He try to fight
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 10
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Blitzo knelt there on the salt-dusted floor, chest heaving, red skin slick with sweat from the whipping and the collar’s lingering sting. His tail coiled tight around one leg like it was trying to hide. For a long moment he just stared at the carpet, horns lowered, breathing hard through clenched teeth.
Then—slowly—he bowed his head deeper.
“…Mistress,” he muttered, the word scraping out like gravel. He pressed his forehead almost to the floor in a mockery of a bow, horns scraping wood. “Fine. You win. I’m yours. For now.”
The submission was laced with venom, but Emberlynn didn’t care. She could taste the lie beneath it, the simmering promise of betrayal at the first crack in her control. That only made her smile wider—sharper. A predator recognizing another predator and finding it deliciously amusing.
“Smart boy,” she purred, voice dripping smug satisfaction. “Very smart.”
A faint, muffled whisper brushed the back of her mind—not words exactly, more like thoughts leaking from ink and leather. The grimoire. It hovered silently beside her now, pages rustling like soft breathing.
Mon cher… it seemed to sigh in her subconscious, warm and conspiratorial, like an old friend sharing secrets. Il n’est pas encore brisé. Pas encore fiable.
Emberlynn tilted her head toward the floating book, lips curving fondly. “Oui, mon petit grimoire,” she murmured back in lilting French, the language slipping from her as naturally as breathing now. “Je sais, mon trésor. Mon beau petit livre noir… you always know best, don’t you?”
The pages fluttered in what felt like pleased agreement.
Blitzo lifted his head just enough to shoot her a poisonous glare. “The fuck are you even saying?”
She ignored him. The grimoire drifted closer; pages turned of their own accord and stopped with a decisive snap. Emberlynn leaned in, purple eyes scanning the newly revealed spell. Simple. Elegant. Perfect.
A wicked grin split her face.
She raised one long, manicured finger and traced a sigil in the air. Violet light followed the motion. A thin black collar—smooth leather, etched with faint, glowing runes—materialized around Blitzo’s neck with an audible *click*. He jerked, claws flying up to claw at it.
“What the fu—?!”
Emberlynn snapped her fingers.
Every candle in the circle guttered out at once.
“You can step out now, Blitzy-kun,” she said sweetly.
Blitzo didn’t hesitate. He launched himself toward the window like a red missile, snarling over his shoulder: “Fuck you, you crazy bitch! I’m outta here and I ain’t never servin’ your pasty ass—!”
He almost made it.
Half a meter from the glass an arc of violet electricity erupted from the collar. Blitzo convulsed mid-leap, body locking rigid, every muscle seizing. He crashed to the floor in a twitching heap, screaming curses that dissolved into pained howls.
Emberlynn stood perfectly still, arms crossed under her fuller breasts, smiling smugly down at him.
“Language,” she chided.
She crooked one finger in a lazy pulling motion.
A chain of sickly green light materialized in her palm, its other end fused seamlessly to the collar. She yanked.
Blitzo’s body skidded across the floor like a ragdoll, dragged helplessly until he sprawled at her stockinged feet, gasping.
She crouched, tilting his chin up with one long nail so he had to meet her glowing purple eyes.
“Trying to be a good little imp?” she asked, voice syrupy with disdain.
He opened his mouth—probably to spit another insult.
She snapped her fingers again.
The collar sparked. He yelped, body jerking once before going limp.
“Good boy,” she cooed. The electricity cut off. “Now. Go downstairs to the kitchen. There’s a tray of sushi in the fridge. Bring it up. And if even one piece is missing…” She tapped the collar lightly. “Zap-zap.”
Blitzo glared murderously, but he staggered to his feet and stumbled out of the room, tail dragging.
The moment the door clicked shut, Emberlynn turned toward the full-length mirror on her closet door.
She froze.
Gone was the soft, chubby girl who’d woken up that morning in cat pajamas.
