Space Mecha Succubus Quest! Corrupting The Galaxy One Mecha At A Time!

[WaterSlices]

You were not born as mortals understand birth, with blood and breath and crying lungs, nor were you shaped by any gentle hand beneath any kindly sky. You were spawned in the deepest dark of the Abyss, where desire is older than language and hunger is your sole reason.

Long before the first mortal city lifted its walls, before kings crowned themselves in gold, before priests named their fears and called them virtues, your kind already stirred in the cracks between thought and longing. Succubi are not accidents of flesh. They are not merely demons with pleasing faces and clever tongues. They are urges made manifest, cravings given voice, the secret pulse beneath every oath, every dream, every prayer whispered in the dark when no one is there to hear it.

For all thinking beings want. They want warmth. They want power. They want comfort. They want possession. They want surrender. They want to be adored, to be needed, to be seen, to be held so tightly by another will that the burden of choice melts away. They want, and want, and want, and from that wanting your kind is born. A succubus is lust, yes, but lust in its broadest and truest shape, not merely for the body, but for affection, for devotion, for control, for closeness, for triumph, for sweetness, for ruin, for the exquisite certainty of making another soul turn in your orbit and call it joy.

A succubus is desire honed until it cuts. A succubus is hunger taught patience. A succubus is obsession wearing a smile. And in the Abyss, obsession is everything. It is the chain that binds thought to purpose, the ember at the center of every scheme, the law beneath all lesser laws. Every succubus is a being of lust and obsession, but never in the same way, never turned toward the same glittering prize. One may yearn to cherish and smother, to gather the lost and lonely close and never let them stray again. Another may crave possession in its purest form, the thrill of claiming, of conquering, of making beloved things kneel and smile and call the chain around their heart a gift. Another may delight in chaos, in play, in breathless pursuit, in drawing others into a whirlwind of laughter and need until separation itself becomes unbearable.

Whatever shape it takes, that hunger is never small. It does not sit quietly. It does not fade. It grows. It coils. It sharpens itself against every thought until all roads bend, sooner or later, toward the same consuming want. And so you opened your eyes in the red-gold gloom of the pit and felt that truth within yourself, vast and bottomless, older than your first breath and sharper than any blade. You are hunger. You are longing. You are lust. You are temptation. You are the ache that lingers after a hand pulls away and the fever that blooms when a door is left closed. You are the velvet promise and the soft, terrible certainty that no desire, once awakened, is ever truly put back to sleep.

You are a succubus. And you are...

---

[ ]The Mother of Daughters
Some obsessions do not conquer. They cradle. They smother. They gather the lost and lonely close, wrap them in warmth, and never, ever let go. You look upon others and do not see equals, rivals, or strangers. You see those who ought to be yours, those who ought to be cherished, corrected, protected, and remade into something softer, smaller, sweeter, and safer beneath your watchful eye. Those claimed by you do not merely change allegiance. They are transformed, body and soul, drawn toward a gentler, younger shape that better suits the role you have chosen for them. To be taken by you is to be loved with frightening intensity, to be fussed over, doted upon, and held so tightly that the very thought of leaving begins to feel impossible. Your care is absolute. Your affection is suffocating. Your daughters will be adored, and they will never want to stray far from Mother again.

[ ] The Maker of Little Sisters
Some obsessions are playful, mercurial, and impossible to contain. You are a whirlwind in the shape of a smile, bright and breathless and utterly unwilling to be alone. The world is far too stiff, far too serious, far too boring, and the people in it simply need to be fixed. Not broken. Fixed. Pulled into your orbit, swept into your games, remade into companions who can keep up with your energy and never spoil the fun by trying to leave. Those changed by you are drawn into a younger, more childish shape still, their edges softened, their seriousness worn away, their hearts made lighter and more eager to stay near you. To be claimed by you is to be caught in an endless, laughing spiral of need and belonging, where boredom dies and distance becomes unbearable. Your little sisters will play at your side, cling to your hand, and find that the world is much brighter when they stop trying to run away.

