Chapter 3 (~13k words):
– Dumbledore –
It was so close to the end of the school year and yet the problems at Hogwarts never ceased.
Dumbledore stood in the infirmary beside Madam Pomfrey, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his expression composed even as his mind worked furiously. Beyond the neat rows of beds, he could see James Potter Sr. and his son sitting together, both looking devastated. Lily Potter crouched beside them, her arms wrapped around her husband's shoulders in a vain attempt at comfort.
Nearby, James Jr.'s friends — Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger — spoke softly to the boy, their hushed tones unable to mask their concern.
Madam Pomfrey's voice cut through the heavy silence. "It's not an injury, Headmaster. It's… something else entirely." She paused, visibly shaken. "I've run every diagnostic I know. This is some incredibly ancient and powerful dark magic — a bloodline curse." She glanced nervously at the Potters before lowering her voice further. "It's on par with the Greengrass family curse. As far as I can tell, it renders every man of the bloodline impotent and sterile."
Dumbledore's mouth set into a thin, grim line. His blue eyes, normally twinkling with a grandfatherly glow, darkened with irritation.
This was not news he wanted to hear.
The Potters had been his staunchest supporters for generations, a family whose loyalty to him and his causes had been reliable — and profitable. He had always enjoyed the certainty of new generations of Potters coming under his guidance at Hogwarts, malleable and bright and eager to serve the greater good he envisioned.
Now, with a single act of malice, that entire bloodline was at risk of collapsing. Unless the curse could be broken on James Jr. — the Boy Who Lived, the cornerstone of his carefully cultivated legend — the Potters would wither away. No heirs. No future. No new Potter children for him to shape for the next generation.
His mind raced, weighing possibilities. Was it the Death Eaters, striking from the shadows for revenge after Voldemort's fall? Could it be the work of an old rival, someone he'd underestimated? The Potters had many enemies over the years, but few with the skill to execute a curse like this.
No, this wasn't random. This was personal. He felt like he was missing something important here.
And then his eyes went wide underneath his glasses.
The girl!? Was she the one to do this? Was the prophecy already coming to pass?
No! That should be impossible. Her magic was bound and she was cast out to live the pathetic and filthy life of a muggle until the magic seals eventually drain her life and kill her. That prophecy was never going to pass under his watch!
Dumbledore straightened his robes and composed himself, carefully arranging his face into one of grandfatherly concern and warmth. Inside, he felt only cold irritation and a simmering anger that someone had dared to harm what he saw as his loyal followers. He did not appreciate having his property damaged, especially when it was such useful, obedient property like the Potter family.
"My dear friends," he said, walking toward the little group and opening his arms in an affected gesture of sympathy. "I can scarcely express how deeply sorry I am."
James Potter Sr. looked up at him with defeated eyes, humiliation etched deep into his face. Lily leaned into her husband's side, tears glistening on her pale cheeks. Beside them, James Jr. sat hunched over, staring numbly at the floor. His friends Ron and Hermione stood by nervously, clearly worried but unsure what to say or do.
"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione spoke up, her voice shaking slightly. "What's happened? How could something like this even occur?"
Dumbledore looked at her kindly, gently placing a reassuring hand on the young witch's shoulder. "Miss Granger, Madam Pomfrey has informed me that this is no ordinary curse. This is dark magic of the most ancient and sinister variety." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "A bloodline curse has been cast upon the Potters—powerful enough to render the men of this family completely impotent and sterile."
Lily gasped softly, pressing a trembling hand to her mouth, while James Sr.'s fists clenched in anger and shame.
"But—but who would do such a thing?" Lily whispered desperately. Her emerald eyes pleaded with Dumbledore for answers. "Why would someone target my husband and son?"
Dumbledore sighed heavily, feigning regret and frustration as convincingly as he could manage. "I'm afraid I do not yet know who is responsible, Lily. But rest assured, I shall spare no effort in uncovering the culprit. Whoever did this will answer for their crimes."
He let his words hang in the air dramatically, silently pleased as Lily gazed at him with grateful relief. James Sr.'s shoulders relaxed slightly, the anger fading into trust and admiration toward his old Headmaster. Even young James Jr. seemed comforted by his promise. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, clearly reassured as well.
Dumbledore continued carefully, keeping his voice warm and steady. "I promise you this: I will get to the bottom of this and find a way to reverse this terrible curse. You have my word, dear friends. Healing James and young James Jr. is my absolute highest priority. After all, it is the very least I can do after all your family has sacrificed."
He watched with quiet satisfaction as their faces shifted from devastation to hope. Lily smiled softly at him, tears still shining in her eyes but now glistening with gratitude rather than despair. James Sr. gave a small nod, his expression filled once more with loyalty and worshipful trust. It was exactly the reaction Dumbledore had wanted.
As they all murmured their thanks and voiced their faith in him, Dumbledore nodded humbly, placing his hand over his heart as though deeply moved.
Professor McGonagall swept into the infirmary. The sharp click of her boots on the stone floor cut through the low murmurs of the room. Her eyes moved quickly to the beds where the Potters sat before flicking to Dumbledore, her expression tight with concern. "How are they?" she asked quietly.
Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles, his lined face arranged in a mask of grave sympathy. "Not good, Minerva," he said softly, pitching his voice with just the right tone of paternal regret. "But rest assured, I will get to the bottom of this tragedy."
He tilted his head, the kindly façade never slipping. "Did you need me for something?"
McGonagall nodded, her voice clipped. "Yes. An urgent missive just arrived from Gringotts. They request your immediate presence."
Twenty minutes later, Dumbledore sat in one of Gringotts' private offices, his long fingers steepled before him as his piercing blue eyes bored into the trembling goblin across the desk. The room was lavish by goblin standards — dark wood paneling, heavy iron-bound bookshelves, and runic carvings in the walls to keep magic secure.
The goblin known as Ruknuk shifted uncomfortably in his chair, sweat beading on his brow.
Dumbledore's mind flicked briefly over the past. Ever since Sirius Black had been tossed into Azkaban, and that old fool Arcturus Black had "died" of dragonpox — in truth, a carefully crafted assassination disguised as illness by Dumbledore himself — this particular goblin had been very useful. Ruknuk had been on his payroll for years, quietly siphoning off the Black family fortune into both of their accounts. Dumbledore had been patient, methodical.
The Blacks were rich, and their gold had served his plans well.
But now, his patience was gone. His eyes were cold as ice, his voice soft and dangerous. "Explain," he ordered.
Ruknuk swallowed hard, claws nervously picking at the edge of the desk. "A young woman came to the bank an hour ago," he said quickly. "She claimed to be the current Lady Black and Head of the Black Family. She passed all the bloodline tests."
Dumbledore's jaw tightened. "And?"
"I— I gained her trust," the goblin stammered. "Told her I could arrange protective wards on her family home. I thought I had convinced her completely. My plan was to report everything to you as soon as she left…"
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his blue eyes burning like cold fire. "And then what happened?"
The goblin's ears flattened against his head. "She wanted to make a standard withdrawal. She went down to the Black vaults with one of our goblins escorting her—Neither of them returned." He gulped and then continued. "It was only hours later," Ruknuk continued desperately, "that we sent someone else to investigate. The vaults— they're empty, Headmaster. Completely empty."
Dumbledore's fingers curled slowly on the desk, the only sign of his fury. His voice remained quiet, almost gentle, but it made the goblin flinch. "All of it?"
"Yes," Ruknuk squeaked. "Gold, jewels, artifacts. Everything."
Inside, Dumbledore's anger burned white-hot. Someone had walked into his bank, charmed his informant, and stripped the Black family vaults bare. Someone had outplayed him.
That was intolerable!
Something suddenly crossed Dumbledore's mind. He narrowed his eyes, leaning forward sharply in his chair. "Describe this young woman to me in detail, Ruknuk," he demanded.
The goblin swallowed nervously, his eyes shifting uncomfortably. He seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, as though trying to keep himself from saying too much.
"She wore strange Muggle clothes," Ruknuk began hesitantly, his voice low and strained, "but even so, she was an incredibly attractive witch. Very... very beautiful." The goblin's voice trailed off awkwardly, his expression caught between embarrassment and lustful hunger. "She had a perfect face, full lips, and striking features. Her hair was long and black, flowing down her back. And her eyes—Headmaster, they were the brightest green I've ever seen, almost glowing. Her body was extremely appealing—large, ample breasts and a perfectly shaped rear end. Wide hips too, very—very breedable."