The reflection staring back was… sculpted. Athletic. Dangerously sensual. Flat, toned stomach etched with the faint outline of six-pack abs. Hips flared dramatically, waist cinched tight. Breasts fuller, high and firm against the stretched black hoodie. Legs long and lean beneath the stockings. Skin pale as moonlight. Hair—now light purple—cascading to mid-back in glossy waves.
She blinked once. Twice.
Then she laughed—high, delighted, girlish.
“Oh… oh my god…”
She peeled off the oversized hoodie, letting it drop. Then the skirt. Bra and panties remained—simple black lace she’d bought on a whim months ago and never worn. They fit differently now. Tighter in some places, looser in others.
She flexed one arm. A small, defined bicep rose under pale skin. She ran both hands slowly down her stomach, fingers tracing the ridges of muscle.
“No more Little Kitten,” she whispered, eyes sparkling. She struck a playful pose, hands curled into mock claws. “Rawr~! Little Tiger now. Grrr~!”
The grimoire floated closer, pages rustling softly.
Il faut le briser, ma chérie, it whispered. Le dompter. Le rendre loyal. Sinon… il te trahira.
“Oui, mon grimoire adoré,” she murmured back, stroking the cover like a lover. “I know. We’ll make him perfect.”
The door creaked open.
Blitzo stepped in carrying a plastic tray of sushi, chopsticks balanced awkwardly on top. His red eyes widened when he saw her standing there in nothing but underwear—curves glowing in the purple-pink light, abs flexing as she turned.
His gaze dropped. His thick cock twitched, then hardened visibly, bobbing against his thigh.
Emberlynn’s smile turned slow and vicious.
She sauntered toward him, hips rolling, purple hair swaying.
“Like what you see, Blitzy-kun?” she purred, stopping close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. She reached out and trailed one long nail down the center of his scarred chest, stopping just above his navel. “Eyes up here… or maybe not. I like them right where they are.”
She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
“Put the tray down,” she whispered. “Mistress is hungry… but not for sushi.”
Blitzo swallowed hard, claws flexing at his sides, erection throbbing traitorously.
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze—smug, predatory, utterly in control.
“Well?” she asked sweetly. “Aren’t you going to serve your Mistress?”
Then—slowly—he bowed his head deeper.
“…Mistress,” he muttered, the word scraping out like gravel. He pressed his forehead almost to the floor in a mockery of a bow, horns scraping wood. “Fine. You win. I’m yours. For now.”
The submission was laced with venom, but Emberlynn didn’t care. She could taste the lie beneath it, the simmering promise of betrayal at the first crack in her control. That only made her smile wider—sharper. A predator recognizing another predator and finding it deliciously amusing.
“Smart boy,” she purred, voice dripping smug satisfaction. “Very smart.”
A faint, muffled whisper brushed the back of her mind—not words exactly, more like thoughts leaking from ink and leather. The grimoire. It hovered silently beside her now, pages rustling like soft breathing.
Mon cher… it seemed to sigh in her subconscious, warm and conspiratorial, like an old friend sharing secrets. Il n’est pas encore brisé. Pas encore fiable.
Emberlynn tilted her head toward the floating book, lips curving fondly. “Oui, mon petit grimoire,” she murmured back in lilting French, the language slipping from her as naturally as breathing now. “Je sais, mon trésor. Mon beau petit livre noir… you always know best, don’t you?”
The pages fluttered in what felt like pleased agreement.
Blitzo lifted his head just enough to shoot her a poisonous glare. “The fuck are you even saying?”
She ignored him. The grimoire drifted closer; pages turned of their own accord and stopped with a decisive snap. Emberlynn leaned in, purple eyes scanning the newly revealed spell. Simple. Elegant. Perfect.
A wicked grin split her face.
She raised one long, manicured finger and traced a sigil in the air. Violet light followed the motion. A thin black collar—smooth leather, etched with faint, glowing runes—materialized around Blitzo’s neck with an audible *click*. He jerked, claws flying up to claw at it.
“What the fu—?!”
Emberlynn snapped her fingers.
