Chapter Text
Chapter 1: "Till Death Do Us... Wait, What?"
Leon Falk had experienced some genuinely fucked up situations in his twenty-six years as an Awakened mage. There was that time he accidentally summoned a horde of angry pixies during his Initiation ritual with the Cult of Ecstasy and spent three days picking glitter out of places glitter should never, ever go. Or when he'd tried to impress a Sleeper girl by using subtle Forces magic to levitate her coffee cup and instead launched it straight into her laptop, destroying her thesis, violating the Masquerade, and earning him a lecture from his mentor about "responsible reality manipulation" that lasted longer than most college courses.
The Technocracy had been breathing down his neck for months, their agents sniffing around his neighborhood with their clipboards and their aggressively bland suits, looking for signs of "anomalous activity." Leon had been keeping his head down, limiting his magic use to coincidental effects only, and trying very hard not to attract attention from either the Men in Black or the more enthusiastic members of his own Tradition who thought "subtle" was a foreign word.
Leon was tall and lean, with the kind of build that suggested he spent more time running from supernatural threats than hitting the gym. His dark brown hair was perpetually disheveled, as if he'd just been electrocuted by a minor demon—which, to be fair, had happened more than once. Sharp green eyes that missed nothing sat behind wire-rimmed glasses that had been repaired with magical duct tape after a particularly explosive encounter with a possessed coffee machine. His clothing choices tended toward "practical paranormal investigator meets broke graduate student"—worn jeans, scuffed boots, and a long black coat that had more pockets than should be physically possible, all enchanted with protective wards and what his mentor cheerfully called "plot armor."
He had a tendency toward cynicism mixed with dark humor, a defense mechanism developed through years of dealing with supernatural bullshit. Leon possessed what his Tradition called "synchronicity wave traveling"—an instinctual ability to be exactly where he needed to be, when he needed to be there. The downside was that the universe seemed to have a very broad definition of "where he needed to be," which occasionally included places like "the middle of a supernatural gang war" or, apparently, "accidentally married to a succubus in Hell."
But falling through a goddamn dimensional rift into what appeared to be the actual, literal fires of Hell while some hot pink succubus belted out what sounded like the unholy lovechild of Britney Spears and a death metal concert? That was definitely climbing the charts of "Leon's Top Ten Most Spectacularly Fucked Situations," and it was giving his unfortunate encounter with a Paradox Spirit the competition it deserved.
The fall itself had been surprisingly brief—one moment he'd been investigating a strange magical disturbance in his cramped Chicago apartment (because of course the Technocracy couldn't leave a guy alone to eat leftover pizza and practice his Correspondence exercises in peace), and the next he was tumbling ass-over-teakettle through what looked like a neon-soaked fever dream that his Paradigm couldn't even begin to categorize.
The dimensional rift had opened like a wound in reality, crackling with energies that made his Awakened senses scream in protest. Leon had barely managed to throw up his magical defenses before the pull became irresistible, dragging him through layers of existence he'd only read about in theoretical texts. The journey felt like falling through a kaleidoscope made of pure chaos—colors that had no names, sounds that bypassed his ears and went straight to his soul, and the overwhelming sensation that he was moving between worlds that operated on fundamentally different rules.
He landed with all the grace of a sack of potatoes in what appeared to be a plush theater seat, the kind that probably cost more than his monthly rent. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment he just sat there, wheezing and trying to process the sensory overload that was currently skull-fucking his Awakened perceptions.
The venue was massive—think Madison Square Garden if it had been designed by someone with a serious hard-on for the color pink and an unhealthy obsession with heart motifs. Thousands of demons packed the stands, and Leon used the term "demons" in the most literal sense possible. There were imps with tiny horns and shit-eating grins, towering hellhounds that looked like they could bench press a Buick, and creatures that defied any classification beyond "what the actual fuck am I looking at right now?"
The architecture itself was a study in infernal excess. Towering spires of black marble twisted toward a ceiling that seemed to stretch into infinity, decorated with murals depicting scenes that would have made Hieronymus Bosch reach for his therapy appointment book. Golden veins ran through the walls like arteries, pulsing with a light that wasn't quite fire and wasn't quite electricity. The air itself seemed to shimmer with heat and supernatural energy, carrying scents of sulfur, expensive perfume, and what might have been the world's most expensive incense.
But the real showstopper was on stage.
The performer was a succubus—and Leon knew this not through some mystical mage intuition, but because she was exactly what every hormone-addled teenager had fantasized about during late-night internet binges and furtive trips to the occult section of bookstores. She stood about six feet tall in heels that could probably double as murder weapons, her hot pink skin seeming to emit its own sultry glow under the stage lights.
Leon's breath caught in his throat. Her body was pure sin made manifest—voluptuous curves that defied physics and good sense, all wrapped in a black and white mini-dress that was less clothing and more a strategic deployment of fabric. The dress clung to her like it had been painted on, accentuating an hourglass figure that would make a Victorian corset weep with inadequacy. Her breasts were generous without being cartoonish, straining against the fabric in a way that suggested they were one deep breath away from freedom. Her waist nipped in dramatically before flaring out to hips that swayed with hypnotic precision as she moved across the stage.
Her hair was a waterfall of ombre perfection, cascading from white at the roots to deep pink at the tips, falling to her knees in waves that caught the stage lights like spun silk. A pair of black-tipped horns crowned her head like a diabolic tiara, somehow managing to look both menacing and elegant. Bat-like wings spread behind her as she moved, the membrane stretched between delicate bones covered in markings that looked suspiciously like stylized hearts. When she turned, Leon caught sight of a spade-shaped tail that swished with the kind of predatory grace that made his pulse quicken in ways that probably weren't entirely healthy.
