The Incubus System Chapter 1196. Divide and Conquer
The Incubus System Chapter 1196. Divide and Conquer Nefaris took a low exhale. “Then I’ll come with you.” “No.” My answer was immediate. Fir
The Incubus System Chapter 1196. Divide and Conquer
Nefaris took a low exhale. “Then I’ll come with you.”
“No.” My answer was immediate. Firm. “All of you are staying here.”
She raised a single, perfectly arched brow. “You’re ordering me now, darling?”
I nodded. “Yes. Because there’s a real chance they’re baiting us. These little grunts they sent here? Pathetic. But if I disappear, if I leave Lust City even briefly, they might send the real army in.”
Behind me, Licheri gave me the most unimpressed deadpan he could muster for a sentient jello ball. “I literally said I’d know if they tried. I am the city.”
I held up a hand. “Yes, yes, I know. You’re my gooey god of urban defense.”
He crossed two of his blob arms. “Exactly.”
“But this isn’t about now,” I continued, voice sharper. “Zatan and Beel were experimenting with the rift. Jumping between dimensions, borders. If they could open a breach in the human world, there’s no reason they couldn’t crack one into here. And if they time it when I’m gone?”
I let that silence speak for itself.
Licheri wobbled in place. “...Makes sense.”
“I’ll call for backup if I need it,” I said. “Hopefully, I don’t.”
They didn’t argue.
I opened my portal again.
[You have opened a portal.]
I stepped through without hesitation.
And landed in the capital.
Or what was left of the border of it.
Chaos.
Screams.
Explosions.
I landed in the middle of a crumbling avenue that used to be part of the main defense ring. Fires licked up the sides of half-demolished towers. Rubble was scattered like confetti, streets torn apart by mana shockwaves. Skies filled with smoke and flares of light clashing in mid-air.
And at the center of it all?
Lord Damon.
Standing on a broken spire like an enraged emperor.
Face to face with Beel.
And yeah—Beel wasn’t in his pretty form.
He’d dropped his human form. What stood before Damon was a hulking, writhing mass of corrupted jelly-flesh. Slime and veins twisted around a mountainous form, bulging with faces, limbs, and spikes—ever-shifting. Regenerating. A slow, awful squelch every time it pulsed. His eyes—too many—were glowing deep red.
And he was smiling.
Somehow.
“Oh boy,” I muttered.
Tania and Kitty were leading squads across the burning southern wing. They were holding the line against a dual force—Zatan’s brutal lieutenant and Beel’s grotesque spawn, jelly-demons with far too many teeth and not enough rules of anatomy.
This?
Yeah.
This was the real war.
I narrowed my eyes and activated Observation.
[Name: Wrathspawn Marauder]
[Level: 88]
[Name: Gelroot Howler]
[Level: 92]
[Name: Spawncaster]
[Level: 100]
[Name: Boneback Devourer]
[Level: 79]
And it went on.
These weren’t random cannon fodder like the ones that hit Lust City. These were elites. The kind they only pull out when they want to win, or make someone bleed for trying.
“They weren’t trying to split our forces,” I muttered. “They were trying to divide and conquer.”
Without wasting time, I teleported.
Black mist warped space around me as I reappeared right beside Lord Damon—mid-roar, blade in one hand, shadow magic coiling in the other.
“Need my help?” I asked, casual.
He didn’t look at me. Just clicked his tongue.
Typical proud demon response.
Then he lunged at Beel, teeth bared.
I sighed and muttered, “I’ll take that as a yes.”
My wings snapped open and I shot forward, flanking him. Beel was massive now—his body a churning mess of regenerating slime and bone, with faces that didn’t belong, and gaping mouths that formed and unformed with every breath. His roar vibrated in my spine.
“Let’s see how you handle this,” I growled, raising my hand. “Smite Bolt!”
A blast of concentrated holy light launched from my palm. It pierced a writhing arm of Beel’s just as it reached toward Lord Damon.
-BOOM!
It exploded on contact, chunks of slime vaporizing instantly.
[Critical Hit!]
[Holy Effect: Burn (5s)]
Beel recoiled, screeching, “You—again?!”
“Surprise,” I said, deadpan.
Lord Damon’s blade sliced across Beel’s torso. A roar echoed—but Beel didn’t fall. His body regenerated faster now, limbs morphing, eyes blinking in unison across his chest.
“Keep pressure on him!” I shouted, flying to the side. “His regen spikes every six seconds!”
But that’s when I noticed it.
Damon should’ve been overwhelming him.
He had the power. The speed. The experience.
But he was constantly being interrupted—and not by chance.
The enemy demons weren’t just charging in blind. No, these bastards were strategically placed. They appeared from ruptures in the sky. Not in front. Not in swarms. But in timed singles—like some twisted escort mission designed to harass, not kill.
The moment Damon gathered momentum—dark mana swirling, blade primed for a killing strike—one of them would blink into existence just behind him.
First it was a Bladefiend, level 82, with two serrated daggers and a cloaking field. He aimed for Damon’s spine.
Damon didn't flinch.
Without turning, he rotated his free arm, caught the demon’s throat mid-lunge, and crushed it with a single squeeze. The corpse hit the ground and dissolved.
Then came a warlock-class demon—a Summoner. Opened a pocket portal and tried to chain Damon’s legs with shadow whips mid-stride.
Damon’s blade didn’t even pause. It swept low once—cleaved the warlock in two—and returned to Beel before the blood mist settled.
Another demon tried a mid-air dive, wings flaring wide.
Damon snapped a glance over his shoulder, growled low, and with one fluid motion, backhanded the attacker with the flat of his blade. The strike sent the demon hurtling into the ground like a meteor, hitting the pavement hard enough to crack it wide open beneath him. Bones shattered. Flesh ruptured. The body twitched once—and then didn’t move again.
He didn’t even break stride.
Three more replaced him. Then four. Then another pair after that.
He killed all of them.
Effortlessly.
But every second spent redirecting, countering, blocking—it pulled him further from finishing Beel. That window—the vulnerable opening after each regeneration—kept closing.
His jaw clenched. Shoulders tight.
He wasn’t tired.
He was annoyed.
They weren’t there to win.
They were there to waste his time.