Back at his inn, Nolan slammed the door to his rented room shut.
It wasn't much: creaky floorboards, a cracked windowpane, and a bed that seemed like it might collapse under the weight of a feather. But it was his temporary nest of solitude, his fortress of desperate scheming.
He kicked off his boots and flopped down, cursing under his breath.
"Shit. Shit. Shit!"
He rubbed his temples like they were made of fire. "What now? I can't leave the damn city. The gates are sealed tighter than a vault. The guard's a stubborn brick, and tomorrow is the Trial! If those students lose—and they will lose—people will point at me. Me! And this world doesn't give second chances. They execute problems."
He paced the room like a man possessed, muttering everything from old curses to Earth-based slurs that didn't even exist in this dimension.
His plan to disappear had crumbled. Now, all he could do was wait. Wait for the next blow.
Eventually, stress caught up to him. Exhaustion pulled at his bones like a tidal wave, and sleep dragged him under.
Soon, the room became quiet.
It was too still.
Then—
A voice. Silken. Feminine. Cold and cruel like sweetened poison whispered in the quiet air resounded.
"You escaped your death… but not your curse from me."
The words slithered into his sleeping ears, wrapping around his mind like a lover's whisper.
Bare, flawless white legs touched down on the edge of the bed.
Slender, long, glistening as if kissed by moonlight.
Behind them stretched bay-colored wings, feathered and majestic, but faintly translucent—ethereal in their grace.
Small, cute horns curled gently from the sides of her head, delicate but sharp enough to hint at danger.
The woman—no, the creature—sat atop Nolan's warm stomach. Her eyes glowed softly in the dark, and her lips curved into a cruel, playful smile.
"How did you do it?" she murmured, voice like warm wine and silk sheets. "How did you survive… and now I am bound to you?"
Purple mist curled from her lips. It shimmered faintly with arcane particles and smelled faintly of perfume, sulfur, and cherry blossoms.
She exhaled.
The mist flowed downward.
Into Nolan's nose. Into his mouth.
A slow, invasive breath, thick and probing.
Then, with an audible inhalation, she pulled the mist back, suckling it from his lips like an intoxicating draught.
Her smile widened dangerously. "Interesting~"
But before she could continue—
Nolan's hand shot up like a viper.
His fingers wrapped around her throat with terrifying strength.
She gasped. "Wh—What?!"
His eyes flew open, glowing faintly with mana. "I've noticed you," he growled, sitting up, still holding her airborne by the neck. "Since earlier."
Her eyes widened, and her wings beat once, panicked.
"You thought I didn't know?" Nolan's grip tightened slightly. "I acted goofy to make you appear before me, now I got you!"
She squirmed in his grip, her perfect form twisting in elegant, panicked flailing. "Let go of me! Let go of me, you—idiot! Let go!"
Her voice had changed, the seduction replaced by frustration, by genuine discomfort. "You brute! You aren't supposed to be awake! Let me go—this isn't how this works!"
Her wings fluttered violently, kicking dust into the room. Her white legs coiled and uncoiled like serpents trying to gain leverage.
"You bastard! You brute! I said let me go!"
"Name," Nolan hissed. "Give me your name."
She growled and tried to claw at his wrist. "Damn you! Humans don't wake during this! What are you?!"
"Someone who's been hunted before," he said coldly.
And with one smooth move, Nolan summoned a hidden blade—his Pathogen Knife, the one he got from the game that was used to kill infected individuals with rabies.
Its edge even glimmered with a green sheen of pathogenic essence.
He raised it.
The succubus-looking girl froze.
"Wait!"
Nolan stopped, the blade's tip now at her throat.
A drop of blood gathered, sliding gently down her smooth skin.
He held her there, suspended, unmoving.
Her chest rose and fell, her voice trembling, but still with that lingering seductive lilt.
"I said… wait."
Nolan's eyes burned as he glared at her. The room was silent, but tension crackled like lightning.
"Who," he growled, his voice low and steady, "are you? Answer me!"
The succubus's crimson eyes flickered, her throat trembling from the blade still pressed at the edge of her skin.
She tried to steady her breath, even as blood slowly beaded and dripped down the gentle curve of her neck.
Then, suddenly, her tone shifted—not pleading, not arrogant, but eerily neutral.
"I cannot tell you," she said softly.
Nolan narrowed his eyes. "Then you can die."
His grip on the blade didn't loosen.
The succubus slowly blinked, her eyes shifting down toward Nolan's chest—then to his neck.
"Look at your neck," she whispered.
"What the hell are you—"
And then he felt it.
A sudden sting.
A wetness trickling along the side of his throat.
Nolan's body tensed. His instincts screamed. He took one step back, still holding the blade up, but now his free hand flew to his own neck.
There—hidden beneath the collar of his shirt—he felt something slick, and warm.
He pulled his fingers away.
They were stained with blood.
His own blood.
"Huh…?"
The sting sharpened, then pulsed, like a bite radiating venom from within. His throat contracted. His vision blurred briefly, just slightly.
The pain wasn't lethal, not immediately—but it was synchronized with his mana flow. He could feel it; something inside was linked, like a needle tapping the very threads of his soul.
The succubus screamed, "Let me go! Let me go!"
Her voice rang with desperation. Not the performance of a manipulative temptress. Real. Raw. Panicked.
Nolan, stunned and winded, dropped her.
She collapsed onto the wooden floor, coughing violently.
Each convulsion shook her slender body as she sucked in breath after breath. Her wings drooped to the ground, twitching with each inhale.
