Strongest Incubus System

The carriage's rocking was constant, almost hypnotic, like a heartbeat in the dark. The wheels groaned on the damp gravel of the road, and the steady trot of the horses echoed like drums in the early morning silence. The night chill filled the air, biting, but the soft crackle of the torches mounted outside the carriage cast golden flashes, painting dancing shadows in the narrow interior.

Esther, motionless in her seat, kept her eyes fixed on the window. The landscape looked like a grayscale painting: twisted trees, bare as skeletons, leaned in the wind; dead fields stretched as far as the darkness allowed. It was as if the world itself were in mourning.

But none of this bothered her as much as his presence.

Damon.

Leaning back in the opposite seat, his arms wrapped around his spear like a lover, he wasn't sleeping—his eyes were open, watchful, and fixed on her. He looked at her with the irritating calm of someone who has eternity to wait. His gaze didn't pierce her: it devoured, savored, like that of a predator watching its prey struggle in a cage.

"You even seem... relieved." His voice broke the silence, low, gravelly, imbued with malice. "You finally managed to escape the stifling corridors of the mansion, didn't you?"

Ester didn't look away from the window. Her lips moved barely, her reply as sharp as a blade's edge:

"Shut up."

He let out a short, hoarse laugh that made the air in the carriage vibrate like a taut string.

"Oh..." he said, drawing out the syllable with relish. "Then I got it."

Ester's fingers closed against the armrest, so tightly that her pale skin almost lost its color.

Damon leaned forward, his smile widening, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper that seemed to touch her skin.

"Tell me, Ester... will you miss Aria's moans?"

It was like a shot. Her body reacted before her mind could stop it. Her head jerked around, and her red eyes flashed like bloodshot blades. The air around her plummeted, and a thin layer of ice began to form on the edges of the window, cracking under the pressure of her fury.

But Damon didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Didn't look away. He laughed.

"Ah..." he whispered, savoring each letter as if it were wine. "I nailed it."

Ester closed her eyes for a moment, sucking in a steady breath. The cold intensified, but was quickly subdued. When she opened her eyes again, she averted them to the window, as if he weren't even worthy of her attention.

"You're insignificant," he said, his voice low, icy, spat with absolute contempt. "And no matter how much you talk, Damon... you'll always be."

He tilted his head slightly to the side, as if savoring that sentence. His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.

"Insignificant, are you?" he repeated, almost amused. "Curious... because, despite all that coldness you display, it's me you remember every night."

Ester kept her gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the window. But her hand, still clenched, trembled slightly.

Damon noticed. Damon always noticed.

He leaned back again, closing his eyes, but the devilish smile remained on his lips.

"This trip will be interesting..." he said in a satisfied murmur. "Much more than you imagine."

Silence filled the carriage again, but it wasn't an empty silence. It was dense, charged with tension, as if each of their breaths were a sword about to be drawn.

Ester looked away from her reflection in the window.

Outside, only the creaking of the wheels and the steady trot of the horses broke the silence of the road. The early morning wind blew coldly, whipping at the knights' cloaks.

Caelan, the younger man, shifted uneasily in the seat next to the veteran. His eyes darted toward the closed carriage, as if he could see through the wood. He murmured hesitantly,

"Did you feel that?"

Garrick didn't look away from the road. His calloused hands gripped the reins tightly, his face impassive as a wall.

"Feel what?"

Caelan licked his lips, his breath turning into small white clouds in the air.

"The cold... It came on suddenly. It's not normal."

For a moment, silence stretched, only the creak of axles and the snort of horses echoing. Then, Garrick sighed heavily through his nose, his expression unchanged.

"Ester is irritated."

The boy frowned, turning to face his older companion.

"Irritated... with whom?"

The answer came short, sharp, like an axe splitting wood:

"Who do you think?"

Caelan swallowed. It didn't take much effort for his mind to fill in the name Garrick hadn't said. His gaze returned to the carriage, where the darkness seemed even heavier.

"...The incubus."

Garrick simply nodded, his eyes never leaving the road.

"That demon loves to play with fire. But forgetting he's locked in ice... that's a mistake that could cost him dearly."

Silence fell between them again, but this time it was thick, like an unspoken prayer.

Caelan shifted in his seat, tenser than before, trying to dispel the feeling that the chill he felt wasn't just coming from the night, but from the silent war raging behind the carriage walls.

Time dragged on. Minutes felt like hours, and each creak of the carriage's wood sounded like a wicked whisper, reminding Ester that there was nowhere to run.

The constant rocking was almost suffocating. Damon remained still, but his breathing, slow and controlled, seemed to fill the entire space. The sound was soft, but to Ester, each of his breaths seemed louder than the horses' trot.

She closed her eyes for a moment, seeking a fragment of rest. But in the darkness of her eyelids, his voice still echoed.

Will you miss Aria's moans?

Her fingers curled further into the seat, the leather creaking under the pressure. The air around her trembled again, a cold mist swirling through the carriage, as if responding to the turmoil within her.

"You're holding back..." his voice sounded suddenly low, almost like a dream.

She opened her eyes immediately, her blood boiling.

"What did you say?"

Damon didn't open his eyes, didn't move. He just spoke, as if savoring every word.

"You. You hold on so tightly... even the air trembles."

Ester felt her heart lurch violently in her chest. For a moment, she imagined the sound of her fingers piercing his throat, the icy pleasure of watching him choke, the final silence. But then she forced herself to look away, turning back to the window.

"You're nothing but an insolent child," she said in a cold, thin voice.

"Maybe," he replied, finally opening his eyes. There was a strange calmness there, something at odds with his usual sarcasm. "But even an insolent child can draw a smile from someone hiding behind so much ice."

Ester turned her face back to him, her red eyes flashing.

"You're one step away from being killed, Damon." The incubus raised his spear, resting it on his shoulder, and leaned forward. The smile reappeared, wider, more wicked.

"And yet, you never do."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The air felt heavier, the space between them smaller.

Outside, Caelan clutched his cloak tightly, trying to ward off the bone-chilling cold. His gaze kept wandering to the black line of the forest.

"I don't know how long I can stand this wind..." he murmured.

Garrick let out a low sound, somewhere between a dry laugh and a growl.

"This cold isn't from the wind."

The young man turned his face, startled.

"So... is it really her?"

"Yes," Garrick said firmly. "The general is holding back."