Every candle in the circle guttered out at once.
“You can step out now, Blitzy-kun,” she said sweetly.
Blitzo didn’t hesitate. He launched himself toward the window like a red missile, snarling over his shoulder: “Fuck you, you crazy bitch! I’m outta here and I ain’t never servin’ your pasty ass—!”
He almost made it.
Half a meter from the glass an arc of violet electricity erupted from the collar. Blitzo convulsed mid-leap, body locking rigid, every muscle seizing. He crashed to the floor in a twitching heap, screaming curses that dissolved into pained howls.
Emberlynn stood perfectly still, arms crossed under her fuller breasts, smiling smugly down at him.
“Language,” she chided.
She crooked one finger in a lazy pulling motion.
A chain of sickly green light materialized in her palm, its other end fused seamlessly to the collar. She yanked.
Blitzo’s body skidded across the floor like a ragdoll, dragged helplessly until he sprawled at her stockinged feet, gasping.
She crouched, tilting his chin up with one long nail so he had to meet her glowing purple eyes.
“Trying to be a good little imp?” she asked, voice syrupy with disdain.
He opened his mouth—probably to spit another insult.
She snapped her fingers again.
The collar sparked. He yelped, body jerking once before going limp.
“Good boy,” she cooed. The electricity cut off. “Now. Go downstairs to the kitchen. There’s a tray of sushi in the fridge. Bring it up. And if even one piece is missing…” She tapped the collar lightly. “Zap-zap.”
Blitzo glared murderously, but he staggered to his feet and stumbled out of the room, tail dragging.
The moment the door clicked shut, Emberlynn turned toward the full-length mirror on her closet door.
She froze.
Gone was the soft, chubby girl who’d woken up that morning in cat pajamas.
The reflection staring back was… sculpted. Athletic. Dangerously sensual. Flat, toned stomach etched with the faint outline of six-pack abs. Hips flared dramatically, waist cinched tight. Breasts fuller, high and firm against the stretched black hoodie. Legs long and lean beneath the stockings. Skin pale as moonlight. Hair—now light purple—cascading to mid-back in glossy waves.
She blinked once. Twice.
Then she laughed—high, delighted, girlish.
“Oh… oh my god…”
She peeled off the oversized hoodie, letting it drop. Then the skirt. Bra and panties remained—simple black lace she’d bought on a whim months ago and never worn. They fit differently now. Tighter in some places, looser in others.
She flexed one arm. A small, defined bicep rose under pale skin. She ran both hands slowly down her stomach, fingers tracing the ridges of muscle.
“No more Little Kitten,” she whispered, eyes sparkling. She struck a playful pose, hands curled into mock claws. “Rawr~! Little Tiger now. Grrr~!”
The grimoire floated closer, pages rustling softly.
Il faut le briser, ma chérie, it whispered. Le dompter. Le rendre loyal. Sinon… il te trahira.
“Oui, mon grimoire adoré,” she murmured back, stroking the cover like a lover. “I know. We’ll make him perfect.”
The door creaked open.
Blitzo stepped in carrying a plastic tray of sushi, chopsticks balanced awkwardly on top. His red eyes widened when he saw her standing there in nothing but underwear—curves glowing in the purple-pink light, abs flexing as she turned.
His gaze dropped. His thick cock twitched, then hardened visibly, bobbing against his thigh.
Emberlynn’s smile turned slow and vicious.
She sauntered toward him, hips rolling, purple hair swaying.
“Like what you see, Blitzy-kun?” she purred, stopping close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. She reached out and trailed one long nail down the center of his scarred chest, stopping just above his navel. “Eyes up here… or maybe not. I like them right where they are.”
She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
“Put the tray down,” she whispered. “Mistress is hungry… but not for sushi.”
Blitzo swallowed hard, claws flexing at his sides, erection throbbing traitorously.
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze—smug, predatory, utterly in control.
“Well?” she asked sweetly. “Aren’t you going to serve your Mistress?”
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June 13
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