Chapter 1: Candlelight and Cursed Summons
Astrid stared at the ceiling, the fight with Hiccup playing on a loop behind her eyes.Stupid.It was all so stupid. A fictional character, a drawing on a screen, and yet her chest ached like she’d been punched. She rolled over, burying her face in a pillow that smelled of stale popcorn and regret.
Her dorm room was a disaster zone. Half-empty Red Bull cans stood sentinel on the desk beside her laptop, its screen frozen on a particularly angry paragraph of her latest HTTYD fic. The shelves were a shrine to her obsession: toothless plushies, intricate dragon figurines, and a row of thick, leather-bound notebooks filled with more scenarios than she’d ever admit to. In the corner, a single black candle, bought from a sketchy guy at a garage sale because it “looked cool,” sat in a pool of its own wax.She needed a distraction. Something to scorch the imagined betrayal from her brain.Her gaze landed on the book she’d bought with the candle. It was heavy, bound in something that felt unsettlingly like skin, with symbols tooled into the cover that seemed to shift if you didn’t look directly at them. The guy had called it a “conversation starter.” Right.
Scoffing, she grabbed it and flopped onto her bed.The pages were thick, yellowed, the text in a looping, archaic script. Beneath the script, in sloppier ink, were translations. “Invocation for Insight,” one heading read.“To See the Unseen Heart.” Sounded like cheap therapy for medieval peasants. Perfect.The air in the room grew still. The usual muffled sounds of the dorm—bass from a stereo down the hall, laughter from the common room—faded into a thick silence. Astrid’s voice, usually so sure, felt small in the quiet.
She read the words aloud, her tone flat and bored. “Per ignem et umbram, cor voco, animum revelo.Ostende mihi veritatem occultam.”
Nothing happened. Of course not.She tossed the book aside, a fresh wave of self-loathing washing over her. She was talking to an empty room about a cartoon Viking.She needed to get a life.
Then the candle flared.It wasn’t a normal flicker. The flame shot up a foot, burning a violent, verdant green. The scent of burnt sugar and ozone flooded the small space, smothering the smell of cheap laundry detergent and old pizza. The shadows on the walls didn’t just deepen; they coiled, twisting like living things, stretching toward the center of the room.
Astrid sat bolt upright, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. “What the—”
The coalescing shadows swirled, drawing in the sickly green light, sucking the warmth from the air.A form solidified from the smoke and darkness.A woman. Or something wearing the shape of one.She was exquisite, a study in corruption and beauty. Skin the color of old ivory, hair a cascade of liquid night that seemed to drink the light. Her eyes were the precise crimson of fresh blood, and they held a millennia of bored, predatory knowledge. She wore a gown of shadows that clung to impossible curves, and behind her, faint as a rumor, hung wings like tattered velvet.
“Well,” the creature purred, her voice a honeyed contrail in the cold air. “This is a surprise.The call was… quaint.Angsty. But the vessel…” Her crimson eyes raked over Astrid’s athletic frame, the stubborn set of her jaw, the bright, furious blue of her eyes.“Young.Strong.Full of delicious, untapped fire. I can taste your frustration from here, little one.”
Astrid scrambled back against the headboard, her martial arts training screaming at her to fight, but her limbs were locked in pure, primal terror. “What are you?”
“A answer to a prayer you didn’t know you made.” The succubus—for that’s what she had to be—glided forward. The air grew denser, sweeter, like rotting orchids. “All that furious passion, directed at phantoms. Let me give you a real object for your… devotion.”
She was suddenly on the bed, her weight not pressing down but radiating a cold, magnetic pull. A long, cool finger traced Astrid’s cheekbone. Astrid tried to slap the hand away, but her own movement was slow, syrupy.The creature caught her wrist effortlessly, her strength absolute.
“Let me go,” Astrid gritted out, fury finally breaking through the fear.
“But you called me,” the succubus whispered, her face inches away.Her breath smelled of incense and decay. “You wanted to see an unseen heart.Let’s start with yours. Let’s see what it truly desires.”
