Chapter 15: The Paladin's Last Stand
The first sign of trouble came on a Tuesday.
Candy was lounging in Thresh's den, sprawled across a pile of furs with her massive tits spilling out of a silk robe that barely qualified as clothing. Morgana sat nearby, painting her nails with a potion that made them shimmer like oil on water. The two of them had spent the morning fucking—nothing unusual—and Candy's body still hummed with the pleasant ache of being thoroughly used.
Thresh had been gone since dawn, leading a raid on a settlement three leagues east. Territory expansion. Boring shit, honestly, but it kept him busy and kept the gold flowing.
The scout burst through the entrance at midday, his green skin slick with sweat, his eyes wide with something Candy had never seen on a goblin before.
Fear.
"Your Majesty," he gasped, dropping to his knees. "The paladins. They've returned."
Candy sat up slowly, her pink-streaked blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. "How many?"
"Fifty. Maybe more. Holy knights, all of them. Silver weapons. And..." The scout swallowed hard. "They have a relic. Something that suppresses demonic magic. I felt it from half a league away. It made my bones ache."
Morgana's brush stopped mid-stroke. She looked at Candy, and Candy saw her own unease reflected in those purple eyes.
"Thresh?" Candy asked.
"Returning now. He sent word ahead. He wants to meet on the field."
Candy nodded, already rising. The silk robe fell away, pooling at her feet like discarded skin. She reached for her battle leathers—the ones that barely covered her nipples and left her entire stomach bare, the ones that Morgana had designed specifically to show off her succubus mark.
"Fifty holy knights," Morgana murmured, standing as well. "That's not a raid. That's an army."
"No," Candy agreed, cinching the leather straps tight. Her massive tits strained against the fabric, practically spilling out. "It's an extermination."
---
They met Thresh on the scorched plain half a mile from the den.
The Goblin King rode at the head of his war party—two hundred goblins, all armed, all brutal, but Candy could see the tension in their ranks. They'd heard the stories. Holy knights didn't just kill. They cleansed. They purged. They left nothing behind but ash and prayers.
Thresh dismounted when he saw them, his massive frame cutting an imposing figure against the grey sky. He'd taken to wearing armor now—dark iron plates that matched the color of his eyes. He looked every inch the king he'd become.
"You felt it too," he said, not a question.
"The relic," Morgana confirmed. "It's old. Divine. I've read about things like that in the texts. Relics of the First Crusade. They were designed specifically to hunt succubi."
"Can we destroy it?" Thresh asked.
"Not easily. It's probably warded six ways from Sunday. We'd need to—"
"I don't need a lecture, witch. I need a plan."
Morgana's jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Fine. The relic suppresses demonic magic within a certain radius. If we can draw the paladins away from it, Candy's power won't be affected. But whoever carries it..."
"I'll handle the carrier," Candy said quietly.
Both of them looked at her.
"Candy," Morgana started, "the Inquisitor—"
"I know who he is." Candy's voice was flat, emotionless. She remembered the Inquisitor. The way he'd looked at her during the Victory Parade, his eyes filled with disgust and something else. Something that might have been envy. "He's the one who exposed me. He's been hunting us for months. This ends today."
She looked at Thresh. "How long until they reach us?"
"An hour. Maybe less."
"Then we don't have time for a better plan."
---
The paladins came over the ridge like a tide of silver and white.
Fifty holy knights in gleaming armor, their swords and shields blessed by priests, their horses draped in banners that bore the symbol of the Radiant Lord—a sun exploding into light. At their head rode the Inquisitor, a tall man with a gaunt face and eyes like chips of ice. In his hands, he held a golden reliquary, and from it poured a sickly light that made Candy's mark burn with warning.
She could feel it from here. The suppression. It was like a weight pressing down on her chest, muffling her magic, dulling the edge of her power.
"How bad?" Morgana asked, standing at Candy's side.
"I'm maybe half strength. Maybe less." Candy flexed her fingers, feeling the pink mana flicker and sputter around her hands. "But I can still fight."
"Good. Because here they come."
The Inquisitor raised his hand, and the paladins charged.
---
The battle was chaos.
Goblins screamed and died, their crude weapons shattering against blessed steel. The paladins cut through them like wheat, their silver swords burning demonic flesh wherever they landed. Thresh fought at the center of the carnage, his massive blade cleaving through knights like they were made of paper, but even he couldn't be everywhere at once.
Candy fought her way toward the Inquisitor, pink mana flaring around her fists. She caught a paladin in the chest with a blast of power, sending him flying backward, but the suppression was making it hard. Her magic spluttered, her attacks were weaker than they should have been. She was still deadly—her body alone could kill—but she was fighting at half strength against enemies who had trained their entire lives to kill things like her.
