Vayal Academy

Svelgi, mind blank of schemes or duels or visions, follows Gelstra to a second location in the borealis of Vayal’s sunset — aware, on some not-quite-conscious level, that this is a mistake. Gelstra, who Svelgi took to be shy at first, now has body language like a doberman, like if the rabbit tried to run she would chase.

The dorm Svelgi is escorted to is utterly bare, save for a bedroll and a glowing purple circle of runes, at the centre of which spasms a yellow-tied pigeon. This alone is enough to have Svelgi rearing back in terror — the presence of the fluffy white racoon has her crying out and scrambling toward the door. This woman has killed Svelgi once already. The salmon-red eyes are death itself.

Before she can wiggle her way through the crack in the door, though, Gelstra grabs her ears and yanks her back inside the dorm, slamming the only escape route shut firmly.

“You need to help her,” says Gelstra firmly, propelling the thrashing bunny down toward the pigeon flailing on the floor. From behind Svelgi’s head, she throws a doubtful, frightened look to Abana.

She’ll go to the Headmistress the second we release her, Gelstra says, through their tattoo-reinforced (a tasteful blotch of dark purple on either wrist, shaped like a length of chain) mind link, courtesy of Syrene.

Abana only smiles slightly and shakes her head, an expression that sends terror coursing through Svelgi’s limbs. Svelgi wishes, desperately, that she had thought to bring her centipede — but her Familiar’s been hunting in the woods outside the Compound, and she didn’t have time to get her. The tiny jumping spider in her satchel hardly seems up to the task before her.

Svelgi can’t even find her voice, can’t say anything with those nightmare eyes fixed on her. Finally, she manages to stammer out something unintelligible while trying to say get a Professor, not me, Gods, Gods, get a Professor!

Abana crouches down and puts a hand on Svelgi’s shoulder, which causes the rabbit to freeze up entirely, like the spotlight’s in her eyes. “Breathe,” Abana commands, and Svelgi does. “You have witnessed too much, yes? If you do not help, you are not involved; if you are not involved, you cannot be trusted. If you cannot be trusted…” her claws dig in enough to draw a trickle of blood across Svelgi’s soft fur. “So. Help. Yes?”

Even in her panicked state, Svelgi sees the body of the hare lying, slit throat beside the pigeon girl, and recognises the truth behind the threat. Far better to be arrested for murder than for necromancy.

“I don’t- I- I- ah-” Svelgi is too frightened to speak, much less to even begin to think about how to help; even at her best, what could she do for a problem like this? This, this is bad magic, forbidden magic, and she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe!

A hand wraps around the back of her neck and Restoration magic flows through her; suddenly the only evidence of her panic is her reeling, terrified thoughts — her body becomes totally calm, heart sturdy in her chest, breath slow and deep.

“I will- ah” the white raccoon frowns and smiles, feeling the extent of Svelgi’s panic in her own chest, “I will manage your vitals for you, yes? Now, help.”

Help? How could she? Does this idiot even understand the social ostracisation Svelgi would face from the other Conjurationists if they knew she had so much as glanced at a book about necromancy?

Okay, calm down girl, she’s doing the hard part for you now, just need to get your thoughts under control.

“Tell me what happened.”

Abana blinks and shakes her head. “It is obvious.”

“I just need to walk through it.”

Gelstra, who has been guarding the door, leaning against the bare brick wall, pushes forward and says, “We tried to bind a spirit to the hare’s body. Just a small one, like, a tiny shard; easy stuff.”

“Easy? Wh- Wrangling any spirit is high-level Conjuration! Why would you-”

“Abana’s across it. She knows how to do all the-” Gelstra wiggles her fingers in an uncertain way that makes it clear to Svelgi who the main perpetrator is. “Y’know, the talking plants and stuff. She’s actually pretty good.”

Svelgi begins to understand the shape of things. “Your friend here tried to wrangle a mindless spirit-shard to a corpse only to find that something else hitched along for the ride,” she taps a foot, unable to control the rush of anger and impatience at these thoughtless amateurs. “So, when you realised you were dealing with some sort of daemon, you got the priestess involved. I’ll bet it jumped over to her body the second her mana connected to the circle, before she could even begin the banishment ritual. By some miracle, one of you had enough good sense to kick her into the circle when you realised she was possessed, and you finally came to the conclusion that you needed a Conjurationist, so that someone in the room would actually know what they’re doing. Do I understand okay?”