Before Astrid could spit a denial, the demon’s lips were on hers.
It wasn’t a kiss; it was an invasion.A silence. It sucked the breath from Astrid’s lungs, the protest from her mind. A cold, dark syrup seemed to flood her veins, a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, rooting her to the spot. Her mind screamed, but her body arched against its will.The succubus drew back, leaving Astrid gasping. Those blood-red eyes sparkled with cruel amusement.“There. No more pointless words.” Her gaze drifted downward, a command.“Now, child. Worship.”
The compulsion was a physical wire, tightening around Astrid’s spine. Her thoughts screamed no, but her body, humming with the alien energy the kiss had deposited, moved. She was pulled forward, not by hands, but by that overwhelming, addictive gravity the creature emitted.
She buried her face in the chill, silken space between the demon’s thighs.The scent was overpowering, the same saccharine decay. A part of her revolted, screamed in horror. But the new, cold fire in her blood hissed back, hungry and curious.She tasted salt and something metallic, like ancient coins.She obeyed. Her tongue moved, tracing patterns she didn’t understand, driven by the invasive instinct now coiled inside her. Each stroke sent a dual shockwave through her—one of violent disgust, one of piercing, dark pleasure.She could feel something happening, a transfer. The green candlelight began to dim, not fading, but flowing.Draining from the room and into her.
The succubus above her sighed, a sound of deep, lazy satisfaction.“Yes… good.Take it. The hunger.The need.It’s yours now.”
But the sigh morphed. It became thinner, raspier. Astrid, lost in the conflicting storm of sensation, felt the form beneath her lips begin to change.The silken skin grew papery.The magnetic pull weakened.
She pulled back, her mouth tingling, her own breath coming in ragged pants.
The creature was withering.The glorious night-black hair was now stringy gray. The vibrant skin pulled tight over sharp bone, turning ashen.The crimson eyes dimmed to a dull rust.
“What… what’s happening to you?” Astrid whispered, her voice hoarse.
A brittle, skeletal hand lifted to touch Astrid’s flushed cheek.The touch was dry, light as a dead leaf. “The ritual… binds the essence to a new vessel.You stole my feast, little thief. You took the kiss, you took the consummation…” A dry, rattling cough. “You took me.”
The hunger inside Astrid, the new, aching void, gave a vicious pull. It wasn’t a metaphor. It was a physical vacuum in her core, and it wanted what was left.“No,” Astrid breathed.
“Yes,” the husk whispered, its voice just the memory of sound.“The hunger is your compass now.It will never stop. Feed it, or it will feed on you.”
Astrid watched, frozen in horror and a terrifying, burgeoning understanding, as the wizened figure crumbled. It flaked away, dissolving into a fine, gray ash that scattered across her Hiccup & Toothless bedspread. The green candle snuffed out with a final hiss.Silence. Real, ordinary dorm-room silence.Astrid stumbled to her feet, swaying. She caught her reflection in the dark laptop screen.Her sharp, determined jawline was still there. Her blue eyes were still hers, but now they held a bruised, feverish light.Her athletic body, however, had been rewritten. The muscles remained, but they were now sheathed in devastating, voluptuous curves. Her hips flared, her waist nipped in sharply, her chest strained against her sweat-stained t-shirt. She looked like a warped, impossible version of herself.A living statue to lust.She felt… incredible. Powerful.Sensitive in a way that made the brush of her own clothes almost painful. Energy crackled under her skin.And beneath it, underpinning it all, was the hunger. A raw, clawing emptiness that yearned, that needed.
She looked at the ash on her bed. The echo of a name—Lilith—drifted through her mind, a final gift from the dissolved demon.The fight with Hiccup was gone.Burned away. All she could think about was the hollow ache inside her, and the terrifying, exhilarating question of how to fill it.She needed to go out.She needed to find… something.Someone.
The first feast wouldn’t find itself.
The first feast wouldn’t find itself.
Astrid moved toward her closet, her new body a symphony of unnatural motion. Every shift of her hips, every brush of fabric, sent electric feedback to her core. The hunger was a compass needle, spinning wildly, pointing at nothing and everything. She needed to get out. She needed people. She needed… whatever would quiet the void.