Nolan stepped back, watching her as he clutched the bleeding wound at his throat. It wasn't deep, but it was precise. Intentional.
What the hell was that?
The succubus gasped for air, and when her coughing fit ceased, she leaned against the bedframe. Her sultry posture was gone. All that remained was exhaustion—and terror.
"If you kill me," she croaked, "you'll die too."
Nolan's voice was cold. "Why?"
She blinked slowly. "Because…" She hesitated, biting her lower lip nervously. "We are… connected."
"…Connected?" Nolan echoed, brows furrowing. "What the hell does that mean?"
She avoided his gaze, her red eyes flickering to the floor.
Nolan's expression darkened. "Say it."
She didn't speak.
Then a memory flashed in his mind—no, not a memory of his, but one stitched into this body. This borrowed body. Nolan Flamire.
The name still felt foreign on his tongue.
Then it hit him.
"…Don't tell me—" His voice cracked. "You were bound to me?"
The succubus tilted her head, exhaling slowly.
"Yes," she said. "I was hatched in his lower realm. The perfect nest for me… and my sister."
Nolan's mouth dried instantly.
"…Nest? Sisters?"
She nodded. "The inner sanctum of a mortal born with ancient mana. The pact was perfect. Your body—was a vessel meant to incubate us." She looked up, her voice cold now. "And when the time was right… our threads would intertwine."
Nolan gagged slightly. He stepped back, one hand on his mouth, the other clutching the knife again. "Why… why the hell are you still here? Why are you with me?"
Silence.
The succubus didn't respond.
Her lips tightened, as if physically restrained from speaking.
Nolan's rage exploded again.
"You think you can keep secrets after trying to do whatever the hell that was in my sleep!?" he snarled.
He raised the knife, his fingers white-knuckled, and lunged toward her again. This time, aiming for her arm.
"I'll carve the answer out of you if I have to!"
His blade flew.
Nolan would try to hurt her to make her confess. Although it would hurt him too, he doesn't care. He can endure it—he believed.
Just before it touched her skin—reality fractured.
His vision twisted.
Colors inverted. His ears filled with static and screams not his own.
The world paused.
Then, darkness.
He was standing in an endless, pulsing red void. Not physical. Not conceptual. Pure will. Pure memory.
A memory that did not belong to him.
Before him stood Nolan Flamire—the original. His features sharper, more arrogant, his expression soaked in ambition and madness.
The original body's owner raised a hand, swirling with black mana.
In front of him was a figure—feminine beyond comprehension. So beautiful it hurt. And so horrifying it felt divine.
Her horns were spiraled obsidian.
Her wings stretched across the sky.
Her eyes—multiple, layered in rings—saw everything.
The Demon God.
The pact they made wasn't a prayer. It was a deal forged with blood and lust, with vengeance and dominion.
Nolan Flamire offered her his body, his mana, his bloodline—and in return, she would turn him into her vessel. Her champion. Her parasite and incubator. Through him, she would plant her seeds—the demon-born.
Succubi.
Born not from flesh but from corruption.
Her goal?
To claim this lower realm. To twist the fabric of this magical world into her domain.
And Nolan Flamire had accepted that with a smile. "As long as I can have my revenge!"
The pact was dark, drenched in centuries of demonic scheming, blood rituals, and soul harvesting.
He wasn't just a student, not just a noble. He was the root.
The anchor.
And the succubus now bound to him… was his living brand.
…
Soon, the strange vision vanished.
Nolan collapsed back into his body like a man thrown into water.
He gasped.
Sweat dripped from his brow. His chest heaved. His hand trembled as he clutched the bedpost.
"What did that shit even do!?" he muttered in shocked.
He looked toward the succubus—now seated again, calmer, posture relaxed, as if none of this had happened.
Her confidence had returned. Her red eyes shimmered with arrogance.
"So," she whispered, "are you ready now?"
Nolan didn't answer at first.
His voice was hollow when it came.
"…No."
She blinked once, then twice.
"I still need to think about it," he said.
The succubus tilted her head and exhaled, a mocking laugh leaking from her lips. "Still pretending you have a choice. That's cute." She licked her lips slowly. "But fine… take your time, Master~"
Nolan didn't even flinch.
He dropped back into the bed, staring at the ceiling.
The ruined magical world beyond the city's walls didn't feel as dangerous now—not compared to what was inside his own soul.
She sat on the edge of the bed, humming softly, tracing patterns in the air with her finger.
Finally, Nolan muttered, "If you're going to loiter here, at least tell me your name."
"Why should I?" she teased.
"You want me to make the pact, right?" he grumbled. "Then give me something."
The succubus smirked. "Very well~"
She leaned closer, voice sultry and silken.
"I am Lirazel. Hatched from the Midnight Womb, born of the Forbidden Depths, forged under the Rite of Six Moons. My sisters and I are the harbingers of the Velvet Court, messengers of the God-Queen, and seeds of the new reign. I was nourished by corrupted mana, raised by lustful storms, and tempered with the souls of broken champions."
She whispered each word like poetry laced with venom.
"I specialize in soul-binding, dream-walking, mana leeching, and... pleasure synthesis. My bloodline traces to the Ninth Hell. My wings have cast shadows on kings. I watched empires fall before I was even born."
Nolan sneered. "What a load of shit."
Lirazel pouted. "You wound me, Master."
"Save it. I don't believe a word of it."
He closed his eyes.
"Don't do anything stupid. I still need to think about the pact."
Lirazel's smile never faded. "Of course~ Take all the time you need."
Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight as she whispered under her breath.
"I'm not going anywhere."