Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users

The void around them breathed like a living thing. The fractured sky above kept shifting and breaking apart, shards of memory flashing like broken glass, reflections folding and scattering before forming again into jagged pieces.

Beneath their feet, the roots of that endless tree pulsed faintly, green veins glowing in time with Elowen's calm breath, steady like a heartbeat that belonged to something larger than the world.

Around them, the rivers of light twisted through the dark, flowing against gravity, spiraling closer as if eager to see which woman would command them first.

They stood across from one another, unmoving, their silhouettes sharp against the trembling void. Two storms were waiting for the moment they would collapse together.

Elowen moved first. She lifted one hand, her palm open, and the roots beneath her answered instantly.

A wall of thorns surged upward, thick and tangled, bristling with light that ran through each sharp edge.

It rose high above her, curling like a living barricade, and when one of the rivers bent toward her call, she pulled it into the thorns.

The luminous water poured into the green wall until the entire mass groaned and cracked, bursting forward in a single sweeping current.

The flood roared across the arena, a tide of light mixed with the sound of roots tearing the void open.

The rush echoed far, like oceans colliding, like a forest ripping itself out of the earth all at once.

Lilith didn't flinch. She didn't shift her stance or lift her hands. Her body blurred, her outline bending like smoke, and the torrent passed through her as if she were nothing but a mirage.

The wall and the flood of light slammed into the platform, shattered into sparks, and exploded outward in useless brilliance.

Lilith's true form stepped out of the haze several feet away, and two more stepped with her.

Three of her now, all moving in rhythm, their eyes sharp and amused, their voices echoing together in tones that overlapped until they cut the air.

"You've grown heavier, Elowen," they said, almost playful. "But heavier isn't always stronger."

Her words weren't cruel, but they were meant to prod, to test.

Elowen didn't answer immediately. She looked down, her gaze softening for the faintest moment as it lingered on the root beneath her feet.

The glow inside it pulsed brighter, as though it breathed with her. Then she pressed her bare foot down into it, calm and deliberate, as if reminding the void where she stood.

The arena shifted. Vines sprouted outward from the root, rushing in every direction like veins cracking across glass.

They climbed the mirrored walls of the fractured sky, curling around each reflection, ripping them apart one by one until the false Liliths shattered and dissolved into sparks.

The laughter of illusions was cut short, and when the last one fell, only a single Lilith remained.

Elowen's voice followed, steady and sure. "But heavier is harder to move."

Lilith smirked, her crimson eyes glinting. Her body blurred again, splitting into a dozen selves that circled the battlefield.

Each one whispered, each voice curling close to Elowen's ear, sharp as knives or soft as secrets.

"Elowen, your daughters will wither without you."

"Elowen, he doesn't see you the way you wish he did."

"Elowen, you are only strong when someone else roots you."

The voices overlapped, some cruel, some kind, all heavy. They landed like poisoned seeds, designed to burrow deep, to make her stumble.

Elowen's eyes shut. She drew a steady breath, though her hands trembled faintly at her sides. Her posture never broke. The void trembled with her resolve.

From the roots burst a tree of light, its trunk rising tall, branches spreading outward until they filled the arena with a canopy of green.

Each limb reached wide, sweeping across the battlefield and crashing through false Liliths one after another. Illusions shattered in showers of sparks, breaking apart like glass under a weight too heavy to bear.

Half of them vanished, torn apart by the branches' relentless growth. The rest laughed together, sharp and cruel, their sound filling the void in a way that made it hard to tell where it came from.

"Stronger, yes," the voices echoed, "but not unshaken."

Elowen's lashes flickered, her eyes snapping open. And then she froze.

At the far edge of the arena, past the canopy and rivers of light, Ethan stood. His dark hair caught the shimmer of the fractured sky, his face calm but edged with something raw.

His lips moved, her name spilling out in the voice she knew too well.

"Elowen."

Her control wavered. For the briefest moment, her roots faltered, branches bending as if torn between truth and illusion.

But only for a moment.

Her breath steadied again. The light around her surged violently and fiercely. Roots whipped forward, coils snapping across the arena, slamming down against the boy's figure until it shattered like glass, breaking into dust that scattered across the void.

Her voice cut through, low and sharp. "Don't use him."

The illusions rippled, shivering faintly. Lilith's true form tilted her head, her crimson gaze gleaming sharper, her smirk curling.

"Good," she murmured, soft but edged. "Still awake."

The clash deepened. Roots burst upward like spears, tearing holes through mirrored skies.

Branches wove into thick walls around Elowen, shields snapping into place like armor. In answer, Lilith's illusions swept down in waves, glass skies shattering and reforming with each strike, filling the air with shards that sliced through vine and leaf alike.

Each time Elowen struck, the void cracked under her weight. Each time Lilith blurred, new reflections bloomed, cruel laughter weaving through them.

Their powers weren't colliding anymore—they were folding the space itself, bending it back and forth until the void rippled and warped around them.

Roots lashed rivers into whips. Illusions turned shards of sky into blades. Green light flared, crimson shadows hissed, and the two storms pressed against one another, neither yielding, neither breaking.

For long moments, the duel consumed the space. Every move answered, every strike countered. Their fight wasn't chaos—it was rhythm, a pattern that belonged only to those who had crossed blades too many times before.

And then, slowly, the storm began to ease.