[ ] The Keeper of Wives
Some obsessions do not ask. They claim. You do not gather others out of kindness or chaos, but out of certainty. What you desire should be yours, and once it is yours, it should remain so. You look upon strength, pride, defiance, and independence not as barriers, but as things to be pressed, bent, and reshaped until they settle into a more pleasing form. Those transformed by you become not only succubi, but companions molded to fit the place you have made for them, their resistance softened, their devotion deepened, their hearts guided toward obedience, attachment, and the comfort of surrendering the struggle. To be taken by you is to be bound by possessive affection so complete that freedom begins to feel cold and lonely by comparison. Your wives will remain close, loyal, and wonderfully unwilling to imagine a life beyond your embrace.

---

Then, at last, something changed.

Deep within the crimson dark, beneath layers of ancient hunger and patient dreaming, you felt it: a pull, faint at first, no more than a tremor along the marrow of your being, a distant thread winding itself around the heart of your soul and drawing taut. It did not come from the Abyss. It came from above. From far beyond the burning gulfs and the endless red horizons, beyond the caverns where old desires slept and deeper nightmares stirred, there was a call. A summons. A promise.

Somewhere in the vastness beyond this place, one of the great worlds of the living had brushed against your nature and, in that single moment, made itself known to you. You felt it not as words, nor as thought, but as certainty. There were people there. Countless hearts. Countless minds. Countless lonely, yearning, fragile little souls, each one carrying wants they scarcely understood, each one with gaps and aches and silent hollows waiting to be filled.

The sensation struck you like fire through dry silk. Excitement rushed through you, sharp and bright and joyous, so sudden and so fierce it bordered on pain. Your hunger answered at once, rising to meet that distant call with eager, trembling delight. At last. At long, long last. No more waiting in the dark with only the echo of your own longing for company. No more circling the edges of need without anything to seize, shape, cherish, claim, or keep.

Up there, beyond the veil, was a world full of lives that could be touched and turned, drawn close and remade, gathered into your orbit until the emptiness within you quieted at last. You did not fear the pull. You welcomed it. You leaned into it with all the greedy joy of a starving thing finally catching the scent of a feast. It tugged harder now, steady and irresistible, drawing you upward through layer after unseen layer, toward steel and stone and sky, toward the realm of mortals who did not yet know that something below had heard their unspoken wants and answered.

The ache within you, that deep and constant wanting at the center of your being, stirred and swelled until it seemed to fill every part of you. Not pain. Not quite. Expectation. Anticipation so potent it became almost sacred. You could feel it already, the shape of what waited above: hands to hold and never release, hearts to bend gently or firmly into place, wandering souls to draw near and nearer still until distance itself became unbearable.

There would be resistance, perhaps. Confusion. Fear. But those were only the first brittle shells around longing. You knew better. You were made to know better. Mortals always wanted something. Someone. A place to belong. A warmth to fall into. A certainty to end the aching uncertainty of being alone. And you, at last, would be there to answer.

Joy welled within you, wild and bright and almost childishly pure in its intensity, because this was what you had awaited from the first instant of your spawning. Not merely to hunger, but to fulfill that hunger. Not merely to yearn, but to reach. Not merely to desire, but to take hold of the things that called to you and make them yours in the deepest way that mattered.

The pull became stronger. The world above drew nearer. And as your soul rose to meet it, one thought rang through you with the force of revelation, simple and radiant and utterly certain:

You were going to them at last.

And when your hands finally closed around the lives waiting above, when the hollow place within you was filled with the presence of those you would gather and keep, then, finally, wonderfully, you would begin to become whole.

The pull became irresistible.

What had once been a distant thread, faint and teasing and uncertain, had grown into a great shining hook lodged deep within the center of your being, hauling you upward with unstoppable force. The Abyss fell away beneath you in layers of red gloom and whispering dark, and for the first time since your spawning, anticipation drowned out every other thought. You were rising. Rising. Leaving behind the ancient pit and its endless waiting. Leaving behind hunger without fulfillment, longing without an object, want without answer.

