Chapter 81: Experienced
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
“How can you go in there alone?” John gripped Coraci’s forearm, not even realizing how much force he was using.
After dusk, they had arrived together at the sanctuary converted from a warehouse. Coraci was ready to follow their plan — go inside and attend the ceremony to see what Healing Hands was really preaching. John and Jožef would take advantage of the crowd to sneak into the incubus’s private quarters.
But once John learned just how dangerous an Abyssal incubus could be, he couldn’t bring himself to let Coraci attend the ceremony alone.
“Don’t worry,” Coraci reassured him. “He’s not interested in me that way. I can tell.”
“How can you tell?” John asked.
“When I met him, there were several new followers around. His hug toward me was half-hearted. But when he hugged young Mr. Peter, the redhead Miss Emily, and that supermodel-tall, dark-skinned Nona…each one was hugged with a different focus.”
“What does ‘different focus’ mean…?”
“It means when seducing different types of people, he uses different looks and body language — bolder with some, and with others he acted like how Lucian would.”
John pictured this — it was strangely vivid. “Lucian would make a pretty good religious leader… Are you sure he’s not interested in you?”
“Why do you think I’m that charming?” Coraci countered.
“Remember? When we first met, you almost got…uh…by that male succubus…”
Coraci nodded knowingly. “Oh, that was different. Back then, the incubus in that room had been restrained for a long time and was injured. He was desperate to drain human life force. He would’ve pounced on anyone. But Mr. McDonald eats his fill every day — he can afford to be picky.”
Seeing John still unconvinced, Coraci added, “John, you can sense where I am. You can even sense my emotional fluctuations. If I’m in trouble, you’ll know. Besides, the one who should really be worried is Mr. McDonald, because…”
Coraci paused, lowering his voice. “He’s an Abyssal demon, and I’m a devil. Investigating him might be hard, but if I really wanted to kill him, it would be easy.”
A chill ran down the back of John’s neck. That wasn’t a joke — Coraci meant it. He might rarely use those powers, but that didn’t mean he never would.
For some reason, an image flickered in John’s mind — a construct’s body shattered into pieces. He let his gaze wander, searching for the Forest Spirit hiding among the shrubs between the nearby houses, trying to chase away the momentary coldness that had settled in his chest.
The sanctuary was brightly lit. People entered in order, called by number. Coraci sat in the fourth row from the front, not too near nor too far from McDonald’s podium.
Through the Eyes of Truth, McDonald appeared flushed, his eyes glowing like colored light bulbs, his tail twitching — signs of an incubus’s excitement.
He spoke mostly about how wonderful Healing Hands was, the deep connection between the Nature God and Darling Town (fabricated), the difference between real divine communion and false religion, and so on. Honestly, McDonald’s oratory was mediocre, and his logic was questionable. The reason he could draw such a crowd was partly his species’ innate, inexplicable allure, and partly the influence of the Forest Spirits in the area. People came for selfish reasons — hoping for healing and health.
As the speech wound down, McDonald’s assistant read out a dozen or so numbers. Those whose numbers were called were the “lucky ones” allowed to attend the High Priest’s healing ritual. Because their needs varied — sometimes involving questions about illnesses — the ritual would be private, held in a room deeper within the sanctuary.
No one called was particularly elderly; men and women alike were still in decent condition… Clearly, the incubus intended to choose new “snacks” from among them.
When the unchosen left after the speech, the chosen followed McDonald through a door. Coraci’s number had been called, and he noticed that the father and son, the Peters, were among the group as well.
Old Peter had to be at least fifty. Surely the incubus didn’t intend to do that with him… A more likely explanation was that these two hunters had been exposed. Aside from picking out new “snacks,” the incubus might also be planning to deal with the hunters.
The door behind them was closed by volunteers — humans deeply enthralled by McDonald’s magic and utterly cooperative with his plans. Coraci clearly heard the sound of a lock turning.
They descended a narrow staircase into a basement. The place was spacious, with a hole in the ceiling leading to the outside. McDonald explained that on clear nights, the moon would shine directly through it at midnight, spilling a sacred silver light into the room.
Now, the moonlight was faint, and a few lamps of mismatched colors lit the corners, casting a bar-like ambiance. On top of that, a scent filled the air — something like flowers, something like spices — seeping in from all around.
McDonald began reciting more doctrines and prayers. Coraci didn’t pay close attention, his focus was on analyzing the environment. He wondered how John and Jožef were doing — whether they’d found anything.
Soon, McDonald instructed the people to approach one by one and kiss him. They did so immediately, without the slightest hesitation or doubt. Coraci recognized it as a compulsion spell — even if they truly admired McDonald, there should have been at least a flicker of surprise, or even delight, in their expressions.
For comparison’s sake, a kiss was like sipping the foam off a cappuccino — sex was finishing the whole meal. Coraci guessed the incubus probably just wanted a taste. He played along, feigning obedience as he took a place near the back of the line.
The Peter father-and-son duo, hunters by trade, had been enthralled far too easily. They queued up without hesitation, dull-eyed and lethargic, ready to kiss the incubus. Young Peter stood third in line.
When the incubus kissed the first person, music swelled from a corner of the room — French blues, of all things. Bathed in incense, dim lighting, and soft melody, the one being kissed wore an expression of bliss and utter relaxation.
The incubus not only kissed her deeply but, when he was done, pressed a kiss to her forehead and smoothed a curl on her shoulder. Clearly, he liked her.
The second person in line was probably less healthy; after the kiss, she seemed drained. The incubus handed her off to the first woman and then extended his hand toward young Peter. Coraci caught sight of the holster and knife at Peter’s waist, but the young man offered no resistance, kissing as if utterly lost in the sensation.
