Author's Note: Since beginning this story, CHYOA has added a conditional/game functionality very close to what I've imagined while writing this. Each choice you make as Marnie to assist or resist Uhazral has consequences that make it harder or easier to resist him next time. Ultimately, this could lead to Marnie vanquishing Uhazral, to the demon conquering Earth, or some other ending. I am currently re-vamping this story to use the conditional variables feature, but it's not ready for use yet.

The book is louder than Marnie is expecting when she slams its cover closed in frustration. She glances around the reading room sheepishly, but none of the other occupants seems to have noticed or cared about the disturbance. Gingerly, she picks up the slim volume and places it on the growing pile of items that aren't useful to her.

Four hours already, and so far she hasn't found anything that is going to help her finish her thesis on occult societies. It took months, and no small amount of string-pulling on the part of Marnie's thesis supervisor, to get access to the Clarkson Heritage Institute's special collection. But none of the books, journals, or letters have led to new insights, and this is looking like a dead end.

Marnie stands up and yawns. She indelicately adjusts her tights, regretting for the nth time wearing them. If this were any ordinary day, a pair of jeans or perhaps some dockers would have worked fine. She would never call herself a tomboy, because she put care into her appearance, but she tended not to overly emphasize feminine side—perhaps it's her lack of curves, or a desire to be taken more "seriously" by her male colleagues. Today is different, though, so she went full out: black tights and a nice green dress that complements her eyes and shows off her shapely arms.

Marnie's gaze moves past the box of sundry objects the curator had retrieved for her, and it catches on a glimmer of light reflected off something in one corner. She reaches down into the box and retrieves what looks like a bundle of letters wrapped around an amulet, which has been placed in a plastic bag for preservation. The tag on the item doesn't shed any light on what this might be. So, sitting down again, Marnie unrolls the sheaf of letters and starts reading.

The hands of the clock advance considerably by the time she is done, and she now stares at the amulet with more informed interest. The letters chronicle a frantic argument between two practitioners in the fringe society known as the Tangiers Group, named after their founder Philip Tangiers. Marnie has run across references to them before but never any direct sources—they were, as far she had known, a minor group of occult enthusiasts who conducted the typical meetings and seances and incense-burning ceremonies. But these letters hint at something more intense, more potent.

Apparently the correspondents believed that the amulet now sitting on the table was the worldly prison of a powerful demon called Uhazral. One writer was arguing that they should continue to research how to destroy the amulet—and thereby destroy the demon—before it somehow managed to work its way free. The other writer urged caution, fearing that if they made any rash attempts with the amulet, it would make the situation worse.

Marnie shakes her head. She tries hard to remain professional, objective, but it's difficult when faced with such bare-faced credulity from notes like these. An amulet containing a demon? Right. But the item itself, a dark green pendant on a gold chain, is beautiful. Enchanting. Marnie can't resist: she opens the plastic bag and tips the amulet onto the tabletop.

She picks it up in her small hands and holds it closer to the light. Now it's possible to make out an inscription—is it Latin?—on the chain and the setting for the stone. The stone itself looks like an emerald, but it's not a particularly clear one. A trick of the light makes its murkiness seem to shift and roil.

Marnie again steals a glance around the reading room. Satisifed that no one in particular is paying attention to her, she brings the pendant up to her throat and fastens the clasp around the back of her neck. It settles naturally onto her chest, just below her clavicle and above her unremarkable cleavage.

An electric jolt makes her jump, and the lamp on her table flickers. At last.

"What?" Marnie says aloud. This does make one or two people look up from their own reading, but they quickly return to their business.

So many centuries since I've felt the touch of someone whose mind is open to me.

Marnie's heart starts to race. What the hell is happening? She reaches up to remove the pendant, but her fingers touch only bare chain—the clasp has somehow disappeared entirely. She stands up, her chair clattering backwards to the floor. As nearby patrons cluck disapprovingly, she shoots out of the room and into the restroom, where a quick consultation in the mirror confirms that the pendant is now sans clasp—and too small to fit over her head.

The twenty-first century. Interesting. So much knowledge … so much easier to corrupt.

"This isn't happening. This is some kind of dream," Marnie says. She stares at her reflection and tries to regain her composure. "It's a dream, Marnie. You fell asleep at the table and you're dreaming you found some kind of weird demon amulet. You—"

—are not dreaming, my pet. I am Uhazral, and you will tremble before my aspect.

Suddenly the entire mirror begins to glow and ripple. A shadow forms next to Marnie's reflection and coalesces into a monstrous, seven-foot apparition. Largely human, it is strangely androgynous, sexless in its appearance and features. Impressive horns extend from its forehead, and its ears end in classical, diabolical points. No cloven hooves or claws or forked tail, though. Runes and lines of power glow with hellfire along its body, and Marnie shrieks as these suddenly appear on her own skin in the mirror. Moments later, they appear on her body for real.

Suddenly she becomes … aware … she knows things she didn't know a moment ago. She knows that Uhazral is indeed in the amulet around her neck, that it is communicating with her via some kind of psychic link, and that it has now tied her mind and body to the amulet and its powers. She feels … good. As she stares down at her hands and flexes her fingers, she feels like she is full of new potential.

"What do you want?" she asks.

Use your mind to communicate, my pet.

Marnie squeezes her eyes shut. What do you want?

Such impertinence, Uhazral says with what is undisguisably amusement. It has been so long since I have tasted such a strong-willed soul, especially in the female of your species. Oh, it will taste so sweet to watch your will crumble as you succumb to my corruption.

What? What corruption? What do you mean?

I am Uhazral the Corrupter, child. Civilizations have trembled and even vanished from history when it is my will. Your kind is so pliant, so malleable, especially since the Fall. I did delight so in moulding all of you to my will—that is, until those infernal magi trapped me in this bauble. But you have changed all that. Thanks to you, I can now influence the wider world. You will help me corrupt enough people that the taint on their souls will give me the power to break free from this prison and once more walk among you.

Marnie has begun to tremble. This is all getting too real for her now, and she isn't sure how to process it.

Please, she says, just … just let me go. Let me take this amulet off. Please.

Begging already? And I had such high hopes for you. But no, I think I will not let you go so easily. See, you are my Harbinger. The amulet you wear and the sigils I have burned into your body make you a conduit for my power. Use it to corrupt the souls around you, closest to you. I will guide you in this business, offer you suggestions and advice.

And if I don't?

Marnie senses Uhazral's satisfaction, as if it is particularly pleased by its reply: If you refuse to corrupt those around you, the power will corrupt your own body and soul until eventually you are unable to resist me. I will escape this amulet, one way or the other. You can choose whether you will be consumed in the process.

It's a heady sensation, Uhazral communicating with her and the new power it has imbued her with. Marnie feels her legs weakening, and then she slumps against the bathroom sink and slides to the floor.

The door opens and shuts with a thud, and heels clack against the tiles. A statuesque blonde rounds the divider and sees Marnie sprawled against the counter. "Ohmigod," she says, all one word, as she hurries over and crouches next to Marnie. "Are you OK?"

A perfect opportunity for me to demonstrate your new powers. This one already has the mind of a slut and seeks to make her body match. We shall help her achieve her goal, my pet.

Suddenly a new awareness fills Marnie's mind. She knows that with a simple thought she can alter her own body, or the body and mind of the woman in front of her. She can see into the woman's thoughts: her name is Cathy, she's twenty-five and single and desperately wishes she had bigger breasts. You would be helping her, really, the voice whispers in Marnie's head.

Somehow Marnie knows that if she doesn't do something to Cathy, her own body will change as a punishment. With a sharp intake of breath, she makes her choice.