Morgana was holding her own, purple flames erupting from her hands, melting armor and flesh alike. But Candy could see the strain on her face. They were outnumbered. Outmatched.
A silver sword sliced toward her head, and Candy ducked, driving her fist into the paladin's throat. He crumpled, but two more took his place, their swords whistling through the air.
Candy lashed out with a kick that snapped one knight's neck, then grabbed the other by the helmet and twisted. The crack of bone was satisfying.
But more came.
Always more.
She lost track of time. Lost track of where Morgana was, where Thresh was. The world narrowed to a blur of silver and blood and screaming, and Candy fought with everything she had, her body moving on instinct, her mark burning hot on her exposed stomach.
Then a blast of holy light caught her in the chest and sent her flying.
She crashed through a pile of rubble—what had once been a wall—and landed hard on stone. When she looked up, she realized where she was.
The ruins of her old home.
The village had been destroyed months ago, when the paladins first came. But the skeleton of Candy's cottage still stood, blackened beams and crumbling stone marking the place where she'd once lived, once trained, once dreamed of becoming a hero.
The Inquisitor stepped through the shattered doorway, his golden reliquary still glowing in his hands.
"Well," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Look at this. The hero returns to her humble beginnings."
Candy pushed herself to her feet, wiping blood from her lip. "You talk too much."
"And you've fallen so far." The Inquisitor circled her slowly, his eyes raking over her body—the leather straps that barely contained her massive tits, the long blonde hair streaked with pink, the whorish nails that glittered in the dim light. "Candice Dixon. The village hero. Level 30 mage. Respected. Admired. Loved." He spat on the ground. "Now look at you. A demon whore. A slave to your own depravity. Fucking goblins for protection."
"Jealous?" Candy smiled, blood staining her teeth.
The Inquisitor's face twisted. "You're filth. You were always filth. We just didn't know it. But I knew. The moment I saw you, I knew what you really were. A slut. A whore. A creature of lust and sin."
He raised his sword, and Candy felt the suppression intensify. Her knees buckled. Her mark screamed.
"I'm going to enjoy this," the Inquisitor said. "I'm going to cut that mark off your body, and then I'm going to burn this entire valley to the ground. And when I'm done, no one will even remember your name."
Candy's vision blurred. Her power was gone, suppressed to almost nothing. She couldn't fight. She couldn't run.
But she didn't need to do either.
She dropped to her knees.
The Inquisitor paused, his sword hesitating. "What—"
But Candy wasn't surrendering. She was crawling toward him, her massive tits swaying with every movement, her lips parted, her eyes locked on his. The leather straps of her top had come loose in the battle, and her breasts were practically falling out, huge and perfect and begging to be touched.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You're right. I'm a whore. I'm a slut. I'm nothing."
She reached him, her hands sliding up his armored thighs, her long nails scraping against the metal.
"Please," she breathed, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. "Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything. I'll be good. I'll be your good little whore."
The Inquisitor's breath caught. His hand—the one holding the reliquary—trembled.
"I... you..."
"Let me show you," Candy purred, her hand reaching up to cup the bulge in his trousers. He was hard. Of course he was hard. They always got hard. "Let me show you what a demon whore can do."
She pulled him free. His cock was thick and angry and leaking, and Candy's mouth watered at the sight of it. Not because she was hungry—though she was—but because she could feel the holy power radiating from it.
The Inquisitor had blessed himself. Warded his own body against corruption.
But he hadn't blessed his cock.
Amateur.
Candy leaned forward, her lips brushing the tip, and the Inquisitor groaned. His hand tangled in her hair, and for a moment, he forgot about the sword. Forgot about the reliquary. Forgot about everything except the beautiful slut kneeling before him.
"You... you're not going to—"
"Shhh," Candy whispered. "Just let me take care of you."
She took him in her mouth.
The Inquisitor threw his head back and moaned, his grip on her hair tightening. Candy worked him with practiced skill, her lips sliding up and down his shaft, her tongue teasing the sensitive underside. She could feel the holy power in his blood, in his flesh, and she drank it down like water.
But she wasn't just sucking his cock.
She was draining him.
Her succubus magic, suppressed but not gone, coiled around his body like smoke. It seeped into his pores, into his veins, into the very marrow of his bones. It corrupted the blessing he'd placed on his own body, turning his own holy power against him.
The Inquisitor didn't notice.
He was too lost in the feeling of her mouth.
"Suck it," he hissed, fucking into her throat. "Suck my cock, you filthy fucking whore. Swallow it. Every drop."