A rush of terror in Svelgi’s chest makes her inhale sharply. Abana, hand still on the back of Svelgi’s neck, tilts her head. “I left you without enough fear for your own good,” the raccoon says. “This is not how you will speak to my girlfriend. It is rude. Dangerous, to be so rude.” As if this isn’t already terrifying enough, Abana slides her dagger from her belt and traces it gently along Svelgi’s throat. “Your apology, yes?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, quickly. “I’m sorry!” The blade retracts, the fear recedes, and she begins to breathe again. She’ll never forgive Gelstra for roping her into this — not that she’d want to be around someone who could date this insane raccoon, anyway. “We don’t have a lot of options. We could- oh, Gods. I don’t know. I don’t know! Maybe, maybe, we could get the spirit into a new vessel and then destroy it. That would banish it. But I don’t know how to make it leave her! Why would it?”

“You will find a way,” Abana says.

“Can you get Alyx? Alyx Fartrot. She knows spirit-binding, and she’s in my class, and she wouldn’t-”

“Then we would not need you, would we? If we did not need you…”

So it’s do or die, here. Her only option might be, really, to put all her defences up, make contact with the circle, and try to redirect the spirit as it rushes into her. Assuming it even wants to abandon Posy’s body, which is no sure thing — daemon’s can’t get enough of tormenting acolytes.

But, if it did rush into Svelgi, then wouldn’t the priestess wake up, and be able to complete the banishing spell? That honestly might be better than anything else — Svelgi has always been a gifted student, but that was from work — binding spirits has never come easily to her, and she’s never tried banishing one that didn’t want to be banished. Necromancy is such a taboo subject that she’s completely in the dark here, people don’t even tell stories about it (other than, of course, the big story — Cyrra the Dread, the mad necromancer who almost took over a kingdom).

“Okay- I’m- I’m going to go into the circle.”

Abana tilts her head and tightens her grip on Svelgi’s nape. “You are perhaps foolish with courage again?”

“N- no. It’s no more dangerous than connecting my magic to the circle from out here — as you saw with the pigeon. This way you don’t have to kick me in when it takes me.”

Gelstra is ready to throw the bunny into the circle right now if it means that thing will leave Posy, but Abana’s lips only quirk into a smile. “It’s easy to speak of such things now, as I eat your fear for you. I cannot calm you in there.”

“It’s not like I have any other choice.”

“No — but your body may forget this. May try to fight. This would be annoying.”

Svelgi sets her jaw. “I know the situation I’m in.”

“Very well. Do your best to remember.”

The hand around the base of Svelgi’s skull disappears, and the panic crashes into her like a tidal wave. Her tiny pink nose twitches so quickly that Gelstra can barely make it out, and just when the porcupine is thinking she might need to kick Svelgi into the circle after all, the bunny falls rather than steps forward. It’s all she’s capable of.

She ends up in a heap within the circle, and Posy — who has been lying still for some time, eyes wide open, listening — whips her head to the side like a bloodhound sensing movement.

What Abana and Gelstra see is this: a sparkling, blue-black absence leaves Posy’s body like a spirit from a corpse and shoots into Svelgi’s mouth in a dizzying blur of momentum that hardly exists at all.

What Svelgi sees is a dazzle of glittery nebula and then nothing, as the daemon takes over her body. A few moments later, she’s blinking to consciousness as a mere observer, a tiny object within the mind of another, watching through eyes that were once hers but are now totally separate.

The monster within Svelgi is millenia-old, unlike the talented but inexperienced students. It is fully aware that the only threat to its continued existence on this plane is the pigeon priestess, and as the shock is just wearing off and Posy is trying to stand, Svelgi’s body grabs her hips and yanks her back down to the ground, keeping her well within the circle. So long as it can keep her here, it holds all the cards.

The observer Svelgi laments what a stupid fucking idea this all was, regrets letting them convince her to not just run off and fetch the nearest Conjuration professor. This could’ve all been avoided.

Posy squirms in her grip, but the rabbit’s stronger than she looks, especially compared to the hollow-boned, lightly muscled priestess. Having just recently inhabited the priestess’s body like blood in veins, the daemon knows a lot of Posy Primrose — her faith, her commitment to chastity, her very repressed attraction to the pretty brown bunny who now looms over her with pinprick eyes and long ears brushing the floor.

“Pretty birdy,” the daemon says in Svelgi’s voice. It leans down, caresses her soft face. “You want me, don’t you?”

Gelstra, for whom this is probably the worst possible outcome, turns to Abana and goes to speak, but Abana thinks down their link, Quiet. Say nothing. The less it knows, the better.

We have to stop it.

Walk into the circle and stop it then, sweet girlfriend of mine.

Gelstra frowns. Abana’s right — there really isn’t much they can do. She just can’t stand to watch Posy like this. That’s the love of her life right there.

