The Incubus System Chapter 1267. Pureblood Heir
The Incubus System Chapter 1267. Pureblood Heir
“Why do I feel like this entire room is conspiring to shorten my life expectancy?” he muttered, slumping deeper into the chair.
I sipped my wine, half-smirking. “Because it is.”
She raised her glass. “Cheers to that.”
We clinked, just to be petty.
Azrael pointed at me, his expression darkening again as his eyes narrowed on the folded wings twitching against my back. “Okay, look. Real question here.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.”
He jabbed a finger toward the wings like they’d personally insulted his ancestors. “How the f*ck are you supposed to explain this to the rest of the demon world?”
I paused.
Syntyche paused.
We both turned and looked at the wings like they were the awkward kid in a family reunion photo.
“…Valid,” I said, dragging a hand down my face.
Azrael didn’t stop. “You’ve got angel wings, Damian. ANGEL. WINGS. You’re supposed to be the next Demon King, and the entire realm’s gonna freak the f*ck out when they see their ‘royal savior’ walks around with Heaven’s lingerie flapping behind his back.”
“They’re not that flappy,” I said under my breath.
Syntyche tapped her wineglass against her lip thoughtfully. “I can help you paint them.”
I blinked. “Paint them?”
“Yeah. Maybe something like… midnight black? Add some obsidian shimmer, hide the glow with a glamour weave.”
Azrael nearly choked on air.
“Paint the wings?” he snapped, gaping at her like she’d just offered to color a tiger with crayons. “Are you two out of your godsdamn minds?! That won’t work! You KNOW that won’t work!”
I winced. “Okay, okay, calm down. She was joking—”
“I am calm!” he barked, taking another deep gulp of wine. “I’m just aggressively calm while contemplating the impending sociopolitical meltdown of an entire race!”
Syntyche reached across the table and patted his hand with the serenity of a queen who’s never been wrong. “You need more wine.”
“I need a new plane of existence,” he muttered.
I exhaled and leaned back, fingers absently grazing the stem of my glass. “Look… I haven’t really thought it through yet, alright? Everything happened so fast.”
Syntyche nodded helpfully. “He did protect the capital. Stood in the blast radius, channeled everything to make a huge barrier to spare the civilians. It was hot.”
Azrael gave me a side-eye. “You saved the capital?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. A chunk of it, anyway. Would’ve been vaporized if I didn’t do a thing. My dad also did the same.”
Azrael frowned, but it wasn’t as harsh now. “Well… maybe that’ll help your case. That kind of sacrifice plays well with the common demons. But…”
“But some of the lords will still oppose me,” I said for him.
He grunted. “Exactly. You know how they are. Highbloods. Old guard. They barely accepted Erebus’s reforms. Some of them still think the throne should’ve gone to a pureblood heir.”
Syntyche wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. That crowd.”
Azrael nodded. “They’ll say it openly. ‘Light beings aren’t welcome in Hell.’ And Nephilim? They’ll dig up Erebus for reference. And he wasn’t exactly the poster child of restraint.”
I rubbed my temple. “Yeah. I know. The history books aren’t kind to him.”
“They’re not wrong either,” Azrael said. “He killed a few of Lord Damon’s loyalists during the rebellion. Half the court still thinks he betrayed the kingdom.”
I stared at my wine for a second. “Because he did.”
Azrael blinked. “Wait—you admit that?”
I nodded. “He acted out of hurt. Tried to unite the realms, but his reputation was already stained. People feared him. He burned bridges in the name of peace—and never earned their trust, only their suspicion.”
Syntyche swirled her glass. “And now the irony is you are the one inheriting both lines.”
“Yeah,” I said, tone dry. “Isn’t that poetic? Half Damon’s legacy. Half Erebus’s blood. A hybrid freak with the wrath of hell and the whisper of heaven. I’m the wet dream of every conspiracy theorist in the lower circles.”
Azrael groaned again. “You’re gonna need a godsdamn miracle to make them completely believe in you.”
“I know.”
“Or a really good PR campaign,” Syntyche added, licking wine from her lower lip. “Maybe we throw a ball. Masked, of course. Invite only. Let the noble bitches ogle your new glowstick powers.”
“Syntyche.”
“What?” She blinked. “You’re hot. Might as well use it.”
Azrael looked like he wanted to crawl into a bottle and never come out. “A normal conference will be enough.”
I sighed again, more tired now than amused. “I know, but I’m not ready to go public with the wings yet. Capital’s still recovering. I don’t want to trigger anything. Not until the civilians are safe and the rubble’s cleared.”
Azrael muttered, “That’s the smartest thing you’ve said today.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I will have to explain eventually. I know that. I can’t hide forever.”
“No,” he agreed. “You can’t. The moment your coronation comes up, or another war breaks out, or some celestial tries to sniff out your soul signature—everything’s going to come out. And when it does, you better have the trust of your people, or they’ll rip you apart.”
I met his gaze. “Then help me.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I want you to be part of this. Of what comes next. Help me hold the line. Help me lead. I can’t do this alone. Not with half my soul humming heaven and the other dragging me back to Hell.” Yeah, I needed as much support as I could get.
Azrael stared.
Then laughed.
A softer one this time.
“You’re an arrogant little bastard.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Thank you for your compliment."
He snorted. “Fine. But if you mess this up, I’m blaming the wings.”
Syntyche leaned back with a pleased smirk. “Oh, I love when boys play nice.”
Azrael drained the last of his wine. “Don’t get comfortable. We’re not done talking about you either.”
“I’m always comfortable,” she purred. “Especially when I’ve just been thoroughly ruined.”
Azrael muttered a curse and tossed the empty goblet onto the tray. “I hate both of you.”
“Cheers,” I said, clinking my glass against his.