Succubus Summoning 212

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Darvill is first to take the test.
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Part 26 of the 27 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 01/02/2008
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Darvill had never been afraid of exams. In fact, during his schooldays, before he'd learned of this parallel world of magic and daemons, he'd even grown to relish them. Exams cut through all the bullshit. Exams were remorseless pieces of paper. Exams didn't care about who you were, who your daddy was, or who your friends were. They didn't give a shit about your station. They didn't give a fuck about what your little clique said and thought.

Darvill liked exams because he had control over the outcome. Ultimately that was what it was about—control. He couldn't control who his parents were. He couldn't control where he came from. But exams, he could control them. Knowledge, preparation, hard work—those were things he could control and exams respected them. Exams showed, unequivocally, where everyone stood in relation to everyone else. They took a group of people and churned them out as a ranked list.

And Darvill always made sure his name was at the top of that list.

Wargsnouts College was no different. Sure, the stakes were higher. No-one got their limbs ripped off and devoured for getting a math question wrong in the mundane world, but the principles were still the same—knowledge, preparation, hard work.

So when Darvill had found out about The Scrote's little surprise test he hadn't been fazed in the slightest. Truth be told, he relished it. The last few days had not gone well.

No, that was a massive understatement. The last few days had been fucking disastrous. So much for those plans of building a cabal to shake up the old order. He'd been arrogant and naïve, in a world that laughed at arrogance and destroyed the naïve.

At least it wasn't all for naught. He'd learn from this, had learned much already. He ruffled Calli-Scitu-Oc's eyestalks as the poly-Oc sat on his shoulder.

But the cost...

He grimaced at the thought. Dever, the others, gone. His friends—dead or worse.

No, he mustn't dwell on that. Control the things he could control. Knowledge, preparation, hard work.

Not everyone shared Darvill's phlegmatic attitude when it came to exams. Outside the test room he saw Rowling sitting at one of the tables with an untidy sprawl of notes and papers spread out in front of him. One of his succubi—Verdé, the one with the green hair—was sitting next to him and watching with a look of amusement on her face while he frantically shuffled through his notes.

One of Rowling's succubi...

Everyone thought Rowling had somehow managed to contract a pair of succubi. Darvill knew differently. He'd counted five in the castle in hell. They weren't your regular succubi either. Darvill had done a little research on his return to the college. He wondered if Rowling knew what he'd contracted. He wondered if anyone knew.

Verdé glanced up at Darvill with bright green eyes. She was stunningly beautiful, but so were plenty of other women. And once you had plenty of power behind you, you could screw all the beautiful women you could possibly want... and not worry about them sucking your soul out in the process.

"Last minute revision?" Darvill asked.

Rowling noticed Darvill and seemed both surprised and a little awkward when the other student sat down opposite him. Rowling was the sort that would feel guilty over what had happened, Darvill thought, not that he should.

If Darvill was a lesser person he supposed he could have held Rowling responsible for the deaths of the others, maybe even let a grudge fester while he secretly plotted revenge. Not that Darvill had the slightest intention of doing this. Wargsnouts was dangerous enough as it was without getting himself bogged down in senseless, petty feuds on top. They all knew what had happened to Emma Brennan.

"I wish I knew what this test was about," Rowling said. "I heard something about attunement, but that could cover anything we've studied in the last year and a half."

Darvill thought about Rowling. They had a lot in common. Rowling was outreach, like him. He'd come from a very ordinary background. He had talent. Darvill's original plan of a brand new cabal was in tatters and likely never to be mended, but the recent events had given him a fresh appreciation of just how dangerous this world was. Allies would be useful.

"We're on the fast track because we contracted our first daemons earlier than most other students. I imagine The Scrote wants to check we understand what those contracts mean."

Rowling looked sourly at his notes. "I was kinda hoping we'd be taught this before they tested us on it."

"Daemonic contracts are the test," Darvill said. "Look at the ones that came through."

