Jade Grace Succubus at large
The locker room smelled like deodorant, sweat, perfume, and steam. A hundred tiny scents layered together into something overwhelming. Maddening.
James Edward Grace — except nobody called her James anymore — sat on the cold wooden bench and stared at the floor tiles like they personally offended her existence.
The succubus curled inside her mind like silk sheets and hot breath.
They want things. They ache. You can hear it. Taste it. That blonde by the lockers? She wants to be touched. The brunette captain? She wants someone stronger than her. Humans scream their desires so loudly.
Jade dug her fingernails into her thigh hard enough to hurt.
The gym locker room at Lexington Central Academy looked like something out of every teen drama she'd ever watched in her old life, except amplified by the changed world. Girls hovered in the air casually while changing clothes. One girl dried her hair by heating the air around her fingers. Another sat upside down on the ceiling scrolling through her phone because gravity powers were common enough nobody cared.
Superpowers had become background noise.
The truly dangerous thing in the room was Jade.
Not because she could level buildings.
Because she could make people want.
And right now every hormone in her freshly remade body was running at maximum volume.
She stared at her reflection in the metal locker door.
Tall. Curvy. Dark red hair today. Full lips. Heavy chest pressed tight under a sports bra. A body designed by something ancient and cruelly artistic. And below the waist—
Fun, the succubus purred.
A floating girl nearby glanced over.
Jade immediately smiled with practiced insanity.
“Nope. Just arguing with God.”
And went back to changing.
That was the thing about this world. People accepted weirdness easier because everyone was weird now.
Jade could feel attraction like heat signatures. Sparks in the air. Curiosity. Insecurity. Lust. Fear. It poured off people in waves.
The old James — eighty-one years old when he died in another universe — would have hidden in a corner. Quiet. Nervous. Invisible.
The succubus had murdered that instinct.
Now Jade sprawled across the bench with arrogant confidence she absolutely had not earned.
Her eyes tracked a muscular girl toweling off after class. Bronze skin. Abs. Thick thighs. Laughing with friends.
Instant heat shot through Jade hard enough to make her dizzy.
You could walk over there right now.
“No crimes today,” Jade whispered.
You died already once. Why pretend morality matters?
That hit harder than she wanted.
Because the succubus wasn't entirely wrong.
The world had ended for thirty seconds in 2025. The sun vanished. History rewrote itself. Humanity woke up different. Most people forgot there had ever been another reality.
But a handful remembered.
Jade remembered microwaves and smartphones and queer culture exploding decades earlier. She remembered a world where girls kissing girls eventually stopped being scandalous. This world lagged behind. Hard.
Which made Jade seem bizarrely fearless.
Talked about sex like weather.
People assumed she was either revolutionary or catastrophically unstable.
The muscular girl looked over.
Jade instantly looked away because if she held eye contact too long the succubus magic might start working automatically.
That was the horrifying part.
The power liked consent less than Jade did.
It nudged emotions. Opened doors. Turned attraction into obsession if she let it.
And sometimes she wanted to let it.
The locker room suddenly felt too hot.
You are starving yourself, the succubus whispered. You deny your nature every second. You ache because you refuse to feed properly.
“I’m not mind controlling teenagers.”
Then flirt honestly. Seduce honestly. Humans invented seduction for a reason.
Every eye nearby drifted toward her for half a second because the succubus body moved like temptation given legs.
One of the girls wolf-whistled.
Jade grinned automatically, swagger covering panic.
“Careful. I charge for emotional damage.”
Inside, though, she was hanging by a thread.
Because jail had taught her something important: power was easy. Restraint was hard.
Especially when the thing inside her kept reminding her exactly how easy it would be to stop caring.
The succubus shifted lazily in her thoughts.
Eventually you will realize humans don't actually want restraint from monsters like us.
Jade grabbed her bag and headed for the exit.
“But today isn’t that day.”
Jade walked out of the school into cold afternoon air and nearly collapsed from relief.
She had survived one more hour.
The city stretched around her, familiar and alien at the same time. Neon signs buzzed. Flyers drifted overhead in lazy commuter traffic. Somewhere downtown, a minor supervillain was probably robbing a bank while three local heroes argued over jurisdiction and property damage forms.
Jade shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and headed toward the bus stop.
Inside her mind, the succubus lounged like a queen on a throne made from bad decisions.
You are excited about the hunger.
Jade smiled despite herself.
That was the dangerous thing.
The violence turned her on almost as much as the feeding.
Not the pain itself. Not cruelty for cruelty’s sake.
The raw animal truth of people when civilization cracked open for a moment.
Blood pumping fast enough she could hear it.
