Dan was in a very good mood today.
The King's Night Club pulsed around him, saturated with gold light and velvet shadows. Music throbbed low and indulgent, vibrating through bone and instinct alike. The private lounge had been sealed off, curtains drawn, guards dismissed with a single lazy flick of Dan's wrist.
A few humans lounged nearby, naked and glassy-eyed, desire written plainly across their faces as if the word itself had been etched into their souls.
They adored him.
They always did.
Dan reclined against a leather couch, one leg draped casually over the armrest, crimson smoke curling lazily from the cigarette between his fingers. The attention pleased him—not in the frantic way lower demons craved worship, but in the slow, affirming way that reminded him of what he was.
An incubus of high rank.
Desire bent toward him naturally. He didn't have to force it. Didn't have to try.
One of the humans laughed softly at something he murmured, another leaned closer as if drawn by gravity itself to Dan. Dan smiled, sharp and satisfied, letting the moment stretch.
Then—
Pain.
Not the pleasant kind. Not the teasing ache of longing or anticipation.
This was sudden. Violent.
White-hot agony lanced through his chest, searing down his arm and into his core. Dan gasped, cigarette falling from his fingers as the world lurched sideways. The club lights fractured, sound collapsing into a dull roar as something yanked at him—no, dragged him—through space itself.
"What the—"
The world folded.
And then—
Stone.
Cold air.
Silence broken only by the low hum of power.
Dan staggered, boots scraping against an ancient stone floor as he was violently forced into solidity. He barely had time to register where he was before his knees buckled slightly, breath leaving him in a sharp exhale.
The underground chamber.
Hastur's sanctuary.
Dan straightened slowly, hand going instinctively to his chest where the burning sensation flared again. His eyes flicked up.
Hastur stood a few paces away with a slave contract on his hands that he used to summon him. The mark of the contract on his chest slowly stopped hurting.
And for the first time since Dan had known him—since centuries ago, there was unmistakable anger on Hastur's face.
Not cold irritation.
Not detached cruelty.
Anger.
Something was wrong.
Dan's grin returned, softer this time, curious rather than mocking. "Well," he drawled, rolling his shoulder as if to shake off the lingering pain, "this is new."
He took a step closer, eyes narrowing as he noticed the faint glow on his own skin—the contract mark, Hastur's seal. Active.
Dan lifted his hand, flexing his fingers. "You truly don't know elegance."
He reached out, lightly touching Hastur's arm, fingers brushing against power coiled tight beneath the surface. "What's the matter, King in—"
Pain exploded again.
Dan gasped as something sharp pressed into his stomach.
He looked down just in time to see the blade withdraw, crimson staining the edge.
Once.
Again.
Twice.
He stabbed him twice. Dan looked at Hastur wondering if he already know his plans but rejected it. If Hastur wanted him dead, he should have known a knife won't kill him.
Dan stumbled back with a sharp hiss, hand flying to his abdomen. Blood welled quickly, dark and rich, staining his clothes. He stared at Hastur in disbelief.
"The hell?" he muttered. "You know that barely—"
Hastur didn't answer.
He stepped forward, expression unreadable now, and seized Dan by the collar, dragging him across the chamber with effort. Dan gritted his teeth, pain flaring not just from the wounds.
Only when Hastur released him did Dan realize where he had been thrown.
The center of the room.
A summoning circle.
Ancient, complex, etched deep into the stone with symbols older than most pantheons. The lines glowed faintly as Dan's blood dripped onto them, soaking into the grooves as if the stone itself were thirsty.
'So he's using my blood as a medium to summon someone.' Thought Dan. 'How the mighty has fallen.'
Dan's breath caught.
"Ah," he said quietly. "You know I still feel pain."
Hastur raised his hand. Muttering words.
Power surged.
The circle ignited, light roaring to life as the blood of a high incubus became the medium, the catalyst.
The air thickened, heavy with pressure and scent—desire, longing, hunger, all intertwining into something suffocatingly sweet.
Dan winced as the circle flared brighter, the pain in his wounds intensifying as the ritual took hold. "You could've just asked," he repeated, forcing a crooked smile despite himself. "I would've helped."
Hastur ignored him.
His voice rang through the chamber, deep and commanding, carrying the weight of a name that had once made universes tremble.
"Come forth," he said.
"Desire."
"It is I, Hastur, who summons you."
The air warped.
Reality bent like silk caught in a slow, deliberate hand.
Light gathered at the center of the circle, coalescing into form—fluid, luminous, shifting. A figure emerged, beautiful in a way that defied definition. Their appearance refused to settle: at times clearly male, at others undeniably female, sometimes neither, sometimes both. Long hair spilled down their back like liquid gold, eyes shimmering with amusement and infinite appetite.
They smiled.
"My, my," Desire purred, voice layered, warm and intimate as a whisper against skin. " If it's not The unspeakable one. The King in Yellow. Lord of interstellar spaces. It's been such a long time, dear." Mocking him with his old tittles.
They stepped out of the circle effortlessly, blood and light dissolving beneath their feet. "Are you well?" they asked, tilting their head, eyes raking over him with open interest.
Hastur's expression did not soften.
"Stop the game," he said flatly.
Desire laughed, a sound like bells and breath and the moment just before surrender. They closed the distance in an instant, arms sliding around Hastur's neck, body pressing close with deliberate intimacy.
"And here I thought you summoned me because you missed me," they murmured. "Tell me—what is it you desire?"
Power radiated from them, temptation woven into every movement. The chamber itself seemed to lean closer, listening.
Hastur did not move.
Instead, his gaze sharpened. "Step away."
Desire pouted. "How rude."
They leaned in further, lips brushing near his ear. "Or is this about that human?" they teased softly.
The temperature in the room dropped. "You always liked to kidnap people."
"If you do not stop," Hastur said quietly, "I will reveal your sanctuary to the Black Goat in the Woods."
Desire froze.
Then they pulled back sharply, eyes flashing with irritation. "You wouldn't."
"I would."
Desire clicked their tongue, folding their arms. "You are no fun anymore. Honestly, ever since that whole sealing incident—"
They paused, then scowled. "And for the record, your mom is really a hoe—"
"Enough," Hastur cut in.
He turned fully toward them, presence flaring just enough to remind them who stood before them. "Tell me," he demanded, "what is happening with this human."
Desire's expression shifted, amusement dimming slightly as they studied him more carefully.
Silence stretched.
Desire's eyes flicked briefly toward Dan, who was slumped just outside the circle, blood still seeping but already beginning to heal. Then they looked back at Hastur, something thoughtful stirring behind their smile.
"Oh," they said softly.
"Well," they continued, voice lowering, "that explains a lot."
They stepped closer again—but this time, they kept their distance, gaze intent rather than playful.
"You're not being manipulated," Desire said. "At least, not the way you think."
Hastur's jaw tightened. "Explain."
Desire smiled slowly. "What you're experiencing isn't an external interference. No curse. No spell."
They tilted their head. "It's resonance."