Candy obeyed. She took him deeper, her throat working to accommodate his length, her massive tits pressing against his armored thighs. Her mark was burning now, pulsing with power, and she could feel the suppression weakening.
Ten percent. Fifteen. Twenty.
The reliquary flickered in the Inquisitor's hand.
"Fuck," he groaned. "Fuck, yes, you're so good at that. Such a perfect little cocksucker. No wonder you turned into a demon. You were born for this. Born to be a whore."
He was close. She could taste it—the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his precum. He was seconds away from cumming, and when he did, she would have him.
But she didn't give him the chance.
She pulled back suddenly, and the Inquisitor made a strangled noise of protest. "What—"
Candy grabbed the reliquary.
The holy light screamed against her skin, burning her flesh, but she didn't let go. She channeled every ounce of power she'd stolen through her mouth into that golden box, corrupting it from within, and the Inquisitor's eyes went wide.
"No—"
The reliquary shattered.
The suppression vanished.
Candy's mark erupted with pink light, and she rose to her feet with a laugh that was part moan, part growl. "You want to know what a demon whore can do?"
She shoved the Inquisitor to the ground.
He landed hard on his back, his cock still standing at attention, and Candy didn't hesitate. She straddled him, her massive ass settling onto his thighs, her dripping cunt hovering just above his cock.
"Wait—"
But he didn't really want her to wait. She could see it in his eyes—the conflict between duty and desire, between hatred and lust. He wanted her. He hated himself for wanting her, but he wanted her anyway.
"You called me a whore," Candy whispered, lowering herself onto him. "So let me show you what a whore does."
She impaled herself on his cock in one smooth motion, and the Inquisitor screamed.
Not in pain. In pleasure.
Candy rode him like she'd been born to do it. Her massive tits bounced with every thrust, her ass slapping against his thighs, her cunt gripping him like a fist. The Inquisitor clawed at the ground, his eyes rolling back, his mouth open in a wordless moan.
"You feel that?" Candy leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "That's your power. Your holy blessing. It's mine now."
She fucked him faster, harder. The pleasure was building inside her, a tidal wave of sensation, but she held it back. She wasn't here to cum. She was here to drain.
"Do you know how many men I've fucked?" she whispered. "How many cocks I've sucked? How many loads I've swallowed?"
The Inquisitor whimpered.
"More than you can count. More than your holy book can hold. And every single one of them made me stronger. Every single one of them brought me closer to this."
She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "You wanted to kill me. You wanted to burn me. But you can't. Because you're just like all the others. You're a pervert. A degenerate. A MAN who can't resist a wet hole and a pair of big tits."
The Inquisitor came.
His body arched off the ground, his mouth open in a silent scream, and Candy felt his power flow into her like a river breaking through a dam. It was more than she'd expected—his faith, his hatred, his desire, all of it channeled through his cock and into her mark.
She kept riding him. Kept draining him. She didn't stop when he went limp. Didn't stop when he started to cry.
"Please," he whispered. "Please stop."
"You wanted to kill me," Candy said, and kept going.
She came with him inside her, her cunt clamping down like a vice, her scream echoing through the ruins of her old home.
And then, something changed.
The mark on her stomach blazed with light—brighter than she'd ever seen, brighter than the sun. Candy threw her head back and screamed, not in pleasure, but in something deeper, something almost like birth.
Level 70.
Her skin rippled.
Grey-purple flesh spread across her body like water, replacing her human skin with something alien, something ancient. Wings burst from her back—huge, bat-like things, black as midnight, and Candy stretched them with a gasp. Horns curled from her forehead—long, curved, sharp as daggers. A tail whipped into existence behind her, barbed and thick and alive.
When she opened her eyes, her vision was different. Sharper. She could see things she'd never seen before—the veins in the stone, the particles in the air, the flickering threads of magic woven into every living thing.
She rose from the Inquisitor's body. He was alive, barely—a shell of a man, empty and broken. Candy looked down at him, and for a moment, she felt something like pity.
Then she turned to the doorway.
Thresh was standing there.
Morgana was beside him.
Both of them were staring at her with something like awe.
"Candy," Morgana breathed. "You're—you're beautiful."
Candy grinned, and her teeth had grown sharp.
"I'm a succubus," she said. "A real one."
She flexed her new wings, and the power that flowed through her was nothing like she'd ever felt before. It was infinite. It was intoxicating.
It was only the beginning.
The sound of footsteps made her turn. The remaining paladins had gathered at the edge of the ruins, their swords raised, their faces masks of horror. They'd seen what she'd done to their leader. They'd seen her transform.
"My friends," Candy said, her voice a purr and a threat. "We're not done yet."
She smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing any of them had ever seen.
"Oh, we're just getting started."