The Incubus System Chapter 1244. Panic

The Incubus System Chapter 1244. Panic

The lead guard blinked. “But he has angel wings.”

“He is Nephilim,” the butler snapped. “This is Damian Lucio Malignus! The Crown Prince! You stopped him?!”

“I—I didn’t recognize him—”

The gates opened with a heavy groan. The metallic silk patterns hissed and curled aside, letting me step through.

The butler bowed deeply as I passed. “Apologies, Your Highness. They’re new. And a bit slow.”

“Noted,” I said.

And then I was in.

The butler, who had resumed his perfect composure as if he hadn’t just sprinted across the courtyard yelling at guards, walked a few steps ahead of me, hands folded neatly behind his back.

“I trust things have been… calm?” I asked casually, eyes flicking over the soft-glowing crystal lanterns and the guards lining the hallway with posture so stiff they might as well have been carved.

“Completely, Your Highness,” the butler replied. “Her Majesty deployed her patrols the moment news of the capital breach reached our gates, but there was no incident here. No incursions, no divine residue, no infernal pressure. The web-net caught one low-level imp trying to sneak through a cargo rift, but he was incinerated before he made it past the outer webline.”

I gave a small nod. “So she was ready.”

“She’s always ready. But the enemy never came.”

I hummed. “Figures. Zatan and Beel focused all their resources on Licheri and the capital. My city was probably just a distraction. Lower-tier soldiers. No real pressure. Their target was the heart.”

“A logical strategy,” the butler said. “Though still foolish.”

“Very,” I muttered, more to myself.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The halls turned, curved, rose in elegant arcs, finally ending at a familiar set of doors—the grand entrance to Syntyche’s personal chamber.

The butler stopped, straightened his lapels, then tapped once on the carved silk-wood door. It opened without resistance.

I expected something ridiculous.

A seductive recline on the sofa, maybe. A glass of blood-wine. A slow turn with eight legs crossing one another like a fashion runway trained with murder intent. Or some smooth, smug greeting wrapped in smoke and sin.

What I did not expect— Was pure, absolute chaos.

There she was.

Syntyche. The Spider Queen.

In a state of panic.

Mid-panic.

Her eight legs were moving at triple speed across the polished floor, dragging along tables, chairs, and who knew what else. Her top arms were aggressively applying makeup to her already-perfect cheekbones. The lower two were fumbling with hair potions, spritzers, an eyelash curler. One of her middle limbs knocked over a perfume bottle, and a scent of venomous vanilla exploded into the room.

She hadn’t even noticed the door open.

I stared.

The butler stared.

She froze.

All eight legs just locked in place. A tube of gloss fell from her hand and rolled across the floor like a guilty scroll. Her crimson eyes widened—and for a split second, she looked like a noble caught naked, which, honestly, would’ve been less dramatic than this.

Then, in the smoothest, most embarrassingly obvious motion I’ve ever seen, she threw the perfume bottles into a drawer, yeeted the hair wand into a basket, and flopped down on her chaise lounge like she’d been there the whole time.

One of her legs twitched. The scent of panic lingered faintly under the perfume cloud.

The butler didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. He just nodded once and stepped aside.

“If you need me, I’ll be outside,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied, not taking my eyes off her.

He closed the door behind me with a soft click.

The silence followed.

“You came,” she said softly. “Damian.”

I crossed my arms, eyes narrowed just slightly. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No,” she said immediately, sitting up straighter, trying not to look like she’d just tackled her vanity mirror mid-emergency. “I—well, yes, I was expecting you, just not… now.”

“I sent no warning,” I said, walking into the room slowly. The silk on the floor was plush. “But I assumed the Queen of Spiders would always be prepared. Or did I catch you off-guard?”

She scowled, but it was that sultry kind of scowl. The kind she used when she was flustered but trying not to lose her image. “I was multitasking.”

“With a hair curler?”

“Kind of,” she said flatly.

Her eight legs curled and stretched behind her like a predator stretching into comfort. But her eyes—crimson and sharp—watched me with hunger she didn’t bother hiding.

I stepped closer.

Her posture shifted slightly. Defensive, then confident. One of her legs crossed over another in a perfect flex of control.

“You came all this way,” she said, voice lowering just a notch. “Looking like that. Radiating both heaven and hell. What do you want from me, Damian?”

I stopped a few steps away. Let the energy between us settle. Let her feel it.

She always liked the tension.

“I need a favor,” I said at last.

“Do you now?” she murmured. “And what could I offer that my King cannot take for himself?”

“Information,” I said. “About Bloodrender. The cursed sword Zatan dropped. The mortal military took it.”

Her lips parted slightly. Not with surprise—more like recognition. “Ah. That weapon... You lost it?”

I gave her a look. “I was dying, Syntyche.”

“Mm. Still sounds like a mistake.”

“You can berate me later.”

“Oh, I will.”

I stepped closer until we were only a breath apart. Her legs shifted subtly—parting, curling, two framing the edge of her chaise like delicate blades.

“But first,” I said, letting my voice drop just enough, “I need your network. Your eyes. I want to know where they’ve taken it.”

“And what,” she said softly, “do I get in return?”

I leaned in until my lips almost brushed her ear. “You already know.”

She inhaled.

Not from fear.

But anticipation.

I could feel it through the web-like mana threads crisscrossing the chamber—tightening, tugging, vibrating between us like a stringed instrument drawn taut.

“You came to seduce me for secrets?” she whispered.

“No,” I said. “I came to claim what’s mine.”

And for once, Syntyche didn’t speak.

She simply smiled— Wicked and beautiful and ready to fall all over again.