Ruknuk fell silent, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, his breathing heavier than before.
Dumbledore rolled his eyes in clear disgust at the goblin's vivid description.
He knew something most of the magical world did not—the ministry kept it that way of course—He knew there were no female goblins at all.
Their species only produced males.
As a result, goblins found themselves needing human women for their species to continue. In fact, they often secretly kidnapped and bred with Muggle women, hiding their dark acts far beneath Gringotts' secure vaults. If that repulsive secret were ever revealed to wizarding society, the outrage would almost certainly lead to open warfare between wizardkind and the goblin race once again.
The goblins had always gone to great lengths to hide their shameful appetites. Those working in Gringotts were typically forced to wear enchanted libido-suppressor rings to prevent their attraction to human witches and Muggle women from interfering with business. But judging by Ruknuk's flushed face and trembling hands, the description of this particular young woman had managed to partially overcome the powerful enchantments on his ring.
Dumbledore sat back slowly, his blue eyes sharp and calculating behind his half-moon spectacles. This girl Ruknuk had described—a witch with long black hair and vivid green eyes—sounded unsettlingly familiar.
His jaw tightened. "Could it truly be her...?" he murmured quietly to himself, his fingers tightening into a fist upon the desk. "Heather Potter?"
He quickly dismissed that thought as ridiculous. Heather Potter was a pathetic squib—useless, powerless, and she was also VERY unattractive.
No, despite the fact that Dumbledore rarely believed in coincidence, there was no way Heather Potter could be this woman. Especially considering the fact that she should barely be able to move today after what James did to her once Lily wasn't looking. James had used the cruciatus curse quite liberally on his unconscious daughter to punish her before they dumped her in that alley. As a squib, she should barely be able to move without excruciating agony for months…
No, whoever Amara Black was, she had to be someone else.
Dumbledore's eyes suddenly went wide! Could it be? Dumbledore always had a theory that Bellatrix and Tom were much closer than they appeared. Was this Amara Black the secret love child of the Dark Lord!?
Damn! That made too much sense to ignore!
His instincts told him that he only had a couple of months to prepare to face Voldemort's daughter, the upcoming school year might be the most important yet.
– Amara –
I woke up, blinking groggily at an unfamiliar ceiling. The first thing I noticed was the scratchy fabric rubbing uncomfortably against the bare skin of my back. I shifted, wincing slightly, and slowly sat up, my vision clearing enough to reveal stained walls that peeled in places, exposing old layers of mildew and rot.
"Ugh…where the fuck am I now?" I muttered under my breath, brushing back my long black hair from my face. Though, honestly, I shouldn't have been so picky. I'd spent most of my life in that shitty orphanage, and even Grimmauld Place—despite the Blacks' supposed wealth—had always felt run-down and gloomy as hell. But still, after everything that happened, waking up in yet another dilapidated room didn't exactly fill me with optimism.
I sighed heavily, glancing downward at myself—and then froze, my eyes widening in shock.
Holy fuck—I was completely naked.
My own pale, flawless breasts rose and fell gently with my suddenly rapid breathing, their large, round shape accentuated by pink nipples that hardened slightly from the cool air. I stared at my nude body in confusion and embarrassment, heat rushing up my neck into my cheeks.
"What the actual fuck?" I whispered softly, trying to recall how I ended up like this. Just as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet barely touching the cold floor, the door to the room suddenly swung open.
I gasped, eyes flying to the doorway.
Morgana stood there casually, her emerald gaze sliding slowly over my naked form without even the slightest attempt to hide her appreciation. Her smirk widened wickedly, clearly savoring every inch of me—from my ample tits, down my slim waist and wide hips, lingering deliberately on the sensitive spot between my thighs. My face flushed an even deeper crimson under her heated scrutiny, and my pulse sped up embarrassingly.
"Good, you're awake," Morgana finally said, giving a casual nod of approval. "You seem quite healthy this morning. While you were sleeping, I performed a magical evaluation of your body—to ensure there weren't any lingering magical bindings or hidden illnesses I wasn't already aware of. You're in absolutely perfect health…well, as far as I can tell. I'm not a succubus myself, after all." She flashed me another wicked grin, eyes twinkling playfully.
I rolled my eyes in embarrassment, desperately trying to ignore how turned-on her stare was making me. I crossed my legs tightly, hoping she wouldn't notice how damp I already felt between my thighs.
"Did I really have to be completely naked for this…check-up of yours?" I asked irritably, trying—and failing—to keep my voice steady.
Morgana just chuckled lowly, tilting her head as her hungry eyes moved across my breasts again. "No, my dear Amara, you didn't have to be naked—but it certainly made the examination far more enjoyable for me."
I huffed quietly, blushing furiously at her shameless teasing, but also secretly feeling warmth pool deliciously between my legs at her casual dominance. God, this succubus blood of mine was really going to be an issue if I couldn't even handle simple teasing without nearly dripping all over the floor.
Morgana finally relented, gesturing toward the foot of the bed. "I've left a dress there for you. Get dressed and join me in the next room." Her voice dripped with suggestiveness as she turned, hips swaying confidently, and walked out without bothering to close the door behind her.
I sighed deeply, glancing toward the bed's edge. A single black dress was laid out for me, but my Muggle clothes from yesterday were nowhere to be seen. And as I picked up the dress, I realized to my embarrassment that there weren't any panties or bra provided either.
"Seriously, Morgana?" I muttered in exasperation. Still, it wasn't like I had another choice. Reluctantly, I stood up and slid the silky fabric over my naked skin, gasping softly at the feel of the material gently brushing against my overly sensitive nipples and ass.
I quickly pulled the dress down until it hugged my curves tightly, emphasizing my newly lush, generous breasts and wide hips. The dress was scandalously short—barely reaching the top of my thighs, stopping just short of exposing my firm ass cheeks.
I'd never worn anything nearly this provocative before, in either of my lives.
I shifted nervously, tugging uselessly at the hem in an attempt to hide more of myself, but there wasn't exactly enough fabric for modesty. I squirmed, feeling more heat bloom shamefully between my legs, my thighs rubbing slightly together as I moved. With a sigh of resignation, I gave up trying to adjust the revealing dress and turned toward the doorway. It was pointless delaying the inevitable.
I needed to face whatever Morgana. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and walked out into the next room.
The living room honestly wasn't much better than the shitty bedroom I'd just woken up in. As I walked through the doorway, I glanced around, noting the cracks running through the grimy windows and the peeling wallpaper barely clinging to crumbling plaster. Weak sunlight filtered through filthy glass, lighting the dusty, stained furniture that filled the room.
I moved toward one of the cracked windows and peered cautiously out onto the street below. The daylight illuminated a sprawling cityscape filled with towering, oppressive buildings constructed in sharp angles and dark stone, draped in shadow. Gothic spires pierced the bleak sky, gargoyles perched ominously along rooftops. This sure as hell wasn't London—I'd never seen architecture quite this gloomy and intimidating back home. Wherever we were, it looked depressing as hell, yet it somehow felt like the right backdrop for everything that had happened so far.
Behind me, Morgana sat casually perched atop a run-down wooden table, swinging one shapely leg idly as she studied me with amusement.
"Where exactly are we?" I finally asked, keeping my voice steady despite my nervousness.
Morgana smirked slightly, looking thoroughly unimpressed as she gave a careless wave of her hand. "Welcome to Gotham City, my dear apprentice," she said dryly, without much enthusiasm.
Right, Gotham. Vague memories returned to me, mixed with dizziness from the weird blood ritual Morgana had done before I'd passed out. I distinctly recalled her mentioning Gotham City back then, though at the time, the concept had seemed distant and unreal.
Although, the fact that I was actually in the DC Universe still seemed unreal to me.
I turned away from the window to face her fully. "Okay. Gotham. But why exactly did we come here of all places?"
At my question, Morgana finally stood up from the table and began pacing slowly around the room. With her confident stride, seductive hips swaying with each deliberate step, she actually seemed like a proper teacher preparing to lecture me.
I couldn't help but watch appreciatively.
"You see, Amara," she began, her voice unusually serious and steady, "as my new apprentice—and someone who barely knows the first thing about magic—your safety is paramount to me."
I raised an eyebrow slightly in surprise. She actually sounded… sincere? Morgana caught my surprised expression and gave me a smirk, clearly amused by my reaction, before continuing her explanation.