The succubus adored those moments because humans stopped pretending then.
Jade hated how much she agreed.
The apartment came first — tiny place above a laundromat with cracked windows and a shower barely large enough for her. Then afterward came the gang.
Not because she loved them.
They flexed powers barely above street level and strutted around like kings because normal humans feared them. Small men with guns and insecurity issues. Their narcotics didn’t affect her. Their threats didn’t scare her. Half the time their flirting felt like being nibbled by puppies.
The succubus needed emotional energy. Lust. Adoration. Submission. Obsession.
Jade had discovered very quickly that consensual feeding left people exhausted but alive.
The thing inside her desperately wanted that line crossed.
She could feel it growing more impatient every week.
They are parasites anyway, the succubus whispered. Predators feeding on the weak. Why should we not feed on them?
“Because murder’s still murder.”
Jade’s grin widened slowly.
Because she did fantasize about it.
About some rival gang kicking down the doors tonight.
About tracer rounds ripping through drywall.
About cheap superpowers lighting up dark hallways in bright colors.
About walking through the middle of it untouched while everyone else panicked.
The city treated superhuman violence like weather now. Insurance companies literally had “energy projection” clauses.
Jade wanted the cinematic version.
Her standing in the center drenched in blood she didn’t entirely need to breathe.
The fantasy made heat coil through her stomach.
Which horrified the tiny remaining piece of old James that still existed somewhere deep inside.
Eighty-one years old in another life.
Now reborn into a body built for temptation with an immortal predator whispering in her ear every second.
Sometimes Jade wondered whether the succubus had chosen her because James had always secretly wanted freedom more than goodness.
That thought scared her more than the violence did.
A city bus roared past overhead, held aloft by a gravity manipulator replacing the old rail system.
Then she laughed softly to herself.
Because probation meetings never covered this kind of thing.
“Miss Grace, are you currently consuming criminal organizations emotionally or spiritually?”
The succubus purred approval.
And somewhere beneath the jokes, beneath the swagger and lust and arrogance, Jade still clung desperately to one fragile rule:
As long as she kept choosing restraint, she was still human.
The day she stopped choosing—
That was the day the monster won.
The protective bulldog has arrived
Jade stood in front of the cracked mirror in her apartment wearing only a towel and a dangerous smile.
Rain tapped softly against the window. Neon from the street below painted the room in pink and electric blue. The whole place smelled faintly of cheap detergent and sulfur.
The succubus lounged invisibly across the bed behind her.
But Jade could feel Vandela Sameraxus like heat against the back of her neck.
Wear the black one, Vandela purred.
Jade opened the tiny closet.
You are literally a succubus.
“Subtlety is an art form.”
Subtlety is for prey animals.
Jade laughed softly and pulled out the black skirt anyway.
Paired with torn leggings, heavy boots, and a low-cut red top beneath a leather jacket that screamed bad decisions welcome here. She adjusted the illusion carefully afterward — tiny magical nudges sharpening curves, darkening lips, stretching legs just enough to make every movement hypnotic.
Her old self still occasionally panicked at how easily she could weaponize beauty now.
James would have hidden in oversized sweaters.
Jade walked out dressed like a dare.
The streets of Lexington glittered with rainwater and neon reflections. Sirens wailed somewhere distant. Flyers crossed overhead between towers. Down at street level, the city belonged to people nobody put on posters.
The gang controlled three blocks around an abandoned theater converted into a fortress of cheap luxury and paranoia.
Two armed men outside nodded immediately when they saw her approaching.
The other tried not to stare.
Inside was heat, smoke, music, and decay.
Piles of cash stacked on tables beside assault rifles. Cigarette smoke curled through colored lights. Drugs moved openly from hand to hand. A woman with glowing blue eyes laughed too loudly while sitting on someone’s lap. Three men argued over territory while a telekinetic counted money in the corner without touching it.
Jade slipped through the chaos like she belonged there.
Hands touched her waist as she passed. Compliments followed her. Hunger radiated from every direction.
The succubus drank it in greedily.
Jade casually palmed several folded bills from a stack while distracting two gang members with a smile and a brush of her fingers.
See? Vandela laughed. Free money. Free worship. Humans practically beg to be robbed.
Curled half-conscious on a stained couch near the back hallway.
Older than most of the gang. Mid-thirties maybe. Former construction worker. Broad shoulders wasted by addiction. Trembling hands. Sunken eyes.
But every time Jade came here, he still managed to warn younger girls away from the worst people in the building.
Still apologized after fights.
A genuinely decent man rotting alive in a terrible place.
He looked up at her weakly.
She snorted and sat beside him.