“Kanay-” Posy begins, but a hand around her beak snaps it shut.

“Shhh, little birdy; no need for that.” The daemon piloting Svelgi’s body traces a finger around the beak, and in its wake a thin wire appears, conjured with Svelgi’s abilities. Posy strains against it, but can’t say a word. “I’m your friend. I want to help you. Locking away all your desires, deep down? It isn’t right. What kind of God could ask that of you?”

“Get off her!” Gelstra shouts, earning a sharp look from Abana.

The daemon-Svelgi just chuckles. “Oh, you poor thing. You think you have a chance with her… She doesn’t want you. She wants me.” It conjures more bindings, wraps the wires round Posy’s wrists and ankles. With the pigeon stuck tight, forced to watch, it starts to undo Svelgi’s blouse, roll down her stockings, unhook her skirt.

Abana raises an eyebrow. We have bound a succubus, it seems. At least you picked a good vessel for it — this will make quite a show.

Gelstra can’t appreciate Svelgi’s tight, naked body, because it’s straddling the love of her life. Even worse, now it’s taking off Posy’s stockings, and she’s powerless. There has to be something we can do. Anything.

The panties slide down next. Svelgi’s head is just disappearing beneath the skirt when her body jerks and she yanks back. “No!” cries Svelgi, using all her strength to fling her body backwards onto the cold floor. “No!”

The panic lasts for only an instant. A second later the daemon regains control, giggles, arranges Svelgi so her bare hips are hiked high in the air, swaying gently. “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?” She digs her nails into Posy’s thighs, yanking the priestess hard towards her while she squirms in her bindings and shakes her head desperately. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure they won’t judge.” It only makes things far worse for Gelstra when Svelgi’s head turns to her, grinning. “You don’t care about her little secret, do you? The Church might judge, but we don’t.”

We have to stop her! We have to! This panic is brought on by Posy, who shakes her head so desperately it just about tears Gelstra’s heart in two.

Silence. I want to know the secret.

The daemon’s right — Gelstra doesn’t care when it hikes up the skirt and reveals Posy’s hard, twitching cock. It’s a surprise, sure, but she loves Posy for her gentle smile, her pretty feathers, her tender soul. She does care, however, when the daemon lowers Svelgi’s head and takes it into her mouth; she can’t stand the sound of it. She especially can’t stand Posy’s frantic thrashing turning to twitching, like the fight’s already out of her. Please, baby, she thinks, you can stop her. You can find a way. Maybe Svelgi-

Posy’s entire body freezes with a jolt, that terrible sound the only one in the room, and then Svelgi pulls off with a dribble of cum down her chin. “Wow. You must really like me. Lucky for you we’re not done yet.”

When the daemon starts tearing Posy’s blouse from her, Gelstra can’t take it anymore. She throws herself into the circle, damn the consequences, tackles the bunny and rolls across the floor with her. One of her spikes pierces the rabbits arms, so they’re tousling amongst slick, wet blood while Posy strains desperately against her restraints.

Abana seriously considers getting involved in the skirmish for the first time — she quite likes her new girlfriend — but opts for now to remain on the sidelines, observing. The succubus hasn’t tried to hurt anyone yet, after all. In fact, Abana has found herself quite enjoying everything it has done.

With a final grunt of accomplishment, the Svelgi creature prevails, restraining Gelstra in the same fashion as Posy. “You hoped I would use your body to defile her! Fool. I already told you, she likes the bunny. If you truly love her, you will let her have what she wants.” She turns to Abana with a raised brow. “Would you like to join? Perhaps you can entertain her while I’m busy with the priestess.”

Abana sticks to her policy of silence, rejecting the poison pill with the universal “I’m-good-thanks” handwave. “Suit yourself,” Svelgi replies. Evidently the raccoon isn’t wholly uninterested, because she slides everything under her skirt off lest she soaks through it.

The possessed Svelgi’s about to climb onto Posy when Gelstra rolls over and wriggles back, brushing Svegli’s thigh with her spikes. Irritated by the interruption but glad to have a bit of sport, the daemon conjures a thick metal spike in the middle of the floor, loops wire round it, then round Gelstra’s throat, the wire so short that all Gelstra can do is keep her cheek flat against the floor and stare at the restrained Posy — who almost wriggles out of the circle while Svelgi’s distracted.

Dragged back in at the last moment, she shakes her head and tries to scream, tries to shout no! No! I’m chaste! as if the daemon would care even a whit. Posy’s already hiding her birth sex from the Church, by far the least progressive institution within the Empire (say what you will about the Imperial Military, but they’ll send a trans woman to die just as soon as they’d send anyone) — hiding a broken Vow of Celibacy would make things even worse.

