The Incubus System Chapter 1226. Destruction is Growth’s Price
The Incubus System Chapter 1226. Destruction is Growth’s Price Elenna’s and others’ PoV She could only hear him. “How do you balance the des
The Incubus System Chapter 1226. Destruction is Growth’s Price
Elenna’s and others’ PoV
She could only hear him.
“How do you balance the destruction you’ve caused—your takeover—with your claim of justice?” she pressed, her voice more steady now, riding the current of the moment like a wave she refused to fall off.
He looked skyward for a breath. His wings shifted behind him—feathers and shadow, light and sin, brushing faint glimmers of mana off the rooftop like dust.
Then he locked eyes with her again.
“Destruction is growth’s price,” he said.
A gust of wind swept through the courtyard, pulling dust through the cracks in the broken pavement.
“My takeover?” His smile curved slightly. “It was the final move in a game they refused to play fairly. When peace is written only by those with power, justice becomes a luxury. I made it a debt.”
Elenna couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down her spine. Not from fear.
From realization.
This wasn’t a speech.
It was a verdict.
He wasn’t defending himself.
He was claiming the battlefield.
She swallowed hard, trying not to let it shake her next words.
“There’ve been whispers… rumors that despite your actions, some organizations are working with you. Is that true? Are we… actually in good terms with demons now?”
There was a pause.
And then—another voice answered.
From beside him.
The woman with eyes like polished garnet and skin smooth as porcelain draped in violet and ink-black cloth stepped forward. She didn’t walk. She flowed. Her body moved like it had been spun from silk and malice, every step languid but precise.
Syntyche.
The Spider Queen.
“Oh, no, darling,” she said, her voice dripping with the kind of playful venom that made grown men weep into pillows. “You’re not in good terms with demons.” She placed a delicate, clawed finger to her chin. “You’re just… not being hunted by us. There’s a difference.”
Elenna blinked.
“But I thought—”
“Tsk.” Syntyche waggled a finger. “We are in good terms with his side.” She motioned toward the prince with a gesture so casual it might’ve been mistaken for affection, though her eyes never softened. “Some demons, the smart ones, the ones who understand the game, they follow him.”
She tilted her head and grinned wide.
“Others?” She shrugged. “They’ll still kill you. Hunt you. Eat your hearts for art, or sport, or boredom. Some of us don’t give a shit about mortals. I sure don’t.” Her lips curled. “If not for my prince here, I’d burn your little city just to warm my feet.”
One of the junior officers behind Elenna actually stumbled back, muttering a prayer under his breath.
Elenna stood frozen.
Not out of fear.
But because she suddenly understood how deep this went.
She wasn’t speaking to a military alliance.
She wasn’t covering a political accord.
She was looking at the mafia of hell—smiling, calm, camera-ready, and utterly, unapologetically honest.
The prince stepped forward again.
“For the time being,” he said, smoothly re-entering the spotlight of her mic, “I’ve maintained… cooperative dialogue with the Demon Hunter Association.”
That sentence alone was enough to detonate an entire day’s worth of breaking news.
“We’ve discussed a lot,” he added. “Containment. Wild anomalies. Intelligence exchange. Surface rights.”
‘Surface rights?’
Elenna’s brain screamed to pause the feed just to unpack that phrase alone.
But she nodded. “So… the world can breathe, a little?”
Another pause.
Syntyche and Nefaris giggled.
“Only a little,” Syntyche said, her fingers toying with the hem of her long robe like it was a pet spider. “The truth is… most demons aren’t interested in paperwork. Or treaties. Or morality. They want chaos. They want flesh. They want pain. And trust me, they’re not watching this broadcast with sympathy in their hearts.”
She leaned close to Elenna, just enough that the mic caught her whisper like a lover’s warning.
“If you meet one of them alone in a dark alley, sweetheart… run.”
The air felt colder again.
Like the void pressed closer just hearing her speak.
Syntyche tilted her head back toward the prince and said with a smirk, “But we’re good, right?”
He nodded once. “For now.”
Elenna exhaled sharply.
Her thoughts spiraled—half reporter, half servant.
Because beneath the mission, beneath the broadcast, beneath the script and the glory and the record-breaking ratings, something else stirred in her chest.
That was terrifying.
Not because they were demons. Not because they were monsters.
But because they were honest.
More honest than the world that tried to label them as lies.
‘Damn… and I’m also one of them…’ she thought. But somehow she thought that she was still part of the human world.
She took a step back.
Her legs were trembling now. The spell of it—the pressure, the weight of the interview, the presence of the queens and their prince—was starting to leak through her skin like it had nowhere else to go.
But she still smiled.
Still lifted her chin.
Still aimed the mic forward like it was a sword and she’d die before lowering it.
“Last few questions,” she said, clearing her throat. “What happens now?”
The demon prince looked up again—toward the hovering cameras, the drones blinking like artificial stars, the glass towers of the city still wrapped in scar tissue.
Then he looked through them.
Like he saw beyond the lens.
“To the people who called me a mistake?” he said softly. “I say you made me.”
“And to everyone else…?”
He paused.
His eyes glowed just a little brighter behind the golden-red blaze.
“To the world still wondering if I’m the hero or the threat…” He stepped forward again, the shadows moving with him like loyal dogs.
“I’m the line.”
And just like that—
The wind stopped.
The city held its breath again.
And every screen still broadcasting across the world?
Froze.
On him.
Wings spread.
Queens behind.
Eyes burning like judgment made flesh.
The Demon Prince.
No longer hiding.
No longer asking.
Only declaring.
The line had been drawn.