" His last remark left his lips with a snarl, startling Donnie,

“Mikey!" he whisper-cried, equal parts blushing and recoiling. It was getting hard to hide his sinfulness. His lust. His older brother wasn't helping.

“It's true, Donnie. I can't hide my feelings. Whether I made 'em or not, they're for her."

“It's not that."

Michael was confused. “Huh? Then w—ooohhh..." He contained his surprise well, refusing to stare at his brother's unrestrained erection. Donnie tried to shield himself, but he'd already shown too much. “I'm not making that happen! Not on purpose!"

Jesus Donnie — take a cold shower.

As if he heard Michael's thoughts, he protested: “I can't stop thinking about sex." Distressed, overwhelmed by his new senses, he began to well up. It was never this bad as a human.

“Whoa, whoa!" Michael nudged him to face away from the rest of the family, hiding his amplified need. “Hey...I know you can't fight it easily..."

“No."

“Okay, well, breathe. Calm down. You have Cynthia." At the mention of his sister's name, Michael found himself free of disdain. Their relationship felt natural. Like nothing had ever been wrong.

Donnie exhaled. “Yeah," he mumbled.

“And you haven't...recently...?"

“Not in this body," he said, shaking his head.

Michael took him further aside. “Okay," he began, his tone as neutral as possible, “it's gonna feel ten times better. That's the upside. The downside is that you'll want it bad, real bad, all the time. But you'll get used to it. You'll have some control. I've only been this way for...what, a day? More than you, sure, but it'll get better. You'll get over it — I swear."

“Swear?"

“I do. On my uh...mortal soul (for what that's worth nowadays)." He half-heartedly chuckled. Donnie smiled. “Trust me, the more you stay as you are, the more you'll feel like yourself again. I'm barely older than you in that regard, and even I can see how much I've adjusted." ...to my demonskin, his inner voice said. Demonskin...demonskin. The term burrowed into his mind, now inseparable from his sense of self.

Donnie noticed the pause in Michael's consoling words. He jumped into the void they provided. “Okay," he chirped up, “just took me by surprise is all."

“That's fine," Michael replied. “Settled down now?"

“Uh-huh."

“Good, 'cause mom and the others look like they're waiting on us."

Beckoned to approach by Uma, the two brothers joined their remaining kin. Gathered nearby were several servants, slaves to her will. They stood silent, motionless. Grim faces with blank expressions.

“It's time to take things to the next level." Uma walked behind the mind-slaves, lining them up. One for each child. “Out power is transient, if we don't exercise it then it atrophies. If we don't feed it, it atrophies faster."

Her speech gave Michael pause. Feed? He felt a gnawing part of him, in the depths of his consciousness. Biting. Gnashing. A flash of memory — flickering like old film reel — bright lights and brighter truths. His vision from Kianna's locus. His glimpse of her past.

Part of him knew it was time to sate his demon's hunger. And that part knew what was coming.

The bewitched servants paired off with each of her children as per their mistress' command. Uma paced. Her eyes blazed with eagerness. A mama hen teaching her fledgelings to soar. Pride stirred, with a dash of care for her children thrown in.

When she came to Michael, positioning his 'prey', he seemed disturbed. “You've done this before?" he asked with an accusing stare. Did he know something?

“Yes," she replied.

Her son gulped, battling a return of his old reluctance. Tsk tsk, she tutted, should've moved past that by now. Uma comforted him, looking at him softly; she treated him as both a lover and son. “Ssshhh...Mikey...it'll come naturally, don't fight the urge."

She looked past him. “Come children! You need to keep your strength up!"

Donnie gave Michael a sideways glance, dumbly following their mother's directions. Uma placed her hand on the chest of her mesmerised victim, and instructed her kids to do likewise. Donnie broke the mould and acted first, slamming his palm onto the servant's chest. Not a peep came from his assigned slave — a thirty-something man with a slightly overweight figure. You'd be mistaken for thinking he was a corpse, turgid from rigor mortis. Well...where this event was leading...

Michael reached out, too slow for Jacob and Cynthia, who soon followed Donnie's lead. Minus the panic in their breathing. He gave himself over to instinct, a passive observer, watching his arm extend...his fingers make contact. His assignee — a woman of nondescript age — remained perfectly still. Replaying his vision, he sealed his palm to her chest, feeling her collarbone rise past his fingertips, marking the limit of his digits' reach.

“Now, my children," Uma purred, “let yourself go."

A shimmer emerged across Michael's hand, racing up his arm. When it reached his chest his heart stopped beating. Only for a second, only freezing the pounding organ for a fraction of an instant. Enough to startle him, snap him back from passivity. He was in control. He had the ability to choose.

So why did he not stop?