But it was her face that really made Leon's brain temporarily short-circuit. She was beautiful in the way that made rational thought pack up and leave for the weekend. High cheekbones, full lips painted black, and a small heart-shaped beauty mark under her right eye that drew attention to those unsettling pink irises set in yellow sclera. Her eyes held a predatory intelligence that suggested she knew exactly what effect she was having on every male in the audience—and she was enjoying every second of it.
The stage itself was a technological marvel that would have impressed even the most jaded Technocracy engineer. Holographic displays created impossible geometries in the air, while pyrotechnics that definitely violated several laws of thermodynamics painted the atmosphere in shades of fire and lightning. The sound system seemed to bypass normal physics entirely, creating audio that resonated not just in the ears but in the bones, the soul, the very fabric of reality itself.
But it was her voice that really grabbed him by the metaphorical balls and refused to let go. She was in the middle of what sounded like a power ballad about recreational drug use and questionable life choices, belting out lyrics that would make a sailor blush while her backup dancers—more succubi, because apparently Hell had excellent hiring practices—gyrated in perfect synchronization.
"—and I don't give a fuck about your feelings, baby, 'cause I'm higher than your daddy's expectations—"
The crowd was eating it up, screaming and cheering with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for professional wrestling or public executions. Leon was pretty sure he saw someone throw what looked suspiciously like underwear onto the stage, which raised questions he wasn't sure he wanted answered.
Leon tried to get his bearings, looking around at the other audience members with the kind of anthropological fascination usually reserved for nature documentaries. There were demons of every conceivable variety—some humanoid, some definitely not, all of them unified in their appreciation for the performance. He spotted what appeared to be a group of imps passing around a flask, a cluster of hellhounds filming everything on phones that probably cost more than his car, and at least three creatures that looked like they'd stepped out of an H.P. Lovecraft fever dream.
The energy in the venue was intoxicating in the most literal sense. Leon could feel waves of supernatural charisma washing over the crowd, amplified by the performer's natural succubus abilities and the architectural acoustics of the space. It was like being inside a giant amplifier for raw, distilled emotion.
That's when the music cut out.
The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the confused murmur of the crowd and what sounded like someone in the back shouting, "What the fuck, Vera?"
The succubus—apparently named Vera, or maybe that was just what drunk demons called each other—stood center stage, microphone in hand, swaying slightly in a way that suggested she'd been hitting something stronger than the typical performer's pre-show jitters. Her eyes, Leon noticed, were an unsettling combination of pink irises and yellow sclera, with pupils that looked like they could cut glass.
Her voice was pure auditory sex, carrying easily through the suddenly silent venue. There was a slight slur to her words that confirmed Leon's suspicion about the drinking, but even drunk, she commanded attention like a gravitational force. Leon could feel the edges of her supernatural allure washing over him—that succubus ability to enhance sexual desire in humans by exuding a supernatural allure. His Awakened nature provided some resistance, but not immunity. It was like standing too close to a bonfire made of pure pheromones and bad decisions.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and assorted hellspawn," she announced, her voice carrying easily through the suddenly silent venue. The PA system seemed to respond to her will rather than any technical equipment, amplifying her words with supernatural clarity. "Your girl Verosika is feeling... generous tonight."
Verosika. So not Vera. Good to know, assuming he lived long enough for the information to be relevant.
"You know what?" Verosika continued, taking a long pull from what appeared to be a bedazzled flask that probably contained something that would strip paint. "Fuck it. I'm done being single. I'm done with dating apps full of losers who think 'Netflix and chill' counts as a personality trait. I'm done with one-night stands that turn into awkward morning conversations about whether or not someone's going to call."
The crowd was starting to get restless. Someone near the back shouted something that sounded like either encouragement or a request for her to get back to the singing, Leon couldn't tell which. The energy in the venue was shifting, becoming expectant and slightly dangerous in the way that large crowds could when they sensed something unprecedented was about to happen.
Leon found himself leaning forward, caught up in the moment despite the surreal circumstances. There was something magnetic about Verosika's presence, a combination of raw charisma and supernatural allure that made it impossible to look away. He could feel his analytical mind trying to categorize what he was experiencing—the way her voice seemed to resonate at frequencies that bypassed rational thought, the subtle magical emanations that suggested she was unconsciously channeling power through her emotional state.
Verosika raised the flask again, then seemed to think better of it and instead pointed it at the audience like a compass seeking true north. The gesture was theatrical, dramatic, and utterly captivating. "I'm gonna get married. Right fucking now. To whoever—" She spun in a slow circle, the flask still extended, building tension like a master showwoman. The crowd held its collective breath as she completed her rotation, until the flask came to rest pointing directly at Leon's section. "—is sitting in seat 666-F."
Leon looked around frantically. Surely she couldn't mean—
A massive display screen above the stage suddenly zoomed in on his section, then focused with laser precision on his seat. The number "666-F" appeared in glowing letters beside his startled face, and fifty thousand demons suddenly had a very clear view of exactly who their pop goddess had chosen.
"That's you, sugar tits!" Verosika's voice boomed through the sound system as she pointed directly at him with her free hand. "Yeah, you! Human boy in the—what the fuck are you wearing, a bathrobe?"
Leon looked down at himself, suddenly hyperaware of how he must appear to an audience of fashion-conscious demons. The long coat he'd thrown on over his jeans and t-shirt did kind of look like a bathrobe from a distance. It was actually a perfectly respectable duster-style coat that he'd bought because it made him feel like he was in a supernatural detective novel, but apparently Hell had different fashion standards.
"That's not—" he started to say, then realized he was trying to have a conversation with a drunk succubus from several hundred yards away. "I don't think this is—"
"Security!" Verosika's voice cut through his protests like a blade through silk. "Bring me my future husband!"
What happened next could only be described as a kidnapping, if kidnapping typically involved being manhandled by creatures that looked like they'd been designed by someone with a serious leather fetish and abandonment issues. Leon found himself being bodily lifted from his seat by two massive hellhounds who handled him with the casual efficiency of bouncers removing a drunk college kid from a bar.
