Bestial Lust (The Owl House AU)

Returning home late at night, with only a few demons still wandering the streets, Oliver reflected.

A purplish mist crawled along the cobblestone ground, illuminated by the floating lanterns attached to the twisted wooden posts.

"It seems that the dependency caused by magic is stronger than I expected," he murmured to himself, feeling a faint mental fatigue still lingering in his body from the transformation.

He crossed an almost deserted street, where only a night merchant was arranging potions in his enchanted display.

"Doing this out in the open is really thrilling... I'll definitely do it again."

The cold night wind carried the rustling of the nearby enchanted trees. Oliver adjusted his hood and quickened his pace.

"But now, I need to deal with my most urgent problem."

Arriving in front of the house, he opened the door. At that moment, a beer bottle flew toward him, shattering against the wall beside him.

"So you decided to ignore the rule about not leaving without permission, you little shit?"

A fat man with messy red hair and a scruffy beard sat at the dining table, clearly drunk. Beer bottles were scattered everywhere.

When I said the original owner of this body had no friends, I wasn't exaggerating. In a situation like this, it's almost impossible not to develop social anxiety. — Oliver thought, remaining still.

Another bottle flew, this time smashing right next to his feet.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT? GET OVER HERE SO I CAN BEAT YOUR FACE IN!"

Oliver remained motionless, staring at the floor. The man huffed in rage.

"So you suddenly grew an extra pair of balls, brat"

Struggling to stand up from his chair, he approached. His alcohol-clouded eyes glimmered with blind fury. He grabbed a power clamp—an item used in construction—and strapped it onto his right forearm. An orange aura crackled, amplifying his strength.

"You're a thousand years too early to even think about—"

Before he could finish, his body was brutally hurled across the room, crashing through the table on impact.

For a moment, he was dazed, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Then his eyes widened in horror.

Four long, black tentacles extended from Oliver's back, swaying like living shadows.

"W-what the fuck is that!?" — Marcos stammered, instinctively stepping back from the monstrous sight.

Oliver took a step forward, allowing the dim light of the room to partially illuminate his face. His eyes, a supernatural pink, glowed with an almost hypnotic intensity, carrying a mix of disdain and amusement.

"Funny..." — he murmured, slowly moving the tentacles as if just stretching. — "Your whole life, you thought you were the predator. You screamed, hit, and broke everything around you, and me? I could only lower my head and wait for it to pass."

The tentacles stretched, dragging across the floor and leaving deep marks in the wooden planks. His gaze was cold, indifferent.

"But look at you now, Marcos... Today, you're nothing more than a pathetic prey begging not to be devoured. You know what's the worst part? I haven't even decided if you're worth dirtying my hands for."

Marcos trembled, sweating profusely. His eyes remained fixed on the tentacles, his breathing ragged. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a hoarse whimper escaped.

Oliver smirked slightly, tilting his head.

"Now tell me... Do you still think you can beat my face in?"

"W-what the hell are you!?" — he stammered, gathering the last scraps of his strength.

Oliver sighed, his pink eyes glowing even brighter.

"Me? Just someone who won't have any kind of connection with you anymore."

Before Marcos could formulate a response, one of Oliver's tentacles lashed out like a whip, striking him precisely on the side of the head.

The impact was sharp and immediate. Marcos collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Oliver observed him for a moment, his expression devoid of emotion. Then, without hurry, he climbed the stairs and went to his room. He gathered his few belongings—the essentials to ensure he never had to return.

Before leaving, he crouched beside Marcos's bed and pulled out a small wad of cash hidden there.

"Consider this payment for the years of shit you put me through," he muttered, stuffing the money into his pocket.

Only then did

he turn and walk out of the house.

"And this is where we say goodbye."