He motioned over to a passing group of staff. As would be expected for a college like Wargsnouts, the staff were an eclectic bunch. High Magus R. L. Conley, the Magister of the Esoteric Conduit, stood out the most with a flamboyant costume of black robes with silver trim and elaborate puffs at the wrists. No-one dressed quite like the high magus. Rumour was he'd been consulted by a horror filmmaker for input on the costume of their satanic high priest villain, and they'd ended up rejecting his ideas for being too extravagant. A masked nihmiratt rode on his shoulders like a small child. Its green eyes shone behind its mask of human skin.

At the opposite end of the spectrum was the Cartifax of Hell-Dimensional Topology, Brion Jacks. The trim, bald-headed man was dressed in a white vest and jogging bottoms. He looked like he'd just stepped out of the gym rather than a lecture on the geography of hell. A pyramid of flesh with a mouth in the centre—a minor nebrit—sat on his shoulder and gnashed its teeth together.

Walking with them was the treasury officer, Graeme Kennet. Kennet would have looked like a paunchy, middle-aged banker if it wasn't for the kappa-Oc perched on his head like a hat. It made the official look like an elderly punk rocker with long purple eyestalks for hair.

In such august company it would have been easy to overlook the fourth member entirely. Dr Will Pryce, the Zoomancer of the Cryptic Savagerium, was small, soft-spoken and innocuous. A ferocious-looking snikkersnakt prowled around his ankles.

Darvill could see Rowling didn't get it. For someone supposedly that smart, Rowling could be incredibly dim sometimes. Darvill was about to give him a helpful nudge when Calli-Scitu-Oc gave him a warning pinch on the shoulder.

Yes, yes, rules and all that, Darvill thought. Each must walk their own path.

Conscious he was not understanding something, Rowling went back to poring over his notes.

Darvill turned and spoke to Verdé directly. "Do you think he has anything to worry about?" he asked.

Verdé contemplated his question. "It's not his strongest area."

Her answer sent Rowling into another frenzy of note shuffling.

The door to the test room opened and one of The Scrote's succubi called out Darvill's name.

"Looks like it's my turn," Darvill said. "See you later."

Darvill left Rowling to his frantic—and unnecessary—last-minute revision and walked over and followed the succubus into the test room. He was expecting to see The Scrote, or maybe even Dodgy Lutwidge if The Scrote couldn't be assed to give the test himself. Neither was waiting for him in the room. Instead it was two more of The Scrote's succubi.

"We're here to give you your test," one said.

The succubi did not look like your typical examiners. They looked more like high-class Vegas showgirls. Each wore a black velvet bodice that pushed up their breasts and displayed their cleavage to the maximum effect. These bodices were tightly laced together in a way that emphasised the gorgeous hourglass figures of their owners. Each succubus wore a black velvet skullcap that curled around their horns to form an elegant widow's peak, and was adorned with a long fluffy plume that was flamingo pink in colour. If Darvill had not been a student warlock at Wargsnouts he might have thought their devilish horns, wings and tails were part of the same costume.

"Where is Magus Stine?" Darvill asked. "I thought he was giving this test."

Darvill was alone in the room with the three succubi. The only furniture was three plain wooden chairs.

"Our master does not wish to be bothered with such minor trifles," the first succubus said.

"He sent us to carry out the test on his behalf," the succubus to her right said.

The succubi standing before Darvill were a little underdressed compared to normal. In spite of their reputation, the succubi that accompanied The Scrote around the college were usually tastefully dressed in sumptuous black dresses that brought to mind exotic ladies of the night from period dramas. These succubi had done away with those dresses. They'd done away with everything below the waist as it happened. Aside from the fancy black stiletto-heeled boots on their feet, there was nothing covering their crotch and long, lithe legs. The hairless folds of their vulva were completely exposed, flaunted even.

The exception to this was the succubus who'd shown Darvill into the room, and this was only temporary. As soon as the door was closed behind them she peeled off the little black miniskirt she was wearing and draped it over the back of a chair.

"You don't mind?" she asked Darvill.

Her exposed nether regions were as pink and shiny as the other two succubi.

"Not at all," Darvill said. "I imagine clothes must feel inhibiting to beings of your nature."

"They are an irritation," the succubus in front of Darvill said, "but a necessary one when going out into the human world. Our unclothed forms can be quite distracting for the weaker willed."

She pursed moist red bee-stung lips and placed a foot on the seat of the chair facing Darvill.