Above you, somewhere beyond veils unseen, the mortal realm awaited.

You could feel it more clearly with every passing instant. Life. Warmth. Minds bright and busy and restless. Hearts full of tender cracks and secret little hollows. So many lives, all tangled together in yearning, each one a tiny sun of wanting. The sensation flooded through you until your whole soul seemed to tremble with joy. Mortals. At last, mortals. People to touch, to know, to gather close. People to claim and keep and fill the aching emptiness that had gnawed at you from your very first moment of awareness.

A laugh rose in your chest, breathless and bright and almost disbelieving. It was really happening. No more shadows. No more waiting. No more dreaming of hands you had never held and voices you had never heard and hearts you had never yet made your own. You would step into the living world at last, and it would open before you like a feast laid out for a starving queen. Every promise the Abyss had whispered into your blood, every instinct etched into your soul, every sweet and terrible longing that defined your kind, all of it surged upward now in a single glorious tide. You could hardly contain it. You did not want to contain it.

Faster now.

The pull tightened. The dark around you thinned. You felt something change, some final barrier growing fragile before you, stretched to translucence by the force of your ascent. Beyond it was everything you had ever wanted without ever seeing. Vast worlds beneath open skies. Cities burning with light. Countless lives moving through joy and fear and ambition and loneliness, all of them so rich with possibility that your heart felt fit to burst. Excitement built and built inside you, mounting into something dizzying, something radiant, something so fierce it became almost unbearable. You were there. You were almost there. One more moment. One more heartbeat. One more breath.

Then the veil tore.

You spilled through in a rush of sensation and light and cold, your whole being alight with triumph, your thoughts ringing with exultation. This was it. This was the mortal realm. The great above. The place of living hearts and wandering souls and all the beautiful, needy, yearning people you had waited so long to find. For one blazing instant, joy rose to its absolute peak inside you, bright enough to drown out reason itself.

Then your eyes adjusted.

Stone.

Cold stone, close and dim, pressed in on every side.

A cave.

Eh?

Where are all the precious mortals?!?!?

And where the hell are you?!?!?

---

All factions will available later, this vote is just to decide where doo you find yourself at quest start.

[ ] The Klanz
A brutal little empire of gene-bred war prodigies, ritualized cruelty, and self-important martial nonsense, the Klanz are among the most infamous powers in known space, feared for their savage skill at arms and mocked in private by everyone unfortunate enough to understand what they are actually like. They speak endlessly of honor, blood, trials, and purity, treating war less like a necessity and more like a sacred performance in which every duel, insult, challenge, and victory must be conducted according to an exhausting mountain of rules only they fully respect. Their warriors are elite. Their machines are monstrous slabs of brutalist steel and overwhelming firepower. Their pride is bottomless. Their common sense is not. Most bizarre of all, the Klanz hold youth to be the purest state of being, the closest a warrior can come to perfection before age begins its slow corruption. As a result, their society is ruled, staffed, and fought over almost entirely by girls scarcely into adolescence, all of them carrying themselves with the grave authority of ancient conquerors while throwing tantrums, blood feuds, and ritual grievances with the intensity only children and fanatics can truly achieve. To outsiders, they are equal parts terrifying and absurd: tiny warlords piloting towering engines of destruction, barking archaic insults over open comms and declaring formal trials over the slightest perceived slight. To encounter the Klanz is to encounter a culture so convinced of its own superiority that it has looped all the way around into parody, and yet remains dangerous enough that laughing at them to their faces is still a good way to die. Essentially dead serious, lolified BattleTech clans. Expect big stompy robots, big guns and little girls