The hellhounds were professionals, Leon had to give them that. They moved with the kind of coordinated precision that suggested extensive training in crowd control and VIP escort services. Their grip was firm but not bruising, efficient but not unnecessarily rough. They even managed to navigate the narrow aisles between seats without banging his head against anything, which showed a level of consideration he hadn't expected from demonic security personnel.
"Wait, wait, WAIT!" Leon struggled against their grip as they carried him toward the stage, his magical instincts finally kicking in. He could have fought back—a quick Life spell to disrupt their motor control, a burst of Forces magic to create a distraction—but something held him back. Maybe it was curiosity about this impossible situation, maybe it was the influence of Verosika's supernatural charisma, or maybe it was just the recognition that fighting fifty thousand demons in their own territory was a losing proposition.
"This is a misunderstanding! I'm not even supposed to be here! I fell through a fucking portal!"
His protests were drowned out by the crowd, which had apparently decided that this was the best entertainment they'd had all night. Demons were cheering, howling, and making what Leon was pretty sure were very crude suggestions about his immediate future. The noise was deafening, a wall of sound that seemed to have physical weight.
As they carried him down toward the stage, Leon caught glimpses of the audience in unprecedented detail. The demons weren't just random monsters—they were people, individuals with their own personalities and preferences. He saw groups of friends sharing drinks and taking selfies, couples holding hands and laughing, families with young demons who were probably experiencing their first concert. It was weirdly normalizing, this reminder that Hell was apparently just another place where people lived their lives and enjoyed entertainment.
The hellhounds deposited him on stage with all the ceremony of a UPS delivery, and suddenly Leon found himself face to face with Verosika Mayday, Hell's apparent pop princess. Up close, she was even more intimidating—and that was saying something, considering she was intimidating from several hundred yards away.
Her eyes were slightly unfocused from whatever she'd been drinking, but they still held a predatory intelligence that made Leon feel like a rabbit who'd accidentally wandered into a wolf convention. She smelled like expensive perfume, sulfur, and what might have been whiskey that cost more than his monthly rent. The supernatural energy radiating from her was almost tangible, like standing next to a barely contained lightning storm.
"Well, well, well," she purred, circling him slowly like a predator evaluating prey. Leon tried very hard not to think about the fact that her tail was swishing in what could charitably be called an interested manner. "What do we have here? A little lost human, all the way down in Hell."
Up close, Leon could see the details that distance had hidden. Her skin wasn't just pink—it had subtle gradations of color that shifted with the stage lights, creating an almost opalescent effect. Her horns weren't simply decorative; they pulsed with a faint inner light that suggested they were conduits for magical energy. Her wings weren't just for show either—the membrane was shot through with veins that glowed softly, and he could see the powerful muscles that controlled their movement.
"Listen," Leon said, trying to project more confidence than he felt while his analytical mind catalogued everything he was experiencing, "I think there's been a mistake. I'm not—"
"Oh, you're definitely not from around here, sweetheart." Verosika reached out and fingered the lapel of his coat, and Leon felt a jolt of sensation that was definitely supernatural in origin. "This is... what, enchanted cotton? With protective wards woven into the fabric?" Her eyes glowed brighter as she examined him more closely, and he could feel her probing at the edges of his magical defenses. "And you've got that whole 'cynical occult detective' vibe going on. Very mysterious."
Leon blinked in surprise. Most supernatural entities couldn't immediately identify magical protections, let alone recognize his particular aesthetic. The fact that she could read the ward-weaving in his coat suggested either extensive experience with Earth's magical community or natural talent that was off the charts. "You know about ward-weaving?"
"Honey, I've been around the supernatural community for longer than you've been alive," Verosika purred, her voice taking on a quality that seemed to resonate in his bones. "I can spot a professional when I see one. All sharp wit and mysterious past, with just enough danger to be interesting."
"I don't know about mysterious," Leon said defensively, though he was increasingly aware that he was having this conversation in front of fifty thousand spectators who were hanging on every word. "And I have an excellent track record of keeping people alive, thank you very much."
"Uh-huh." Verosika's grin turned predatory, revealing canine teeth that were definitely sharper than standard human dental work. "We'll see about that, magic boy. What's your specialty? Demonology? Exorcism? Divination?"
The crowd was eating up this exchange, treating it like the most entertaining reality TV show they'd ever seen. Leon could hear commentary from the audience, suggestions and encouragement that ranged from helpful to anatomically impossible.
"Life magic, mostly," Leon admitted, figuring that honesty was probably his best policy at this point. "Healing, biological manipulation, that sort of thing. Though I dabble in other spheres when the situation calls for it."
"Life magic," Verosika repeated, her voice taking on an interested purr that sent heat straight to places Leon wasn't prepared to acknowledge. "Now that has possibilities."
The way she said it made Leon very aware that he was standing on a stage with a succubus who had just announced her intention to marry him, and that "Life magic" probably suggested all sorts of interesting applications to someone whose existence revolved around physical pleasure and supernatural charisma.
Verosika laughed, a sound like silver bells being thrown down a staircase—beautiful, chaotic, and slightly dangerous. "Sugar, I've dated worse on purpose. At least you smell like you shower regularly." She leaned in closer, and Leon caught a whiff of alcohol that could probably power a small aircraft. "Plus, I did just announce to about fifty thousand demons that I was going to marry whoever was in that seat. You want me to look like a liar in front of my fans?"
"I..." Leon looked out at the crowd, which was watching this exchange with the kind of rapt attention usually reserved for car crashes or reality TV. The sea of faces was expectant, excited, and more than a little bloodthirsty. He was starting to understand that disappointing this particular audience might have consequences that went beyond hurt feelings.
"Couldn't you just say it was a joke? Like a bit? People love bits!"
