A Demonic Parasite Is Introduced Into Her Brain

There was a crack, as the tooth punched through the crest of Lois Lane's skull. The reporter screamed, more from the shock than the pain...for the modified tooth was slim and sharp as a steel needle, and secreted a numbing fluid. The brain itself has no pain receptors. Yet Lois could struggle in terror as something slid down the thin tube and wiggled into the reporter's living brain...its tiny feet reverberating along the inside of her skull.

Lois cried and thrashed, but the a heavy ring of muscle had clamped tight across her eyes and all around her head. She could feel strange tongues lick and slurp at her hair...and when the tooth pulled back, the warm, wet tongues ran over the small, numb wound...and inside her head, the demonic parasite squirmed through her brain matter. Tasting. Testing.

Tears ran down from the reporter's eyes as her arms and legs twiched as the million hair-fine legs pressed and triggered each muscle group in turn. Scents, colors, and sounds cycled through Lois Lane's sensorium as it began to settle itself over and into the folds of her grey matter. The reporter was helpless to resist. No amount of willpower could fight the subtle manipulations of her own brain, the delicate commandeering of her nerve cells. Little by little, before Lois was even aware of it, the demonic parasite had slithered in and around her frontal lobes, its long, thin black body secreting the chemicals that began to permanently bond it with its host.

Then the little pincers opened on its head...and bit into the brain.

Lois Lane's body jerked, her pussy squirting...and then went slack. Blaze took a cloth and wiped a drop of drool away from the corner of the woman's mouth.

The parasite was merciless, the pincers like small scimitars as it slid deeper into her brain. Severing connections. Preserving some essential connections, removing others. What is a mind, anyway, but the sum of those connections? Little by little, what had been Lois Lane, the Daily Planet's greatest reporter, was devoured...and what was left was someone fundamentally different. Intelligent, competent, capable...with all of the reporter's skills, but none of her emotional connections. Even the name, Lois Lane, was isolated, connections carefully excised...and then consumed. To leave behind the squirming black body of the thing that would become the new, improved version.

A little synaptic seepage oozed out of the reporter's eyes. Blaze wiped away the bloody tears. Lois Lane, at least as she had been, was dead...a blank slate on which a new, more cooperative personality could be written. The scarlet succubus booped the former reporter's nose.

"You're going to become," she said, to the woman who had been Lois Lane, "just what the customer ordered."