"Excuse Me, Tonight, With Whom...?"
“Uwaaaah—!”
I screamed, my eyes snapping open.
An unfamiliar ceiling. An unfamiliar voice. An unfamiliar bed. An uncomfortable weight. And...
“Haaah...”
It's a nightmare I'm starting to get used to. Hell, I could recite the damn thing by heart now. Starting out in the middle of a field surrounded by giants with weird skin tones—no judgment from me, obviously. Anyway, dreaming about escaping from them. But getting accustomed to it and actually liking it are two totally different beasts. Just like how I still can't adjust to this body.
I pushed myself up from the bed. My breasts sloshed forward, their weight pouring ahead. My shoulders and back strained right away. Strands of pink hair cascaded down silkily. Yesterday's words from the mage popped into my head. Succubus traits: the erogenous tattoo glows. Survives solely on Extraction.
Feeling glum, I looked down. Breasts so massive they were stretching the neckline of my clothes. They sagged just enough—barely holding their weight—to look kinda pretty... What the hell am I even thinking?
“Ahem.”
I flinched at the unfamiliar voice. Didn't even need to turn much. On the left side of the bed, the golden-haired hero was staring at me. But her eyes... they looked kinda displeased.
“I did say quite clearly not to disturb me.”
Oh. Right. She'd warned me before bed. No windows in the tent, so I couldn't tell what time it was. The candle on the desk looked the same length, but maybe they'd replaced it. Didn't matter how much time had passed—I remembered the “don't disturb” part loud and clear. Only one thing I could do.
“S-sorry...”
“I was just getting to the good part...”
“Huh?”
I swear she said something, but my brain blanked for a second. The hero's face was still sour.
“Didst thou have a nightmare or somesuch?”
“...Y-yeah.”
“What dream wast it? Nay, never mind. Let us to supper...”
The hero trailed off without finishing. I didn't ask why. I'd just remembered it myself. The embarrassment sank back into gloom.
“I needs must catch some shut-eye myself. Go forth and lend a hand to the others.”
She shoved back her chair and stood. I scrambled to get out of the way, but the bed was huge. I practically rolled off it. The blankets were a total mess, but she didn't seem to care. As she lay down, she suddenly froze.
“The scent...”
Her face twisted like she smelled something bad. The mage had said the same thing. What the hell is up with my body odor? Sure, I hadn't properly bathed yet... but still. Do they bathe every day or something? This world's got shitty mirrors from what I've seen—what's with the constant complaints?
“Hrm. A-anyway. Out with thee. Ah, no.”
She started to say something, then hesitated.
“Dost thou need aught...?”
“Nay! Begone!”
What was that about? Still, grateful she let me crash, so I bowed my head—just a little, 'cause I hated how my breasts moved. As I turned to leave, she got up from the bed. Glanced back: she headed to the desk, picked up a thick book. No illustrations on the plain, worn cover. Our eyes met.
“I said out!”
“Y-yes!”
I bolted outside. Why'd her voice suddenly go all high-pitched?
Stepping out, it was already daytime. High noon, even. That's when I remembered I still had no shoes. Looked down—could only see my breasts blocking the view past my clothes.
Judging people by looks alone is shaky reasoning at best. The hero party's mage, Aisoll, was a prime example. Young and haughty-looking, always dressed in flowing dresses with black boots and such. But as she herself admitted, that mouth of hers was foul as hell, and she had zero of those hobbies dainty ladies fawn over.
Aisoll's temperament was pure scholar. Her latest obsession? Naturally, the succubus who'd tagged along. She still couldn't wrap her head around why they'd brought it, but she decided to view it as a golden opportunity for new knowledge. And honestly, studying the succubus up close was downright fascinating. In two ways.
First: how scarce the info was. Aisoll owned a hefty library—not quite mage tower level, but plenty. If the tent's books weren't enough, she had more in her subspace storage. But succubus lore? Rare as hell. Yesterday's quick check turned up just one book on the shelf. Even scouring her subspace collection from morning on, she'd only culled three or four relevant tomes.
