Incubus Ascension

Liam lay on the narrow bed in the inn’s dim room, the rough blankets tangled around his legs like chains. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, the weight of exhaustion pressing down after another endless day of scraping by in this unforgiving world. Sleep had finally claimed him, but it shattered without warning.

His eyes snapped open. A cold sweat slicked his skin. The system interface hovered before him, glowing softly in the dark. ’No more running blind,’ he thought, fingers twitching as he navigated the shop with practiced desperation. There—one skill caught his eye: Face Weaver. Temporary disguise, ten minutes max. Expensive, but worth it if it bought him a chance at survival. He purchased it without hesitation, feeling the familiar rush of mana settling into his core.

He activated it immediately. A subtle shimmer rippled across his features—nothing drastic, just enough to blur the man the bearers might recognize into someone forgettable, ordinary. ’Just enough to get close,’ he told himself, the knot of anxiety in his gut loosening a fraction. He slipped out of bed and moved quietly, careful not to wake the girls sleeping in the adjacent room.

A quick trip to the system shop followed. Simple but decent clothes materialized: fitted tunics and trousers for himself, elegant yet practical dresses for the girls that wouldn’t scream "out of place" at a royal affair. He roused them gently, explaining only what they needed to know. "Tonight’s our shot. Stay close, eyes open." They nodded, trust shining in their eyes despite the fear flickering there. That trust anchored him—reminded him why he pushed forward. These weren’t just companions; they were the fragile family he’d somehow gathered in this mad second chance.

They left the inn together, stepping into the cool night air. The streets should have been alive with foot traffic heading toward the palace lights glowing in the distance. Instead, Liam’s steps faltered as he noticed the truth. Carriages and sleek vehicles hummed past, their occupants laughing and glittering under enchanted lanterns. He and the girls were the only ones walking, exposed on the cobbled path like stragglers in a parade. ’Of course. Even here, the rich don’t dirty their shoes,’ he thought bitterly, jaw tightening. The girls huddled closer, their presence a small warmth against the isolation.

The palace gates loomed soon enough, spilling golden light and the murmur of countless voices. Inside, the grand hall pulsed with life. Foreign dignitaries mingled in elaborate costumes—flowing silks from distant deserts, armored plates etched with runes from northern clans, feathers and jewels that spoke of empires Liam had only glimpsed in passing. Laughter rang sharp, wine flowed, and the air smelled of roasted meats and expensive perfumes. It was overwhelming, alive in a way that made his underdog heart ache with both envy and determination.

His gaze swept the room and locked onto the second stage. There—Valor. The man lounged with calculated ease, a glass of deep red wine in hand, conversing with a tanned foreigner whose ornate robes marked him as an outsider. Valor’s posture screamed confidence, the kind built on secrets and stolen power.

Then Liam saw them. Five bearers, unmistakable in their pristine white knight armor, standing like statues at key points around the hall. His blood ran cold. One wrong move, one flicker of recognition, and it would be over. ’Can’t draw attention. Not yet.’ He opened his system quest log, the timer ticking down mercilessly. This party was his narrow window—the only chance to corner Valor before everything collapsed.

’How do I pull him away without dying in the process?’ The question burned. An idea sparked, reckless but sharp. Heart pounding, Liam wove through the crowd, leaving the girls in a safer corner with a quiet word to stay put. He approached Valor from the side, close enough to smell the wine on his breath.

"I know you’re an exile," Liam whispered, voice low and steady. "Follow me if you don’t want me to expose you right here."

Valor’s glass trembled. Crimson wine spilled over his polished shoes, staining the leather. Shock flashed raw across his face—eyes widening, composure cracking for a split second. He scanned the room, calculating, then gave a curt nod. "Lead the way."

They slipped into the palace hallways, footsteps echoing off marble as the party noise faded behind them. Valor waited until the distance felt safe, the music a distant hum. Then he struck—lunging with lethal speed, blade whistling toward Liam’s back.

