The Hero That Was Body Swapped With A Lewd Succubus!

It wasn’t burning. Warm, but not the flame her abdomen had. It came from her mana palace at her navel, not her crest. Despite her focus on going through with her death, a portion slipped onto her navel and erupted, wanting to save her. 

If not Zain, then who? No one in the academy would do it. Who’d force her to release her grip—her quickest opportunity at escape? Her shadow might. She was loyal to Zain.

We'll meet again, she said, but we haven't met since.

****

She teetered on her tiptoes, standing in an ocean of black water under a gray sky. Water splashed against her as waves struck her, attempting to pull her in.

Since her first time, the water had lost its chill, warming to comfort her bare body. A tug on her soul pulled her straight, and she obeyed. The water rose to her chin but never submerged her, and she passed through the wall of water, reaching solid ground. Her shadow sat on the side of the bed.

“You stopped me?” Leila asked.

“You’re wrong there. You stopped yourself. I just guided you there.” She patted the bed next to her. “Sit.“

Leila stepped back, her elbow brushing against the wall of water. Water splashed against her calf. Her eyes never left hers, filled with longing and a smile for something she had: Zain.

“I was once a man, but I gave my life to him.” She patted the bed once more. "I can't keep you here forever."

Leila shrugged and sat next to the woman.

“Why escape him?” She asked. 

“Why don’t you?”

"I had tried, just like you." She loosely laced her fingers, resting them on her lap.

“If you tried, why didn’t you escape? Why…” 

A tear formed in her shadow’s eye. It fell near the bridge of her nose, slid over her lips, and vanished with a swipe from a new shadow's hand. The new shadow leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the woman's face. Not Zain's, but another one of hers. Different from each other.

The shadow had a petite stature—a shadowed face devoid of humanity, with no mouth or signs of life. Purple horns sprouted above her ears and curled around her forehead. Many humans would label her an immature demon and shout, “Die demon,” yet Leila found her mature and lovable. She found humanity in her.

Every gesture the shadow made was deliberate and gentle. No extra movements. Perfect. 

“Thanks… L-“ 

The shadow nodded as her eyes smiled, and she stepped before Leila. Leila leaned back, avoiding the breasts, but darkness overwhelmed her vision. Warmth smothered her face, and delicate hands cupped her head, pushing her into the warmth.

But I avoided them. She tried to pry the shadow's hands away from her head, but they remained still.

“Cu-“ She freed her and nodded, but didn’t step back to the woman. She leaned in further. 

She stood so close that Leila's breath bounced off and returned. Their noses met, and the shadow tilted; their lips met. She slipped her tongue inside and pushed Lelia back onto the bed, lying on top. Leila arched her back, attempting to shake her off, but she clung to her, looping and intertwining their tongues. Up. Down. Around. Right. Left. It continued, occasionally interrupted by a diagonal strike.

Before the first repeat, Leila had succumbed, moaned fourteen times, and slipped her fingers into her crotch. The shadow had also slipped two fingers inside her, and together they teased her insides, plunging in, out, in, out, with each turn rubbing her clit. With two fingers interlocked, the shadow molded them into something else, rammed it into her—a penis—and repeated it. All the while, their lips never separated, and her tongue ravaged her mouth. 

When it finally did, she lost all her strength. None to sit back up. Her body still underwent release after release of orgasms and didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. She lay there panting, her lips curving in a smile that refused to fade despite her efforts.

Two weeks ago, indulgence repulsed her, but now it no longer felt immoral. If it was with a woman, she had nothing against it.

“Thank you… L-“

The shadow nodded. "He-We-Ne-Y-He." She dissolved into the wall of water behind her.

“Can you see why?” The woman asked.

Leila glanced toward her. “You were overwhelmed.”

“We were.” She stood and materialized a sheer, skintight dress. “I could be like you and wear any dress that doesn’t emphasize my curves and reveals everything. But I can’t live with decency. It’ll come to you—the itch, squirming all over your body, where you shift and scratch over and over and over, but the itch never loses its intensity. Not until you change into a dress like this or go nude, and once you do, you’ll never return.”