"Nope!" Verosika popped the 'p' with obvious satisfaction, the sound amplified by the venue's acoustics into something that seemed to echo in his chest. "A promise is a promise, especially when it's made in front of witnesses. Besides," she added, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper that somehow still carried to every corner of the massive venue, "where's your sense of adventure? When's the last time you did something really fucking crazy?"
Leon considered this. The honest answer was "about five minutes ago when I fell through a portal into Hell," but before he could voice that thought, Verosika had already moved on.
"FATHER SULLIVAN!" she bellowed into the microphone, her voice taking on a commanding quality that suggested she was used to having her orders followed without question.
From the wings of the stage emerged what Leon could only describe as a demon priest, if priests typically looked like they'd been designed by Rob Zombie during a particularly bad acid trip. The creature was tall and gaunt, with skin like old leather and eyes that glowed with unholy fire. He wore traditional black robes, but they were decorated with skulls and what appeared to be obscene Latin phrases that probably weren't approved by any earthly religious authority.
Father Sullivan moved with the measured pace of someone who had officiated at countless ceremonies, both sacred and profane. His presence brought a sense of gravitas to the proceedings, as if this wasn't just a drunken whim but an actual sacrament being performed. Leon could feel the weight of supernatural authority radiating from the priest, the kind of power that came from having the backing of infernal bureaucracy.
"Miss Mayday," the priest said in a voice like grinding millstones, each word carefully measured and surprisingly resonant, "I really don't think—"
"Father, darling," Verosika interrupted, wrapping an arm around Leon's shoulders with surprising strength that reminded him exactly how much physical power was contained in her deceptively elegant frame, "I need you to marry me to this delicious piece of man-meat. Right fucking now."
Leon tried to object again, but Verosika chose that moment to press herself against his side, and the combination of supernatural charisma and what appeared to be some kind of succubus pheromones made his brain temporarily short-circuit. It was like being hit with a hormone bomb while simultaneously getting a contact high from the world's most attractive person. His magical defenses, designed to protect against hostile spells and psychic attacks, were completely unprepared for an assault of pure, concentrated sensuality.
"But Miss Mayday," Father Sullivan protested, though Leon could hear resignation creeping into his voice, "proper demonic marriage ceremonies require preparation, documentation, blood tests to check for incompatible supernatural diseases—"
"Father," Verosika's voice took on a dangerous edge that made the temperature around them drop several degrees, "I'm not asking for proper. I'm asking for legal. Make it happen, or I'll find someone who will. And trust me, the next priest I find might not be as... careful with the documentation."
The implied threat hung in the air like smoke. Leon got the impression that there were probably plenty of less scrupulous religious officials in Hell who would be happy to perform a marriage ceremony with minimal attention to legal niceties or the wellbeing of the participants.
Father Sullivan looked between Verosika and Leon, his glowing eyes taking in the situation with the kind of professional assessment that came from years of dealing with supernatural celebrities and their impulsive decisions. He seemed to weigh his options, and apparently decided that arguing with a drunk, horny succubus in front of fifty thousand demons was not the hill he wanted to die on.
"Very well," he sighed, producing what appeared to be a marriage certificate from thin air with a flourish that suggested either sleight of hand or minor conjuration magic. "Do you, Verosika Mayday, take this... what's your name, son?"
"Leon," Leon managed to croak, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure of the moment. "Leon Falk. And I really think we should—"
"Do you, Verosika Mayday, take Leon Falk to be your lawfully wedded husband, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, in wealth and in poverty, through triumph and disaster, till death or divorce do you part?"
"Fuck yes, I do," Verosika said with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for winning the lottery or discovering your favorite restaurant was having a half-price sale.
"And do you, Leon Falk, take Verosika Mayday to be your—"
"I—this is happening very fast," Leon said, his brain finally starting to function again despite the supernatural influence clouding his judgment. "Shouldn't we talk about this? Like, I don't know anything about you except your name and the fact that you're a succubus who apparently has substance abuse issues."
The crowd booed with the kind of theatrical disappointment usually reserved for villains in professional wrestling. Someone threw what appeared to be a flaming program at the stage, which Leon noted was both impressive and concerning in terms of venue safety protocols.
Verosika leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear with contact that sent electricity through his entire nervous system. "Sweetie," she whispered, and there was something in her voice that was equal parts seductive promise and subtle threat, "you can say yes and have what's probably going to be a really interesting night, or you can say no and explain to fifty thousand very drunk, very violent demons why you're disappointing their favorite performer. Your choice."
Leon looked out at the crowd, really looked this time. A significant percentage of them appeared to have fangs, claws, or both. Several were holding what looked suspiciously like weapons that probably weren't legal in any earthly jurisdiction. One had what appeared to be a flamethrower, which seemed excessive even by Hell's standards. The expressions on their faces ranged from excited anticipation to barely contained bloodlust.
It occurred to Leon that this was probably one of those pivotal moments that would define the rest of his existence. He could refuse, try to fight his way out, and probably end up as a cautionary tale about humans who disappointed Hell's entertainment industry. Or he could say yes, marry a supernatural entity he'd known for less than ten minutes, and see where this impossible situation led.
His mentor had always told him that the universe had a way of putting people exactly where they needed to be, even if they didn't understand why at the time.
"I..." Leon swallowed hard, feeling the weight of fifty thousand expectant stares. "I do?"
The crowd erupted in cheers so loud that Leon was pretty sure they violated several noise ordinances and possibly the laws of physics. The sound was a physical force that seemed to shake the very foundations of the venue.
"Excellent!" Father Sullivan clapped his hands together with obvious relief, and Leon swore he saw actual sparks fly from the contact. "By the power vested in me by the Infernal Council and the State of Pentagram City, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!"
"Finally," Verosika purred, and before Leon could react, she grabbed him by the lapels of his definitely-not-a-bathrobe coat and pulled him into a kiss that probably violated several laws of physics and definitely violated his personal space.
