Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 387

Chapter 387: Chaos, Temptation, Ruin—It’s Always The Same With You

The silence in Valakar’s hall didn’t fade quickly. It sat there in the air like a blade resting against a throat, sharp and waiting, and every cultist who still had breath enough to whisper pressed themselves flatter to the ground, as if that could protect them from words they weren’t meant to hear in the first place.

The weight of it lingered even after the gods themselves had gone quiet, pressing down until the only sound left was the broken rhythm of prayer muttered by lips too cracked to hold steady.

Far away from that chamber of bone and smoke, outside any place mortals could walk or even gods could fully claim as their own, another realm began to stir.

It wasn’t a realm that could be mapped, or bound by walls, or measured by sky. It had no beginning that anyone alive could point to, no end that could ever be reached. It was older than stories, older than the first curses spat into the dark, older even than memory itself. And at its center, at the heart of all that silence and agelessness, there stood a tree.

Calling it a tree almost cheapened what it was. Its trunk was so wide it made mountains look like pebbles scattered on the ground.

Each ridge of bark stretched as wide as rivers, each crack and crevice deep enough to hide entire cities.

Light ran through its bark like veins, not constant but flowing in bright pulses, streams of energy that carried the slow rhythm of something older than any heartbeat.

The roots went on forever. Some of them plunged straight down into a void so deep it looked like the bottom had never existed at all, curling into places where time itself bent and slowed until even moments forgot to move.

Others reached upward, piercing through cracks that looked like shattered mirrors, their tips breaking into dimensions that mortals had no names for.

A few twisted sideways, ripping through space in ways that showed glimpses of other realms—a starfield burning in one glance, an endless sea of night in the next.

The branches stretched so high they vanished into haze. Each one was broad enough to hold not only palaces or lakes but entire civilizations if they dared to settle there.

Everything else in existence seemed small compared to it, fragile like dust drifting across something so vast it didn’t notice or care.

On one of those branches, a surface had smoothed itself into a natural balcony, old and shaped by nothing but time.

The bark had folded in on itself, flattening into a kind of table, and across that surfac,e glowing patterns had been etched deep into the wood.

At first glance, it was a chessboard, squares faintly lit and lined, but the game it carried was nothing like mortals would recognize.

The pieces were alive. Tiny men and beasts and soldiers and monsters stood in their places, breathing faintly, moving even before they were touched.

When one piece struck another, there were squeals, or roars, sometimes laughter. The defeated never stayed long; they broke apart into sparks of light that sank back into the board, waiting to be reborn.

Two women sat at either side.

The first leaned lazily forward, elbow on the table, chin propped against her palm as she spun one of the pieces between her fingers.

Her hair was purple, a smooth waterfall that poured down her back, each strand shimmering like it had stolen light from the stars.

Horns curled from her temples, elegant arcs glowing faintly at their tips, and a long, sleek tail swayed lazily behind her, its end tipped with a jewel-like flame that shifted color as it moved.

Her face was striking, every line cut with a beauty that was both temptation and danger. She had the allure of a succubus, but not the watered-down blood that sometimes drifted in mortal veins—this was primordial, the kind that carried no flaws, no weakness.

Her body was lush, voluptuous in ways that could topple kingdoms with a glance, yet her aura was sharper than that, refined and regal enough to remind anyone that she wasn’t just some creature of desire.

She was temptation and divinity fused together, the kind of being who could ruin nations with a sigh if she chose to.

When she smiled, it was sly, the smile of someone who knew the joke long before anyone else caught on, the kind that made it clear she’d enjoy watching others stumble and scramble just to catch up.

Across from her sat the second woman, straighter in posture. Her hands rested neatly in her lap until she reached for a piece with deliberate calm.

Her hair was green, smooth and long, the ends curling slightly as if they had been brushed by wind. It shone like leaves touched by dew in the first light of morning.

Her ears were long, tipped sharp, catching faint light like polished jade. She was an elf, not the scattered remnants that mortals sometimes claimed to see, but something older, something closer to myth than to flesh.

Her beauty was quieter than the succubus’s but no less deep. She was tall, slender, with a grace that seemed carved into her bones.

Her robe flowed down around her like water, embroidered with patterns of vines and constellations that shimmered faintly when she shifted.

Every time her sleeve moved, small flowers bloomed along the threads, fading after a moment as if the fabric itself carried a heartbeat.

Her eyes were calm, filled with patience, but behind the calm lived humor, a faint spark of mischief that showed whenever her gaze lingered too long on her companion.

The succubus made the first reckless move, flicking a piece across the board. It screeched as it landed, scrambling forward only to be trapped quickly by the elf’s neat counter.

The succubus laughed, leaning forward just far enough for the curve of her chest to press against her robe. Her smile was sharp and knowing.

“You’re far too cautious,” she purred, voice dripping with amusement. “All these rules, all this patience. It’s dull.

Try playing like me—sacrifice something bold, break the board apart, and just watch their little faces crumble when it all falls down.”

The elf raised a single brow, unbothered. Her fingers pushed a piece forward with precise grace, shoring up her defense.

“And you,” she said smoothly, “are reckless. Again. Throwing away pieces just to see what happens. Desire without restraint always leads to ruin.”

The succubus laughed louder at that, shaking her head, her tail flicking lazily behind her. “There it is again. That priestess tone.

Always preaching, always warning.” She leaned back, rolling her shoulders, smile still wide.

“But you know as well as I do, he nearly choked when that little scrap of parchment landed in his lap. The old fool doesn’t even remember who still watches.”

The elf’s lips curved faintly. “And yet he will act. You know his kind. Hurt his pride and he grows reckless. Reckless gods are the most dangerous kind.”

“Good,” the succubus said, tossing another piece down without care. It shrieked as it landed, surrounded instantly by the elf’s careful ranks. S

he didn’t even blink when it was crushed, only smiled wider. “That makes the game more interesting.”

The elf’s piece moved again, slow and deliberate, closing the trap tighter. “You call it interesting,” she said softly, “but I call it proof you never think before you leap.

Chaos, temptation, ruin—it’s always the same with you.”

The succubus leaned dramatically forward, arms pressing together as she gasped in mock offense.

“And you’re all order and rules and stability. Boring, boring, boring.” Her smile slid back into place, sly and certain. “Admit it. You like it when I stir things up.”

The elf sighed, but her eyes held a flicker of humor. “If you think shaking those at me is going to distract me, you’ve underestimated me by a few centuries.”

The succubus pouted, then smirked. “Caught me.”

Their laughter carried across the branch, sharp and warm at once, before fading into the heavier weight of their next words.

“He’s reckless because he’s only just awakened,” the elf said, her hand brushing the board, her eyes studying the pieces like they were more than a game.

“He’s still half-bound by the old void, still chained to rules he doesn’t realize he’s obeying.

That letter will gnaw at him. He won’t forget it. He’ll tear himself apart trying to decide which debt it means.”

The succubus hummed, twisting a strand of her hair around one finger. “The letter wasn’t even ours, but the fact we knew of it before it appeared—that’s enough.

Let him stew. Let him guess which shadow reached for him this time. Debt, promise, curse—it doesn’t matter. What matters is he’ll never rest easy again.”

Her smile sharpened, teeth glinting faintly in the light. “Humans amuse me, too. Since the meteor, they’ve been crawling forward faster than anyone thought they could.

Ambition spreads through them quicker than hunger. They multiply like fire.”

The elf glanced at her, steady but faintly amused. “Ambition burns itself out if it has no roots. They’ll need grounding or they’ll collapse before they ever reach the height they dream of.”

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