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Ripping the Bandaid Off

Hey Readers,

Once again, I wanted to thank you all for the likes and comments. I read any I get. I’ve had more time to work on the story lately, which has been fun. I’m doing a cheeky time skip starting with this chapter. Four weeks ahead.

Thanks again for reading.

-Jim

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You sat alone in your mother Abby’s office, waiting for her to arrive. The place looked almost identical to how you remembered it: clean lines, glass and chrome surfaces, and framed photos of high-rise buildings she’d helped fund or acquire. Everything about the space screamed professional distance—efficient, but impersonal. That was just her style.

Your mother had always been a driven woman, a high-level property developer with more corporate accolades than you could count. Her business contacts had been crucial in helping you secure a house for your ever-growing, deeply unconventional family. She’d even bought it for you, insisting it was a gift. Now, you were here to finalize the paperwork transferring the title to your name—and to finally tell her everything.

That part made your stomach churn.

Beside you sat Morgana, your radiant slime goddess and the love of your new, transformed life. Her tendrils curled gently around your arm, lovingly protective. Your hand rested on the firm, gelatinous curve of her belly—translucent violet, swirling with the deep iridescent shadow of your budding daughter within. The child squirmed faintly, and you swore you could feel her tiny movements brush against your palm.

You couldn’t help but smile at the surreal, beautiful reality of it.

Morgana noticed your lingering gaze. She leaned in close, her face glowing with gentle amusement and affection. Her mental presence nudged yours.

“It will be okay, darling,” she said, both aloud and through your bond. “I’m here to make things go smoothly. She’s going to be happy to have a grandchild.”

You nodded, though the knot in your chest didn’t loosen.

Abby didn’t know. Not really. She knew about the women—Morgana had spoken to her briefly during house viewings, dancing around the subject of “starting a family.” But she didn’t know how far things had gone. She didn’t know Morgana was practically days from budding. Or that Lisbeth and Lexi were also expecting. Or that Cerena and Kiri might be too.

And she definitely didn’t know what you had become.

Four weeks had passed since the final ritual with the coven—four weeks since your body, mind, and soul had fully awakened to the being you now were. Asmodeus, the devil prince of lust. Not merely in title, but in form. Though you concealed the more overt signs—horns, tail, wings, the glow in your eyes—you couldn’t hide everything. Your physique had changed, your energy exuded unnatural dominance, and your presence could now affect mortals in ways you barely understood.

You heard the clack of stilettos echoing down the hallway.

Then she entered.

“James! Morgana! I’m so happy to see y—!”

Abby stopped dead in her tracks. Her lips parted, confusion knitting her brow as her eyes scanned you—up, down, again.

“J–James?”

You stood up slowly, forcing a smile. “Hey, Mom.”

But her eyes didn’t meet yours. They were locked on your body—your frame. Her confusion deepened, tinged with something else: disbelief... and heat.

“…What the hell happened to you?”

You shifted uneasily. “I... I’ve been working out.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

She stepped closer, peering into your face, her expression somewhere between awe and suspicion. You knew what she was seeing: the sharpness of your jawline, the golden undertone of your skin, the unnatural symmetry of your features. Even though you’d tried to suppress your aura, she still felt it. That much was clear in the slight flush on her cheeks... and the stammer that followed.

“You look—god, James—you look like one of those photoshopped Calvin Klein ads,” she blurted. “Jesus. Did you get... surgery or something?”

Morgana stifled a laugh.

“No surgery,” you said, shifting awkwardly. “I changed. Not just physically.”

Abby narrowed her eyes. Her breath hitched. “Changed how?”

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. “That’s kind of part of why we came here. I’m sorry I’ve been out of contact lately, but I wasn’t sure exactly how to bring this up. I’m not... exactly human anymore.”

Abby blinked. Once. Twice.

“Excuse me?”

You could feel the air shift. She was backing up slightly now, crossing her arms, the familiar fire in her eyes.

“You’d better start explaining, James. Now.”

Morgana gently squeezed your arm.

You nodded, taking a seat. “You remember how I started working for the AWIO?”

“Yeah. You said it was just maintenance. Light work.”