Her lips were soft and tasted like expensive liquor and danger. There was something electric about the contact, like touching a live wire made of pure sensuality. Leon felt his knees go weak and was dimly aware that this was probably some kind of succubus magic, but found that he didn't particularly care at the moment. The kiss seemed to last forever and no time at all, a moment suspended between heartbeats where the rest of the universe faded away.
When she finally released him, Leon was pretty sure he'd forgotten how to breathe properly, how to think clearly, and possibly his own middle name.
"And that, bitches," Verosika announced to the crowd, still holding onto Leon like he might try to escape, "is how you get married in Hell!"
The venue erupted again, and through the chaos, Leon could hear what sounded like the opening chords of another song starting up. Apparently, the show was going to go on, wedding or no wedding.
"Wait," he managed to say as Verosika started to drag him toward the side of the stage, "what happens now?"
Verosika grinned at him, and Leon noticed that her canine teeth were definitely sharper than average. The expression was equal parts promising and predatory. "Now, husband mine, we go home and consummate this marriage properly. Hope you've got stamina, because I've got about six months of sexual frustration to work through."
"Six months?" Leon squeaked, his voice climbing to a register he hadn't hit since puberty.
"Rehab," Verosika said cheerfully, as if court-ordered substance abuse treatment was the most normal thing in the world. "Court-ordered. Did I mention I have a few issues with authority figures and controlled substances? No? Well, you're about to find out!"
As she hauled him off the stage, Leon caught a glimpse of the crowd one last time. They were on their feet, cheering and screaming with approval. Several were holding up what appeared to be cell phones, recording the whole thing for what would probably become the most viral wedding video in Hell's history.
Great, Leon thought as Verosika led him toward what he assumed was the backstage area. I'm probably going to be a meme in Hell.
The backstage area was a maze of corridors that smelled like expensive perfume, sulfur, and what might have been industrial-grade hairspray. The walls were lined with promotional posters, gold records, and what appeared to be framed reviews from Hell's entertainment press. Verosika navigated it with the casual expertise of someone who'd spent a lot of time stumbling through similar corridors in various states of intoxication.
Leon found himself studying the memorabilia as they walked, getting his first real glimpse into Verosika's career. The reviews were uniformly glowing, praising everything from her vocal range to her stage presence to her "innovative choreography." The gold records spoke to commercial success on a scale that would have impressed even Earth's biggest pop stars. This wasn't just some local Hell celebrity—she was clearly a major player in the supernatural entertainment industry.
"So," Leon said, jogging slightly to keep up with her surprisingly fast pace, "when you say 'consummate the marriage,' you don't necessarily mean—"
"Oh, I absolutely mean exactly what you think I mean," Verosika said without breaking stride, her voice carrying a promise that made his pulse spike. "I'm a succubus, darling. Sex is literally in my job description. Plus, it's been six fucking months, and you're cute in a 'lost puppy who needs to be shown a good time' kind of way."
"I'm not a puppy," Leon protested, though he had to admit that "lost" was probably accurate.
"We'll see," Verosika said with a grin that was absolutely filthy. "I bet you make adorable sounds when you're—"
"Vera!"
The voice cut through the corridor like a buzzsaw, and Verosika stopped so abruptly that Leon nearly crashed into her. They turned to see another succubus approaching, this one with purple hair and an expression that suggested she was about three seconds away from committing homicide.
The newcomer was clearly another professional, dressed in what Leon recognized as the supernatural equivalent of a power suit. She moved with the kind of controlled fury that suggested extensive experience in damage control and crisis management.
"Oh, fuck," Verosika muttered under her breath. "Hi, Kiki."
"Don't 'Hi, Kiki' me," the purple-haired succubus snapped, her voice carrying the kind of authority that came from years of dealing with supernatural celebrities and their poor life choices. "Did you just get married? On stage? In front of fifty thousand people? While drunk off your ass?"
"I wasn't that drunk," Verosika protested weakly, which was approximately as convincing as it sounded.
"You told the lighting crew that they were 'beautiful rainbow butterflies' and tried to catch them with your bare hands," Kiki replied with the weary tone of someone who had clearly dealt with this exact type of situation before.
"That was... look, Kiki, meet my husband." Verosika gestured at Leon with the kind of flourish usually reserved for presenting prizes on game shows. "Leon, meet Kiki, my manager slash mother hen slash professional buzz-killer."
Leon waved awkwardly, suddenly very aware that he was probably about to get a lecture from someone who clearly knew how to handle supernatural crises. "Hi."
Kiki stared at him for a long moment, and Leon got the distinct impression he was being evaluated like a piece of meat at a particularly judgmental butcher shop. Her eyes took in everything—his clothes, his posture, the faint magical aura that probably surrounded him like cologne.
"He's human," she said finally, as if this explained everything wrong with the situation.
"Very observant," Verosika replied with the kind of cheerful sarcasm that suggested this wasn't their first conversation about her poor decision-making skills. "That's why you get the big bucks."
"He's human," Kiki repeated, her voice taking on the patient tone of someone explaining basic facts to a particularly slow child, "and alive. In Hell. Do you have any idea how much paperwork this is going to generate?"
Leon was starting to get the impression that Hell's bureaucracy was extensive and probably involved forms that existed in dimensions that hurt to think about.
"I'll handle the paperwork tomorrow," Verosika said dismissively, waving her hand as if interdimensional immigration law was a minor inconvenience. "Tonight, I'm handling something else entirely."
She grabbed Leon's hand and started walking again, but Kiki's voice stopped her once more.
"Vera. Honey. Sweetie. Light of my professional life and bane of my personal existence." Kiki's voice was sweet enough to cause diabetes, which somehow made it more threatening than outright anger. "You cannot drag a living human back to your apartment and fuck him to death. The legal department will have my horns."
"I'm not going to fuck him to death," Verosika said, sounding genuinely offended by the suggestion. "I'm a professional. I know my limits."