"I hope we're not affecting your concentration," she said.

Darvill simply smiled. "A warlock should be above such distractions."

The succubus was satisfied by his answer. She sat down in the chair opposite and crossed her legs. Her attitude shifted from playful seduction to business. She motioned to the chair facing her. "Take a seat."

So, an oral examination, Darvill thought. He used to dislike them as they forced person-to-person interaction. Practise made them easier.

The succubus who'd shown him in took the remaining chair and sat facing him to his left. That left nowhere to sit for the third succubus. She stood at the right shoulder of the succubus sitting in front of him.

The succubus sitting in front of him—Darvill presumed she'd be the one giving the test—reached under the chair and picked up a clipboard.

"Let's get the preliminaries out of the way," she said. "You are Evan Darvill, correct?"

Darvill nodded his head.

"And you're outreach?"

"Yes. I am the first potential warlock of my line."

"Tell us about your daemon."

"Their name is Calli-Scitu-Oc. They are a poly-Oc from the Circle of Greed. I summoned and successfully contracted with them on June 3rd."

"Poly-Ocs specialise in knowledge acquisition. Was it a conscious decision on your part to align yourself with the Dominion of Greed?"

"Yes?"

"Why?"

"At the time I thought it best suited my overall aims and ambitions."

"Which are?"

"Power, or more specifically—knowledge. Knowledge allows one to both obtain power and keep it."

"You're very ambitious," the succubus said. "We can smell it."

"It excites us," the succubus at her shoulder added.

"How far would you like to go? A position at this institution, the Shadow Council... further...?"

"Maybe," Darvill replied. "But that's a long way off. First I must traverse the path from student to master. Then we'll see. Positions of true power and influence are not given out, they must be worked for and earned."

"And that's it, you have no other desires?"

As the succubus sitting down in front of Darvill asked the question, the other one standing at her shoulder ran her tongue around her luscious red lips. Her glittering black eyes were fixed on Darvill as she inserted a finger in her mouth and sucked. The finger, moist with her saliva, went down to the shadows between her legs.

"You don't need to do that," Darvill said. "I know what's going on here."

The lead succubus arched a pencil-thin eyebrow. "Really? And what do you think you know?"

Darvill glanced at the standing succubus. "I know she's trying to tempt me. I also know she's not using the full extent of her succubus abilities. And I also know why."

The two succubi shared a glance. "Do tell," the lead succubus said.

"There are seven circles of hell, each corresponding to a frailty of human nature, otherwise known as a sin. When a warlock successfully contracts with their first daemon they align themselves with the circle the daemon comes from. Beginning warlocks mistakenly believe this circle represents their strengths. It doesn't. It represents their weakness."

"Go on," the succubus sitting opposite said, her face a perfect unreadable mask.

"The first daemon does not come to us out of desire to serve or be our familiar, it comes—drawn by the vulnerabilities it senses in our character—to take our soul. That is what daemons desire—souls. They serve us because it gives them opportunities to harvest souls from the earthly realm, a plane they cannot otherwise reach, but only if we prove ourselves to be sufficiently strong of mind and discipline. A weak warlock is of limited benefit to a daemon.

"The first challenge every would-be warlock faces is to prove themselves to their daemon. They must demonstrate they have the strength of will to overcome their baser desires. And it is not just the one circle, they must show they are able to resist the temptations of all seven. Only then will their daemon see them as a potential future master rather than a soul to be claimed. Only then can the warlock open the way to mastery of the dark arts.

"Which brings us to you," Darvill said to the two succubi in front of him. "You are succubi, representatives of the Circle of Lust. Not only are you here to confirm we understand the true nature of the bond between us and our daemon, Magus Stine has also engaged you to test we are able to resist the temptations of the flesh."

Darvill hadn't finished. He slotted together the final piece.

"From your costume and your pink plumes I can deduce you are Bedmistresses from the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures, a powerful order devoted to the mastery of the arts of seduction, manipulation and sensual ecstasy. If you were to draw upon your full repertoire of succubus charm abilities I doubt any student would be able to resist them.

"However, you won't and the reason you won't use the full range of your considerable talents is because the test must be fair. If the student succumbs, it must because of their own flaws rather than the overwhelming temptation of a daemon far beyond their level."

