The Incubus System Chapter 1274. You Made Me Look Weak
The Incubus System Chapter 1274. You Made Me Look Weak
He picked up his glass again, but this time he held it toward me.
“…Want some?” he asked, like it cost him a limb to say it.
I blinked. “Wow. A gesture of humility.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
I took the glass, sipped it.
Bitter. Bold. Exactly like him.
“You need to rest,” I said, handing it back. “Seriously. Take a night off. Delegate something.”
“I did.”
I tilted my head. “What?”
“I delegated the candidate tournament to you. Give me the list. I will choose.”
I scowled. “Damn it.”
He grinned. Just faintly. But it was real.
“You’re learning,” he said.
“Learning that you pawn off the hard jobs.”
He nodded. “Proud of you.”
That made my chest feel weird. Not warm. Not cold. Just—
Heavy. Like something important had been placed there. And it was mine now. To carry.
Still, I managed a dry chuckle. “You know, one day I’ll dump a pile of bureaucratic reports on your desk. See how you like it.”
“Unlikely.” He set the wine down, gaze drifting back to the window. “I don’t read things beneath my IQ.”
“Your ego’s allergic to paperwork. Noted.”
He didn’t laugh. But he didn’t deny it.
I stood up from the dais, brushing off my slacks. My shoulder still ached from that awkward teleportation landing earlier. The tension between us had eased, but I could still feel it—underneath the surface. Like a hairline crack in glass that hadn’t spread… yet.
I stepped closer. Two steps. Three.
He eyed me warily, like I was about to pull something stupid.
Which—okay. Fair.
But I was already doing it.
I extended my hand.
“What?” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“Just take it.”
He didn’t move. Just stared at my hand like it was a trap.
Which, technically, it was.
But not the bad kind.
He frowned. But finally—finally—he took it.
And I gripped it tight.
[You are using Dark Healing on Lord Damon.]
My aura flared before he could react. Shadows rippled from beneath my skin, crawling up my arms like ink in water. My eyes burned with molten violet, and the power surged between us in an unspoken bond.
He stiffened immediately. “Damian—”
But I didn’t let go.
Not this time.
I pushed the energy into him. Into his core. Into that cracked, scarred section he tried so hard to hide. It was like touching raw lightning—jagged and dangerous—but I held steady. I let my demonic essence pour into his, not violently, not like a forced transfer, but with the pressure of someone who refused to let go.
He tried.
He really did.
His hand twitched, trying to yank free. His aura spiked like a defensive reflex, power crackling around us in a golden blaze. But I was stronger right now. Not because I had more raw strength. But because I meant it.
Because I wasn’t letting go.
Not when he needed this.
Not when I knew.
He growled, low and dangerous. “Stop it.”
“No.”
“You’re draining yourself.”
“I can handle it.”
[Your demonic power is below 50%!]
My system’s warning pinged in my ears, but I blocked it out. My vision blurred for a moment, heat building in my chest, my spine, my limbs. Sweat broke across my brow. But I could feel it working. I could feel the fractures in his core mending, the deep torn energy slowly knitting back together like a ripped soul being sewn shut.
He glared at me, eyes flashing, muscles coiled. “Damian!”
Still, I didn’t stop.
Because he wouldn’t ask for this.
He’d never ask.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t need it.
So I grit my teeth and pushed a little more—just enough to patch the damage I could feel echoing inside him.
And then—
-Boom!
His aura exploded outward.
Not in rage. But in force.
A flare of pure demonic power that blasted me backward like I’d touched the sun.
I flew.
But I didn’t crash.
An invisible force caught me mid-air, wrapping around my body like a firm, floating grip. His power. His control. He caught me before I hit the marble floor.
I hovered there for a second, suspended by the same man who just threw me.
Then I dropped.
Soft landing.
Controlled.
I looked up.
He was standing now.
The throne behind him. His body straight. Power restored. Eyes glowing with a mix of fury and something else I couldn’t name.
He looked at me like I’d just spat on a centuries-old statue.
And yeah.
He was pissed.
“You dare,” he said, voice low and tight, “heal me without permission?”
I stood slowly. Chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. That stunt drained me more than I wanted to admit.
“Yeah,” I said. “I dared.”
He took a step forward. “You just insulted me in the throne room. In my city. You stripped away my choice.”
“I saved your core from splintering further.”
“You made me look weak.”
I stared at him. Really stared.
“Dad,” I said quietly. “Please use me.”
He blinked.
I stepped closer again. Not aggressive. Just there.
“Don’t… take it all alone.”
Something shifted behind his eyes. Something sharp. Something fragile.
“You make me a whiny old man,” he said bitterly, voice just barely above a whisper.
I shook my head. “No.”
He didn’t respond.
So I said it. All of it.
“I lost my father once,” I murmured. “In the human world. He was strict. Good man. Taught me how to be strong. How to survive. And then he died. Just like that. Some demons tore him apart on his way to pick me up. And I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”
Damon’s face didn’t move. But his aura… wavered.
“I don’t want to lose this one, too.”
Silence.
Thick.
Heavy.
I didn’t expect an apology.
I didn’t expect tears.
I didn’t expect him to crumble and hug me like a Hallmark ending.
But the silence?
It didn’t feel like rejection.
It felt like grief.
Unspoken.
And maybe that was enough.