Chapter 53: Leniency for a Confession

In front of George, Gima was as helpless as a kitten. She was unceremoniously tossed onto the bed, tumbling across the mattress before scrambling to sit up just as George’s towering figure blotted out the light.

The scene screamed “forceful ravishment” from a trashy romance novel. Gima’s legs snapped shut instinctively, and she hugged her knees to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible as she stared up at the mountain of a man.

George extinguished the holy emblem’s light, and the room plunged into an intimate darkness.

Oh, this is definitely the atmosphere for… that kind of thing. Gima’s tail began to twitch nervously, sweeping back and forth across the sheets. She took a tentative sniff of the air and caught the faint, intoxicating scent of peach blossoms.

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She watched his silhouette move toward the bed, each heavy footstep a drumbeat against her sanity. A strange, tingly feeling bloomed deep in her belly, a feeling she knew all too well, but one she’d only ever reserved for beautiful, pliant women.

It’s… arousal! The realization hit her like a physical blow. She was actually getting hot for him.

Shock and a hot, prickly shame washed over her. This was a first. Before, George had been a walking, talking happy meal, a source of simple, sating pleasure. This was different. This was a raw, genuine, I-want-to-be-ridden kind of desire.

It wasn’t an overwhelming urge, but it was enough to send a tsunami crashing through the carefully constructed walls of her heart.

What in the nine hells is happening? Does this clueless virgin have some kind of built-in protagonist halo that makes any damsel he rescues instantly want to jump his bones?

While her mind was reeling, George sat down on the edge of the bed.

Her brain immediately supplied several lewd, unsavory images of being pinned, mounted, and thoroughly conquered. Her butt scooted backward on autopilot until her spine hit the solid wood of the headboard.

“Gima,” George’s voice was a low rumble in the dark. “What exactly is going on?”

Gima let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Okay. As long as it wasn’t a “punishment of love,” she could handle this.

“I’m sorry, I lied to you,” she began, carefully picking her words, acutely aware of how tight her pajamas suddenly felt. “I was scared… scared you’d lock me up in the Holy Sanctuary.”

George’s expression didn’t change. He held up the empty test tube. “And this?”

This was the landmine she’d been trying to avoid. “This… this is… well… hehehe.” She couldn’t hold back a nervous, high-pitched giggle.

His stern, blue-eyed gaze immediately silenced her. When it was clear that tactic wasn’t going to work, she lowered her voice to a pathetic whimper. “I couldn’t think of a good lie, okay?”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Gima just shook her head, blinking her wide, innocent eyes for all she was worth, channeling her inner baby deer.

“I am not going to lock you in the Holy Sanctuary.”

He was telling the truth, she could feel it. But for how long? What would happen when he realized she was getting stronger every day, strong enough to break free of his control? The dungeon of the sanctuary seemed like a very logical next step. The slave contract wouldn’t hold forever.

His persistence was making her sweat. This was her future on the line. But she knew, with a sinking feeling, that she couldn’t cute her way out of this one.

Gima turned her head, staring at the dark window for a long moment.

“I followed the lore of my people and brewed a Nightmare Potion. It’s a standard method of advancement, you should know that,” she said, her voice eerily calm, a stark contrast to her childish frame. “What you saw was the backlash. The nightmare almost ate me.”

She fell silent. The quiet in the room was deafening.

Finally, George spoke. “Will you do it again?”

“Yes.”

She braced herself. This was it. The dungeon. She had known this was a possibility, had ruthlessly squashed the tiny, foolish spark of hope that he might just… let it go. Hope was a poison. Better to expect the worst and meet her tragic fate with dignity.

“Fine. But next time you drink a potion, you will tell me.”

“...Huh?”

That tiny, foolish spark of hope flared into a bonfire. She peered at him, her voice barely a whisper, terrified that speaking too loudly would make him change his mind.

“Potions are the most dangerous way to advance. You need a guardian,” George said, his gaze locking onto hers, intense and serious.

“And?”

“A protective ritual would be best.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean,” she blurted out, unable to stop herself, “aren’t you worried? About locking up a demon who’s getting stronger? A demon who’s slipping from your control?” Her heart hammered. This was it, she’d reminded him. Idiot!

“If my attendant learned of a mysterious potion and wanted to use it to get stronger, I should lock him up for it?” George asked, genuinely perplexed. “Why? Is it illegal for an attendant to drink a potion?”

Gima stared at him. At the pure, unadulterated sincerity in his blue eyes. And it finally clicked. He wasn’t pretending. He truly saw her as a person, not as a time bomb.

He’s an idiot. A beautiful, stupid, naive idiot.

The tension drained out of her body. All the fear, all the anxiety, melted away, and for an unknown reason, a hot, unfamiliar wetness pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“But…” George added.

Her heart seized.

“I have a pretty good idea of what you are. The moment you use your power for evil, I will judge you,” he said, his voice flat and final. “And it will most likely be a death sentence.”

Even though the phantom pain from a stab wound lingered, the knot in her chest loosened. “You scared me,” she breathed.

“So, Gima. Have you ever, for your own selfish reasons, brought harm to an innocent person?”

Gima feigned a thoughtful expression. Murder, arson, robbery, rape? Nope, not her style. “No,” she replied.

“Good.” George stood up. “I won’t ask about your powers. Someone once told me they’re like underwear. Not something you show to just anyone.”

She was safe.

Her body went limp with relief, a strange, pleasant itch spreading through her joints. All she wanted to do was melt into the mattress and sleep for a week.