Underneath the narcotics and smoke and despair, she could still feel his soul.
Kinder than half the politicians and heroes on television.
Jade reached out instinctively, fingers brushing his forehead.
Healing magic stirred automatically inside her.
The urge hit her suddenly and violently:
Feed him. Shelter him. Protect him.
Old James surged upward inside her — the old grandfather instinct, the caretaker, the man who used to volunteer quietly without telling anyone.
Vandela reacted instantly with theatrical disgust.
Across the room, two young girls stumbled in carrying drug packages under oversized hoodies.
Bruises along one girl’s throat.
The other limped slightly from a badly healed leg.
They couldn’t have been much older than Jade looked.
One flinched automatically when a gang member shouted her name.
And something ugly moved behind Jade’s ribs.
Like a bulldog realizing someone had kicked puppies.
Vandela groaned dramatically.
You do NOT fall for the marks. They are prey. Eat. Feast. Drink. Live.
Jade’s eyes stayed fixed on the girls.
One tried smiling at her anyway.
That nearly broke something inside her.
Because Jade understood monsters.
What she hated were people who hurt others weaker than themselves just because they could.
The succubus whispered hungrily:
Take the souls of the cruel ones then. You know you want to.
The room suddenly felt different around her.
A few gang members noticed immediately and took an unconscious step backward.
Because beneath the jokes and flirting and sexy clothes, something ancient lived behind Jade Grace’s eyes.
And for one dangerous moment, it wasn’t lust looking out at the room.
The laundromat rattled at night.
Just enough that people noticed it subconsciously and decided not to think too hard about it.
Old pipes groaned beneath the concrete. Dryers thumped with uneven rhythms. Sometimes the floor vibrated faintly like something enormous turning over in its sleep far underground.
Most people ignored things like that.
She stood alone in the basement utility room beneath the laundromat, one hand against cracked brick, eyes half closed.
And felt the earth breathe.
Something below pulsed with age and pressure and memory.
Vandela’s voice purred through the darkness.
That made Jade smile uneasily.
Because Vandela Sameraxus spoke about centuries the way humans talked about weather.
The succubus knew civilizations nobody remembered.
Knew empires erased by the Twist.
The world had scars beneath it now. Entire histories rewritten. Cities buried where no cities should exist. Roads leading nowhere. Ancient tunnels under modern suburbs.
And then there were people like Baron Bruce.
Jade had seen him once in a public park surrounded by listeners hanging on every word. Tall. Noble posture. A smile carrying oceans of grief.
He spoke of Stone Mulan like it had existed yesterday.
A kingdom the size of Texas.
Modern archaeologists had actually found ruins beneath the Atlantic off Greenland exactly where he claimed the island nation once stood. Structures impossibly old. Dead ten thousand years by carbon dating.
But Bruce remembered parties.
Then floating alone in freezing ocean water wearing royal clothes worth more than most governments.
The Twist had not simply changed history.
It had replaced pieces of reality.
Which meant the thing under the laundromat might not even belong to this version of Earth.
No pretending to be less dangerous than she was.
She could already picture it: concrete chambers restored and lit in deep reds and golds, hidden generators humming softly, old medical bays converted into healing rooms, vault doors thick enough to survive superhuman fights.
Rooms for the succubus side of her.
The fantasy wrapped around her mind warmly.
That part made too much sense.
The old neighborhood women still spoke about him with sadness instead of disgust. Before addiction consumed him, he had apparently been brilliant with restoration work. Steel framing. Plumbing. Concrete repair. The kind of man who built things solid because he expected them to outlive him.
Then something happened after the Twist.
Vandela suspected the cruelest possibility:
That his family had simply been erased from reality.
Just a wound in the soul where love used to be.
Jade leaned against the wall quietly.
Old James stirred painfully inside her at the thought.
Because he understood devotion.
Understood staying beside someone even after love became obligation.
He remembered years caring for a wife who became bitter, controlling, sick, frightened. Remembered exhaustion. Loneliness. Duty.
Vandela found that incomprehensible.
Humans chain themselves willingly, she said with amused contempt. That is why your kind suffers so beautifully.
But she respected James in her own predatory way.
He had survived grief without becoming cruel.
That rarity fascinated her.
And terrified her a little.
Because if Jade ever truly surrendered to the succubus hunger, Vandela would eventually consume what remained of James entirely.
The last human conscience.
The thought sent a cold shiver through Jade.
And somewhere horrifyingly deep inside herself—
Tonight she crouched beside an ancient drainage tunnel hidden behind rusted machines and smiled into the darkness.
“Alright,” she whispered.
The earth answered with a low metallic groan.
Vandela laughed softly in delight.
