The Incubus System Chapter 1279. Don't Pass Out

The Incubus System Chapter 1279. Don't Pass Out

“Thank you,” I said.

Lord Damon didn’t smile. Of course not. That would imply emotional availability, and that wasn’t really part of his toolkit. Not unless he was under magical duress. Or wine.

Instead, he stabbed a finger at me like he was pointing out a stain on a white shirt. “But you better not pass out this time!”

I winced. Yeah. Fair.

The last time I pulled a Nightmare, I did, in fact, go full coma-mode. Nightmare’s awakening had slammed into my brain like a freight train with emotional baggage and a deathwish. Not my best look.

“Uh… I’ll try,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. “No promises, though.”

He scoffed like that was exactly what he expected, then muttered under his breath, “Try-hard son.”

That stung more than I’d admit, but I didn’t take it personally. He wasn’t just being mean. Not this time. I knew that tone, frustrated, resigned. I’d just reminded him of his brother. Again.

Yeah.

Erebus.

My ancestor.

Lord Damon’s brother.

The one who once held the sword I was about to reclaim.

No wonder he was grouchy.

Not to mention, he thought I trampled his pride after I healed him.

He raised a hand and ripped open a portal like he was swatting a curtain aside. The rift shimmered violently, deep violet, gold threads flickering around the edges like divine static. It smelled like ozone and pressure.

We stepped through.

And just like that...

I was back.

The mountain greeted us like it hated us.

The pressure hit first, like walking into a room where someone had just screamed at the walls for hours. The air was thick. Not with heat, but with despair. Old, heavy, bitter mana clung to my skin like cobwebs. Breathing felt like swallowing someone else's nightmare.

I hadn’t been here in a while.

The last time was when I stood at the edge and felt nothing but distance between myself and my legacy. This time?

The pull was immediate.

The pain was louder.

The screams below us echoed through the vast crater—high-pitched, guttural, layered, constant. Like a choir of the damned was rehearsing their final concert under our feet.

Below us, the pit churned, not lava, but a sea of dark aura. Liquid agony. Souls that never moved on. Echoes of dead gods. Who knew? It wasn’t heat that came from it, it was hunger. A bottomless need that clawed at the edges of my sanity.

And above that, standing on a floating platform of cracked stone and silence...

Redemption.

The sword of Erebus.

A tall, white blade stabbed into black stone like a beacon someone forgot to extinguish. It didn’t hum. It screamed. But the scream wasn’t loud, it was internal. It throbbed against my ribs, beat behind my eyes, made my teeth hurt.

And yet… it wasn’t rejecting me.

It was waiting.

Flaring. Glowing. Vibrating slightly in the stone, like it recognized my blood walking toward it.

“Your Majesty. Your Highness.”

A familiar voice broke the tension behind us.

I turned.

The guardian stood there. Still in that funeral-parlor-perfect black suit, gloves pristine, pale eyes gleaming like backlit marble.

I gave him a nod. A princely one. No tripping this time.

Damon, standing beside me like royalty personified, wasted no time.

“Is everything stable?”

The guardian bowed. “Yes, my Lord. The mountain remains contained. However, the aura has grown… restless. Especially after the death of Lord Beel.”

Damon’s jaw flexed. “Of course it has. That fat bastard detonated his soul like a bomb. Shattered half the spiritual leyline grid doing it.”

He gestured to me. “And now this kid wants to take the sword.”

“I’m not a kid,” I muttered again.

Damon side-eyed me with the full weight of a man who’d personally dismembered dragons before I was born. “You’re nineteen.”

The guardian helpfully added, “Still a fledgling in demon political law.”

‘Shit!’ I took a very deep breath.

“I’m here for Redemption,” I said firmly. “It’s calling me. I can feel it.”

Damon didn’t argue. He just watched.

Because he knew.

This wasn’t about ambition.

This wasn’t about power.

This was about the legacy of someone we’d both grown up in the shadow of. Him, as a brother. Me, as a descendant. Neither of us ever truly understood Erebus.

But his sword?

That was a piece of him we could touch.

And it was calling me now.

Without looking back, I reached into my skill.

‘Teleportation.’

A ripple of dark aura spread under my boots, and I vanished from where I stood... and reappeared at the edge of the platform.

Right in front of the sword.

The atmosphere changed the second I landed.

The air here buzzed. My fingertips tingled. My skin goosebumped despite the lack of wind. My body knew. This was a weapon of ancestral consequence. Something forged in vows and blood.

I stood still for a moment.

Let the feeling soak in.

Then, softly, I whispered, “Hey. I’m back.”

The sword flared.

A burst of white light rippled outward from its core. The ground beneath it trembled. The air tightened. The dark aura below hissed like it had been slapped across the face.

“Be nice, okay?” I added under my breath.

I reached out.

My fingers wrapped around the hilt. It was cold. Not harsh—but ceremonial. Like touching polished stone at a grave that still mattered.

The instant my skin made contact, it happened.

[Artifact Detected: Redemption]

[Lineage Match: Confirmed – Blood of Erebus]

[Bond Request: Accepted]

[Extraction Ready.]

I exhaled.

Then pulled.

The sword slid free like it had just been waiting for me to arrive.

No resistance. No scream. No shockwave.

Just a slow, smooth draw as Redemption left the stone and settled into my hands with a sound like air being exhaled by something ancient.

And I…

Didn’t pass out.

For one second, I just stared at it. The sword of Erebus, my ancestor, Damon’s brother. White steel, glowing faint with a kind of quiet, angelic radiance that didn’t belong here in this pit of screaming souls. It didn’t resist me. It didn’t lash out. It simply rested in my grip as if it had been waiting centuries just to breathe again.