Unfortunately making things worse is exactly the daemon’s intention, and after untold millennia fomenting in the hells, it knows all the right tricks. With Svelgi’s mana it conjures something the girl could never create herself — a thin needle filled with bright pink liquid — and jams it into Posy’s thigh. It’s not an aphrodisiac, not exactly, but it does get the blood pumping just right so that Posy, while not chemically-induced to want it, is once again forced hard.

“Stop!” Gelstra yells. The daemon left her ungagged because these pitiful cries are just adorable. “Take me instead!”

You know, why not? Posy’s buried a crush on Svelgi and doesn’t really think about Gelstra all that much, but, hell, the porcupine gave the daemon a good bit of entertainment, jumping into the circle like that, and it wouldn’t hurt to reward it.

She hikes Gelstra’s hips up and tears her clothes from her. Gelstra experiences a surprisingly peaceful moment where she thinks she has, through a noble sacrifice, protected Posy — something Abana told her was impossible. (There’s a strange sense of loss accompanying Abana’s silence; the raccoon’s smart enough to not use the mindlink through the summoning circle, much to the daemon’s frustration).

But that moment passes when Svelgi lifts Posy into the air and lines her up behind Gelstra. She wraps another loop of wire around both their hips, so Posy’s fastened tight in front of Svelgi. Pushing her own hips forward forces Posy inside Gelstra, which makes the porcupine both blissful and unbearably guilty.

“No! That’s not what I- ah-” Gelstra cannot control the noises that escape her as the Svelgi creature uses her own body to force Posy to thrust.

Her protests go totally unnoticed, the daemon’s focus is fixed firmly on Posy’s face, Svelgi’s soft nose tickling the pigeon’s cheek from behind as she whispers: “how does it feel to lose your maidenhood?”

She just shakes her head, beak still bound, but all the denial in the world can’t change how good it feels. She reassures herself, remembers that she’s always known it would feel good, that the denial is the point, that she has no choice here. It’s the daemon. The daemon’s making her. She’s still kept to her vow. And because it’s the daemon, it doesn’t matter how good it feels, it doesn’t matter how perfect and natural and right it feels to bury her modest length inside Gelstra. Overwhelmed by it all, Posy crests forward, only stopped from impaling herself on Gelstra’s spikes by Svelgi’s soft hands on her breasts.

The daemon lifts her back up, holds her so tight and close to the rabbit’s warm body that the cocoa-smell of her fills her nose. “You’re meant to do this, little mortal — your God would deny you; not I. Feel these hands,” it says, running them down Posy’s side, to her hips. “Feel how perfectly they fit against you. Your body is meant for this.”

It’s getting harder and harder to remember why she ever agreed to chastity.

“It-” Gelstra begins, trying to comfort Posy, sweet Posy, but Svelgi’s got nice, strong hips, hips the daemon uses to drive Posy deeper and deeper, faster, emptying Gelstra’s mind of any thoughts but pleasure. This is obviously not how she imagined their first encounter going — for one she never imagined Posy had a cock, and she’s spent quite a lot of time picturing Posy’s crotch — but it’s increasingly impossible to argue with the feeling of bliss.

Meanwhile Abana, well outside the circle, speaks for the first time, catching the daemon’s attention instantly. “She’s ready.”

Svelgi’s head whips around, taking in the sight of Abana, back against the door, legs spread and hand under her skirt. “She is, isn’t she?” she coos, releasing the wire around Posy’s wrists first. The priestess just can’t help it, her hands close around Gelstra’s hips — it’s all the confirmation the daemon needs; it releases her hips from the wire and stands back, watching in raptured appreciation as Posy, all on her own, fucks Gelstra against the floor.

This hasn’t been a good day for Posy, obviously, but her current bind is perhaps the worst of it — her vow forbids this, yes, but the religion more broadly condemns ‘spilling seed upon the ground’, and she has basically no time to decide whether it’s better to cum in Gelstra or break another tenet. In the end it’s the porcupine who makes the decision for her, throwing her hips back and locking them against her just as Posy cums.

Her climax is the perfect distraction. Abana seizes Svelgi by the ears and, in the same smooth motion that yanks her free of the circle, opens her throat with her jagged knife. She lets the ears go and leaps back, into the warded circle, leaving the daemon no suitable vessels as Svelgi thrashes on the ground, dying. It panics, memory of being in the vile dead hare still fresh, and leaps from the dying body into the first vessel it can find.