"Furthermore, as you've recently awakened your succubus bloodline, you are, for all intents and purposes, a newly-born demoness. Do you understand what that means?" She paused for emphasis, her emerald eyes fixed sharply upon me.
I shook my head slowly. "No—not exactly."
She let out a patient sigh, stepping closer until she was standing directly in front of me, her piercing gaze capturing my full attention. "It means, my dear, that countless powerful beings across this world undoubtedly sensed your demonic birth—or rebirth, if you prefer—as soon as your succubus nature awoke."
My breath caught nervously, my heart thumping a bit faster at her ominous words. "That would have been not good…"
"Very not good." Morgana gave me a sympathetic, knowing look. "Honestly, it's a miracle you managed to last even half a day alone without some angel or demon hunter attempting to track you down and exterminate you."
I swallowed hard, feeling a shiver of dread run down my spine at that thought.
Morgana let the silence hang in the air, allowing the weight of her words to sink in, before stepping away again and resuming her leisurely pacing. She continued her explanation calmly, almost casually now, as though she'd just given me a weather update rather than an existential threat. "And that, Amara, is precisely why Gotham City is so perfect for your situation. This entire city is practically soaked in dark magic, evil intent, and chaotic energies at all times." She turned to face me again, her lips curling slowly into a satisfied, wicked smile. "Here in Gotham, even someone like you—a demoness radiating powerful, freshly awakened dark magic—can blend seamlessly into the background. No one will be able to detect your presence or distinguish your aura from the dark currents constantly flowing throughout these streets."
I exhaled shakily, relief flooding through me as her reasoning became clear. Gotham was essentially a massive magical smoke-screen, hiding me in plain sight from powerful entities who might otherwise hunt me down immediately.
As if reading my thoughts, Morgana stepped close once more, placing a gentle hand on my bare shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. Her touch felt electric on my skin, and I barely resisted the urge to lean further into her. She gave me an encouraging look, her voice softening slightly with genuine reassurance. "Trust me, Amara. Here in Gotham, I can protect you and more importantly, teach you to protect yourself. In this dark place, no one will question our presence. And soon enough," her eyes sparkled darkly, "no one will dare threaten you ever again…"
"I'm ready to learn," I told Morgana enthusiastically. "What's first?" My eyes drifted around the crappy apartment again, and I couldn't quite hide my look of distaste. Everything around us screamed poverty and decay, from the cracked walls to the worn furniture.
Morgana chuckled softly, clearly amused by my obvious disgust. "Oh, I quite agree, my apprentice. It's hardly luxurious. Unfortunately, thanks to those insufferable bastards in the Justice League, I've had all my assets—both mundane and magical—seized from me. We're essentially starting from absolute zero."
"What about the hundreds of millions of pounds in gold you're holding onto for me?" I asked her.
She just gave me a look and shook her head. "My Apprentice, the two of us are both essentially illegal immigrants, and I myself and a wanted criminal on top of that. Where exactly do you think we will be able to exchange hundreds of millions of dollars worth of gold for cash? At the most, we could go to a couple pawn shops and get a few thousand dollars. But also, remember this is Gotham and the odds are those pawn shops will do their very best to rip us off."
I sighed quietly, nodding in understanding. "I guess it wasn't going to be that easy…"
Who knew having TOO MUCH MONEY and no way to liquidate it would be such a hassle…? In the Wizarding world, no one really ever asked where your money came from, gold was gold.
Her expression softened slightly and then there was a wicked glint entering her emerald eyes. "But before we concern ourselves with worldly wealth, we need to start with something more fundamental. You need to fully familiarize yourself with your new body. Are you even aware of all its… unique features yet, my dear?"
I gave her a puzzled look, shaking my head slowly. "I'm… not entirely sure what you mean," I admitted uncertainly, feeling uneasy at her knowing smirk.
Morgana laughed again, clearly enjoying my confusion. "My dear, there's a reason I dressed you in such a slutty little dress. And not merely because I greatly enjoy the way your beautiful body fills it out so deliciously." She slowly circled around behind me.
I shivered slightly as her gaze roamed across my nearly-exposed back and down toward the scandalously short hemline of the dress. Heat flooded my cheeks when I remembered she'd deliberately left me without panties, my bare pussy embarrassingly exposed beneath the thin fabric.
Morgana's breath ghosted teasingly against my sensitive neck as she whispered from behind me, "The back of your dress is bare for a very particular reason, as is your lack of underwear."
My pulse quickened nervously. "W-what reason?" I asked.
She didn't reply at first. Instead, she stepped away, positioning herself back in front of me, an unreadable smile curving her luscious lips. Raising two fingers, she suddenly pointed straight at me, eyes flashing with sudden intensity. "I command you to reveal your true form, demoness!"
Before I could react, a jet of swirling darkness shot from Morgana's outstretched fingers, striking my body dead-center. My breath caught in surprise as tingling magic surged through every nerve-ending, spreading from my chest to my limbs. It wasn't painful—but it was overwhelming, like electricity crackling softly beneath my skin.
Then, an odd, wet sound filled my ears, coming from my back. My eyes widened as I twisted around frantically to see. Shock and disbelief struck me as two small, leathery black wings extended from my shoulder blades. They stretched slowly, unfurling gently as though stiff from disuse. They looked exactly like bat wings—no, more accurately, exactly like the wings of a succubus straight out of a harem anime or something.
"Holy shit," I whispered breathlessly. But before I could process my wings fully, I suddenly felt another alien sensation lower down, near the bottom of my spine. Something thin and flexible brushed against the sensitive skin of my ass and upper thighs beneath the skimpy hemline of the dress.
I gasped sharply, reaching behind myself quickly. My fingers closed around a thin, smooth length of flesh—a tail!
I had a fucking succubus tail now.
I gently pulled it into view, marveling at the slender appendage. It was black, velvety, and sensitive to touch.
I blushed furiously, both horrified and secretly thrilled at my new features.
I dropped my tail nervously with another thought suddenly occurring to me. My hands flew immediately upward to touch the top of my head, dread filling me at the possibility of having horns as well!
I let out a shaky sigh of relief upon finding only my silky hair—no sharp, demonic horns sprouted there, at least.
Morgana laughed openly, watching my reactions with obvious amusement. "Relax, my lovely apprentice. You don't have horns—at least not yet. But yes, your new body includes certain… additions."
Slowly, I extended my wings again experimentally, feeling them stretch and flutter delicately behind me. My tail swished instinctively from side to side beneath my dress, caressing the backs of my bare thighs and sending electric tingles straight to my already embarrassingly wet pussy.
My succubus instincts seemed more than happy to welcome these demonic additions. I lifted my eyes toward Morgana, my voice breathless and quiet as I finally spoke, "Alright. I… suppose I can get used to this. What's next?"
Morgana chuckled softly at my hesitant words. "Very well, apprentice," she purred silkily. "Let's see exactly how quickly you can get accustomed to these intriguing new additions to your body."
I tilted my head nervously, wondering exactly what she meant, when her gaze lowered to my delicate, freshly-sprouted tail. Before I could move or protest, her slender hand reached out and brushed lightly against the smooth skin of my tail.
A sharp hiss of surprise left my lips, pleasure jolting instantly up the sensitive nerves of my new appendage and directly to my spine. Fuck, my tail was incredibly sensitive. Just that slight touch made my thighs quiver and caused a fresh pulse of wetness to soak my inner thighs.
"Interesting reaction," Morgana observed with satisfaction, a wicked smile curving her lush lips. She wrapped her delicate fingers more fully around my slender tail, gripping it gently yet firmly, and then slowly started stroking her fingers along its entire length.
"Oh fuck," I gasped loudly, arching my back instinctively. My knees buckled slightly at the overwhelming sensation that shot through every nerve ending in my hyper-sensitive body. Her touch was exquisite torture—pleasure igniting like fire in my core and spreading rapidly outward, filling my breasts, nipples, and pussy with needy, aching heat.
Morgana laughed again, obviously pleased by my helpless reaction. "My, my," she purred teasingly, eyes glittering. "It appears your new body is even more lewd and sensitive than I'd expected. You're certainly not doing a very good job proving you're in control, Amara."
"M-Morgana," I whimpered desperately, my voice shaky with overwhelming desire. My breasts felt heavy, nipples painfully stiff beneath the thin fabric of the scandalous dress she'd provided me. Each stroke along my tail made my soaked pussy throb harder, desperate for relief. I squirmed helplessly, struggling to stay upright as Morgana increased the tempo of her merciless teasing, sliding her hand rhythmically up and down the length of my tail.