Uma's victim convulsed. The golden light turned into a stream, flowing from prey to predator. They all watched her feed, draining the life from an unsuspecting soul; hurtling inexorably down the same path. She threw her head back, mouth agape, revelling in the moment of sacrifice. Jacob joined her, devouring his servant with famished zeal. Cynthia stalled, sharing glances with her reluctant brothers, hoping in a brief passing of thought that she'd not be alone in Jacob's camp. Her prayers were answered when Donnie yowled, his connection spiralling out-of-control. Light, life...radiating outward, swirled from his slave to him. His wings and tail twitched, fluttering rapidly as he fed, drinking the soul of another. His demonic form rippled...flexed...glowed with newfound energy. He made a pained expression, locking eyes with his sister. She smiled warmly and gave herself to the frenzy.

Michael was last. He remained a virgin amid the orgy of soul-eating. Pictures of Kianna, succubus, devouring loyal followers in some unnamed place kept appearing. Kept him from surrendering to his demonic instinct. Over time, as the brightness surged around him, they came less frequently. Less and less, until...they came no more. Without a barrier to protect him, he felt the pull of his new nature. Feed. FEED!!! it roared, ravenous and unyielding.

Light burst from beneath his palm. His shock dissolved upon first taste.

More vivid than the vision. More divine than anything he'd experienced. He sated his hunger. Quenched his thirst. Banished the emptiness as a flood of life essence spilled into the dark. Emotions ran high.

So this is what Kianna felt. What she craved.

Groaning, he reached out with his spare hand. Can't say I blame her.

Uma absorbed her servant, greying his hair and skin. She surveyed her children, all feeding in accordance with her guidance. Wonderful!

In the storm of light, she shut her eyes. A second of pitch-black passed, then...she opened them...

Michael and his siblings stared in awe and fear as a purple light burned into them. Their mother's eyes projected a harrowing illumination; it had weight, and bore down on them. Their demonskin protected from the brunt of the glow, but even still they felt a stinging pain just under the skin. The light pulsed. Warmth enveloped the room. Her skin hardened, ridges spreading further and deeper than before. Her wings thickened. The room shook, rattling furniture and ornaments. Drunk on the ecstasy of life, she didn't notice the sparks bursting from her extremities. Her meal thinner, their body withered and bony.

As the feast came to an end, slowly but surely, Uma stepped forward from her husk of a servant. The creature — not even worthy of being called human — collapsed in a heap of brittle bones. The Eriksson children's own slaves had been drained. They joined the desiccated mess on the floor in quick succession. Jacob, then Donnie, then Cynthia, then...

Michael watched his prey fall to the ground. His body surged with energy, muscles tingling, joints aching. Cock throbbing. He looked around. He saw Uma walk over to Donnie, holding his cheek and whispering into his ear. Jacob and Cynthia eagerly awaited her adulation — her praise for a lesson well-learned. Michael stepped back, his taloned feet clacking on the hard floor, scorched of any upholstery. He caught Donnie's gaze, sharing in their mutual terror.

Uma reached her middle son, beaming with joy. “Well done," she said, her thumb brushing his cheekbone — feeling out the hardened contours in his hellish, dark-lipped and rust-browed visage. Michael was about to speak, to mutter some empty phrase of acceptance, but she seized him and kissed him. Their lips, wetted in anticipation, clashed. Pressing together, tongues danced, waltzing in time with her fondling. Michael felt her cup his ass, squeezing the tight musculature. “My son, my prince," she cooed, hushed and hurried. There was so much still to do!

Leaving him, she went back to Cynthia. From where Michael stood he couldn't hear, nor could he read lips. But he could hazard a guess as to what they discussed. Power. Cynthia's eyes told the whole story. She was fast leaning what it meant to wear her demonskin, and who better than a queen more powerful than their corruptor to teach her? Mother to them all. Ruler of their lives. Caring and callous. An impossible combination of love and sin. Love that bound them, sin that cursed them:

Jacob, her enforcer.

Cynthia, her protégé.

Donnie, her beloved, fragile angel.

And Michael...

...

Michael, her lover.

He gasped for air. Heart racing. The storm of his lust burning every inch of his body. He made a mistake. He wasn't secure in his choice. And he could've fled! Could've run away — he'd packed and everything! Could've bade farewell to the town of Carlyle and the whole rotten curse—

PACT!

He shook his head.

It's a pact. Signed for and paid in sin, now blood. There's no going back.

His desire for Uma was hard to resist. He felt at home in her arms. There wasn't anything anyone could do or say to change that. He reckoned this must be how Donnie felt, falling for his sister...

DONNIE!

His mind chattered, errant thoughts bouncing around that head of his. He moved quickly, sidestepping Uma, twisting around Cynthia, and avoiding Jacob; he came to Donnie, who remained silent.

His brother tilted his head up, meeting his worried gaze. Both conflicted. Both horrified. Michael held out his hand. He kept his voice quiet for fear of discovery.

“We need to go somewhere...and do something...I'll explain on the way..."