"Do you, though?" Kiki asked pointedly. "Because I seem to recall an incident in Miami involving a bass player and three days in the hospital."
"That was different," Verosika protested. "He had a heart condition."
"I don't have a heart condition!" Leon interjected, then immediately wondered why he was helping his case for being fucked to death by a succubus.
"See?" Verosika said triumphantly, as if Leon's lack of cardiovascular issues settled the entire matter. "He's perfectly healthy. Look at him! He's practically glowing with vitality."
Leon wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a threat, especially considering that his Life magic did tend to make him appear unusually healthy to supernatural senses.
Kiki rubbed her temples with the weary expression of someone who had clearly dealt with this exact type of situation before. "Fine. FINE. But you're getting him checked out by a medic first. And you're signing a waiver. And if he dies, you're handling the cleanup yourself."
"Deal," Verosika said cheerfully, then turned to Leon with an expression that was equal parts innocent and predatory. "You're okay with signing a waiver, right, sweetheart?"
"What kind of waiver?" Leon asked suspiciously, his paranoia finally catching up with his adrenaline.
"Oh, just basic stuff," Verosika waved dismissively, as if supernatural liability documentation was perfectly normal. "You know, acknowledging that sexual activity with supernatural entities carries certain inherent risks, agreeing not to sue if you experience temporary or permanent physical, mental, or spiritual side effects, promising not to write a tell-all book—the usual."
"The usual," Leon repeated faintly, wondering what kind of life led to that being considered "usual."
"Don't worry," Verosika patted his arm reassuringly, though her touch sent another jolt of supernatural energy through his system. "I'm very good at what I do. You'll probably only black out once or twice."
As they walked deeper into the backstage maze, Leon couldn't help but wonder if this was how people felt right before they made decisions that would later be classified as "spectacularly poor judgment." He was married to a succubus. A drunk, beautiful, apparently sexually frustrated succubus who seemed to view him as a combination husband, plaything, and science experiment.
The backstage area gradually transitioned from public spaces to private ones. The promotional materials gave way to more personal touches—photos of Verosika with other celebrities Leon didn't recognize, awards from organizations with names like "The Infernal Music Society" and "Hell's Entertainment Weekly," and what appeared to be fan art ranging from the merely obsessive to the genuinely disturbing.
"This is my dressing room," Verosika announced, stopping in front of a door marked with a star and her name in elaborate script. "I need to grab a few things before we head home."
The dressing room was exactly what Leon would have expected from a supernatural pop star—expensive, excessive, and slightly dangerous. Mirrors lined with lights that seemed to cast more than just illumination, makeup that glittered with what might have been actual stardust, and costumes that probably cost more than most people's annual salaries.
But what caught Leon's attention were the medical supplies. A small refrigerator hummed in one corner, labeled with warnings in multiple languages that basically boiled down to "do not touch unless you want to experience interesting new forms of existence." A first aid kit that was clearly designed for supernatural emergencies sat on the vanity, containing items Leon couldn't identify but which probably weren't approved by any earthly medical authority.
"Professional hazard," Verosika explained, following his gaze. "When your job involves channeling supernatural energy through your vocal cords while wearing gravity-defying costumes and performing choreography that would kill most mortals, you learn to be prepared."
She grabbed what appeared to be a bottle of something that glowed softly in the dim light, along with a small bag that probably contained more supernatural emergency supplies.
"Ready?" she asked, her eyes bright with anticipation and alcohol.
"I don't think anyone could be ready for this," Leon said honestly.
"Smart answer," Verosika grinned, taking his hand again. "Come on, husband. Time to see what married life in Hell is really like."
Verosika's apartment was everything Leon had expected and several things he hadn't. Located in what was clearly Hell's version of an upscale entertainment district, the building itself was a testament to supernatural architecture—impossible angles, materials that seemed to shift color in the light, and what appeared to be a doorman who was literally on fire but didn't seem to mind.
The penthouse suite was vast, decorated in shades of pink, black, and gold that somehow managed to be both elegant and slightly overwhelming. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Hell's skyline, which turned out to be surprisingly beautiful in a apocalyptic sort of way. The furniture was clearly expensive, designed for both comfort and style, with enough space to host parties or intimate gatherings as the mood struck.
But what really caught Leon's attention was the way the space felt alive with magical energy. The apartment wasn't just a home—it was a carefully constructed environment designed to enhance and channel supernatural power. The architecture itself seemed to resonate with harmonic frequencies, while the decorative elements appeared to be functional focuses for various types of magic.
"Welcome home, husband," Verosika said, her voice taking on a husky quality that made Leon very aware of what was about to happen.
She moved through the space with the fluid grace of someone completely comfortable in their environment, shedding accessories as she went. Her jewelry hit a side table with musical chimes, her shoes were kicked off with obvious relief, and her stage makeup was quickly removed with products that probably cost more than Leon's monthly rent.
"Drink?" she asked, moving toward a bar that was better stocked than most high-end restaurants.
"I probably shouldn't," Leon said, though he was starting to think that sobriety might not be his friend in this situation.
"Smart man," Verosika agreed, pouring herself something that sparkled like liquid starlight. "I've had enough for both of us tonight."
She settled onto a couch that was probably worth more than Leon's car, patting the cushion beside her in invitation. Leon sat down carefully, very aware of the supernatural energy radiating from her skin.
"So," Verosika said, studying him with eyes that seemed to see more than they should, "Life magic. That's interesting. Most Earth mages I've met have been all about flashy offensive spells or elaborate defensive wards. You're the first one I've encountered who specializes in biological manipulation."
"How many Earth mages have you met?" Leon asked, curious despite himself.
"More than you'd think," Verosika replied with a mysterious smile. "Hell's entertainment industry has connections to a lot of interesting places. We get magical consultants, supernatural talent scouts, the occasional refugee from interdimensional politics. You learn to recognize the different types."
Leon processed this information, realizing that his situation might not be quite as unique as he'd thought. "And Life mages are rare?"