"Please—" I gasped breathlessly, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure crashed over me relentlessly. My hips rocked forward helplessly, pussy aching for friction that wasn't there. "Fuck—ahh—I can't—"
"You can't what, Amara?" Morgana mocked gently, clearly enjoying my torment. Her thumb pressed teasingly against the sensitive tip of my tail, rubbing tight little circles, driving me to madness. "Control yourself? Stop yourself from succumbing to pure carnal pleasure?"
I moaned loudly, my entire body trembling violently. Every nerve felt frayed, overloaded with sensation and desire. Her fingers tightened around my tail, stroking faster and more deliberately now, pushing me rapidly toward a powerful, uncontrollable climax.
"Cum for me, my beautiful apprentice," Morgana whispered seductively. "Show me just how sensitive your sweet little demon body is."
I completely lost it at her words, a wave of blinding pleasure crashing violently through me. My entire body spasmed as my pussy clenched tightly in orgasm, juices gushing hotly down my thighs as I cried out shamelessly in pleasure. My breasts and nipples tingled deliciously, every nerve alive with ecstasy, my tail thrashing desperately in Morgana's skilled hands.
"Fuck—yes—I'm cumming!" I screamed, surrendering fully to the intense release.
Morgana watched smugly, clearly pleased with herself, continuing to gently stroke my trembling tail as my orgasm slowly faded. Finally, she released it, allowing me to collapse onto trembling knees in front of her, panting heavily and utterly spent.
She gazed down at me, amusement shining openly in her eyes. "It seems you have much to learn about controlling your new succubus instincts, Amara," she teased playfully. "But fear not—I'm an excellent teacher."
I glanced up at her weakly, still flushed and breathless.
Holy fuck. I'd never cum that hard before—not once, in either of my lives. And all she'd done was stroke my damn tail! If that was how good just one touch felt now, I couldn't even imagine what actual sex might do to me. My body still trembled slightly, thighs slick and sticky from how hard I'd climaxed. Fuck, it was going to take forever to get used to being this sensitive.
Congratulations on experiencing your first-ever orgasm as a succubus! You have been granted—[Sex Magic: Lewd Touch]! By making direct skin-to-skin contact with another being, you can channel dark mana into their body, gradually increasing their sexual arousal. Prolonged, continuous contact can even drive them to orgasm.
I stared at the floating text, blinking rapidly. Seriously? I got magic just from cumming? Well, that certainly seemed fitting for a succubus, I supposed. Still, it wasn't exactly going to help me in a fight—
Or… maybe it actually could? Distracting enemies mid-battle didn't sound like the worst idea I'd ever heard. I'd have to think more about that later.
Taking a shaky breath, I slowly forced myself back onto my feet. My knees felt like jelly, my thighs slick and sensitive, nipples still hard beneath my embarrassingly skimpy dress. Morgana stood a few feet away, arms crossed under her own perfect breasts as she watched my pathetic attempts to stand upright with open amusement.
I pouted slightly at her, heat still burning fiercely across my cheeks. She was my teacher now, technically, but she'd also just mercilessly teased me into one of the most intense orgasms of my existence. And honestly, there'd been a lot of blatant flirting between us already. I wasn't even sure exactly what our relationship was now. Apprentice and mentor? Something much more personal…?
Whatever we were, maybe it was better left unsaid right now. I wasn't sure I was emotionally equipped to tackle that particular issue just yet.
Seemingly reading my embarrassed confusion, Morgana chuckled softly. "Don't look so shy, Amara. You'll soon become accustomed to sensations that intense. In fact," she added smugly, eyes glittering mischievously, "we'll be repeating this little exercise multiple times each day from now on."
My eyes widened, mouth falling open slightly. "Wait, seriously?"
She nodded firmly, stepping closer to cup my cheek gently. "Of course. You're a succubus, my dear—but more importantly, you're my apprentice. It would be utterly humiliating for you to lose a battle simply because someone grabbed hold of your sensitive little tail." Her voice lowered into a serious tone, emerald eyes locking sharply onto mine. "And believe me, Amara, anyone aware of your true nature will absolutely use every single advantage they can. There are no rules, no mercy, no fairness in supernatural combat."
I swallowed nervously, recognizing the truth in her words. "You're right," I finally said quietly. "If my tail is such a glaring weakness, I need to build resistance. I'll practice however much you deem necessary, Morgana."
Her expression softened slightly, pride flickering across her beautiful face. "Good girl," she praised softly, stroking her thumb gently along my flushed cheek. "You will grow strong enough that your succubus instincts become a weapon, rather than a vulnerability."
My pulse quickened slightly beneath her approving gaze. She was right—my succubus blood might leave me dangerously sensitive right now, but eventually I could learn to use it to my advantage instead. And until then, I'd endure every intense training session Morgana devised, determined never again to lose myself so completely from just a single touch.
I gave Morgana a firm, determined nod. "Thank you, Morgana. I'll do whatever it takes."
She smiled approvingly, a dark gleam returning to her emerald eyes. "Oh, I know you will, apprentice. I look forward to testing your limits thoroughly."
My cheeks burned hotly once again, even as an eager shiver ran down my spine. Somehow, I got the feeling Morgana was going to enjoy training me far more than was strictly necessary.
And honestly? I was starting to think I might not mind so much either.
– Batman –
Batman leaned heavily over the Batcomputer, his expression grim beneath his dark cowl. A grim sense of foreboding settled deep in his chest as he replayed the security footage from Belle Reve prison yet again.
In the footage, Morgana—the powerful, ancient witch imprisoned by the League—stood quietly in the center of her high-security cell, her posture slumped in apparent defeat and despair. And then, without warning, the air around her burst into swirling flames, opening into a fiery portal. Morgana hesitated just briefly before stepping through and vanishing, leaving only a scorched circle behind.
Batman scowled darkly. That should have been impossible. Doctor Fate himself had personally engraved powerful runes into Morgana's cell, runes specifically designed to nullify and suppress her magical powers completely. Those enchantments had been tested rigorously and proven unbreakable—at least until today.
Yet somehow Morgana had broken through. Escaped. Batman's jaw tightened at the thought of what her freedom meant for the Justice League, Gotham, and possibly the entire world. She was one of the most dangerously powerful beings the League had ever faced, with a grudge now made infinitely worse by the tragic outcome of their last clash.
He still vividly remembered their previous battle with Morgana and her son, Mordred. Despite being over a thousand years old and an absolute monster responsible for countless deaths and atrocities, Mordred's mind had still been that of a child.
Batman hadn't liked how that confrontation had ended—not at all.
They had tried reasoning, pleading, and subduing Mordred, but the powerful magical child refused all attempts to stand down. Instead, he'd tried to activate a devastating magical artifact that would have obliterated a large section of Metropolis, killing millions. Wonder Woman had reacted instinctively, her powerful sword—a divine weapon forged personally by the god Hephaestus—plunging deep into Mordred's chest to stop the horrific destruction.
Mordred had looked genuinely shocked as he died, clearly never believing he could truly be killed after so many centuries gifted with immortal youth by Morgana herself. Batman grimaced silently at the memory, still haunted by the child's shocked, frightened eyes as life drained from them.
Morgana had been utterly inconsolable afterward, shrieking curses and threats of vengeance so intense and hate-filled it had shaken even Batman's iron resolve. She'd sworn to make each of them suffer for what they'd done to her son. It had taken Doctor Fate's strongest magic, aided by Superman's brute strength, to finally capture and imprison her securely.
But now, inexplicably free from Belle Reve, Morgana would undoubtedly begin making good on her threats. Batman was under no illusions about the seriousness of the situation. The witch would strike at the League sooner or later, but not before regaining her vast collection of powerful magical artifacts scattered throughout the world.
Batman quickly typed commands into his Batcomputer, opening a new file and starting a predictive analysis program to anticipate Morgana's next moves. He had to stay ahead of her if they had any chance of mitigating the coming disaster. His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, inputting information about her past behaviors, known contacts, and artifact locations.
Batman nodded grimly to himself, making an immediate plan. He would arrange for some of Morgana's artifacts to be secretly relocated, scattering them throughout Gotham and across the country. The harder he made it for her to gather them, the more time he'd have to prepare the League and Gotham for whatever came next.
He tapped his comms, his deep voice steady and controlled as he spoke. "Nightwing. Robin. Be on high alert. Morgana has escaped from Belle Reve. Assume you're both targets until further notice."
