Emilia

Violet had violently jerked away from you as Alexia's voice echoed troublesomely up the stairs.

O-oh my god, I'm so sorry. You had stuttered. I don't know what came over me!

Violet, bashful as ever had simply blinked, then nodded in aroused embarrassment.

You smirk slightly. The girl's so easy to manipulate you almost feel bad about it. Or you would, if you cared. The corners of your mouth creep further upward.

You exist to corrupt others. Hellspawn.

Don't need to tell me twice, you think, laughing inwardly. Your wonderful ideal responds by sending another stuttering pulse of lesbian porn through your mindscape. You note a few poses for future use.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs in the main foyer, you replace your devious smirk with a well crafted frown and turn to face your friend. "So, is your ideal telling you to be domineering? Are you listening to it?"

The tall, sporty black girl almost staggers at your words, blinking in surprise. "I- No. No. I don't want to talk about it."

You squint at her again and she visibly withers. Just a little bit more pressure and... 

"You're not doing a lot to help your case here." You say, scathingly.

"I- It shouldn't-"

You level her with another stare, and to your immense enjoyment, she finally cracks.

"I- Fine. Whatever's inside me, it- It's telling me I'm an object. An unthinking piece of furniture. That I exist to be stared at and told I'm beautiful. I-"

Tears well in her eyes but she blinks them away. "I'm so afraid. I was hoping that keeping it out of my mind would help, and so I told Macy to keep quiet to stop her from yammering on about it and-"

A wonderfully twisted reply spawns from your Ideal, and a smile creeps up your face unbidden. Delicious. You thank it, and let the poisonous words spill from your mouth.

"If you don't want to think about it then... Why don't you just stop thinking?"

...

Alexia

Emmy's words hit you like a freight train. Your eyes lock with hers in the darkness, innocent and unblinking. A grin has risen on her face, showing just a sliver of teeth.

"W-What did you say?" The words feel dry on your lips.

"Why don't you just stop thinking?" She replies, bluntly, grinning from ear to ear. You think you see her eyes flicker orange, like a spark igniting in a pitch black furnace.

Her words echo loudly in your head, refusing to leave. Emmy moves around you in a circle. Her voice carries over you like a soft caress. "Wouldn't it be nice, to just not have to think about it? Think at all, even. All the worlds troubles, just..." She draws a spiral with her finger as she passes out of your peripheral vision, moving behind you.

"I- What are you-" You start to say, still half stunned.

"You've already done enough harm. No thoughts means no worries, no fears. Just let little ol' Emmy handle everything. I promise I'll take good care of you."

Her hand brushes across your arm from behind, sending a shiver up your spine. Her words are collecting in your head but you don't want- you don't-

"Doesn't it sound nice?"

It does.

God, it does.

I don't want to think.

Something clicks into place within your mind.

Like water in an sink, you watch as all concious thoughts spiral down the drain, taking your worry and your fear and everything besides. In your now wonderfully empty head, something begins to resonate to the tune of your ideal. It forms into a thought, one that strangely doesn't spiral down the drain.

You exist to be perceived.

Huh?

You try to think, try to do anything, but instead another thought forms for you.

Lamps don't think.

The thought soaks into you, flows from your head to your toes. You feel strange. Emmy's hands wrap around your shoulders, rubbing comfortingly.

"What's it telling you?" She asks, eagerly.

"Lamps don't think." You say, emotionless.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful." She whispers, voice a mixture of glee and honest admiration. 

Another thought forms for you in your increasingly warped mind.  

You like it when others appreciate your design. Beauty is your purpose. Vanity is your soul.

You feel your skin hardening. You hold up your right hand. Bits of your flesh are turning into a wonderfully deep, ruby-red glass, highlighted with gold inlay that trails down the back of your hand.

Another thought forms for you. You think it, even as images of scantily clad women posing salaciously write themselves into your personality.

Vanity is good~

But wait, you think. If lamps don't think then how are you like.. uuuh...

Seconds pass. Then, another barrage of tropey ojou porn writes itself into your soul, and a thought forms in your mental void, resonating with obscene vanity. It's because I'm so much better than everyone else. Ooohohohohoho!

You pose, your hand covering your mouth and your chin held high even as the lampshade atop your head slowly lowers into place, blocking your vision, but somehow not inhibiting your awareness in the slightest.

You arm tingles as it slowly turns to strange, flexible glass. Said glass tingles with pleasure as golden inlay crawls across it. The sensation trickles from your glass into your retreating flesh, running up your nerves and into your slowly crystalizing brain.

It's hard being so unbelievably superior~

Emilia's hands move hungrily from your shoulders to your breasts, nails digging into your ebony flesh from behind. Her fingers knead your erect nipples, pinching at them every second or so. Riotous pulses of pleasure surge up your body, glass climbing higher up your arm.

You are an object. You exist to be touched and purchased and stared at and-

"P-purchase me." You whisper, voice breaking as pleasure warbles through you in shuddering waves.

Emmy's voice, far huskier and more seductive than it should be, whispers into your ear. "Oh? How much are you worth, babe?"

