Strongest Incubus System

Elizabeth said nothing when she entered the room. Her silence was worse than any scream, heavy, dense, almost palpable, as if the very air had learned to shrink so as not to provoke her irritation. Esther was sitting on the edge of the bed, still trembling, her body marked by cuts that hadn’t fully healed, her hands stained with dried blood, her gaze lost on some invisible point on the floor. Damon remained further away, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, observing everything with a hard but restrained expression, like someone who knew that any word at that moment could further inflame the situation.

Elizabeth approached slowly, kneeling in front of Esther without asking permission. Her fingers touched the girl’s wrist firmly, turning it slightly upwards, examining the wounds with attentive, cold, almost clinical eyes. ”Don’t move,” she said, her voice low, controlled, but laden with a tension that betrayed the effort she was making not to explode. Without waiting for a response, she ran her fingernail across her own thumb, opening a small cut from which blood flowed easily, dark and thick, as if carrying more than just life.

Elizabeth’s blood didn’t simply fall onto Ester’s skin. It moved, alive, as if it had a will of its own, snaking through the cuts, filling every open fissure, every irregular line of wounded flesh. The magic spread slowly, pulsing, burning, making Ester hold her breath and clench her teeth tightly. It wasn’t a gentle healing. It was invasive, deep, demanding. ”If you had at least waited a few minutes,” Elizabeth continued, her voice still low, but now sharper, each word chosen with precision, ”I could have prepared this in a less painful way.”

Ester didn’t answer. Her fingers closed slowly on the sheet, gripping the fabric tightly, as if that could help contain the discomfort spreading through her body. Elizabeth didn’t seem to mind the silence. On the contrary, she seemed to expect it. ”You lost control,” she said, now more directly, raising her eyes to meet Ester’s, her expression devoid of any gentleness. ”And it wasn’t a little. It was enough to leave marks that anyone with the slightest perception would feel miles away.”

The blood continued to move, closing the wounds one by one, leaving behind only thin, almost invisible scars. Still, Ester’s body remained tense, as if the pain wasn’t just physical. ”The seal held you back,” Elizabeth continued, tilting her head slightly, analyzing each of the girl’s reactions. ”It was probably the only thing that prevented something much worse. But do you really think that will continue to work if you insist on this behavior?”

Damon shifted his weight against the wall, but said nothing. His eyes narrowed slightly, following Elizabeth’s every word, but he didn’t interfere. He knew this conversation wasn’t for him, even if part of it inevitably involved him. Ester, on the other hand, lowered her gaze even further, as if she wanted to disappear into herself. ”I... I know,” she murmured, her voice weak, almost inaudible. ”I just...”

”You lost control.” Elizabeth finished impatiently, releasing her wrist only to grab her other arm, repeating the process with the same precision. ”Yes, you’ve already made that clear. The problem isn’t what you feel. The problem is what you do with it.” The blood began to flow again, obediently, covering another set of cuts, deeper this time. Ester let out a small sound of pain, but Elizabeth didn’t slow down.

”Do you think you can afford to act like this?” Her voice began to rise, still controlled, but now laden with evident irritation. ”Do you think you can just explode whenever something affects you and expect no one to notice?” She tilted her face, moving closer, forcing Ester to look at her. ”You drew attention, Esther. Much more than you should have. And it wasn’t a small thing.”

Esther took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, trying to find some way to explain what even she herself didn’t fully understand. ”I just... got angry,” she finally said, her voice faltering slightly. ”I didn’t want to hurt him like that. I just... couldn’t stop.”

Elizabeth was silent for a moment, watching her. The blood was still moving, now more slowly, finishing the healing process. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, but no less harsh. ”Anger is no excuse. It never was. It never will be. Feeling is inevitable. Acting without thinking is not.” She released Esther’s arm, wiping away her own blood with a brief movement of her hand, as if it were of no importance whatsoever.

”The King is not a problem you can ignore,” she continued, rising slowly, crossing her arms. ”Every manifestation of this... every loss of control... is like lighting a torch in the middle of the night and hoping no one sees.” Her gaze moved briefly to Damon before returning to Esther. ”And if he comes to us because of this... it won’t just be you who pays the price.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Esther swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the words sink into her chest, tightening something that was already aching. ”I’m sorry,” she said finally, almost in a whisper, without lifting her gaze. ”I didn’t mean to... I didn’t want it to be like this.”

Elizabeth sighed, running a hand through her hair, clearly trying to contain the irritation that still simmered beneath the surface. ”Apologies don’t undo what’s been done,” she replied, more curtly than before. ”They only show that you realized the mistake. And that’s the least you can do.” She took a few steps around the room, as if she needed to move to dissipate the accumulated energy.

”Do you want to vent?” she asked, turning back to Ester. ”Great. Do it. Talk, scream, break things, if you need to.” Her expression hardened. ”But not like that. Not trying to kill the man you love.”

The words landed like a direct blow. Ester froze, her eyes finally lifting, wide, as if that had been more painful than any physical injury. The silence that followed wasn’t just uncomfortable. It was heavy, dense, full of unspoken things. When Ester spoke, her voice was low, almost empty. ”He doesn’t love me.”

Damon closed his eyes for a brief second, his jaw clenching, but still remained silent. Elizabeth, on the other hand, didn’t have the same restraint. In a swift movement, she approached and gave Ester a firm smack on the head, the dry sound echoing through the room.