As her eyes lose their milky sheen of malice, Abana falls upon Svelgi and pumps Restoration magic into the bleeding wound. The flesh knits together, and as Svelgi’s consciousness returns the first thing she sees is white fur descending.

Posy’ll need time to get herself and Gelstra free, and Abana’s so worked up, and really in a way she’s saved Svelgi’s life, so she doesn’t see anything wrong with riding her face — it’s a just reward, really.

Svelgi, incredibly worked up from the sheer, base sensation of having her body pressed up against the beautiful pigeon for so long, might accept this under other circumstances — like, for example, if it were someone she liked on top of her rather than the insane raccoon. She has enough sense to toss Abana violently off of her, though, and the raccoon somersaults across the room, managing to come to a skidding halt before she slams into the bare brick wall. “You’re strong.”

Svelgi makes it to the door but only just has her fingers round the handle when Abana slams into her side like a white bolt, tackling her to the ground. Hopped up on adrenaline, Svelgi has only a dim awareness of the pain in her stomach before she sees the knife sticking out of it.

Abana hisses in her ear. “Bring me to climax before you bleed out and I’ll heal you.”

“Posy!” Svelgi shouts, appealing to the only other Restorationist close at hand, but then Abana’s on her face again, and this time when she tries to shove her off pain flares through her stomach and the grim fear of death seizes her, grips her soul, so paralyzing that her mind and body both shut down rather than try to deal with it.

That suits Abana just fine, who only really needs Svelgi to lie still and let it happen.

“Help me,” Gelstra squeaks, still totally restrained and pinned to the ground by the cord round her throat. Posy, however, realises this is more important, and hops out of the circle, not even having time to untie her ankles. But such ponderous movement gives Abana plenty of warning, and a quick twist of her body and a thrown forward hand is all it takes to bombard Posy with fluttery yellow light, such that Svelgi hears her only hope for salvation hit the floor with a thud. “Use your tongue,” Abana whispers, “or this will take longer than you have.”

Side burning with agony, vision dotting black, extremities already tingling from blood loss, Svelgi uses her tongue. There’s not much she can do but open her mouth obediently and endure Abana’s vicious movement, which threatens to suffocate her before she bleeds out. Abana clutches her thighs around Svelgi’s head, scratching her claws down the bare brick with a teeth grinding scrrrttchhh as she cums.

She rolls lithely from Svelgi’s face and grabs the shaky, frightened Conjurationist by the ears, pulling her up almost to a sitting position, eye-level. Svelgi whimpers in terror, trying to reach imploringly up to Abana but only managing to wave her hand weakly. “Heal… You said you’d-”

“I know,” says the raccoon. “But then you would leave me, yes? I do not want this.” Abana gives the flirtatious smile of a girl on a first date, utterly terrifying with her pale eyes and sharp teeth, and grips Svelgi’s nape more firmly. “I like you. I wish to see you again. You will give me your dorm.”

Svelgi’s eyes are getting heavy now, her energy utterly drained, the terror is the only thing that keeps her awake. She has experienced death twice now, (soon to be three times, it seems, and this one might just stick) and not once has it been peaceful. She lets out a tiny, horrible squeal — a death whistle — kicks her legs uselessly, barely a twitch, chest moving up and down so quickly that it seems to vibrate.

“Your dorm,” says Abana firmly, holding her. “You must remember.”

Svelgi’s nervous system — very much aware that pleasing the pale raccoon is her only chance at life — finally connects to her brain, and she recalls the vital information, whispers it with the last of her strength. “Dorm 32. Rosewood Tower.”

Just before she can slip to the other side, magic flows into Svelgi. Abana’s kissing her full on the lips, and as her strength returns she shoves her off, only to find the healing stream’s dried up.

“I channeled through my mouth. You wish to be fully healed, yes?” Abana runs a finger over her lips, a glittery trail left in its wake.

Svelgi turns her head to Posy, still out cold. She bows her head in submission, and Abana pulls her back into a kiss, hand on the back of her head to keep her firmly in place. Once she’s healed, though, she’s gone, out the door in a flash.

Abana scuffs the runes with her foot and disrupts the summoning circle, now that the threat has passed (or so she thinks). She crouches down next to Gelstra, smiling incongruously. “Our partnership has been most fruitful. You are lucky to be my girlfriend.” Her almost tender finger runs up Gelstra’s entrance; she brings it to the porcupine’s lips and pops it into her mouth, letting her taste Posy’s cum. “Very lucky. If I did not love you so much, I would make you watch me take her,” she says, cocking her head towards the snoring pigeon. “But I could not do that to you. Let us clean up this mess, starting with the Acolyte’s mind.”