The Incubus System Chapter 1493. Borrow Someone’s Hand

The Incubus System Chapter 1493. Borrow Someone’s Hand

The eye tilted.

Confused.

And yeah, this was exactly the problem when talking to this creature.

It spoke like someone had broken a prophecy book into pieces, shuffled them with trauma, and taught the fragments dramatic timing. I never knew which part was literal, which part was symbolic, and which part was just eldritch nonsense with confidence.

The eye rotated once. ‘The one who dislikes corruption.’

“That narrows it down to all the light dimension,” I said sarcastically.

‘The one who sees mixed light as disease.’

“Still the same.”

‘The one who sees you as a threat.’

I pointed at it. “Yeah. That is the king.”

The eye paused. Then blinked again. ‘Maybe.’

I rubbed my face. “Oh, fantastic. I love maybe.” Why did I try to talk with this creature in the first place?

The eye floated closer to the desk lamp, casting an ugly round shadow against the new dark wood. ‘But it will borrow someone’s hand.’

I stopped. That one landed differently. “Borrow someone’s hand?”

The eye said nothing.

I leaned forward. “What does that mean?”

Its pupil widened slightly.

‘Hands do not always know they are holding knives.’

I stared at it. “Can you speak like a normal creature for once?”

‘No.’

At least it was honest.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Okay. So someone is going to act for him. A subordinate? Loira? Another angel?”

The eye trembled faintly at the name, not from fear exactly. Recognition maybe. ‘Song is thread. Thread is hand. But not only thread.’

Great. Absolutely useless.

“Is Loira working for him?”

‘Love makes one mind cloudy.’

I looked at the eye. “Is she going to target Larry again?”

The eye turned slowly toward the door.

Then back to me. ‘I don’t know what a Larry is. But light follows blood.’

My chest tightened. He meant Larry, right? Clearly him.

Everything connected through blood.

“Why are you telling me this?”

The eye went still. The tear behind it pulsed faintly, widening and narrowing like a wound breathing.

Its voice came quieter this time.

‘I hate… that person.’

The words were simple.

Almost childish.

For a being that looked like a nightmare’s security camera, that made it worse.

I tilted my head. “The king? The one who wants purity?”

The pupil shrank.

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “You hate that person, but you’re not going to help directly.”

‘I am not going to mix what I should stay away from.’

I stared. Then scoffed. “You ran away.”

The eye twitched. ‘I did not.’

“Yes, you did.”

The room’s shadows stretched sharply.

A faint pressure pushed against my skin. Not attacking. Reacting.

The eye’s voice pulsed harder.

‘I did not run.’

I stood slowly. “You came here through a tiny dimensional crack, gave me vague warnings, said you hate someone, and then said you’re staying away.”

The eye stared.

I stared back. “That’s running. You are borrowing my hand.”

The pupil trembled. ‘You do not understand.’

“Then explain.”

The eye drifted backward slightly.

I took one step closer.

The dark energy under my skin stirred, responding to irritation more than danger.

“You hate them. You know they’re moving. You know they’re going to use someone else. You know they might come for people around me. And your plan is what? Peek through my room like an eldritch neighbor and say good luck?”

The eye’s veins darkened. ‘I warned you.’

“And I appreciate the warning.”

I paused. Then added coldly, “But don’t pretend that makes you brave.”

The room went still.

The eye looked at me.

I looked back. “Coward,” I said.

The word hit harder than I expected.

The eye froze. Its pupil narrowed to a thin black point.

The pressure in the room spiked.

I didn’t move.

If it attacked, fine.

I was already annoyed.

But it didn’t.

Instead, the eye trembled.

Not with rage. With something else.

Pain?

Shame?

Memory?

‘I am not a coward.’

Its voice was lower now.

I crossed my arms. “Then prove it.”

The tear behind it began closing.

Slowly.

Black edges folding inward.

The eye drifted backward, pulled by the collapsing space. ‘I am not a coward. I am not…’ The crack shrank. The eye’s pupil stayed locked on mine until only half of it remained visible. ‘…a coward.’

Then the dimension closed.

The room snapped back to normal.

The pressure vanished.

Sunlight returned like nothing happened.

I stared at the empty air for several seconds.

Then muttered, “Sometimes I don’t know if I can be friends with him or not.”

Him?

It?

That giant eyeball thing?

Honestly, pronouns became complicated when your possible ally was a floating dimensional organ with trauma and terrible communication skills.

I stayed silent for a while.

Part of me felt pity for him.

Or it.

Whatever.

The Colossal Eye sounded like someone who had seen too much, lost too much, and now lived in that annoying space between wanting to help and being too scared to step forward. I understood that. More than I wanted to.

But at the same time?

Communicating with him was like trying to solve a prophecy written by a drunk poet inside a nightmare.

And worst of all, I still didn’t know if he meant well.

Maybe he warned me because he cared.

Maybe he warned me because he wanted me to fight someone he hated.

Maybe both.

I huffed. “Whatever.”

Bath first. Existential eyeball morality later.

I grabbed my towel and made a beeline for the hallway before reality could change its mind and send me another visitor.

I walked down the hallway, still deep in thought.

My brain was juggling too many knives, and none of them had handles.

So naturally, because my focus was somewhere else, I opened the bathroom door mindlessly.

Then froze.

Celia was in the bathtub.

The bathtub was full of bubbles.

The bathroom was also redecorated.

And in the middle of it?

My little sister sat in a bubble bath like a fancy lady, holding her phone to her ear.

I immediately raised both hands and looked away. “Sorry—”

Before I could retreat, Celia lifted one wet hand and gestured sharply.

‘Come closer.’

I stared.

She gestured again.

Urgent.

Okay.

That wasn’t normal sister embarrassment.

That was information.

I closed the door behind me and walked closer.

Celia spoke into the phone, voice calm but serious. “So, Jenny, since when did your brother disappear?”

I stopped.

Nathan disappeared?