You cum, violently.

...

Violet

"Hey, we found a few more candles in the back of the cupboard, and the circle is drawn, so we're good to go!" You say excitedly over your shoulder as you hear Emmy and Alexia climb back up the stairs.

"Oh? That's good, 'cause we didn't find any downst-"

Emmy suddenly stops mid-sentence, groaning loudly alongside a snapping noise and the clatter of plastic hitting the floor. You turn in shock, and watch in terror as twin, enormous ram horns spiral out of the side of her head, replacing the flimsy plastic ones she had been wearing moments ago. Her eyes open, their hue a burning orange. Her mouth twists into a deranged smile, showcasing two rows of sharp, pointed teeth situated between plush red lips. "Oops. Well, I was gonna do a whole bit, but guess the cat's out of the bag now. Come on up, Alexia."

You stare at her in fear and confusion. "Emmy?"

"In the flesh." She says happily, strolling closer to you, and you cautiously move to get between her and the circle. Then Alexia crests the top of the stairs behind her, and you almost to throw up.

Alexia is naked, bar the large red-gold fabric lampshade drawn down over most of her face, leaving only a pair of smirking, plump lips exposed. Her hands, one entirely made of seemingly flexible red glass and gold inlay, hungrily run across her body like she's showcasing a product.

She moans loudly as her right tit visibly crystallizes, the nipple turning a deeper, darker red than the rest of her flesh.

"You know Violet." Emilia says, forked tongue flitting out from her lips as she speaks. "Have you considered that we may have been wrong about our ideals? Have you considered... that maybe they're a good thing?"

"Macy, stay close to me." You command. The now frighteningly docile girl does, clinging onto your left arm.

The demon your friend has become just giggles madly. "Oh, you're one to talk, Miss Robot. Process Directive: I live to serve Mistress Emilia."

Processing Directive: I live to s-

You punch yourself hard in the gut, shocking yourself out of it. You heave in a breath even as Emmy giggles, sauntering closer, rounding on you from the left.

"Emmy, what happened to you? D-did she?" You say, looking at whatever the fuck Alexia's become.

Emilia just laughs, arms flung wide. "It's been me all along, babe. I had a bit of a revelation, you see, after you first sent me downstairs. A little voice whispered in my head about why I exist, and after a little bit of convincing I decided I heartily agreed!"

Dread fills you, flows into every limb like a leaden weight. "Oh, Emmy..." 

She tilts her head at you, walking around the left of the ritual circle, towards you and Macy. Your friend grips you tighter, her skin clammy and smooth, like porcelain. You want to tell yourself it's because she's freezing and terrified, but at this point you know better.

"Oh, don't go feeling pity for me." Emmy says, audibly disappointed. "This is the most wonderful gift I've ever been given. I think you'll feel the same, given a few more... adjustments."

You twist your face in disgust. "I don't want to be 'adjusted'!" You shout. "And I don't think you did either before this curse made you want it!"

She just smirks, strolling up to you as you stand your ground. "Have you never been given a gift that you initially hated and later grew to love? No? Well, you'll understand in a moment." She says, gesturing to your hand.

You look down in shock. A deep purple metal gauntlet sits where your left hand once was. Shining titanium alloy slowly creeps up your arm, draining sensation and leaving a strange, pleasant numbness.

A voice whispers in your head, one you're now growing frighteningly used to. You are a device. You exist to process directives.

Your eyes fog over, even as the robotic visor you've long since discarded along with the rest of the costume regrows atop your forehead, slowly lowering over your eyes and casting the room in a dark blue. 

"No- I don't- I won't let-" You mutter, panicked, your mind rapidly emptying.

Number strings run across your screen followed by a series of incoming directives for you to process, such as:

Give in.

Surrender your humanity. Evolve.

Stop having thoughts.

"I... won't p-process..."

There's a light tugging on your shirt, as if Macy is struggling to move at your side.

"..process... p-processing..."

You feel something about to click into place inside your head. It's visceral, heady thrill, a feeling of teetering on the edge of a wonderful and terrifying abyss. It would be so easy to just tip forward, let your feet leave the ground. Free fall, zero control.

You can't hold on. The abyss opens up to embrace you.

"Processing... Processing Directi-"

"V-Violet, snap out of it!" Macy shouts desperately in your ear. "I-"

"Silence!" Emmy snarls.

But she's too late. You stumble back, mind half scattered, and do the only thing you can think of. 

"P-processing Directive: Ignore all Directives." You state, and then blink.

"You're an idiot if you think that'll work for longer than a minute." Emmy hisses, voice now actively hostile, moving towards you.

As she stalks forward, a long, red-black serpent tail rapidly sprouts from above her ass, hitting the ground with a thud. She pauses, her fury turning instantly to twisted amusement, and swishes it through the air playfully. "Oh, that's new. I think with all the mispronunciations on dear Macy's part, the poor little ritual got a little confused." She turns back to face you, eyes full of deranged glee. "I'm so eager to see what it does to u-"

Your metallic fist hits her across the face, and you follow it up with a desperate kick, forcing her away.

