The Incubus System Chapter 1215. Hunting The Senators II
The Incubus System Chapter 1215. Hunting The Senators II For the next hour, it was chaos. Methodical, controlled chaos. My kind. The kind I
The Incubus System Chapter 1215. Hunting The Senators II
For the next hour, it was chaos. Methodical, controlled chaos. My kind. The kind I carved out of purpose and fury.
I went from place to place—
Vaults, bunkers, towers cloaked in illusion, floating sanctums in the sky, even one senator holed up inside an underwater chamber disguised as a bio-research lab.
From senator to senator.
From coward to coward.
And one by one… I rewrote them.
[Mind Corruption – Rewrite]
Each time, my fingers brushed their foreheads. Some tried to scream. Some fought. Some begged—
“I have children—”
“You don’t understand, I was just following—”
“You can’t do this, I’m not your—”
But none of it mattered.
Because by the end of each spell, they all said the same thing.
“Yes, my lord.”
“What is your will?”
“I live to serve you, My Lord.”
Syntyche’s Spyders made it too easy.
Every few minutes, another one of her creatures would crawl from a wall vent, slither from under a floorboard, or appear clinging to my shoulder like a smug, twitchy scout. Each one carried coordinates, updates, internal schematics.
Somehow, she upgraded them beyond what even I expected.
Biological tracking, digital disruption, aura masking.
Don’t ask. I still don’t know how the hell that worked.
But I had to admit it.
They were reliable. Ridiculously reliable.
Syntyche was absurd.
How did she do it?
How did she go from chaotic spider demon queen to the best informant I had?
Ah.
Right.
Because we had sex.
That contract in the system.
Yeah. Apparently, sleeping with me jumpstarts power evolution. Including for the demoness.
Syntyche chose to evolve her spies. Her little web of informants.
And it worked.
Too well.
I just didn’t expect it to be this fast.
I should’ve seen it coming.
And while my portals kept opening and closing, and my steps echoed across polished marble and old warzones and clinical glass bunkers, part of me started to drift.
My body kept moving. My skills kept firing.
But my thoughts?
They were somewhere else.
Because…
A long time ago…
I didn’t want to do this.
I didn’t want to use Mind Corruption.
Didn’t want to make people puppets. Didn’t want to bend minds. Didn’t want to twist memories or override free will.
I was idealistic.
Even after becoming what I am. Even after the whole Great Demon title got slapped on me, even after they branded me, caged me, studied me.
I still thought—maybe I could fix this.
Maybe I could talk to them.
Negotiate.
Inspire.
Reform the system.
Yeah.
I laugh at myself now.
Because the more I saw of this world—the real one—the more that version of me cracked.
Behind every senator’s vault, I saw the same things.
Documents about “acceptable losses.”
Contracts that traded orphan lives for black-budget research.
Schedules of public speeches about “hope” while wiring private funds into off-world vaults.
Test logs where failed human experiments were labeled as “specimens.”
Even notes on me—pages and pages of how to weaponize me, replicate me, control me.
And of course… Angel Creation Project.
They never stopped seeing people as tools.
Larry?
He was data and pawn in a chess board.
Clea?
She was a face for PR.
And me?
I was the Devil they wanted on a leash.
And all of them had that same mentality.
“As long as it’s not me, I don’t care.”
“I’m too important to suffer.”
“Let the commoners bleed. We’ll write a speech for it later.”
It was everywhere.
These people—these humans—they acted like they were above others just because they had money, power, rank.
Same blood. Same race.
But they built an empire of ash and said they were standing on marble.
I didn’t get it.
I still don’t get it.
And it made me sick.
So yeah…
I started using Rewrite.
Started turning them into tools.
My tools.
Because if they wanted to treat people like objects, fine.
I’ll be the one who uses them for something that actually matters.
But still…
Somewhere, deep inside my chest—
There was a sting.
A small, sharp ache I couldn’t quite rip out.
My human heart.
My morality.
I’d buried it under layers of rage and control and necessity.
But sometimes, between portals, when the wind from one broken window cut across my skin just right— It pulsed.
It whispered.
“Is this the right thing?”
“Are you still doing the right thing?”
I don’t know.
I didn’t answer.
Because I couldn’t.
I didn’t stop.
I didn’t hesitate.
The next spyder landed on my shoulder.
Its legs clicked twice, injecting a new location.
Another senator.
Another mind.
Another crack in the system.
And I moved.
Because if I stopped now—
If I let myself feel it all—
I might never start again.
So I didn’t.
I just walked.
The wind on the rooftop was sharp. Dry. Hot. The sun beat down on my back like it was trying to burn through me, as if even the sky couldn’t stand what I’d become.
It wasn’t night here.
It was noon.
Stark. Honest. Brutal.
Everything laid bare under the sunlight.
And still, I walked.
Across the rooftop of some reinforced compound far from Aeros—too far to matter, too close for escape. My boots echoed across the concrete, each step slow, controlled.
In front of me, the last senator.
He wasn’t standing.
He was crawling. Backward. His hands scraped against the edge of the roof as he tried to scuttle away like a roach that suddenly realized it wasn’t the predator.
His face was pale, sweating, cracked lips whispering prayers even I couldn’t hear.
But I could hear something else.
Rotors.
Blades slicing air.
Helicopters above.
Drones circling, their cameras tracking my every move, little lights blinking red as if warning me to turn back.
I didn’t.
Guns were pointed at me.
Snipers. Rifles. Launchers.
All locked.
None fired.
Because they weren’t sure.
Because some of them had seen the feeds.
Because some of them knew.
That I wasn’t just the Great Demon anymore.
I was the thing they couldn’t cage.
And yet…
With all those weapons. All that firepower. All that noise—
It still felt quiet.
Too quiet.
Like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what I would do next.