“However, you lied,” George said, lighting a candle and producing his dreaded scorebook from thin air. “Tricking me into letting you get potion ingredients is minus three points. Lying is minus two. Lying a second time is another minus two.”

“Wait!” Gima shot up, her eyes wide with horror as she saw the tally. She was only two points away from another session with his paddle. “This is a personal vendetta!”

“The rules are the rules.”

“Fine, whatever! I’m not getting spanked again.” Just then, her stomach let out a roar that could rival a dragon’s. “I’m starving.”

George’s face started to go fuzzy.

“Gima, what’s wrong?”

“I…”

Only now did she have the brainpower to process the bizarre sensations coursing through her. Her joints ached with a deep, growing itch, especially her spine, which felt like it was being stretched on a rack. A ravenous hunger clawed at her insides, not the familiar pang of low ‘energy,’ but the gnawing emptiness of having been starved for days.

“Hungry. So hungry,” she gasped, pitching forward into George’s arms. “My clothes… they’re too tight.”

“Hang on. I’ll get food.” He lifted her easily, laid her on the bed, and bolted from the room.

She could hear his urgent footsteps fading down the hall. Her body felt like it was on fire.

Is this a side effect of advancing?

She pulled up her personal status panel. No debuffs.

Could it be…?

Her hand went to her horns. They felt… longer. Thicker.

Am I… growing up?

She felt the hem of her pajama top. It was definitely riding higher than it used to.

A minute later, the door flew open and George returned with a basket of apples. “Start with these. The kitchen’s already baking bread.”

Gima snatched an apple and devoured it in two bites, the sourness making her face pucker. She hated apples. Fifteen minutes later, the basket was empty, containing nothing but a pile of stems.

Next came the bread. She tore through six loaves, washing them down with four pitchers of milk. Her hands were a blur, plunging directly into a tureen of onion soup to fish out boiled sausages, which she inhaled, hot broth dribbling down her chin.

“Slow down, slow down!”

After the last sausage, she looked at the empty platter, feeling marginally better. “I can still eat.”

“They’re making more. What is happening to you?”

“I’m growing,” she said, feeling another growth spurt ripple through her. She’d already shucked the too-tight pajamas and was currently swaddled in a bedsheet. “Law of conservation of mass. I need to replenish my fuel.”

As she spoke, she crossed her legs. They were smooth, bare, and undeniably longer and more slender than they had been this morning, with the elegant curve of a woman’s. For the first time, George seemed to truly see her, and he quickly averted his eyes, his gaze snapping up to her face.

Her features were sharpening, too. Her nose was straighter, and the arch of her brows now held a sultry, come-hither curve. Her little horns had lengthened, sweeping back in a graceful arc. And her once-flat chest… wasn’t.

George’s eyes darted away again, landing on her tail, which was now plump and fleshy, wagging happily. There was literally nowhere safe for him to look. She wasn’t a child anymore.

He finally found his solution.

“Gima! Put some clothes on!”

“Too much trouble.” She couldn’t care less, picking up the soup tureen and drinking the rest of the broth straight from the bowl, letting it trickle down her swan-like neck and pool in the hollow of her collarbone.

That was the last straw. George marched over, grabbed the bedsheet, and wrapped it around her like a mummy, so tight she wobbled.

“Mmph! Mmph!” she protested, swallowing the last of the soup. “No need to be so rough.”

“You’re a young woman now. You can’t just go around showing your skin to everyone.”

Gima sniffed the air. The scent of peaches was intoxicating. She tilted her head and gave him a slow, wicked smile. He responded by rapping her smartly on the forehead.

“And stop using your charm.”

She glanced at her skill list. She didn’t even have a charm skill yet. She had definitely grown up.

Eight strips of jerky and ten more sausages later, she finally felt full. After a quick wash, she collapsed into bed. George blew out the candle, and the room settled into a comfortable darkness.

Gima snuggled under the covers, patting her pleasantly full belly. A faint, itchy ache still lingered in her bones—she was still growing. But what she really cared about was her power.

She pulled up her status screen.

“Class Name: Nightmare.”

“Dream Entry: You can now enter the dreamscape while asleep and travel into the dreams of others. You can influence and distort the dreams of those around you on a massive scale. For example: create erotic dreams to harvest lust, or nightmares to instill fear.”

“Dream Seed: You can quietly plant a dream seed in any dreaming creature within your line of sight, allowing you to instantly invade their dream.”

Oh, the possibilities. This was a mastermind’s toolkit. She could cause so much delicious chaos. She could invade the dreams of a dying king, pose as a goddess, and command him to leave his entire fortune to a certain poor, lonely, and very deserving demon lord. She’d have to run some experiments to see just how much she could warp reality.

She scrolled down.

“Supernatural Charm: Your allure is now irresistible to mortals. You are protected by an invisible field of deflecting force.”

Aha! So that’s why succubi are always half-naked. It’s not just for show! The more you arouse someone, the stronger your defensive shield gets. Genius!

“Desire Manipulation: Your command over lust is now absolute. You can manipulate ambient desire in the air without absorbing it, and use it to bolster your Supernatural Charm.”

“Succubus Specialty (New): Your flexibility, agility, and bodily control have all been enhanced. You now possess an unnatural talent for dance.”

Case closed! The reason some succubi break into a seductive dance mid-battle? It’s a goddamn defensive buff!

That was the last of the new skills.

Gima was more than satisfied. A deep, bone-heavy exhaustion was settling over her. She yawned, stretched, and instantly fell into a deep sleep.