Incubus Ascension

The battlefield stretched like a scar across the crimson-soaked earth, a chaotic symphony of clashing steel and dying screams. Liam stood at the center of it all, his boots sinking into mud churned with blood, the metallic tang thick in the air. Bodies lay scattered around them—warriors in mismatched armor, their red skin now marred by deeper shades of death. His heart hammered against his ribs, not from fear exactly, but from the raw, disorienting weight of it. One moment they’d been elsewhere; the next, this slaughter.

’Not again,’ he thought, gripping his weapon tighter. ’I dragged them into this mess. Gotta keep them safe.’

Beside him, Medusa and the other girls scanned the field with sharp eyes, their stances coiled and ready. They weren’t strangers to violence anymore, but Liam caught the flicker of unease in their postures—the way Medusa’s fingers twitched, as if reaching for a power that felt both familiar and distant.

"Stay close," Liam said, his voice low but steady. "Whatever this is, we’re not dying on some random battlefield."

A roar erupted from the left flank as a squad of red-skinned soldiers charged them, axes raised. No questions, no parley—just the blind fury of war. Liam moved first, his body responding with a speed that still surprised him. He cut through the first attacker with brutal efficiency, the clash of blades ringing out. The girls followed seamlessly, their own strikes precise and devastating. Arrows whistled past; Medusa deflected one with a casual flick of her hand, her expression hardening.

They carved a path, bodies falling around them until a clear zone formed in the heart of the melee. The fighting swirled onward at the edges, but no one dared close the gap anymore. Liam wiped sweat and blood from his brow, breathing heavily. "What the hell is this place?"

One of the girls knelt briefly by a fallen banner, tracing the emblem. "Looks like a civil war. Two factions of the Valhalla nation, from the markings. Brothers turning on each other."

Liam nodded grimly. The realization settled like a stone in his gut—these weren’t faceless monsters. They were people, fractured by ambition or betrayal. But survival came first. ’We’re not here to pick sides. Just get through it.’

He pulled up his status with a quick mental flick, the familiar system interface blooming in his vision. Level 600. A surge of relief mixed with unease. The girls hovered around 550—still gods among these men. The highest enemy levels barely scraped 250. No wonder the soldiers had broken against them like waves on rock.

Shouts rippled through the lines. From the far side of the field, a woman’s voice carried on the wind—urgent, commanding. Liam couldn’t make out the words, but the shift in momentum was clear. One faction’s assaults on their position slackened. A middle-aged man emerged from the press, waving a white cloth on a spear haft. He approached cautiously, hat pulled low, his red skin smeared with grime.

"My leader requests a word," the man called, voice tight with awe and nerves. "No tricks. She saw what you did here."

Liam studied him, weighing the risks. ’Trap? Maybe. But at our levels...’ He glanced at the girls. They could tear their way out of anything this world threw at them. "Lead on."

They followed the man across the churned ground, past clusters of wary soldiers who parted like frightened cattle. Tents came into view, smoke curling from cookfires amid the distant clash of steel. The main pavilion loomed ahead, heavy canvas flapping in the breeze. Inside, a long table dominated the space, ringed by stern-faced old men with the same deep red skin. At the head stood a woman in her twenties, her posture regal despite the chaos outside. The moment Liam stepped through the flap, her eyes locked on him.

"It’s you," she breathed, a mix of recognition and calculation flashing across her face. "Come here. I want to make you an offer."

Liam approached slowly, the girls fanning out behind him. The air felt charged, heavy with the scent of oil lamps and sweat. "What’s the offer?"

She leaned forward, voice steady but edged with desperation. "I am the daughter of the Count—governor of these lands. We’re fighting a baron who betrayed my father and seeks alliance with a rival. This war is bleeding us dry." Her gaze swept over the group. "Work for us as mercenaries. Help turn the tide, and I’ll do everything in my power to give you whatever you want. Resources, shelter—name it."

Liam turned to the girls, searching their faces. This wasn’t his decision alone; they’d been through too much together for that. "Do you want to work here? It’s not just on me."

Before anyone could answer, Medusa spoke up, her tone laced with quiet urgency. "While you mention it... I feel part of my power near this location. It’s calling to me."