Darvill turned his gaze to the succubus standing at the shoulder of the lead succubus.

"I imagine being restricted to using only a small fraction of your considerable seductive appeal must be incredibly vexing. You have my sympathies," he said.

"I can show you more," the succubus replied. "A lot more."

"Maybe later," Darvill smiled. "After we've established some proper ground rules."

And a cast-iron safeword, he thought to himself.

He turned his attention back to the others.

"So, as much as I'd like to see the three of you put on a sexy show for me, we all know it would be a waste of both your time and mine."

He gave them all a rakish smile. Now that was how you ace a test.

"Very impressive," the sitting succubus said. "More than a few seventh year students don't attain this level of understanding. Some warlocks never gain it."

"This one is cocky," the succubus standing at her shoulder said.

"I prefer to think of it as being confident in my own abilities," Darvill said.

"This one could go far," the first succubus said. "Maybe very far indeed."

"I hope so," Darvill said, "Although I'm aware there's still much for me to learn. Walking the path will require discipline and hard work."

He affectionately ruffled the eyestalks of Calli-Scitu-Oc perched on his shoulder.

"You are partially correct on what this test is about," the first succubus said. "It reflects poorly on my master if few of his students survive to become full-fledged warlocks, and there have been an unacceptable number of losses in the last few weeks. However..."

Her black eyes glittered malevolently in the midst of her otherwise heart-achingly beautiful face.

Before Darvill could react, the succubus on his left leaned forward and snatched Calli-Scitu-Oc off his shoulder.

"...this is not the only purpose of the test."

Deprived of his daemonic familiar, Darvill went for his knife. At the same time, the succubus sitting opposite him tapped the tip of her tail on the floor and an esoteric circle surrounding his chair lit up with spectral white light. A circle of subdual Darvill realised just as he was slammed back down on the chair as if gravity had increased tenfold around him. These circles were usually used to detain troublesome warlocks and other practitioners of the dark arts.

To his left the succubus pressed the squirming poly-Oc down in her lap. She flexed her hips and let out a little erotic sigh as a swirling pink translucent globe swelled up and enveloped the struggling daemon. A change came over the daemon. Its eyestalks stopped thrashing about and it floated languidly within the globe of pink light.

The succubus turned cold black eyes to Darvill. "You need not worry about your little pet."

She pressed her hips up against the ball of energy and her heavy eyelids fluttered as she let out another erotic moan. The daemon within gave a little shudder of pleasure and its eyes blinked slowly.

The succubus smiled down at the daemon and stroked the sphere of pink light. "As you can see, they're totally happy within my little bubble of bliss."

"What is going on here?" Darvill demanded.

Had he been too cocky? Were they trying to scare him as punishment for showing off?

The succubus sitting in front of Darvill glanced up at her companion. The other succubus loosened her bodice and turned it down to expose the firm pink mounds of her tits. She plucked a long pink plume from the back of her costume and ran her fingers through the fronds as though she was unsheathing a sword.

"I do believe you challenged me to show you more," she said.

She stepped in front of Darvill and stroked the feather against her body in a slow, sensual dance that showcased her long lissom legs and the firm, inviting curves of her chest and ass to devastating effect. No human exotic dancer could come anywhere close. Even though Darvill knew this was part of a spell to mesmerise him, it was still a battle to keep his thoughts clear and unclouded.

She walked around the edge of the circle. She caressed the side of Darvill's cheek with the tip of the plume. His skin tingled where the feather brushed against him and he felt a creeping lassitude spread out from the point of contact.

He squirmed ineffectually against the force pinning him to the chair.

"This is pointless," he said. "It's not a test if she coerces me. There is no succumbing to temptation if she takes away my free will with her charm magic."

"Test is over," the succubus walking around him said. She tickled the back of his ear with the plume and the hairs on the back of Darvill's neck stood up as a pleasant tingle ran through them. "Now it's playtime."

"The warlock world is a dangerous one," the succubus sitting in front of him explained, "full of intrigue and deadly feuds. Our master gave us two tasks. The first is to prod novice warlocks down the correct path. The second is to identify novice warlocks who might one day grow into threats to our master's position."

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