”Ouch!” Esther groaned, bringing her hand to her head, her eyes filling with tears, more from surprise than from pain itself. ”What was that?!”

Elizabeth stared at her with a mixture of irritation and disbelief, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard. ”That was for being a complete idiot,” she said, without any gentleness. ”Honestly, Esther, sometimes I wonder if you really listen to what comes out of your own mouth.”

Esther looked at her, confused, still holding her head, her face slightly contorted. ”I’m just being realistic,” she murmured, looking away again. ”He never said anything. Never...”

”Oh, for the love of everything that is even remotely logical,” Elizabeth interrupted, rolling her eyes forcefully, clearly losing her patience. ”Not everyone is going to declare their feelings aloud as if they were in a dramatic story. That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

She moved closer, leaning towards Esther, her gaze firm and intense. ”Do you really think he would have stayed? After everything? After what you did today?” Her voice lowered, but each word was laden with meaning. ”Do you think anyone would stay?”

Ester hesitated, her thoughts swirling, doubts piling up in a confusing and painful way. She didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to answer. And that, in itself, said a lot.

Elizabeth sighed, crossing her arms again, but this time there was something different in her expression. There was still irritation, yes, but there was also something closer to frustration... and perhaps, on some level, worry. ”You’re not the only one who feels things here,” she said, calmer, though still firm. ”And you’re definitely not the only one who has difficulty dealing with it.”

Her eyes moved briefly toward Damon, as if it were a silent reminder, before returning to Ester. ”But going around destroying everything around you won’t make anyone understand you better. It will only push everyone away.” She paused briefly, letting it sink in. ”Including him.”

The room fell silent again. This time, a different kind of silence. Less explosive, but still heavy, laden with everything that had been said. Ester remained motionless, absorbing every word, every reprimand, every hard-to-swallow truth.

Damon remained silent throughout the entire scolding, leaning against the wall as if he were merely part of the room’s structure, motionless, rigid, his arms crossed as he absorbed every word without interfering, without reacting, without even averting his gaze. But inside, nothing was static. His body still pulsed with the remnants of what had happened, the icy magic coursing through his skin like a restless, insistent current, difficult to contain, as if still searching for a way to escape.

When Elizabeth finished, the silence that settled in was heavier than any scream. Damon slowly uncrossed his arms, pushing his body away from the wall, without saying anything. He didn’t look at Esther. Not yet. There were too many things there, things that couldn’t be resolved with a simple glance, with a hasty word, with an impulsive reaction. So he just turned and left the room.

The hallway was cold.

It wasn’t an ordinary cold, not the kind of cold that came from the weather or the absence of heat. It was his cold. Spread, ingrained in the walls, the floor, the columns, as if the mansion itself had been marked by the lack of control he tried to ignore. Thin layers of ice covered the surfaces, some thicker in certain places, cracked, uneven, revealing the violence with which they had appeared.

Damon stopped in the middle of the hallway, looking around.

For a moment, he did nothing. He just observed.

The ice reflected fragments of light, creating small distortions in the environment, as if everything were slightly displaced from reality. It was beautiful, in a strange way. Dangerous, in an even more evident way. And, above all, it was a reminder.

He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, feeling the cold air enter his lungs, mixing with something that was already part of him.

Then, slowly, he raised his hand.

The ice responded.

Not with a crack, not with an abrupt break, but with a movement almost imperceptible at first, as if it were awakening. The thinnest layers began to vibrate, to break down into microscopic particles that didn’t fall to the ground, didn’t scatter. They moved towards him.

As if they were being called.

Damon’s magic wasn’t just creation. It was dominion. It was control over what already existed, over what he had shaped, even unintentionally.

The ice particles began to flow through the air, forming almost invisible currents that converged on him, touching his skin and being absorbed back in, as if they had never left. The cold didn’t lessen. It changed. It concentrated.

Each returning piece brought with it a different sensation. Memories of the moment it had been created, fragments of anger, tension, conflict. It was like reliving it all again, but on a smaller scale, controlled, compressed.

Damon slightly clenched his fingers, maintaining the steady flow.

The thicker layers also began to break down, cracking, yielding, being pulled back. The ground reappeared, the walls regained their original color, the mansion slowly ceasing to look like a scene frozen in time.

But the process wasn’t silent.

There was a low, continuous sound, like ice being pressed, compressed, rearranged. A sound that accompanied his breathing, as if both were synchronized.

When the last fragment disappeared, absorbed, the corridor returned to normal.

Except for him.

Damon stood still for a few seconds, his hand still slightly raised, his body tense. Then, slowly, he let it fall to his side.

The cold was still there.

But now it was inside him.

He looked at his own hands.

Small fissures marked the skin, cuts that had been opened during the confrontation, still visible, although they were already beginning to close. His regeneration wasn’t instantaneous. It never was. It was efficient, yes, but it required energy, it required focus, it required time.

The skin moved slowly, the cuts closing, the marks disappearing as if they had never existed. But the sensation remained. An echo of the pain, a reminder of the limit he had surpassed.

He flexed his fingers, observing the movement, testing his own body’s response.

Working.

Always working.

But that wasn’t the problem. Damon exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face, feeling the weight that wasn’t just in his muscles, but in something deeper, harder to name.

”I have to learn to control myself,” he murmured, his voice low, hoarse, almost lost in the empty space of the hallway.