The empire hadn't even been at war with the demonkin for a full year yet. Sure, the empire spanned diverse races, but books on their ecology were sparse—and demonkin from the ass-end of nowhere? Forget it. Still, this was too sparse. Suspiciously so. Aisoll felt a thrill of mystery. Possibilities abounded: low population, rare sightings, nothing noteworthy to record... or maybe records were impossible.
Either way, the thrill of discovery beckoned.
Second: the succubus right in front of her was pathetically incompetent. Demonkin was a broad category with variations, sure. But common traits? Horns on the head. Alien skin tones. Faint emotions. Physical prowess leagues above humans. Except this one—Ailet—bucked every trend. Barely taller than Aisoll herself. Strength? Zilch. Seriously deficient. Not just compared to the hero party—flat-out weak. Asked her to grab a laundry basket while hovering nearby? She grunted and struggled like it weighed a ton. Staggering with a water bucket for dinner prep? Aisoll wondered if she was faking it.
Some demonkin traded stamina for magic or unique powers, yeah. Aisoll compensated her own middling physique with spells. But this level? Nah. What gives? Hiding her power? Standard for succubi? Or was Ailet a freak?
She was odd all around. Up close, she gave off a weird smell. All her nutrition gone straight to flab? Her body's shape was grotesque. Big horns were just icing. Peeking around like a human, whining at the drop of a hat. Complained her feet hurt, so Aisoll gave back the slippers—then had to give 'em again. And when Lucilla asked if she could borrow clothes? Even Aisoll snapped.
“Why the fuck my clothes?! Why give my stuff to that thing?!”
“Well, your height's the closest match...”
“I'm taller! I tower over that runt! If anything, give her yours!”
“...Aisoll.”
“Aaaargh!”
The succubus flinched behind the saintess, hand covering a new tear in the clothes from last night. In the end, Aisoll surrendered the least precious ones. But seeing them on the succubus still pissed her off.
“Fucking annoying.”
“Not to your taste, Aisoll?”
As if you didn't know. Aisoll jabbed her spoon irritably. Dinner was grain porridge again. The hero had skipped it after pulling an all-nighter, and they hadn't bothered calling the saintess and mage. The firelit silhouettes numbered three: Aisoll, Lucilla, and that succubus.
Aisoll's outfits were usually flashy and billowy. The reluctantly donated set was too: a short skirt and matching black top she'd bought for some hypothetical outing. Never gonna happen unless they bagged the Demon King, so she'd tossed it aside planning to replace it later. But on the succubus? A total joke. Skirt hiked up past her thighs, ass peeking out easy. Top? Those stupid massive tits exposed her navel, the designer's stitches straining like they might rip any second. The clothes were screaming.
“So, succubus Ailet, you'll be with you today...”
Aisoll's eyes widened mid-chew, swallowing the mushy grains with disgust.
“With me? Her?”
Lucilla nodded.
“What the actual fuck—where'd you get that idea?!”
Aisoll knew yelling wouldn't sway the saintess. The succubus sat primly, hands folded, looking anxious. To Aisoll, even that seemed obnoxiously pitiful.
“Send her back to Leona then!”
“The hero worked hard last night...”
Obvious. But Aisoll hated the succubus right now. Then, sharp as ever, an idea struck.
“Fine! Make her a handmaid or whatever!”
Lucilla tilted her head slightly.
“A handmaid?”
“Leona's into that shit. Perfect timing. That thing can't do jack anyway—put her to work like that, it'll be an improvement, right?”
The succubus's eyes darted around. Aisoll knew that look from dealing with plenty of people. What do you have to feel wronged about? Don't act human, succubus.
Aisoll flashed a malicious grin.
“Hey, succubus. You're on night duty for Leona tonight. I'll heap you a bowl—take it.”
Lucilla silently scooped up the rest of her porridge. Aisoll grabbed an empty bowl. The succubus blinked in confusion. But she didn't refuse. Couldn't, really. Succubi had no say in the matter, naturally.