The Incubus System Chapter 1217. Hunting The Senators IV

The Incubus System Chapter 1217. Hunting The Senators IV The wind grazed my face like it had something to say—quiet, but pointed. I didn’t f

The Incubus System Chapter 1217. Hunting The Senators IV

The wind grazed my face like it had something to say—quiet, but pointed.

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

Just stared them down.

Then, with a flick of my fingers, I opened the portal again.

[You have opened a portal]

I turned to the soldiers still posted in a wide circle around the rooftop. Most of them had guns. Helmets. Tactical gear. Orders.

Didn’t matter.

My eyes locked with theirs—no words, no expression, no kindness. Just a silent message.

‘Try it. And I will bury you before the thought finishes forming.’

They got it.

You could see it.

The sudden flicker in their eyes, the instinctive tightening of their grips.

But none of them raised their weapons.

Whatever orders they had before—whoever told them to stop me—none of it outweighed what their guts were screaming now.

I stepped into the portal without looking back.

And the world cracked open again.

When I landed, it was cold.

Not the physical kind. Not frost or snow or windchill.

No, this was the chill of power in a room where power had curdled. Where betrayal had seeped into the tiles.

Where men with clean suits and dirtier hands shaped the world like gods behind their screens.

The Demon Hunter HQ.

More specifically, the Senatorial Chamber.

Still half-lit. Still reeking of expensive air purifiers, scorched mana circuits, and antiseptic fear.

Some of the screens were dead now—flickering with static or just plain shattered. A few still worked, glowing dimly with shadowed figures behind them. Silent. Watching.

And at the center of it all, alone beneath the humming lights, stood Clea.

Her clothes rippled slightly from the wind I brought with me. She didn’t turn.

She didn’t have to.

She just knew I was back.

I stepped forward, letting the sound of my boots echo across the marble. The silence in this place didn’t break easily, but it flinched a little.

I stood beside her like I’d never left.

Like this place was mine now.

Like they were all just guests.

I glanced up at the remaining screens. My face must’ve looked like death—wing tips still unfurled behind me, tattered suit streaked with ash and dried blood. My hair was probably a mess. Eyes sharp yet my heart was hollow.

“Say…” I said casually, like I hadn’t just survived a dozen kill orders and two battlefields. “Let’s restart the discussion, shall we?”

I didn’t wait for a response.

With a flick of my wrist, I shaped the air into a throne. A chair molded from pure will and Telekinesis.

The hum of it tickled my spine as I sat down, arms resting on my knees.

No one said anything.

Until finally, a voice from the screens spoke—low and flat, filtered through digital mask they always used.

“You’ve returned,” one of the shadowed figures said, but this time… his voice wasn’t altered. It was steady. Clear.

And loyal.

“My Lord,” another added immediately, nodding in the flickering glow of his screen. “You’ve exhausted yourself. Are you okay?”

Clea’s brows furrowed, slowly turning toward the screens with a stiff, quiet tension.

“I’ve already dispatched observers to track those not yet under your influence,” another senator said, his tone far too smooth to be rebellious. “Just say the word. We’ll send soldiers if needed.”

A third chimed in. “Who remains, My Lord? Who still resists?”

The air felt different now.

The predators had become pets.

All of them.

I leaned back in the invisible chair, one leg crossing over the other with a soft hum of force holding me up.

“No need,” I said calmly. “I already have them.”

Clea turned to me slowly, watching with that half-mask of disbelief and unreadable calculation.

“All of them?” she asked quietly.

I gave her a faint, dry smile.

“All under my influence now,” I said, eyes fixed on the council’s screens. “Those who aren’t present… they’re not resisting. They’re just busy.”

A pause.

“They’ll show up soon.”

“Should we prepare a new chamber for your direct council, My Lord?” asked one of the previously highest-ranking members of the panel, bowing his head slightly even though he sat cloaked in shadow.

“You don’t need to,” I replied, voice colder now. “This is already mine.”

And the truth of it?

They all knew it.

Somewhere behind the silence, Clea’s breath caught.

Because she realized it too.

This wasn’t a war anymore.

It was a coronation.

Clea turned to me slowly, brows furrowed. “...Mr. Great Demon…”

I cut her off gently. “Ethan,” I said. “Just call me Ethan now.”

Her voice wavered. “You… rewrote them? As in, their minds?”

“Some,” I admitted. “The ones who could still feel guilt. The ones who had a sliver of soul left. I just… helped them remember it.”

“And the others?”

I looked her dead in the eye. “Puppets.”

She blinked. “You enslaved them?”

“Yeah,” I said flatly. “Because if I didn’t, they would’ve rebuilt everything. The labs. The goddamn supply chain for suffering.”

I leaned forward, voice dropping, heavy.

“They would’ve found another Larry. Another kid with unique blood and no one to protect them. Another me.”

Clea didn’t respond.

The room didn’t breathe.

“I tried doing it the right way,” I continued, jaw tight. “I killed two demon lords. Closed the rift. Talked with a literal colossal eye. And what did I get?”

I gestured around.

“This.”

More silence.

“I almost snapped. You know that? I almost wiped them all out. They watched kids bleed and called it research. But yeah, somehow… I could suppress my rage.”

And then, a voice brushed the inside of my skull.

Nefaris.

‘So… should I stay hidden, or what?’

I sighed inwardly.

‘It’s done. Come on through. Let’s introduce chaos to bureaucracy.’

Her laugh echoed through my head—soft and sultry, warm like danger.

Then she moved.

“I’m rebuilding the world,” I said. “Piece by broken piece. And you’re going to watch me do it.”

I smiled—soft and sharp all at once.

“Whether you’re my allies...”

I tapped my temple.

“Or my puppets.”

No one moved.

Clea stared, breath shallow, eyes unreadable.

The others—those shadows—just sat behind their screens.

Not speaking.

Not protesting.

Not running.

Because they knew.

The world they built?

The one stacked on pain and lies?

It was over.

This was it.

Not just revenge. Not just survival.

Reconstruction.

My rules. My terms.

And if they didn’t like it?

They could join the others.

In chains.

Or in the dirt.