Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users

Lilith understood him.

She had always understood Valcrest—not just the way he moved or the way he thought, but the way he felt underneath it all.

That quiet precision, that sharpness born from being denied revenge long enough for it to calcify into something colder, something more deliberate.

He had never been a man who rushed to punish. Not when the fire inside had cooled into focus. And that was what worried her most.

She opened the private channel—something ancient, older than any known tech or spell system, older than most of the faces that now ruled this world.

The crescent-shaped rune on her wrist lit up, glowing with a soft shimmer as the air in the room folded without sound.

A single figure appeared, kneeling low with a cloak that dragged shadows behind it, head bowed with absolute discipline.

"High Commander of the Crescent Legion, reporting."

Lilith didn't raise her voice. She never had to. Her tone didn't need sharpness to cut—it carried weight by simply existing.

"Stand down," she said, each syllable landing with the finality of an ancient decree. "Do not pursue the girl. Leave her."

The commander hesitated, but not from doubt, not from defiance. It was instinct—a warrior's twitch when the edge of a blade was still wet and the scent of blood not yet cold.

But Lilith didn't glare, didn't gesture. She just looked.

And that was enough.

"Yes, my Queen."

"Let the boy have his answer," she added, quieter now, as if the weight behind her words had shifted from command to something closer to tired resolve. "The seal was enough."

The figure didn't vanish with a flourish. They simply weren't there anymore.

Lilith didn't move immediately. She lowered herself into the seat behind her desk—not to rest, not to breathe or clear her mind, but to anchor herself.

She was already working through the implications. The weight of what Valcrest had done. The doors that would now start creaking open in realms most dared not name.

She reached down, opened a concealed drawer on the left side of her desk, and drew out a ledger that almost looked unimpressive if you didn't know what you were staring at.

It was bound not in leather, but in a pale, smooth hide—gray, grainless, almost cold to the touch.

Not from any beast that lived now, but from things that had crawled into this world long before humans named the sun or mapped the stars.

Creatures from the edge of the first collapse, when the fabric of myth and reality blurred for the first time.

She placed the ledger on the desk and spoke softly, the sound more thought than speech:

"The Mourning Coil."

The book twitched under her hand, like something sleeping that had just been called by name in its dream.

It opened without her touching it again—not to the beginning, not to a marked page, but to the place it wanted her to see.

A diagram.

No face. No name. No mouth.

Just eyes—circles drawn over circles in a way that didn't obey human symmetry, all embedded in a skeletal form that looked part molten stone, part bone, part something you'd find at the bottom of a dead sea.

There were no identifiers. No divine seal. No theological record. Just a feeling.

And that was what told her it was real.

Because gods who could be catalogued could also be controlled.

But this? This one had never asked for worship. It hadn't even announced itself.

It had simply slipped through.

And that was what made it dangerous.

Lilith didn't shiver. She didn't blink or flinch. But she did trace her finger over one of the circles—softly, not to connect, but to remember.

"This one wasn't summoned," she murmured, voice low. "It found its own way in."

She pulled another shard from the drawer. Smaller, but ringed with silver that had dulled with age. It wasn't a communicator.

It was a key, linked to oaths so old they predated the current magical epoch. Each contact on the shard was still bound to her by three layers of favor and a debt none had dared to repay.

She activated all three.

One in the Aether Library.

One within the deeper chambers of the Demon Courts.

One beneath the floating ruins of Cradle.

She didn't wait for confirmation. If they still lived, they would answer. If they didn't… she'd know.

The ledger closed on its own, content that it had delivered what it wanted.

She leaned back for a second, staring not at the wall, but inward.

And for the first time in years, she said something she hadn't said even in solitude. Chapter source: My Virtual Library Empire (M|V|L4EMPYR).

"If this really is a Pre-Rift god…"

Her words trailed off. Her eyes shut for just a moment.

"…then Ethan was never the danger."

She waited. Let the room breathe.

Then whispered, barely loud enough for her own ears:

"The last Incubus wasn't the end."

There was no lingering wind. No special chill in the air.

But the room felt different now.

The shard on her desk flickered. The one tied to the Aether Library had answered. No voice came through, just a low harmonic note—something you felt in the base of your teeth more than you heard.

The diagram on the ledger shifted again, even though it had already closed.

And in its place, something new burned into the surface—words that were not written, not spoken.

A date.

Not a normal one.

Not even a recorded one.

It was a temporal mark from a time before reset.

Cycle 0.

A knot in time. An echo from the first loop.

Beneath the date, six tiny glyphs etched themselves into view.

Not words. Symbols.

War.

Decay.

Silence.

Judgment.

Fusion.

And the sixth—

Null.

Lilith stared at that last one the longest.

A mark not of death, but of rejection. Of something that didn't belong to existence. Not because it had been cast out, but because it was never meant to exist at all.

She closed the shard. Stood.

She didn't move with urgency. She moved with precision.

Because now she knew.