The Incubus System Chapter 1252. Appetizer Not Payment
The Incubus System Chapter 1252. Appetizer Not Payment
I opened my arms lazily on the throne, still sprawled naked like the aftermath of sin made flesh. “Didn’t I just give you something?”
“You did,” she purred. “But it wasn’t payment. That was an appetizer.”
I groaned dramatically. “Your appetite’s worse than mine.”
“You broke me,” she said casually. “Six times.”
“True,” I grinned. “But you liked it.”
She raised her glass and whispered, “Loved it.”
The rim of her glass lingered near her lips, a teasing motion that said she knew exactly what she was doing and wasn’t sorry for a single second. Her fingers were still trembling slightly, though she masked it well.
The throne room smelled like sex, silk, and old wine—intimate and dangerous, like a secret too hot to speak aloud. Her legs had stopped twitching a while ago, but the pride in her voice was laced with wreckage. She was sore. Spent. Still glowing with the kind of aftermath only I could cause.
She turned, walked to her drink table, and brought one over to me. Crimson glass. Silver stem. I took it without a word but raised it slightly toward the light.
Still not entirely used to demon realm food and drink. Too many of them tried to bite back.
“The usual?” I asked, swirling it lightly.
She arched a brow. “Would I poison you after s*x?”
“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”
She snorted. “It’s your usual. No venom.”
I drank.
Yeah. It was wine.
Sweet. Rich. A little heat at the back of my throat. A mild burn, like a slow spell sinking into the bloodstream.
She stepped close again, her dress still undone, but she didn’t fix it yet. She liked the way I looked at her in it—half-wrapped, one shoulder bare, slit cut too high to be legal in most realms.
“So…” she said, voice curling around the question like a lover. “You’re taking me to the human realm now?”
I set the glass aside, licked the faint taste of plum from my lips, and nodded.
Then I snapped my fingers, using my Demon’s Clothes.
The shadows shifted around me like loyal dogs. Threads of black fabric laced up my legs and arms, crawling across my skin with a smooth chill, forming a fitted black button-up, slacks, gloves, and a dark coat with faint golden trim. Polished shoes tapped softly as I adjusted my collar.
She snapped her fingers too, and her dress spun up from the floor like it missed her. It clung to her frame perfectly—a high-slit evening number with spider silk embroidery and a plunging neckline so deep it could drown kings. Her heels clicked as she sauntered back to me, glass still in hand.
“Then?” she asked, eyes gleaming. “The payment?”
I stepped close, resting a hand on her hip, letting my thumb brush the fabric. “I’ll give you more after I get the blade.”
She smirked. “Still stalling, I see.”
I leaned in until my lips grazed her ear. “When we’re back in the demon realm…” My voice dropped. “I’ll f*ck you again.”
She inhaled sharply. Then smiled.
Wicked. Beautiful. The kind of grin that belonged to war criminals and seductresses.
“Sounds like a good deal to me.”
She downed the rest of her wine and set the glass down with a clean clink.
“Open the portal. Let’s clean this up fast.”
I stood upright, matched her intensity, and raised my hand.
[You have opened a portal.]
The air tore open like silk split down the middle, glowing with dark violet light. A tear in space, humming faintly with my signature. Behind it, the skyline of the human world flickered into view—hot daylight, tall buildings, a hazy summer wind brushing the rooftop of a city that never stopped humming.
We stepped through.
The portal closed with a snap.
Now we stood atop an abandoned building, somewhere in the heart of Nighthallow City. Rooftop cracked with vines and graffiti, a few broken security cameras still mounted uselessly to the edge. Wind rustled my coat. Her hair caught the sun and shimmered like black velvet and blood silk.
I looked out.
Still almost noon. Mortal time.
The sky was smog-smeared blue. The traffic below sounded like buzzing locusts. Sirens in the distance, but not close enough to matter.
I exhaled once, steadying my breath, and raised my hand to my face.
A quick swipe across my cheek.
A black mask curled across the left side of my face like ink. Only half—enough to cover my eye and cheekbone. Simple. Elegant. Royal. Just in case.
Syntyche glanced at me and gave a slow, approving nod. “Nice look. Very sexy mob boss.”
“Focus,” I said. “You ready?”
She rolled her shoulders once and let the wind play with her dress. “Mind to give me the locations?”
I pulled out my phone and opened the secure chat with Clea.
Three pin drops. Labeled cleanly.
I handed it to her. She scrolled. Read it. Eyes narrowing with each scan. Her lips moved silently, calculating.
She closed her eyes.
Then whispered:
“Spyder… answer my call.”
The rooftop darkened—not from the sun, but from below.
From her shadow.
It pulsed like something alive, then started moving.
The space beneath her dress twisted. Lengthened. Formed cracks.
Then the skittering began.
A sound like dry leaves dragged across glass. Quiet at first.
Then louder.
Then billions.
Tiny black legs, glinting with spectral silver, spilled out of her shadow like a living tide. Spiders. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions of them. All different sizes—some as small as pinheads, others the size of a human hand, each crawling out in perfect lines from the rift beneath her feet.
They didn’t make a mess.
They flowed.
Crawled down her heels, across the rooftop, over pipes and ledges, across my shoes and around my ankles—but never touching me directly. They knew who I was. They only touched the world. Not the King.
Her Spyders.
Silent spies. Information harvesters. Magic sensors. Aura readers.
They obeyed only her.