"Earth Life mages who can actually manipulate biological systems in real time? Very rare," Verosika confirmed. "Most of your kind are limited to basic healing and enhancement. But you..." She leaned closer, and Leon caught a whiff of her scent—something that was part perfume, part pheromones, and part indefinable supernatural essence. "You have the kind of precision that suggests either extensive training or natural talent that's off the charts."
"My mentor always said I had an intuitive understanding of living systems," Leon admitted. "But I've never thought of myself as particularly special."
"Trust me, sweetheart," Verosika purred, her hand coming to rest on his thigh, "you're special."
The contact sent a jolt of sensation through Leon's entire nervous system. He could feel her supernatural allure working on him, but it wasn't the overwhelming assault he'd experienced on stage. This was more subtle, more personal—a gradual warming that seemed to start in his bones and spread outward.
"I have a confession to make," Verosika said, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow seemed more intimate than the massive venue they'd just left.
"What kind of confession?" Leon asked, though he was starting to have trouble focusing on words when her thumb was drawing small circles on his leg.
"I didn't pick you completely at random," she admitted. "When you fell through that portal, when you landed in that specific seat... I felt something. A resonance. Like our magical signatures were harmonizing."
Leon blinked in surprise. "You can sense magical signatures?"
"Honey, I'm a succubus who performs in front of supernatural audiences every night," Verosika replied. "Reading energy is literally part of my job description. And your energy..." She paused, searching for words. "It's warm. Vibrant. Alive in a way that most magic isn't."
"That's the Life sphere," Leon explained, though he was finding it increasingly difficult to think clearly. "It's all about the flow of quintessence through living systems. The energy tends to be more... organic than other types of magic."
"Organic," Verosika repeated, her eyes lighting up with interest. "I like the sound of that."
She leaned closer, and Leon found himself caught between the urge to flee and the desire to see where this was going. The rational part of his mind was cataloguing all the reasons this was a terrible idea—she was drunk, she was a supernatural entity with literal millennia more experience than him, they'd known each other for less than an hour, and oh yes, they were in Hell.
But the rest of him was increasingly convinced that those were all excellent reasons to stop overthinking and start experiencing.
"Leon," Verosika said softly, her lips now close enough to his ear that he could feel her breath, "I want to ask you something, and I want you to be completely honest with me."
"Okay," Leon managed to say, his voice coming out rougher than intended.
"Are you nervous about tonight? About... us?"
Leon considered lying, then decided that honesty was probably the best policy when dealing with someone who could literally sense his emotional state. "Terrified," he admitted. "But also... curious."
Verosika laughed, a sound that was warm and genuine rather than the theatrical performance he'd heard on stage. "Good. Terrified and curious is exactly the right combination for something like this."
"Something like what, exactly?" Leon asked.
"Something that's never happened before," Verosika said, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "A succubus and a Life mage, bonded by a marriage ceremony that was probably more magically significant than either of us realized at the time."
Leon felt a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. "What do you mean?"
"Demonic marriage ceremonies aren't just paperwork and pretty words," Verosika explained. "They create actual magical bonds between the participants. Shared energy, emotional resonance, spiritual connection. When Father Sullivan pronounced us husband and wife, he literally bound our magical signatures together."
"And you're telling me this now?" Leon asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice.
"I'm telling you this now because I want you to understand that what's about to happen isn't just physical," Verosika said seriously. "When we... consummate this marriage, we're going to be sharing more than just our bodies. Our magic is going to interact, blend, create something new."
Leon processed this information, his analytical mind trying to wrap itself around the implications. "What kind of something new?"
"I don't know," Verosika admitted. "That's what makes it interesting. Succubus magic is all about channeling and amplifying sexual energy. Life magic is about enhancing and manipulating biological systems. When those two forces combine..."
"We might discover new applications for both," Leon finished, his scientific curiosity beginning to override his nervousness.
"Exactly," Verosika grinned. "So, husband mine, are you ready to conduct some... experimental research?"
Leon looked at her—really looked at her. He saw the supernatural beauty, yes, but also the intelligence behind her eyes, the genuine interest in exploring something unknown, the vulnerability she was showing by admitting she didn't know what would happen next.
"I have one condition," Leon said.
"What's that?"
"If this gets overwhelming, if the magical interaction becomes dangerous, we stop immediately. I don't care how good it feels or how curious we are—safety first."
Verosika's expression softened, and for a moment he saw past the succubus persona to the person underneath. "You really are different, aren't you? Most people would be so caught up in the moment they wouldn't think about consequences."
"I'm a mage," Leon said simply. "Thinking about consequences is what keeps us alive."
"And that," Verosika said, leaning in to kiss him softly, "is exactly why this is going to be amazing."
The transition from the living room to the bedroom was a blur of heated kisses and wandering hands. Verosika led him through the apartment with the kind of urgent grace that suggested she was operating on instinct as much as intention, her supernatural allure now focused and personal rather than the broad-spectrum charisma she'd used on stage.
Leon found himself responding in ways that surprised him. The Life magic flowing through his system seemed to be reacting to her presence, amplifying his own physical responses while simultaneously making him more aware of her biological rhythms—her elevated heart rate, the subtle changes in her body temperature, the way her breathing shifted with excitement.
The bedroom was a study in supernatural luxury. The bed itself was massive, covered in silk sheets that seemed to shimmer with their own light. Candles burned without apparent fuel, casting dancing shadows that created an atmosphere of intimate warmth. The air itself seemed charged with potential energy, as if the room had been designed specifically for moments like this.
"Second thoughts?" Verosika asked, her voice husky with desire but still tinged with concern.
"Third and fourth thoughts," Leon admitted. "But I'm still here."
"Good," she said, beginning to undress with the kind of deliberate sensuality that was clearly second nature to her. "Because I have been thinking about this since the moment I saw you fall into that seat."