She yanked open the closet door, looking for something to wear. Her usual jeans and hoodies hung there, looking like costumes for a person who no longer existed. Her gaze landed on a simple black dress, bought for a cousin’s wedding last year. It had felt too restrictive then.
Now, it looked like a starting point.
She pulled off her t-shirt, the movement making her newly sensitive skin flare with awareness. In the full-length mirror bolted to the back of her door, the changes were even more undeniable. The powerful lines of her abs, earned from countless hours of training, now curved into a severe, seductive hourglass. She traced a finger along the dip of her waist, a shudder that wasn’t entirely revulsion moving through her.
A deep, internal cramp seized her.
It wasn’t the hunger. This was different. Structural. A grinding, popping sensation deep in her shoulder blades, as if her bones were knitting themselves into a new, terrible blueprint. She gasped, bracing herself against the closet doorframe.
“What now?” she hissed through clenched teeth.
The pain was immense, a white-hot forge between her scapulae. She arched her back, a strangled cry ripping from her throat. The sound melted into a moan as the pain bifurcated, spiraling into a wave of sheer, unconscionable pleasure. It was violation and ecstasy welded together.
Her skin split.
It wasn’t a tear, but an unfolding. A release of pressure. From the raging fire in her upper back, something wet and new stretched into the room. She could feel the air on them, each nerve ending screaming as tissue knitted, bone elongated, and membrane stretched taut. She watched in the mirror, tears of agony and bliss streaming down her face, as two powerful, bat-like wings shoved their way into existence. They were the color of a fresh bruise, veined with deeper purple, and they dripped with a clear, shimmering fluid that smelled of her own arousal.
Another wave of transformation hit, this one centered on her skull. A pressure built above her temples, a relentless, drilling ache. She clawed at her own blonde hair, her body convulsing. With a series of sickening, delectable cracks, two smooth, onyx horns spiraled out from her crown. They were warm to the touch, thrumming with a low, dangerous power.
The final change was a lightning bolt down her spine. It gathered at the base, a pooling, intolerable tension. She dropped to her knees, her hands splayed on the cheap dorm carpet. A cry was torn from her, raw and guttural.
From the base of her spine, her tailbone lengthened, searing its way out. A long, slender tail, tipped with a delicate, spade-like arrow, lashed into the air behind her. The pain was excruciating, a visceral ripping. The pleasure that rode its crest was absolute, obliterating.
It crested, and broke.
Her whole body locked, shuddering violently. The world dissolved into pure, white sensation. A climax, deeper and more total than any she had ever conjured alone, wrecked her. It rolled through her in endless, punishing waves, wringing a choked scream from her lungs. It wasn’t just physical; it was a metaphysical affirmation, a welcome into a new and terrifying reality.
When it finally subsided, she was on all fours, panting, her wings drooping around her like a ragged cloak, her tail twitching with spent energy. The horns felt heavy on her head.
She was ravenous.
The hunger wasn’t a metaphor anymore. It was a chemical burn in her stomach, a dry rot in her soul. The transformative orgasm had not sated it; it had sharpened it into a single, gleaming point.
She stood on unsteady legs. The wings folded against her back with a thought, somehow sinking into her skin until they were just a raised, sensitive pattern beneath her dress. The tail coiled around her thigh, hidden. The horns remained, a permanent crown.
She looked at the stranger in the mirror—the sharp blue eyes in a face of devastating beauty, marked by demonic royalty. The girl who wrote dragon fanfiction was gone, burned away in the green candle’s flame.
Astrid Hofferson wiped her mouth, smearing away the last of the succubus’s taste with her own. A grim, determined smile touched her lips, far colder than any she’d ever worn before.
She had her compass. Now she needed her feast.
She slipped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her on the remains of her old life. The dorm was quiet. The night outside the window was deep and dark, pulsing with possibilities. She followed the ache, moving toward the distant, thunderous bass of a Friday night party. The hunt was on.