[ ] The Grand Solar Union
A sprawling star-born superstate draped in banners, medals, and enough patriotic pageantry to bury whole planets, the Grand Solar Union presents itself as the shining bulwark of civilization, order, and heroic destiny. It is a realm of grand speeches, noble bloodlines, immaculate uniforms, and endless propaganda reels in which handsome aces descend at the perfect moment to save the day before a cheering public. Beneath all that polished splendor, however, the Union runs on a far less glamorous truth. Its wars are fought first by waves and waves of cheap line units, mass-produced machines and expendable pilots hurled into the grinder to soften resistance, gather data, and create the chaos from which its carefully cultivated "Heroes" can emerge to claim glorious victory. The ace arrives only after the blood has already been spent, the cameras rolling just in time to catch the finishing blow. Everything is staged, everything is branded, and everything is in service to the narrative. Their champions are not merely soldiers but products, polished icons of courage and virtue manufactured for public consumption and deployed like weapons of morale. To the worlds under its banner, the Grand Solar Union promises unity, strength, and protection. To those ground beneath its heel, it is a gaudy machine that feeds the many into the legend of the few, sacrificing lives by the thousand so that one smiling golden idol can descend from the sky and pretend to have won the war alone. A Gundam inspired nation that see warfare as a game and treats ace pilots like celebrities. Expect mecha wave tactics and ace machines that are as dangerous as they are over engineered.

[NA] The Astral Covenant (Locked)
An ancient league of star-faring elf maidens who style themselves as the rightful shepherds of civilization, the Astral Covenant is spoken of across known space with equal measures of reverence, resentment, and exhausted disbelief. Beautiful, long-lived, and armed with magitech so advanced it may as well be sorcery, they are the self-appointed heroines of the cosmos, forever descending from gleaming crystal fleets to "restore harmony," "correct imbalance," and otherwise meddle in the affairs of lesser peoples for their own supposed good. Their machines are elegant impossibilities of living light, enchanted alloy, and floating geometry, their weapons as graceful as they are devastating, and their commanders carry themselves with the serene confidence of those who have never seriously entertained the notion that they might be wrong. The Covenant is, by reputation, the designated good-girl faction of the age: noble, wise, refined, and always just in time to offer guidance no one asked for. Yet beneath that radiant image lies a chilling certainty. The elves do not merely think themselves better suited to rule. They think the universe agrees. Wherever they intervene, events seem to bend toward their favored outcomes, victories arriving with suspicious neatness, disasters turning aside at the perfect moment, and their chosen champions surviving odds that should have buried them ten times over. Whether this is destiny, magitech, or simply the most sophisticated cheating in recorded history depends entirely on who is telling the story. What is certain is that the Astral Covenant sees itself as the protagonist of creation itself, and one does not lightly step into a tale they have already decided belongs to them. Unavailable at Quest Start The Astral Covenant lies far beyond the reach of the opening chapters. Their stars will have to wait.

---

Feel free to ask any questions you want!

New thread is up in NSFW questing.

 

[Konb]

[ x]The Mother of Daughters
[ x] The Klanz

Interesting set up really looking forward to how this goes, the world always needs more futa on lolis.
I went with this combo because coruption is always the best when two completely idelogies clash would be fun to see the motherly sucbi take on the cluture of the young must lead the old are trash come ibto contact first.

 

[WaterSlices]

[ x]The Mother of Daughters
[ x] The Klanz

Interesting set up really looking forward to how this goes, the world always needs more futa on lolis.
I went with this combo because coruption is always the best when two completely idelogies clash would be fun to see the motherly sucbi take on the cluture of the young must lead the old are trash come ibto contact first.

Click to shrink...

I uh just realized about an hour ago that I posted this in the wrong subforum... I PM'd a mod but I have not gotten a response yet...

Sorry about this.

I'm going to get started on a new post in the correct subforum.

 

[Konb]

You dont really have to strike through the whole thing,i thing it moves the whole thread whole sale once the mod get to it, you can also report your own thread to ask for it to get moved lol that might give it a bit more priority

 

[WaterSlices]

You dont really have to strike through the whole thing,i thing it moves the whole thread whole sale once the mod get to it, you can also report your own thread to ask for it to get moved lol that might give it a bit more priority

Click to shrink...

They definitely can do that... And I probably should have waited... But I already reposted it.