Nightwing's voice crackled back instantly, tense but calm. "Got it, Bruce. I'll keep the Titans on standby as well."
Batman felt a grim surge of relief at Dick's competent reply. After losing her own child, Morgana was highly likely to target younger members of the League—sidekicks, protégés, and members of teams like the Teen Titans—in a twisted attempt at revenge.
Batman would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening.
Morgana might be powerful, angry, and utterly ruthless, but so was he. And Gotham—his city, his responsibility—would never fall prey to her twisted vengeance, not while he was still breathing.
– Amara –
Three days later, I'd fully realized that Gotham City was every bit the dangerous shithole it was always portrayed as in movies and comics from my past life.
You'd think I'd have known that coming in, but nothing quite prepares you for experiencing it firsthand.
It wasn't as though Morgana kept me locked up inside the apartment, thankfully. In fact, she was surprisingly chill about me venturing outside. During those outings, I'd discovered something useful. I could make my succubus wings and tail vanish completely at will. It wasn't complicated, really—just a small mental push, and they disappeared instantly.
The downside was, hiding my demonic features like that seemed to dampen my magical strength just a bit. I'd also lose the insanely fun ability to fly. And yes, holy shit, flying was amazing. Feeling the wind rush over my body as I soared effortlessly across rooftops was a rush unlike anything I'd ever felt. So far, though, I'd only risked flying between a few rooftops, staying low and cautious. I wasn't eager to draw attention from any hero or surveillance system.
Especially since, as Morgana loved smugly pointing out, my face was literally identical to that of a notorious, very wanted villainess—hers. Our features, our emerald eyes, even our voices and accents were frighteningly similar.
Yeah, that wasn't going to bite me in the ass later at all.
Foreshadowing, much?
To mitigate that issue, whenever I ventured into the city, I stuck to wearing a dark hoodie to hide my distinctive features. Morgana had finally relented and returned my donated clothes, so at least I wasn't walking around Gotham in the scandalously short, skintight dress she'd initially given me—though admittedly, part of me had liked wearing something so openly provocative.
The hoodie helped, but I still couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that Batman probably had every camera in the city hacked and was constantly watching Gotham's residents like some creepy, caped Big Brother.
So, I was always careful, keeping my face mostly obscured and avoiding the busier streets.
But even sticking to back alleys and quieter parts of the city had its own set of dangers.
In the mere three days since we'd arrived, I'd already been targeted by attempted muggings no fewer than five times. Five! What kind of fucked-up city was Gotham anyway?
I mean, sure, our apartment was in an absolute shit neighborhood, but still—that was excessive.
Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for those dumb enough to attack me, my magic had made short work of each encounter. The idiots who tried mugging me quickly discovered that they'd fucked with the wrong girl. Watching their charred remains smolder at my feet, I'd felt surprisingly no remorse—if anything, it had given me a dark sense of vindication and satisfaction.
Yes, I knew burning people alive was horrible, but at the same time—I just didn't care…? They were muggers and probably also rapists and murderers as well.
Fuck them…
I strode cautiously through Gotham's grimy, trash-filled streets at night. Morgana had finally entrusted me with my first real task—my first job as the apprentice of a witch and a villain, as she put it.
She was scouting out new locations for our future base of operations in Gotham. Somewhere bigger where she could freely teach me more dangerous magic. I was in charge of procuring more cash for us so we could afford basic necessities like food and clothes and stuff…
That meant I was going to do a crime!
I passed by a brightly-lit jewelry store as I walked into a slightly nicer section of Gotham, barely giving it a second glance. Seriously, only idiots robbed jewelry stores. What the hell would you even do with all those stolen diamonds? The only places willing to buy stolen diamonds in bulk were other jewelry stores, who obviously knew exactly what stolen merchandise looked like. They'd either turn your ass in immediately or rip you off for pennies on the dollar.
No. Morgana had explained to me quite clearly that it was always better to go with something classic, reliable—like a bank.
The bank I'd targeted wasn't Gotham National or anything ridiculously grand. It was just a regular corporate-chain bank, small and unassuming, with minimal security and exactly one lazy guard on the night shift. In other words, it was the absolute perfect place for my very first robbery. Easy money, minimal risk, and no need to hurt anyone.
Because honestly, while I might not exactly be a good person anymore—in fact, I was pretty sure that ship had long since sailed.
My piece of shit parents and that bastard old man Dumbledore had seen to that!
But I wasn't about to start killing innocent people who hadn't actually wronged me. I'd defend myself from muggers and assholes without hesitation, but some random security guard doing his shitty nine-to-five?
He hadn't done anything to deserve getting burned alive.
Morgana had thoughtfully provided me with some useful talismans before I'd left. The first was basically the magical equivalent of an Alohomora charm—a small paper tag capable of unlocking any mundane door not warded or enchanted. I approached the bank's glass entrance doors and held the paper charm up to the lock, smiling slightly in satisfaction as it clicked open instantly.
I quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside, my footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. The lone security guard sitting near the entrance, clearly bored out of his mind and barely awake, immediately perked up at the sound, eyes going wide in surprise.
"Excuse me, miss—uh, the bank's closed right now!" he called, standing quickly. "How the hell did you even get inside?"
I feigned an expression of innocent confusion, widening my eyes in mock-surprise. "Oh no, really? The door was unlocked, so I thought it was fine." I slowly pulled my hood down, revealing my flawless face completely.
Almost instantly, the tension drained from his posture. Beautiful people really did have it disgustingly easy in life, didn't they?
Stepping a bit closer, I tilted my head sweetly. "Could I at least use the ATM for a quick withdrawal? Pretty please?"
His eyes immediately wandered down my body appreciatively, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a flirty grin. He didn't even bother reaching for the gun strapped to his hip. "Ah, sorry ma'am," he said smoothly. "That's against policy. I'd lose my job if I allowed it." He took another step closer to me, clearly enjoying the moment. "But maybe we could meet later for coffee or something?" He chuckled softly, clearly shooting his shot.
I pretended to blush shyly, raising a hand to delicately cover my mouth. "Hmm, maybe..." I giggled quietly, fluttering my lashes.
His expression lit up eagerly, and he closed the distance between us, completely off guard and entirely focused on me.
Dumbass.
With a fluid motion, I slipped another talisman from my sleeve and held it directly in front of his surprised face. "Sleep," I commanded firmly, releasing the stored magical energy into him.
His eyes flew open wide with shock, realization flooding his face just before his eyelids fluttered shut. "Shit…" he mumbled faintly as his body went completely limp. He collapsed heavily to the polished floor with a dull thud, completely unconscious.
The talisman burned away into ash in my hand—single-use, as Morgana had warned—but it had served its purpose well enough.
Just to be safe, I knelt beside the unconscious guard and removed his handcuffs from his belt, locking his wrists together securely behind his back. I also reluctantly took his gun, slipping it carefully into my magical inventory. Honestly, I had zero idea how to properly use the damn thing—and maybe it was just my inner Brit speaking—but I didn't really like guns. Still it was better to have it and not need it than the other way around right?
"Alright," I whispered to myself. "Time to hit the vault."
I walked swiftly toward the back of the bank. Ahead of me stood the vault—an impressive slab of reinforced steel and titanium alloys. Sure, I knew banks routinely emptied vaults, so it wasn't exactly going to be stuffed to the brim with millions in cash.
Still, it should easily hold tens of thousands—maybe even a hundred thousand if luck was on my side tonight.
I held up Morgana's unlocking charm in front of the massive vault door, murmuring softly. Immediately, I felt the magic inside the charm struggle to overcome the powerful, industrial-grade locking mechanism. The paper trembled faintly in my fingertips as if straining under the weight of the lock's resistance.
Then, after a tense moment, the magic finally punched through with a satisfying metallic click.
As the charm fizzled and disintegrated into nothingness between my fingers, I felt a brief pang of annoyance. I really needed my own wand. It was stupid that I'd left Diagon Alley without one, although Morgana had specifically warned me away from buying from Ollivander's, claiming their famed wands were actually second-rate garbage. Apparently, Ollivander's family had made their fortune selling essentially inferior magical products for over a thousand years.
According to her, if I wanted to become a genuinely powerful dark witch—and I definitely did—I'd be far better off crafting my own wand.
Morgana had explained that the secret to crafting a truly powerful wand was using forbidden blood magic to bind it permanently to me, exponentially increasing its power and responsiveness. Of course, that type of magic was heavily outlawed by the British Ministry, meaning Ollivander was effectively peddling mass-produced garbage.
