It had rejected her. She loved this… thing and it had rejected her, something that had never happened before. Enraged, she lashed out at it with her newfound gifts of wind and lightning, but it rebuffed those attacks just as it had her declaration of love.

“I hate you,” she said, and a doorway to Hell opened like a ragged wound behind The Apocalypse, threatening to draw it down into unending torment. Dark things slithered through and into our world, but The Apocalypse merely waved one of it’s hands, and the doorway closed shut.

Now it mocked her and attacked her with steel and fire, plague and hunger and the withering touch of death. But she was a goddess now; death and weapons and disease meant little to her. But the hunger…

The part of her that was still the succubus was driven mad by the hunger, and she attacked with hands and teeth and fingernails, her new powers temporarily forgotten.

The Apocalypse laughed at her and it’s joy was terrible to behold…

But the goddess’ wrath was much worse.