Strongest Incubus System

The entire stable seemed to hold its breath. The strong smell of hay, sweat, and iron mingled with the tension in the air. The black horse whinnied softly, snorting like a bull about to charge, muscles throbbing beneath its dark coat. Damon, standing beside it, slowly ran his hand through its shaggy mane.

Hilda, leaning against one of the posts, had her arms crossed and a frown on her face.

”If you’re going to die, at least don’t scream too much, boy. You’ll scare the other horses,” she murmured, half-ironic, half-serious.

Damon cast a quick, humorless glance in her direction. Then he climbed onto the makeshift saddle, placed his hand on the saddle—which Hilda had fastened with surprising speed, even though she grumbled with every buckle—and mounted.

The silence that followed was almost absurd.

The black horse didn’t react. It didn’t rear, it didn’t whinny, it didn’t try to bite him. He just shook his head once, exhaling a hot breath through his nostrils, and stood still. He accepted.

Hilda’s eyes widened.

”I... I don’t believe it.” Her voice cracked. ”That demon has already taken down seven men, an experienced hunter, and nearly killed my assistant. And you...” She pointed at Damon accusingly. ”You just sit on him and that’s it?!”

Damon shifted in the saddle, his still-red eyes reflecting the dim light of the stable. A half-smile formed on his lips.

”Maybe he was never the problem,” he said calmly, but teasingly. ”Maybe people just aren’t as resourceful as I am.”

The sentence sounded almost like a joke, but there was no heat in it. Just something dry, something that left Hilda speechless.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then sighed loudly, running a hand through her messy red hair.

”Sometimes...” she said quietly, half to herself. ”Sometimes it’s better to keep quiet and let people get screwed over by themselves.”

Damon slowly turned his face to her, his expression completely neutral. His eyes were cold, without anger or smile. Just fixed, like immobile blades.

Hilda felt a shiver run down her spine and took a step back, raising her hands.

”Okay, okay. Forget I said anything,” she murmured, disconcerted.

Silence reigned for a moment. Only the rhythmic sound of the other horses chewing hay filled the space.

Then Ester broke the tension.

”Enough of this nonsense,” she said coldly, tugging on the reins of her own chestnut horse, already ready and impatient. ”Get on straight, Damon. And move.”

With a quick movement, she tossed a small bag of coins to Hilda. The weight of the bag slammed against the woman’s chest, and she caught it reflexively.

”That should cover everything,” Ester finished, without even looking back.

Hilda opened her mouth to say something, but only closed it again. The metallic clang of the coins inside the bag was answer enough. She knew she’d received more than her fair share—and she also knew she didn’t want to question that icy-eyed woman.

Ester dug her heels into the chestnut horse’s flanks, which obeyed promptly, walking out of the stable.

Damon remained astride the black horse. For a moment, he let his gaze roam the space one last time. Hilda, motionless, clutching the bag to her chest like a shield. The rest of the horses were restless, some even neighing softly as if sensing something strange in the scene.

He looked down at the animal beneath him. The beast was breathing deeply, hotly, but calmly. A strange balance between threat and acceptance. Damon raised his hand and patted the horse firmly on the neck.

”Come on, partner,” he murmured.

The black horse snorted loudly in response and began to walk.

Hilda leaned against the doorframe, watching the pair walk away.

”May the gods have mercy on you,” she murmured, barely audible, before shaking her head and returning to her work.

Outside, the cold morning air enveloped them like a biting cloak. The sun struggled to break through the gray clouds, casting silvery reflections on the hardened snow. The narrow streets of the small town were still bustling with life—children running, vendors shouting prices, carts creaking under the weight of firewood—but as Ester and Damon rode past, the hubbub died down. People instinctively parted, as if sensing the pair didn’t belong. Suspicious glances and whispers followed them to the exit.

Ester walked ahead, erect and proud, her dark cloak swaying in the wind. Her chestnut horse responded to her every command with precision, almost as if it were an extension of her will.

Damon followed close behind, still accustomed to the powerful sway of the black animal beneath him. Each step was a reminder of the raw power contained within that body. The energy was wild, unstable, like a storm about to explode—but, strangely, directed only at the world around them, never at him. It was as if a silent truce had been struck between them.

”He likes you,” Ester said suddenly, without even turning her head.

Damon’s eyebrows rose, surprised by the observation.

”You think so?”

”No,” she corrected, her voice firm, almost harsh. ”I know. Animals don’t lie.”

The words hung in the chilly air. Damon didn’t respond. He simply leaned forward slightly and ran his fingers through the horse’s shaggy mane. The coarse hairs slicked between his hands, but the contact felt... right.

The road soon opened up before them, swallowing the city behind them. The sound of human voices, hammering, and the iron of the wagons gradually faded, replaced by the dry crunch of snow beneath hooves.

Damon closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. The icy wind burned his skin, bringing with it the scent of frozen earth and distant smoke. The weight of the horse beneath him, the steady rhythm of its ride, all of it filled him with a strange sensation—a cadence that wasn’t human, but which he recognized as his own.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw Ester ahead, imposing, like a shadow that always advanced without looking back.

And behind him, invisible, the memories of Garrick and Caelan followed him. Faces distorted by shock, by fear, by sudden death. The images still haunted him, but they were no longer as suffocating as they had been the day before. There was something new growing in his chest, a nagging flame that mixed pain, anger, and... power.

Maybe it was strength.

Maybe it was thirst.

He didn’t know for sure. He just knew he couldn’t stop. Not anymore.