It made me giggle slightly that the entire British wizarding world, smug and arrogant as they could be, had basically been running around waving the magical equivalent of Walmart bargain-bin wands for centuries.
Freaking idiots.
The vault door swung open slowly while I was lost in those smug thoughts, the thick metal hinges groaning heavily. Shaking myself from my amused thoughts, I stepped eagerly inside—and my eyes widened at the sight that greeted me. On a silver table sitting neatly in the middle of the vault were stacks of crisp, green cash. Thick bundles of twenties, fifties, and hundreds stood invitingly atop the polished surface.
I grinned excitedly, stepping quickly forward. Sure, there were likely dye packs and hidden tracking devices nestled discreetly between some of those neat stacks of money, but none of that would matter once I had it safely stored away in my inventory. Morgana had assured me that any hidden trackers or security measures could be easily neutralized back at our apartment.
Quickly and carefully, I began touching each bundle, watching as they instantly vanished into my invisible magical storage. It took only seconds, and soon the table was completely bare again. Doing some fast mental math, I couldn't stop the huge grin spreading across my face when I realized how much I'd just made in mere minutes of simple, relatively safe work. I'd easily snagged around fifty thousand dollars tonight alone.
Holy shit, why would any self-respecting witch or wizard ever waste their life slaving away at some boring, thankless nine-to-five day job, when making money was this stupidly easy?
Feeling smugly victorious, I turned around, almost whistling cheerfully as I began walking out of the vault. Of course, that was exactly the moment my luck for the evening finally decided to run out.
My heart skipped a wild beat as I froze, staring into the bank lobby in stunned disbelief. There, standing with arms crossed and a fierce scowl on his handsome face, was an honest-to-god superhero.
Nightwing. It was fucking Nightwing!
Despite the seriousness of the situation, a giddy, fangirlish excitement surged through me. Nightwing's costume hugged his impressive muscles in all the right places, accentuating the lean yet powerful body beneath. My eyes roamed shamelessly down his broad chest, lingering appreciatively on his strong shoulders and those incredibly well-toned abs that clearly showed through his tight-fitting uniform. Goddamn, he had muscles for days.
And now I realized I needed my own costume in this world, or some kind of signature outfit. It seemed like everyone had them.
The thrill faded slightly, though, when I saw the deep frown etched onto Nightwing's face. I could practically see the gears turning behind his domino mask as he studied me intensely.
"Morgana," Nightwing said darkly, his stance wary. "Isn't robbing a small, ordinary bank a little…beneath you?"
Ugh, seriously? Being mistaken for Morgana was apparently going to be my new normal.
Tilting my head at him with a playful little smile, I spoke carefully. "I'm not Morgana. Sorry, handsome. I think you're mistaking me for someone else."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously behind his mask. Arms still crossed, he scoffed slightly. "Do you honestly think I'm dumb enough to fall for that?"
I sighed in annoyance, folding my own arms beneath my chest—probably doing enticing things to my cleavage that Nightwing was too professional to openly enjoy. "Look, whether you believe me or not isn't really my problem. I'm telling you—I'm not Morgana." I tilted my head, giving him a curious look. "And what are you doing here anyway?"
His lips twisted slightly into a stern line. "Stopping an evil witch from robbing a bank, obviously."
Oh. Right. Although, evil witch felt a bit harsh. I preferred morally ambiguous dark witch, personally. Calling me straight-up evil was just plain rude.
Suddenly, Nightwing tensed visibly, slipping fluidly into a fighting stance. "Are you going to attack me? Don't you want revenge for what happened to Mordred?"
I blinked, utterly confused now. Slowly, I raised my hands in a placating gesture, trying to show I meant no harm. "Dude, again—I am not Morgana! I'm not just gonna randomly attack you unless you try attacking me first." A strange unease crept into my voice as realization dawned. Mordred…that name sounded familiar. "And hold on—what do you mean, 'what happened to Mordred?"
I'd completely forgotten until just now—Morgana definitely had a son named Mordred in the DC Universe. Come to think of it, she'd never mentioned him to me at all…why?
Nightwing's expression shifted subtly, his suspicion giving way to mild confusion. Slowly, he lowered his stance slightly. "Wait…are you really not Morgana?"
I rolled my eyes. "That's literally what I've been trying to tell you this entire time!"
Nightwing stared at me dumbfounded. "Wow, you look exactly like her."
"Yeah, trust me—it's a thing," I said dryly. "Neither of us knows why."
Something else occurred to him suddenly, and his body grew tense again, cautious. "Wait. Does this mean you're working with Morgana?"
I hesitated briefly, but my pride and excitement got the better of me. Lifting my chin defiantly, I met his cautious gaze. "Yes. You could say I'm Morgana's apprentice now," I admitted with a faint smirk. Before he could react, I quickly added, more softly, "But seriously—what exactly happened to Mordred?"
Nightwing's stern expression faltered for just a moment, something like regret flashing briefly across his features. "Mordred got hold of a powerful ancient dark artifact," he explained carefully. "If he'd succeeded in using it, it would've cost millions of innocent lives in Metropolis. To stop him, Wonder Woman had no choice but to…put him down. Morgana swore vengeance against the entire Justice League afterward, right before we locked her away in prison."
My stomach clenched. Mordred was dead? Morgana's son had actually died…and at the League's hands? No wonder she'd been so secretive. No wonder she'd been imprisoned. My heart suddenly ached for my mentor, my thoughts churning in confusion.
Nightwing was watching my face carefully, his voice becoming gentler, coaxing. "If you genuinely didn't know about Mordred, then you obviously haven't been her apprentice for very long." His voice softened more earnestly, eyes gentle now. "There's still time, you know. You don't have to follow her down this dark path. Look," he gestured meaningfully toward the unconscious guard cuffed safely on the floor. "You didn't hurt him, which means you're not some ruthless, violent criminal." He took a careful step toward me, arms opening slightly. "Just put the stolen money back, and come quietly. I promise to vouch for you personally—you'll hardly serve any real jail time at all. And afterward, maybe I can help you become someone better. A hero."
His hopeful sincerity caught me off guard, making my chest tighten oddly.
Becoming a hero?
That honestly wasn't something I'd ever thought possible—hell, I'd already burned multiple people to death in self-defense in the past few days alone. Nightwing had no clue about my darker actions.
Still, I appreciated his genuine offer, even if I knew deep down it was probably impossible for someone like me to walk the path of a hero at this point.
And truth wise, I didn't want to let go of my hatred at this point, I didn't want to let go of the thought of getting pay back against those who had wronged me. Even without [Simmering Fury], I didn't want to be a victim anymore!
Nightwing must have noticed my expression shift, because his muscles visibly tensed as he smoothly slipped back into a ready fighting stance. His eyes narrowed cautiously beneath his dark mask, yet his voice was soft—almost regretful—as he spoke to me again.
"I guess it's coming to this after all," he said quietly, disappointment clear in his tone. His expression softened into something genuinely sorrowful as he met my eyes. "Are you sure you won't reconsider?"
Those heroically sincere eyes were practically begging me to change my mind. Damn it, those sad puppy-dog eyes were just unfair. They almost made me feel guilty for what I was about to do. Almost.
I shook my head slowly, offering him a regretful smile. "Sorry, Nightwing," I said gently but firmly. "My path has already been chosen. Please, just get out of my way. My teacher is waiting for me."
He let out a heavy sigh and straightened, his posture radiating firm determination now. "You know I can't just let you walk out of here, right? Not after you assaulted a security guard and robbed a bank."
Fuck. Anxiety stirred in my chest, nerves fluttering uneasily in my stomach. Still, I forced myself to maintain a calm facade, attempting to bullshit my way through this encounter.
"Are you really sure about that?" I asked playfully, flashing him a teasing smile even as my heart raced. "Can't you see I'm completely unarmed? Assaulting an innocent woman is definitely a crime, you know." I raised one eyebrow challengingly, forcing false bravado into my voice. "You're not even an official member of law enforcement. Touch me, and I'll absolutely press charges."
Nightwing tilted his head slightly, clearly unimpressed by my threat, but a faint glimmer of doubt did flicker briefly across his face. Or at least that's what I chose to believe.
Inwardly, though, I was practically panicking. My magical arsenal was painfully limited, and I was seriously hesitant about using my flames against someone like Nightwing—someone genuinely good, who'd done nothing to deserve harm. And even though my succubus nature gave me a certain level of strength beyond a normal human woman of my size, there was no fucking way I could hope to match him physically.
