Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users

Everly didn't smile.

But something in the way she stood felt different now. More sure. Like a piece of her had finally settled into place—something that had always been there, just clearer now.

—

It was already late when she found him.

Ethan was sitting by the river, far from the main grove. The only sounds around him were the soft ripples of water and the quiet rustle of wind through the trees.

His legs were stretched out in front of him, eyes fixed on the way the light danced on the surface. The sky above was darker now—less moon, more stars.

She didn't call out to him.

She just walked over and sat beside him, letting the silence stay.

After a few minutes, she nudged him gently with her shoulder.

"Thinking deep thoughts again?"

He looked over for a second, then back at the water. "Not really."

She gave him a sideways smirk. "Liar."

But that was it. She didn't tease him more than that. She didn't need to.

The silence between them wasn't awkward. It just felt… right, like it belonged there.

After a while, the stones beneath their feet started to glow faintly—soft little pulses of light from under the surface.

It was something the elves built into the land, Everly remembered. These lights only came on when two people walked together, side by side, in sync. No magic needed—just the intention to be near each other.

She looked down at the glow. Then, slowly, reached out and took his hand.

Normally, she'd do it with a grin or some playful comment.

This time, she just held on.

And didn't let go.

The light grew a little brighter.

Ethan turned to glance at her again, and for a second, she didn't meet his eyes. But then she did.

And her voice came out softer than usual.

"I'm not teasing this time," she said. "I mean it."

The light under their feet pulsed once. Then stayed steady.

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

Not to get a laugh.

Not to play around.

Just because she wanted to.

And that was enough.

No jokes. No games.

Just her.

Just him.

And the quiet of the world around them.

—

There was no warning.

No shift in the wind. No sound. No feeling.

One moment, Ethan sat by the river with Everly under a peaceful night sky.

The next, everything changed.

The stars vanished. The ground faded. And Ethan found himself standing in a place that didn't feel real.

There were no walls. No ceiling. Just gray, swirling space all around him—like a dream that hadn't finished being built.

The ground beneath his feet was solid, but barely. The air was still, like time had paused.

He recognized what it was.

Another test.

But this one was different from the others.

He took one step forward. The floor didn't move.

Another step. Still solid.

Then the illusions began.

Fast, messy, jarring scenes slammed into view. One blink—he was at home, Lilith screaming. Another—Evelyn lying in snow, eyes open, lifeless. Another—his reflection in a broken mirror, laughing back at him.

All of it is fake.

All of it is trying to mess with his head.

But Ethan didn't flinch.

He didn't stop.

He just kept walking.

Every illusion shattered the moment he passed through it. Not because he forced them to break—but because he didn't react. He didn't give them anything to feed off.

He knew none of it was real.

So he let it go.

The field shifted again, trying a different tactic.

This time, it showed him failing. Training until he collapsed. Making the wrong choices. Letting people down. Scenes designed to make him feel small. Weak.

But again, he just walked.

Calm. Steady. Eyes focused.

He wasn't trying to escape the images.

He was erasing them.

Then, something new appeared.

A version of himself—twisted, cold, angry.

"You're soft," the copy said. "You hesitate. You care too much."

Ethan looked at it.

He didn't reply.

Then the copy attacked.

But it hit nothing.

Ethan wasn't there anymore.

The illusion crumbled.

He hadn't been standing still. He was already moving before the copy struck. Always moving.

That's when the field changed again.

This time, it went after his sense of space and time.

Enemies came from every angle—some fast, some slow, some skipping forward like broken film.

Blades slashed from both sides, footsteps echoed where no one stood. Everything went wrong.

But Ethan didn't fight it the way others would.

He moved through it like water.

Not faster.

Just smarter.

He didn't dodge the hits—they just missed. His illusion skill made it feel like he'd already left the spot they aimed for. To them, he was always one step ahead, even when he didn't move.

They reacted to things that weren't real—sounds that weren't there, shadows that vanished the moment they chased them.

Because now he wasn't using illusion to hide.

He was using it to lead.

To guide their thoughts down the wrong path.

Every mistake they made—he had planted it.

And in the end, the illusions fell apart.

The space went quiet again.

He stood alone.

Across from him now stood one person.

His mentor.

She said nothing at first. Just watched him.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"You've reached the threshold," she said. "One more step, and you're no longer my student."

Ethan looked at her. A faint smile touched his lips.

"Then maybe I'll stop here," he said. "I like our talks."

Her lips twitched, just a little.

"I'll allow it."

Then she vanished.

No sound. No flare of magic.

Just gone.

Ethan stood there for a moment longer.

Then he exhaled.

He wasn't tired. His mana hadn't dropped. But something in him had changed. A part of him had grown into a new shape—not a sudden transformation—just quiet growth.

—

When he walked back into the suite, everything was still.

The lights were low. The air smelled faintly of warm herbs—leftover from the bath they'd taken earlier.

The twins were there.

Neither said anything as he stepped inside.

They didn't need to.

Evelyn moved first. She walked over and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close without a word.

Everly joined a second later, curling around his side, resting her head against his chest.