"I won't," Leila murmured. "I'll..."—she held her legs close, folding her arms around them—“escape.”

The woman turned, and a sheer piece of fabric covered her nipple. “You’ll come to see what I mean soon, and Zain—you’ll need him.”

“No, I don’t.”

She lifted Leila's chin and moved closer, her lips almost touching. "Yes. You. Do.”

She kissed her, and Leila’s vision faded to black.

Stubbornness has never led me anywhere, and neither will it lead you. Two—the choice is yours.

****

“Wake… up!”

A sense of weightlessness took over, then she fell; her eyes snapped open, and she shifted her weight last second, landing on her butt. It stung. Who did it? Her glare fell on Freira, who peeked her head over from the bed's other end.

"It was my last option," Freira said, fanning her arms. “I tried calling for you, but there was no answer, so I upped it and shook you. There was no answer, so I shook you harder—I'm sure you get my point.”

“What happened?”

"Classes are canceled indefinitely, and all students must report to the Ancestral Tree.“

Leila sniffed Muran's overcoat, and the flame, growing steadily since Freira groped her, erupted. Honey—she gulped, thirsted—she snapped out of the trance.

****

Leila stood in a crowd of thousands before the Ancestral Tree, waiting with Freira for all the students and Professors to gather, gazing at her feet.

"What do—" Freira said. “Cancelling classes... Hey, Leila, are you there? Are you listening?"

“I’m here. I’m listening.” Leila said, lifting her gaze to Freira. “What did you say?” 

She puffed her cheeks momentarily and sighed. "Listen when I'm talking, okay? What do you think is happening?"

“You don’t know?”

“I might—I did hear that someone might've died. What’s his name again?” She paused, mouthing letters and repeating them. “Mur—“

“Muran?”

“Yeah, that’s it. How did you guess it right away? Did you—“

Leila shook her head and looked down at her feet. So Muran's friend reported his death, and an investigation ensued. Not even a day had passed, but they found it. Did they know that a succubus was responsible?

“Oh, Leila, it’s your boyfriend. It would help if you were like him; he comes to class daily. A true role model.” Friera shook her. “Look. Look.”

What is wrong with her? Zain, a role model? He could never reach that level. And he's...

She raised her head and froze.

Zain entered with arms at his side, following a middle-aged man. Zain wore armor, one of the Divine Gifts bestowed by the Goddess. White plated… 

Her eyes dried, and she blinked to wet them. Her heart raced, chest heaved, and nipples stabbed her bra. She shifted her legs. Wetness gathered. Heart pounded. Sound lost. Only she and Zain existed in her mind—a primal urge. Want Zain. She rubbed her legs. Faster. Faster. Faster. Resist, resist. She did. The urge vanished.

Zain stepped up to the Ancestral Tree with the Dean and all the Professors. She recognized Professor Rina and the Combat and History Professor.

"There has been a tragedy," the Dean said with his arms behind his back. "This morning, the body of fourth-year student Muran was discovered, and a second student, Vigil, was found deceased shortly after."

I didn’t kill Vigil. She clenched her fist, and it turned white. I only killed Muran; otherwise, I was asleep in that dream world.

How long did she sleep? Not long. Classes were canceled, and Freira likely returned soon after to wake her. What did the woman say in her dream? All about what’d become of her and to ask Zain for help. What else? She said two and changed the subject. Two what? She killed two people. What about when she woke up?

Everything began to piece together, and her jaw slackened. The overcoat had two semen scents. Muran’s honey scent, and another—a sweet chocolate scent, and it was fresh. The man who came to check on Muran. She had killed him, but when? Was it when she had intercourse with the shadow?

Another victim. She swayed side-to-side at the thought. She fell and raised a finger to her eyes. Moisture. Tears. They fell without her consent, as did her vision, which darkened to black. Why cry? She didn’t deserve it. Her victims did, not her.