I mean, seriously, just looking at those powerful muscles beneath his tight costume told me he'd trained his body relentlessly—probably to peak human capability. In this crazy universe, humans trained until they could literally dodge lasers and survive explosions. Batman himself was proof enough of that particular bullshit. If this confrontation turned physical, I was fucked.
Yet somehow, despite everything, it seemed my strange demonic luck hadn't entirely abandoned me. Just as Nightwing was about to make his move, he abruptly paused, raising one finger quickly to his ear. His head tilted slightly as if he was listening intently to a voice speaking through some hidden earpiece communicator.
– Nightwing –
Nightwing paused abruptly, pressing two fingers to the hidden communicator in his ear as Oracle's urgent voice cut sharply through.
"Nightwing, Robin needs backup right now!" Oracle's usually steady tone held a clear note of alarm. "He's on the east side of Gotham and just ran into Mr. Freeze. It's serious."
Nightwing cursed inwardly, his jaw tightening beneath the dark fabric of his mask. Damn it—of all the shitty timing. He stole another wary glance at the beautiful dark-haired witch standing calmly in front of him. He hated the idea of letting her walk out of this bank after what she'd done, but the choice wasn't even close.
Robin's life came first, always.
"Got it, Oracle. I'm on my way," he muttered tersely, voice low enough to be inaudible to the woman before him. He gave one last assessing look at the mysterious apprentice Morgana had apparently found for herself. And damn, wasn't that a terrifying fucking thought—two witches at Morgana's power level would be disastrous, not only for Gotham but for the entire Justice League. He had to stop this before it escalated—but not tonight. Tonight, Robin took priority.
"You got lucky this time," Nightwing growled softly to the beautiful witch, meeting her brilliant emerald eyes one last time. "Next time, you won't."
Without another word, he spun swiftly on his heel, sprinting toward the bank entrance and rushing out into the shadowy Gotham streets.
– Amara –
Grinning to myself, I quickly took advantage of my unexpected stroke of luck and hurriedly booked it out of the bank. My heart was still pounding furiously in my chest from the close call with Nightwing as I sprinted down the sidewalk. I was so distracted that I only made it a few steps away from the entrance before I ran directly into someone—hard.
I collided face-first into a pair of incredibly soft, full breasts, my face squishing embarrassingly into the generous cleavage of a woman much taller than myself. I stumbled slightly, catching myself against her body as warmth rushed into my cheeks. Blinking rapidly, I quickly glanced up and was momentarily stunned into silence.
The woman I'd just barrelled into was absolutely stunning—tall, dark-skinned, and gorgeous, with flawless features and a lush, full mouth that curled into a playful smirk as she stared down at me. She had long, silky brown hair cascading down her shoulders, framing her striking face perfectly. Her body was slim yet deliciously curvy, hips flaring dramatically beneath tight-fitting black leather jeans that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She wore a snug, provocative black tank top with bold white letters across the chest proclaiming her as "Lucifer's Bitch."
"Well, aren't you a naughty little girl," she drawled seductively, raising one perfect eyebrow at me. Her voice was smooth, rich, practically dripping sexuality. Her strong arms slid confidently around my back, pulling me even closer against her voluptuous body, crushing my chest against hers as my blush deepened even more.
My heart raced faster, and my breathing hitched as I stared up into her eyes—dark, smoldering, dangerous eyes that seemed to see right through me. Her breasts pressed firmly into mine, warm and pillowy soft through the thin fabric of her shirt. Despite myself, my body instinctively reacted to her touch, my nipples tightening noticeably beneath my hoodie.
Flustered by her teasing tone, I tried to regain my composure, scoffing softly. "I'm not a little girl," I retorted, narrowing my eyes up at her challengingly. "I'm a beautiful young woman."
Her smirk widened into an even more suggestive smile, dark eyes glittering hungrily as they shamelessly raked over my curves, lingering on my full chest and hips. "Oh, I definitely noticed," she purred huskily, her tongue flicking out briefly to tease along her full lower lip. Her gaze smoldered as it met mine again, practically dripping sex appeal.
My succubus instincts flared wildly within me—partly in arousal, and partly screaming at me in warning. There was something undeniably powerful and incredibly dangerous radiating off this mysterious beauty, something that made my pulse spike in a mixture of excitement and alarm.
I tensed slightly, pushing carefully back against her grip and slipping quickly out of her deceptively gentle embrace. It felt suspiciously easy, as though she'd deliberately allowed me to slip free.
The woman watched me curiously, clearly amused by my wary reaction. "Relax, gorgeous," she chuckled softly. "I'm just being friendly."
I stared at her uncertainly, my instincts still screaming danger. "Who the hell are you?" I asked cautiously.
She smiled broadly, confidence radiating from every inch of her luscious body. "My name's Maze, beautiful," she said casually. "And who might you be?"
That name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't focus on why right now…
"Amara," I answered warily, still eyeing her with suspicion. Then, cautiously, I added, "You're not another hero, are you?"
Maze threw back her head and laughed richly, the sound husky and sinful, causing my body to involuntarily shiver again with desire. Her dark eyes flashed playfully as she leaned in just a bit closer, whispering conspiratorially, "Oh, honey—I'm the furthest thing from a hero."
– Mazikeen –
When Lucifer told Mazikeen that a new demoness had awoken onto this world and asked her to track down the poor little thing, Maze had been intrigued. Lucifer rarely showed genuine curiosity in anything, and when he did, it usually meant trouble—delightful, decadent trouble.
On top of that was the fact that Lucifer apparently wasn't allowed to track down the new demoness himself, and he couldn't even tell her the reason why.
She started her search in Gotham City. After all, half the world's shitstorms seemed to originate in that gloomy, cursed city. Finding trouble there was rarely difficult. Also, if she was a young demon trying to hide herself, this is the city she would pick.
That would make finding the demoness harder for anyone else, but then again Maze was blessed with the devil's own luck. Quite literally since she was the closest thing he had to an actual friend….
Sure enough, luck led Maze right to the new demoness.
Or it was more like the beautiful young woman stumbled right into her own arms.
…
"Oh, honey—I'm the furthest thing from a hero," Maze said with a grin.
Mazikeen took a deep, savoring breath, inhaling Amara's scent. Her grin stretched wider. Oh, fuck yes. The fragrance rolling off Amara's beautiful body was unmistakable—she was a succubus.
Incredible. Exhilarating, even. Succubi were beyond rare—nearly extinct, if the rumors were true. Maze had believed the last of their kind had been brutally wiped out centuries ago. Yet standing right in front of her was not just any succubus. This one was utterly pristine, untouched by anyone else.
A virgin succubus.
Hell, Maze hadn't even believed such a thing could exist.
Amara was a treasure—a once-in-an-eternity find. Amara's emerald eyes watched her warily, cautious yet defiant. Maze's demonic senses easily picked up on Amara's instincts—young, inexperienced, nervous, and clearly on edge.
Slow down, Maze, she thought, frustrated with herself. You're scaring the poor girl.
She deliberately softened her approach, forcing her posture to relax. Maze allowed her smile to become friendly, rather than predatory, casually shifting her hips to adopt a less intimidating stance.
"Hey, Amara," Maze said, her voice gentler and warmer now. "I know we just met, but how about you spend some time with me tonight? Nothing serious—just a little fun. We could get drinks, dance a bit... get to know each other?"
Maze considered the invitation harmless enough. But the instant the words left her lips, Amara's wary gaze sharpened noticeably, her expression tightening with visible unease.
Amara shook her head slightly, stepping back again. "Sorry, Maze," she said, her voice guarded. "But I have to decline."
Well, fuck. Disappointment flickered sharply through Maze. She rarely got turned down—and certainly never by someone as deliciously tempting as Amara. Maze mentally cursed her own power. As a powerful demon, her presence alone could easily unsettle someone with such raw, unhoned instincts. Hell, she'd probably overwhelmed the poor girl just by standing there.
"I... I really have to get back to my teacher now," Amara said quietly, her voice strained. "Can I go?"
Her cautious eyes watched Maze carefully, waiting for permission. Amara's body was tense, clearly worried Maze might refuse. Something inside Maze softened. The last thing she wanted was to frighten off such an enticing creature, even though she desperately wanted to pull Amara into her arms and show her all the pleasures her succubus nature could offer.