Liam smiled. He sidestepped at the last instant, grabbing the attacking arm and yanking hard. His own sword flashed, slicing Valor’s blade clean in two with a metallic shriek.

Valor dropped to his knees, but he didn’t falter. A second sword appeared from his waist in a blur. Dark energy coiled around it like living smoke as he rose, pressing the attack.

Liam matched him, channeling his own dark energy along his blade. Their swords clashed—and Liam’s eyes narrowed. ’This isn’t real. Too thin, too false.’ The realization hit as the clone dissolved into shadows. From a dark corner, the true Valor stepped forward, staring at the lingering dark aura around Liam with cold curiosity.

"An exile?" Valor said, voice smooth as poisoned silk. "Why are you attacking me?"

Liam ignored the taunt and lunged again. Valor sighed. "Very well." From either side of him, two more copies materialized, encircling Liam in a deadly triangle. They attacked from different angles— one aggressive and brutal, another precise and evasive. Liam found himself forced into defense, parrying desperately, unable to break the tightening circle. Each clone fought with its own style, adapting, overwhelming.

’No choice.’ Time was bleeding away. Liam activated Devil Time, the world slowing around him in a familiar, dangerous rush. He layered it with his new purchase: Cleave. The S+ rank skill surged through him like lightning in his veins. Power flooded his muscles.

He exploded forward. One clone fell in a single devastating arc, bisected before it could react. The others followed, shattered under the cleaving force faster than Valor could regenerate them. Liam pressed the real Valor now, blades singing. Even boosted, it was only a slight edge—Valor was a monster in his own right.

The timer flickered in Liam’s vision. ’Running out.’ Desperation sharpened his focus. He deliberately dropped his guard, exposing a blind spot.

Valor seized it, sword carving deep into Liam’s shoulder. Pain exploded, hot and blinding. Liam gritted his teeth, pushing through the fire, tightening his grip. ’Healing Devil—now.’ Regeneration flooded the wound, flesh knitting even as blood still flowed. He struck in the same breath—blade biting deep into Valor’s neck.

Valor gasped, clutching the gash, and staggered back. He ripped a vial from his belt and downed it in one gulp. The numbers hovering above him—his health—vanished in an instant.

Liam cursed under his breath. "What is this?"

Valor wiped his mouth, tossed the empty vial aside, and raised his sword again. His aura detonated outward in blazing dark energy, raw and terrifying.

Liam cursed again and met him head-on, but the shift was immediate—he was on the defensive now, every clash jarring his bones. ’Think, Liam. Think.’ Memories of his inventory flashed. Glue balls. He fired them mid-exchange, sticky orbs splattering across Valor’s legs and weapon.

Valor snarled, slicing most away, but the glue held on his sword, yanking it toward the floor. The distraction was enough. Liam surged in, overwhelming the man at last. His final strike landed true. Valor crumpled, life fading from his eyes.

A system notification chimed: Quest Completed. Relief washed through Liam like cool water. He exhaled shakily, wiping his blade as he turned back toward the party lights.

Then his heart hammered. A figure approached down the hall—the female bearer from before, armor gleaming, steps purposeful. Liam glanced down: blood dripped from his sword, splattered his clothes, dark energy still clinging like smoke. ’Fuck. Not good.’

He spotted a nearby closet door and bolted for it, slipping inside just as her footsteps grew louder. Pressed against the wooden panels, he peered through a narrow crack. She passed close—too close—then paused. Crouched.

"Wait... is this a blood footprint?" Her voice was sharp, deadly. "And it leads toward this closet?"

She rose, sword drawn, murderous aura rolling off her like a storm. Every instinct screamed at Liam to run. Death waited inches away.

Frantic, he tore open his inventory. Teleportation scroll—there. He activated it without hesitation.

The world twisted. He vanished just as her blade sheared the closet door in half, wood splintering violently. She stared at the empty space inside, tilting her head. "Was this just a false signal?"

Meanwhile, Liam materialized elsewhere, staggering as he caught his balance. His head spun from the scroll’s disorientation. He straightened, blinking against new surroundings, eyes widening at the scene before him.