Liam froze, locking eyes with her. That pull meant something deeper—fragments of her essence scattered across this fractured world. He turned back to the woman. "Can we wander the camp? Look around?"

She hesitated only a moment. "My name is Lira. Yes, you may. But stay within our lines."

Liam and Medusa slipped out, Lira trailing at a respectful distance with a small escort. Medusa moved with purpose, weaving past tents until she reached a cluster near the rear. She ducked into one, lifting the lid of an open crate. White crystals gleamed inside, pulsing faintly. She scooped up a handful, closing her eyes.

Liam watched her closely. "Is it coming from these?"

She nodded, voice soft. "I can feel a part of my blood in them. Like echoes of what was taken."

Lira had followed them in. Liam turned to her, lifting one crystal. "Where did these come from?"

"My father imported them from the Hydra nation," Lira replied. "They function as energy batteries—powerful ones."

Liam’s jaw tightened as the pieces clicked. ’Those Scorpion bastards... they really squeezed every drop they could from her.’ The thought ignited a flare of protective anger. Without thinking, he released a pulse of his aura—the Cleaving Devil, amplified by his level 600 pushing toward 800 in raw pressure.

Lira gasped, dropping to her knees, one hand clutching her chest as she struggled to breathe. The old men outside the tent shifted uneasily but held back.

"Don’t worry," she rasped after a moment, forcing herself upright. "I won’t tell a soul. Your secrets are safe."

Liam studied her for a long beat, the anger ebbing into wary calculation. ’We help them win, get what we need, then leave. Simple.’ Aloud, he said, "Alright. Look at these crystals—they’ll be part of our payment. Plus a place to stay and food."

Lira managed a nod, still catching her breath. "I’ll prepare everything."

Back in the main tent, she laid it out clearly for the council. "They’ll be our special squad—targeting the high-level threats in the baron’s forces."

The old men exchanged glances, then murmured agreement. "Very well."

The next hours blurred into focused violence. Liam and the girls returned to the field, but this time with direction. They struck only at the baron’s elite, carving through their lines like a scythe. High-leveled officers fell one after another under their onslaught. The tide shifted visibly; baron soldiers broke and fled in growing numbers. By the time the sun dipped lower, staining the field an even deeper red, Lira’s forces stood victorious.

She approached them afterward, armor dented but eyes bright with relief. "It was thanks to your help that we’ve won the war. I can’t thank you enough."

Liam shrugged, though a quiet satisfaction warmed his chest—protecting his group while making a difference, however temporary. "It’s nothing. It’s our job. For payment, we’ll need as many of those crystals as you can spare."

Lira smiled faintly. "I can give you our current reserves. And we’ll head back to my father’s estate. The main shipment is there—far more than what we have here. You’ll be pleased."

Liam nodded. They marched with the victorious army as the light faded, the girls walking close. The estate rose ahead, sturdy walls and torchlit towers promising a brief respite. Lira’s father met them at the gates, a sturdy man with a booming voice and weary pride. "My daughter has just won against a subordinate of my enemy!"

Lira hugged him tightly, then pulled back. "Thanks to Liam and his companions. They repelled the baron’s forces almost single-handedly."

The Count looked Liam over appraisingly. "Thank you for helping my daughter."

"It’s alright," Liam replied. "I just want the shipment of crystals we agreed on."

The older man held his gaze for a long moment, then inclined his head. "You have it. And how about staying until we secure the baron’s estate? You could claim his shipments too."

Liam considered it, the promise of more resources for Medusa tugging at him. "Deal."

Lira led them to the storage vaults beneath the main hall. The sight that greeted them stole Liam’s breath—mountains of the white crystals, gleaming under lantern light, enough to dwarf what they’d seen in the camp.

"Such an amount..." Liam murmured, a rare grin tugging at his lips. This would help them immensely.

Medusa stepped forward without hesitation. She lifted one crystal, and Liam watched as energy flowed from it into her, the crystal dimming as power absorbed into her body. Satisfaction flickered across her face.

But as Liam surveyed the vast hoard—millions upon millions—the reality sank in. ’It would take forever for her to drain them all like this.’ Still, it was progress. A step closer to piecing her back together. He caught Medusa’s eye, and for a moment, amid the exhaustion and the distant cheers of victory outside, a shared understanding passed between them. They’d keep moving forward. Together.