"Of course you can, beautiful," Maze replied smoothly, masking her disappointment as best she could. She forced a reassuring smile. "I'm not going to keep you if you don't want to stay."
Amara visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping slightly in relief. Maze inwardly sighed. Passing up a treat as sweet as this girl was genuinely painful. Her mind quickly shifted gears. Amara had mentioned a teacher—whoever they were, Maze hoped they understood exactly how lucky they were to have such a rare beauty in their grasp.
In fact, who exactly was teaching this gorgeous young succubus? Were they worthy? Did they even realize how special Amara truly was? Maze suddenly burned with the urge to find out.
Technically, her assignment from Lucifer was complete. She'd found the new demoness he'd been so curious about. But really, how could he blame her if she decided to stick around Gotham City a little while longer? It wouldn't hurt to learn a bit more about Amara, would it?
Before Amara turned to leave, Maze took one final chance. "Wait—Amara, do you mind giving me your number?" she asked gently. "You know, just in case you change your mind and wanna hang out."
Amara hesitated, her cheeks flushing softly. Embarrassment and something like frustration flickered across her pretty face. She shuffled awkwardly on her feet before finally admitting, "…I don't have a phone..."
– Amara –
I made it back to our crumbling shit apartment, the place we'd been squatting in for the past few days. As I stepped inside, Morgana was waiting there for me, lounging casually against the cracked kitchen counter, looking remarkably pleased with herself. Her emerald eyes lit up when she saw me enter.
"Amara, perfect timing!" she declared proudly. "I've found us the ideal new place to live. Much better than this filthy dump."
"Seriously?" I asked, relieved as I tossed my hoodie onto the nearby sofa. "Thank fuck, because honestly, this place is depressing."
Morgana smirked confidently, folding her arms beneath her ample chest and giving a small, triumphant nod. "It's a lovely, abandoned manor hidden deep within the outskirts of Gotham—perfectly secluded, fully wardable, and—" she paused, her eyes twinkling mischievously "—I've even come to an arrangement with one of the local villains. A little mutual agreement for protection and discretion."
I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "A local villain? Who exactly?"
She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, just a local crime lord named Penguin. Quite the unsavory fellow, but useful. He ensures we remain hidden and unbothered by the city's heroes, and in return, we promise not to destroy him and his entire organization with horrible curses." She smiled sweetly.
That wasn't exactly the fairest of trade deals now was it…?
I laughed softly, shaking my head. Honestly, it was very Morgana—efficient, ruthless, and strangely charming in a terrifying sort of way. "Sounds perfect. Finally, we can settle down somewhere decent, and you can actually teach me some real dark magic."
She grinned wickedly, eyes glittering with excitement. "Indeed. No more distractions."
Her eyes dropped briefly to my body as she tilted her head in curiosity. "So, speaking of distractions—did you manage to secure us some money?"
I nodded slowly, shifting a bit uneasily on my feet. "Yeah. Went off without a hitch… mostly."
Morgana instantly caught the hesitation in my tone, her brow creasing slightly in concern. "Mostly?"
I sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear nervously. "Things got a bit risky. I ended up running right into Nightwing."
At my words, Morgana's entire body immediately tensed. A deep frown pulled at her beautiful face, her eyes flashing with cold, barely restrained fury. "Damn those heroes," she hissed bitterly, fists clenching at her sides. Her voice held a hateful, sharp edge. "Can't they ever just mind their own fucking business? Are they trying to take from me again!?"
Before today, the sheer venom in Morgana's voice would have baffled me. But now that I knew what had happened to her son Mordred—that he had been killed by the Justice League—I could fully understand her anger. My heart twisted in sympathy as I watched Morgana visibly tremble with suppressed grief and rage. Without even fully thinking about it, I stepped closer, quickly closing the distance between us. Morgana's eyes widened in surprise, and she let out an unexpectedly adorable squeak as I reached out and wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly. "It's okay," I murmured softly against her shoulder, gently squeezing her slim waist. "Nightwing didn't hurt me. I'm safe."
Morgana's stiffened posture relaxed instantly. I felt her arms slowly wrap around my body, pulling me closer as she exhaled quietly against my ear. "This is unexpected, Amara," she purred softly, her voice shifting quickly from bitter rage to sultry delight. "Though I must say, I absolutely do not mind."
I felt warmth rush to my cheeks, her flirtatious tone making my heart flutter embarrassingly in my chest. Morgana let out a quiet, lewd-sounding giggle, one hand playfully stroking down my back, sliding dangerously close to my ass.
"So tell me, apprentice—did anything else exciting happen during your little outing?" she teased.
My entire body immediately tensed in her embrace.
Morgana instantly sensed the shift in my mood, pulling back just enough to look down into my face with concern. "What is it, Amara?" she asked gently, emerald eyes searching mine. "Did something else happen?"
I bit my lip nervously, letting out a heavy sigh. "Actually, yes," I admitted reluctantly. "After leaving the bank, I sort of—well—I got asked out? I think?"
Morgana's eyebrows shot up in surprise and mild jealousy. "Asked out? By whom?"
I laughed weakly. "Honestly, I think it was a demon." Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out the slightly crumpled piece of paper, unfolding it slowly to reveal a piece of paper that had Maze's contact information on it since I didn't have a phone.
Morgana glanced at it curiously, her eyes narrowing as she read the name aloud. "Maze… MAZIKEEN?!" Her eyes widened with shock and disbelief. "YOU MET LUCIFER'S MOST NOTORIOUS AND DANGEROUS DEMONESS IN GOTHAM CITY, AND SHE ASKED YOU OUT? WHY WAS SHE EVEN IN GOTHAM!? FUCK! WE CAME TO THIS CITY TO HIDE FROM BEINGS LIKE HER..."
I nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. I had no clue who she was at the time. Should I…be worried?"
Morgana just stared back at me in stunned silence…
"So... I'm guessing I shouldn't call her?" I asked playfully, dangling Mazikeen's number in front of Morgana's face. To be fair, I wasn't seriously considering it. I just couldn't resist teasing her a little.
Morgana's eyes went wide, her emerald irises flaring brightly with shock and incredulity. Her flawless, porcelain cheeks flushed immediately, first with surprise and then with rapidly growing outrage. "Absolutely NOT!" she shrieked, snatching the piece of paper from my fingertips and glaring at it as if it were coated in poison. "You are not going to call her!"
I giggled, covering my mouth with one hand at her exaggerated reaction. Morgana turned to me, still fuming, her lips twisted into an indignant scowl even as a deeper flush tinted her cheeks. Honestly, seeing my poised and usually confident mentor reduced to sputtering outrage was incredibly amusing.
Still gripping the paper tightly in her hand, Morgana let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking her head slowly in disbelief. "Who knew," she muttered irritably, half to herself, "that taking on an apprentice would lead to so many startling surprises, one after another?" Despite her obvious frustration, Morgana couldn't maintain her anger for long. She glanced up at me again, irritation fading into something warmer, her expression softening slightly. A small, affectionate smile tugged at her lips. She took a slow breath, regaining her composure, and shook her head gently at me. "Well, at least we won't have to deal with this kind of nonsense much longer. I'm quite happy we're finally moving into somewhere decent."
"Me too," I admitted with relief, glancing around the dilapidated, filthy apartment that had served as our temporary hideaway. The peeling wallpaper, mold-streaked ceiling, and sagging furniture weren't exactly the ideal surroundings for a powerful dark witch and her apprentice. We deserved better than this depressing shit-hole.
Morgana straightened, squaring her shoulders with renewed purpose. She gave me a quick, authoritative nod and gestured toward the bedroom. "Now come on, Amara. Go pack up your things."
I blinked in confusion, glancing over at the bedroom. I had literally nothing to pack besides the few clothes I owned.
Morgana seemed to catch her mistake immediately. Her stern expression faltered, replaced by mild embarrassment as she sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose in mild frustration. "It's a figure of speech, apprentice," she explained dryly, clearly annoyed with herself for the slip-up. "What I meant to say is—let's get going. We've lingered in this miserable place far too long already."
A playful smirk danced across my lips as I watched her try to recover her dignity. Morgana shot me a quick glare, silently daring me to tease her further. I wisely chose to bite my tongue this time.
As we stepped outside, I couldn't help but steal one final glance at the crumpled paper with Mazikeen's number still tightly gripped in Morgana's hand. Morgana caught me looking, narrowing her eyes warningly, as if to say, don't even think about it!
XXX