Succubus Master
Copyright© 2025 by UnluckyGod
Chapter 1: Forest Amazement
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 1: Forest Amazement - A cowardly adventurer named Roger is reborn by the God of Chaos, Hades. Offered forbidden power, he must choose whether to serve, betray, or rise against the god—and in doing so, may change the fate of the world.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mind Control Slavery Fiction GameLit High Fantasy Magic Were animal Demons BDSM Torture Polygamy/Polyamory Transformation
In silence he walks where mortals kneel
A shadow crowned in god-forged power.
Sent by Hades, crowned in darkness,
To conquer land and hearts, to carve a name.
No light will guide, no prayer will save--
The messenger comes from beyond the grave.
Fate will change, temples and church will fall,
All shall kneel where his footsteps fall.
“Hahh ... hahh ... hahhh...”
Roger’s breath harsh, broken gasps as he slumped against the trunk of a towering tree, its massive branches casting shadows over him. The forest around him had gone still ... too still. Each heaving breath scraped against his throat, his legs barely able to hold him up, his face bloodless with sheer terror.
His teacher had just been torn in half.
Not slain. Not cut down honorably in combat.
Ripped apart.
The image burned behind his eyelids—those claws slicing through John’s body like paper, the explosive spray of blood, the scream that had been snatched away before it could even leave his lips. Roger clamped a trembling hand over his mouth, choking back a sob. Sweat, cold and clammy, soaked his worn leather armor, gluing it to his skin.
“Grrrrhhhkkk ... kkrrhhhggghh...”
The revolting sounds of something gnawing, tearing, feasting—just beyond the trees—made him want to crawl into the roots of the earth and vanish. Every instinct screamed at him to run. But his body refused. He couldn’t even move. Could barely breathe.
Whatever that thing was ... it wasn’t natural. It wasn’t a beast.
It was something else.
John had been a fifth-level swordsman—strong enough to earn a noble title in the Imperial Capital. A man who’d trained Roger since he could hold a sword. A mentor. A father in all but blood. Together, they’d hunted monsters, crossed wastelands and wildlands.
And yet that creature had torn him to pieces in seconds.
Roger was seventeen, not a child. He had seen blood. Fought monsters. Trained since the age of six under John’s merciless discipline. He’d reached the third level of swordsmanship and could hold his own against most threats.
But this?
This thing made every ounce of fight in him shrivel and die. He hadn’t even had the will to draw his blade. Only to run.
He hadn’t even begun to grieve. There was no space for grief—only paralyzing dread. The man who had raised him, protected him, stood beside him every step of the way ... gone. Consumed. And Roger had done nothing but run and pray.
Damn it ... I told you not to come to this cursed place! But no, you just had to drag me here!
The words screamed inside his mind, but he didn’t dare whisper them aloud.
Two days ago, they’d been planning their next hunt. Roger had suggested something simple: the icy shores of the Magma River. Ice Beasts, low-grade crystals, decent money. Safe. Predictable. Far from danger. But John—stubborn, reckless John ... had insisted on Ravenfall Forest.
“Higher risk, higher reward,” he’d said.
They’d fought about it. Loudly. Roger hadn’t spoken to him for hours afterward.
Ravenfall had looked like a dream—lush, endless green, wildflowers in bloom, vibrant exotic fruits, clear streams through moss-covered rocks. But it was a lie. A beautiful lie.
One of Nirn’s infamous “Places of No Return.”
It earned the name honestly. No one came back.
Generations of warriors—dragon-slayers, conquerors, legendary adventurers—had stepped into Ravenfall. None had returned. Most never made it past the edge. They were devoured before they had the chance to scream.
Too late now to curse John for it.
Roger held his breath, straining to hear beyond the trees. The sounds of chewing and cracking bone were fading, slowly swallowed by the quiet. He exhaled shakily, inching out from behind the tree, his mind finally able to think of escape.
They hadn’t gone deep into the forest—he was sure of that. If he started moving now, he could reach the edge by nightfall. He might ... just might ... make it out alive.
He turned to get his bearings ... and nearly wet himself.
It was there.
Not ten steps away, motionless and massive. Towering like a nightmare from the deepest abyss. Nearly four meters tall, the creature’s form seemed to blot out the light. Its face was a vertical slit lined with rows upon rows of teeth, like a monstrous Venus flytrap. Blood still dripped from its claws—John’s blood. Its long tail swayed lazily behind it, brushing leaves aside like an afterthought.
“D-Don’t eat me ... please ... I-I don’t want to die...”
Roger collapsed to his knees, hands over his face, curling in on himself like a terrified child. On the continent of Nirn, there may have been no warrior more afraid of death than Roger in that moment.
He didn’t even try to fight.
Instead, memories spilled forth in a flood—his first brothel visit with John when he was twelve, awkward and flushed with excitement. Sharing drinks with fellow adventurers in bustling taverns. Pulling a magic crystal from a still-warm beast. The joy of holding a brand-new sword for the first time.
Is this what they mean by “life flashing before your eyes?”
Old John, you bastard ... you dragged me here to die. If there’s an afterlife, I swear I’m going to find you and beat your ass!
Roger shut his eyes, stretched out his neck, and waited.
And waited.
Seconds passed. Then a full minute.
Nothing.
Cautiously, he peeked between his fingers.
The creature hadn’t moved.
It was still watching him. Unmoving. Unreadable. Not hostile. Not friendly. Just ... watching.
Slowly, Roger rose to his feet, heart pounding so hard it hurt. His knees threatened to buckle, but he stood anyway.
The monster shifted.
Roger flinched, ready to bolt—but something felt wrong.
It wasn’t attacking.
It was ... changing.
The black mass of its body began to ripple, its form twisting like thick, molten tar. Limbs wobbled and compressed. Bones seemed to vanish, sucked inward with grotesque squelching sounds. The beast reshaped itself, collapsing into a single pulsing black orb.
Then—
Boom!
The sphere exploded in a blast of viscous black slime, thick and reeking. The air filled with the stench of rot and sulfur. Even from a distance, Roger felt the muck splatter against his face—warm and wet.
“Huh?” Roger frowned in confusion. The black mucus did not emit a foul smell or a bloody smell, but rather a strong, obscene smell. Roger was very familiar with this smell. It was this smell when he licked the pussy of a prostitute named Saron in Maple Leaf Town two days ago.