“It was. At first.” You glanced at Morgana. “But then... something happened. Morgana found me. You know I sponsored her and then the others, but it’s not exactly the whole story. See Morgana came here for a reason…she followed a magical signature—someone she’d been searching for. That someone was... me.”

Abby’s brows shot up.

“I don’t—”

“About thirty years ago,” Morgana said softly, her voice like warm velvet, “my beloved Asmodeus, a powerful devil prince, disappeared. We didn’t know what had become of him. In his final moment, to avoid ****, he fused his essence into a human fetus—James.”

“Fused?” Abby repeated, eyes darting between you and Morgana. “So, wait—what, you're possessed or something? Is that why you look like this?!”

“No,” you said quickly. “It’s not like that. He is me. I always was him—I just didn’t know. His soul was dormant until Morgana came into my life. Her magic, her presence—it woke something up.”

Abby shook her head, clearly unsettled. “You’re talking about biblical devils like they’re real.”

“They are,” you said. “You know they are. Is it so far fetched knowing about the portal, monster girls, and the other world?”

Her expression faltered.

“I mean, yes,” she said slowly. “Lexi made that very clear when she came to me with the offer. She said she wanted you when you were grown... and I needed help after your father left. She made it sound like a sponsorship deal, not some ancient soul-bound destiny. I’m just not sure I actually believe it.”

“Can I show you without you?” You asked, nervous about her reaction.

Your mom looked at you, a questioning look on her face. “Show me what?”

“Show you what I really look like.” You said sheepishly.

“I can already see you’ve changed. Is there more?”

“Y-yeah.” Your breath quickened, fear and anxiety building inside you. Would she reject you? “I want to show you it’s just…don’t freak out.”

Your mother looked at you with equal parts concern and love. “James, I’m your mom. You don’t need to hide things from me.”

You let out a deep sigh, bracing yourself.

You stood, reaching up to your collarbone. There, under your shirt, you released the subtle binding spell that masked your true form—one woven for her sake, to keep your aura in check. It was a trick Elara had taught you.

The illusion fell away like melting glass.

Your horns unfurled from your head, black and iridescent like polished obsidian. Your eyes burned a soft violet, glowing with inner heat. Your skin turned to inky black leather. A soft black aura shimmered around you—liquid heat and desire incarnate.

Abby gasped, staggering back into the desk behind her. “Oh my god...”

Her hands trembled.

You opened your mouth to speak, but she cut you off.

“That’s not—That’s not a costume. That’s not... James, what the fuck are you?”

You winced. “I told you. I’m a devil. I always was. Just... dormant.”

Abby’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her knees buckled slightly, and she reached to steady herself on the desk.

And then came the scent. The heat.

You saw her body react before her mind could catch up: pupils dilating, her breath quickening, her face flushed deeper than before. Mortals, especially women, were susceptible to your presence when you dropped your veil. You felt your aura tug on her instincts—desire blooming where there should have been only shock.

Her hands clenched into fists. “This isn’t... normal. This is wrong. Why do I feel... god, what is this?!”

Morgana stepped forward, calm and graceful, and placed a gentle hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“You’re feeling the influence of a devil prince’s presence,” she explained softly. “It’s natural. He’s not trying to affect you. It simply is. You’re mortal. Your body responds whether you want it to or not.”

Abby’s jaw clenched, her face flushed with shame and rising fury. “I’m your mother. I shouldn’t feel anything like this.”

You turned away, guilt flickering in your chest. “That’s why I kept it hidden.”

Abby looked at you again. Her voice was brittle. “Is this how you... is this how you got all those women?”

Morgana’s laughter was low and elegant. “Oh, he had help. But most of us loved him before his form changed.”

Abby was quiet for a long moment, her breathing gradually slowing.

Then she looked at you again—still flushed, still clearly unsettled—but with something else behind her eyes: a mother’s **** need to understand.

“You swear to me,” she whispered, “you’re still my son?”

You turned to face her again, horns and all.

“I swear.”

She stared at you, eyes moist with confusion and lingering arousal.

“Then turn back on before I do something I’ll regret.”

You waved your hand as your glamour settled back into place. Abby exhaled sharply in relief.