Your former friend staggers backwards, a fiendish snarl on her face, but you've already reopened the book to the folded page and hurriedly begun chanting.

Latin-esque un-words pour from your mouth, and that same sense of vertigo nearly slams you to the ground.  The candles flare bright.  

You remember the instructions.

Declare the vessel that you wish to remove essence from.

It's almost easy, given how evident the threat is to you right now.

The demon, before me.

Emmy screams in pain, frozen in a lunge for the edge of the circle as an ethereal tether wraps around her several times over, tying tight. Her skin, just now beginning to turn a demonic red, starts to blur at the edges, fraying like tattered fabric as the Ideal is slowly torn out of her towards the center of the circle. After an excruciatingly long moment the tethers finish, leaving her tightly cocooned in writhing blue magic. Her tail winds out behind her, twitching weakly.

You turn to Alexia, currently struggling desperately towards the ritual, presumably to help her Mistress.

The Lamp, before me.

She seizes up as tethers lash around her waist, freezing in place with an inhuman shriek as they wraps her up like a mummy.

With both main threats eliminated, you turn to Macy, by your side. Her blue eyes are nearly empty, visible doll joints having formed in her increasingly synthetic skin.

The doll, before me.

Macy gives a small helpless yelp as the tethers wrap tight around her, leaving barely anything exposed besides her lithe, feminine silhouette.

The robot, myself.

You feel the warbling magic wrap around you, holding you in place. The tethers spin and spin until you're fully encased, a thin slit on the outside of your visor and a thin gap for your now metallic purple lips the only exits from your self-imposed prison. The incantation continues to pour out of you regardless.

You remember the next step.

Declare and remove targeted conceptual groupings.

The ritual spins in your mind. You know what to do.

The Demon's Ideal.

A shriek escapes from Emmy's cocoon, and you watch as a writhing red cloud of concepts begin to visibly strain out of her being. Her horns wither and crumble, her visible skin lightens, and her tail spasms weakly as the ritual draws every last bit of the corrupted Ideal out of her.

But her eyes still blaze with demonic fury. Writhing, screaming like a banshee, she finally manages to force the tip of her tail over the edge of the circle, smudging a gap in the old powdery chalk.

The ritual instantly explodes out of your control.

Near hurricane-force winds rip into the attic, shredding wood and hurling the decayed ceiling clean off the walls and out into the yard. High above, the moon stares down, it's glow illuminating your ultimate disaster.

Emmy's Ideal, almost entirely drawn out of her, writhes in the center of the circle, spiraling violently out of control as more and more unstable magic pumps into it. It grows larger, and larger, looming hungrily. 

The tethers! You have to cut the-

Like a predatory amoeba, the searing red morass splits, pouring like a tide down all four tethers and into each of you. The red magic surges into you, soaking into every last fiber of your increasingly mechanical being.

Wickedness. Corruption. You are a willing slave to your desires.

The magic soaks into you and the very air burns with searing heat, and amidst the pain you feel Emmy's engorged Ideal fully merge with your own.

You desire to process your directives. You are Hellspawn. You are an object. You exist to be used.

I-I'm n-not- not a- You try to think, try to deny it's claim, but your every thought is drowning in a sea of red.

Insane laughter emanates from Emmy's cocoon as her tethers grow and writhe, pulling tighter and tighter even as they wrap cover every last surface of her being. The same happens to the rest of you.

Your vision is cut off, and then the incantation is stifled in your throat as the magic seals over your mouth.

"MMMMHHHHRRRMMM!!" You scream.

You try to move, but you're wrapped up tight and the now glowing red bindings are only growing tighter, highlighting your changing physique. Your legs grow longer, knees snapping and reforming into digitigrade metallic hoofs that force your ass up and back, even as it grows more shapely.

*I'm n-not an object-*

You feel the last of your flesh turning into cold steel beneath your bindings. A long, thick metallic lizard tail slithers out from above your ass, escaping the cocoon and tasting the searing air.

You are a willing slave to your corruption. You are an object. You exist to be used.

"MMMMMHHHMMMMM!!" You writhe weakly. Power rolls into you in waves, surging into your mind.

-not an... n-not...

Magic roars into you, crashing into your warping mindscape and reducing everything to glowing ash.

No... n...

Magic screams through your veins, reducing the barely formed thought to glowing red dust. Twin horns pierce out of the sides of your head, arcing up above and behind you like an incomplete halo. Following in their wake, two more arms erupt from your sides, fingers replaced by long, lithe steel talons.

You are Hellspawn. You are a machine. You are an object. You exist to be used.

Another pulse roars through, warping the very shape of your thoughts, even as your mind itself warps into alien circuitry.

I am an object. You think seductively. I like, totally exist to be used~

You moan robotically and shudder, the last of the red energy surging into you. Your visor sparks to life once more in the hellish darkness of the cocoon. Text scrolls across it's length.

OS UPDATE APPLIED. REBOOTING.

Everything goes dark.

...