Leon watched, transfixed, as more of her pink skin was revealed. Her dress slid away like liquid shadow, revealing curves that seemed to have been designed by someone with a very specific understanding of aesthetic perfection. But what caught his attention was the way her magical aura became more visible as she removed the barriers between them—soft waves of energy that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"Your turn," she said, settling onto the bed with the kind of casual confidence that made Leon very aware of his own relative inexperience with supernatural encounters.
Leon began removing his own clothes, feeling suddenly self-conscious about his entirely human physiology. But Verosika's expression was one of genuine appreciation rather than comparison, her eyes taking in the details of his form with the kind of focused attention that was distinctly flattering.
"You're beautiful," she said simply, and something in her voice suggested she wasn't just being polite.
"I'm human," Leon protested. "And probably underweight. And definitely out of shape compared to—"
"Leon," Verosika interrupted, moving closer to him on the bed, "shut up and let me appreciate my husband."
The word "husband" sent a jolt through Leon's system that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the sudden realization that this was really happening. He was married to this incredible, dangerous, fascinating creature, and she was looking at him like he was something precious.
When she kissed him, the magical interaction began almost immediately. Leon felt his Life magic responding to her touch, amplifying sensations and creating feedback loops of pleasure that were beyond anything purely physical. At the same time, he could sense her succubus abilities working on him—not the overwhelming assault he'd feared, but a gentle enhancement that made every nerve ending more sensitive, every touch more meaningful.
"Oh," Verosika breathed against his lips, "that's... that's interesting."
"What?" Leon asked, though he was finding it increasingly difficult to form coherent words.
"Your magic," she explained, her hands mapping the contours of his chest, "it's not just enhancing your own responses. It's... tuning into mine. Reading my body, understanding what I need."
Leon realized she was right. Without conscious thought, his Life magic was extending to encompass her biological systems, creating a feedback loop where he could sense her pleasure as if it were his own. More than that, he was unconsciously adjusting his touch, his movements, even his breathing to harmonize with her responses.
"Is that... normal?" he asked.
"Nothing about this is normal," Verosika laughed, the sound breathless with desire. "But it's amazing. It's like having a lover who knows exactly what you want before you know it yourself."
As they moved together, Leon found himself applying his magical knowledge in ways he'd never imagined. He used his understanding of cardiovascular systems to synchronize their heartbeats, employed his knowledge of neurology to enhance the transmission of pleasurable sensations, and drew on his mastery of biological rhythms to extend and intensify their physical connection.
Verosika, for her part, was channeling her succubus abilities with surgical precision rather than overwhelming force. Instead of the raw sexual energy he'd expected, she was creating what felt like a cocoon of enhanced sensation, a space where normal physical limitations seemed temporarily suspended.
"Leon," she gasped as they found their rhythm, "use your magic. Don't hold back."
Leon had been maintaining careful control, afraid of overwhelming either of them with unregulated magical energy. But at her encouragement, he let his Life magic flow more freely, using it to enhance their stamina, deepen their connection, and create sensations that were impossible through purely physical means.
The result was transcendent. Leon felt as if he was experiencing not just his own pleasure but hers as well, a doubling of sensation that threatened to overwhelm his ability to process experience. At the same time, he could sense the magical feedback loop they were creating—his Life magic enhancing her natural abilities while her succubus powers amplified his own responses.
Time seemed to stretch and compress around them. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like moments, and through it all they moved together in perfect synchronization, their magical signatures blending and harmonizing until Leon wasn't sure where his power ended and hers began.
When release finally came, it was with an intensity that left Leon temporarily blind and deaf to everything except the sensation of pure, overwhelming pleasure. He felt his Life magic surge through both their systems, enhancing and extending the experience until what should have lasted seconds stretched into something that felt like eternity.
Afterward, they lay tangled together in the silk sheets, both breathing hard and glowing faintly with residual magical energy. Leon felt fundamentally changed by the experience, as if some essential part of himself had been rewired for a new kind of existence.
"Well," Verosika said eventually, her voice carrying a note of wonder, "that was definitely not in any of the textbooks."
"Which textbooks?" Leon asked weakly.
"All of them," she replied, curling against his side with the satisfied purr of a cat who'd discovered the world's most comfortable sunbeam. "Succubus training manuals, magical theory, even the advanced courses on supernatural physiology. What we just did... that was completely unprecedented."
Leon considered this, his analytical mind already trying to understand what had happened. "The magical interaction?"
"The magical interaction, the emotional resonance, the way we seemed to be sharing actual consciousness for a few moments there," Verosika listed. "Leon, I think we may have accidentally created a entirely new form of supernatural bonding."
"Is that good or bad?" Leon asked, though he was starting to suspect the answer was "both."
"I have no idea," Verosika admitted. "But I'm definitely looking forward to finding out."
As they settled into sleep, Leon reflected that his life had definitely taken an interesting turn. He was married to a succubus pop star, living in Hell, and apparently pioneering new forms of magical interaction that would probably require their own chapter in future textbooks.
Could be worse, he thought as Verosika's tail curled around his waist possessively. Could be boring.
Outside the windows, Hell's eternal night sky painted everything in shades of red and gold, and in the distance, the sounds of the entertainment district continued—music and laughter and the general chaos of a city that never truly slept.
Tomorrow would bring questions, complications, and probably paperwork that existed in dimensions that hurt to think about. But tonight, Leon was content to simply exist in this impossible moment, married to a woman who had shown him magical possibilities he'd never imagined.
His last thought before sleep claimed him was that his mentor was going to have some very interesting things to say about this particular application of Life magic, assuming he ever found a way to explain it to her.
Behind them, the candles continued to burn without fuel, and the silk sheets glowed faintly with residual magical energy, testament to a wedding night that had literally rewritten the laws of supernatural physiology.
In Hell, apparently, all the best love stories started with someone falling through a portal at exactly the right moment.