The incubus, as expected, didn’t kiss old Peter. Instead, he grasped the man’s chin, blew softly into his mouth, and pushed him aside.
Then came an even more shocking turn — those kissed by the incubus began kissing each other, touching, writhing in tangled embraces, caring nothing for whether their partner was male or female. Desire burned in every face, but their minds were clouded, their limbs limp, their movements sluggish. Even unzipping clothing took several trembling attempts, and more than one toppled over while kissing someone else. They were like drunken fools, oblivious to their own actions.
McDonald himself seemed eager to join them, already loosening his clothing.
Hidden in his sleeve, Coraci carried a crystal spike inscribed with a Light-element incantation. When he refocused, the incubus — Mr. McDonald — was already standing before him.
McDonald blinked slowly and leaned closer. To their right, someone tripped over something, rolling to the floor while gasping for breath.
“Who are you?” McDonald’s pupils narrowed to slits like a cat’s. “I’ve decided to be upfront with you. You’re obviously not an ordinary person — you haven’t been affected at all.”
Coraci decided not to reveal outright that the man was an incubus. For now, he’d treat him like an ordinary cult leader. “Who do you think I am? You should already know. Do you really need to ask?”
“I do,” the incubus replied, circling him warily. “I think you’re a hunter. You hide it very well — unlike those two idiots over there.” He glanced toward the Peter duo — of course, they weren’t truly father and son. One of them was currently caressing a sack of potatoes as if it were a lover.
The incubus continued, “Unfortunately for you, I saw you working with the Moon God. He revealed himself in front of you. Obviously, he’s holding a grudge against me for making money off him, so he sent hunters to deal with me?”
“Wait — the Moon God?” Coraci frowned.
“Oh, no, of course not the real Moon God,” McDonald admitted. “It just sounds nicer, more artistic. His look fits the part, too. In truth, he’s just a big version of a house-keeping elf.”
Coraci fought back a laugh and nodded. “Then why are you confronting me instead of those other two hunters?”
“I’m not done asking questions,” the incubus said. “At first I thought you were a hunter, but something’s off. You don’t carry a gun, you’re not tense, and you walked in here calm as can be. I’ve met plenty of hunters — many, many of them. They’re violent, neurotic, excitable, aggressive; the slightest disturbance makes them want to shoot. But you… You’re unaffected and yet you’ve done nothing. So what are you really here for?”
“Are you accusing me of not attacking you?”
“You could put it that way. I expected you to strike the moment you walked in. That pair of idiots was too easy to control — and you, you’re immune but still haven’t acted.”
Coraci smiled. “It’s simple. I’m not here to kill you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To observe you.”
The incubus looked puzzled, so Coraci explained. “Whatever you are, you founded a little religion and staged obscene, flesh-driven parties. That’s ugly business — but it’s not a monster’s exclusive domain. Ordinary human con artists can pull that off, too. They might get rich, or they might end up in prison. Either way, it’s not necessarily hunter business…right?”
“What? You mean you don’t want to deal with me?” the incubus asked.
“No. I mean I’m here to see exactly what you do, and how far you’ll go. If what you’re doing doesn’t warrant intervention, we leave. If you cross the line…”
He never finished the sentence — McDonald lunged, seizing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall. At the same time, Coraci drove the crystal spike into one of the incubus’s bat wings.
The incubus had dropped his disguise, revealing his true form. Around them, the entranced crowd remained oblivious.
“You’re with the Unthreatening Creature Protection Association!” the incubus growled.
From the pain, his form flickered in and out before Coraci’s eyes.
“Oh, we’re that famous?” Coraci didn’t deny it. In truth, he wasn’t anymore… Still, speaking as though he were a member of the Association left a faint bitterness in his chest.
The incubus roared in anger. From his incoherent accusations, Coraci was startled to discover that McDonald was connected to the succubi he’d dealt with before. With an informant’s help, Coraci had once captured a male and a female succubus — it was the same day he had first met John. McDonald and those two had been part of the same group of “stowaways,” arriving from the Abyss together to infiltrate human society.
McDonald ranted about how unfair the Association was — protecting the rights of mortal-born demons while discriminating against Abyssal succubi. Perhaps it was the polish of a seasoned cult leader, but he kept talking in a constant stream, barely leaving Coraci a chance to speak.
Hunters and exorcists all knew the rule: the more something talked, the weaker it was. Specter or eldritch creature — there were hardly any exceptions.
A throb in his bat wing broke McDonald’s rhythm. Normally, his body could absorb most injuries; even with a knife lodged in him, the wound would heal and push the blade out. But the crystal spike was different. Minutes had passed, and it was still stuck in his wing, the glowing script etched into it creeping across the wing’s membrane like it meant to burrow into his flesh.
With a roar, the incubus tried to yank it free — failed — then reached into the blood pouring from the wound and pulled out a long, crimson whip. Coraci had seen this before; the pair of succubi he’d captured had done the same trick.
“Perfect,” Coraci said, watching him.
The incubus blinked, unable to understand this human’s train of thought. Then, suddenly, the whip in his hand grew lighter. He spun around, only to see it being wrenched from his grasp.
Behind him stood a young man with glowing red eyes, greeting him casually while holding the remaining half of the whip.
“How did you get in here?” the incubus demanded. He could tell the intruder was bloodkin, but couldn’t judge his age or generation, and so couldn’t gauge his strength.
John pointed at the small hole in the ceiling where moonlight streamed in. Then he calmly continued to eat the rest of the crimson whip. He knew he probably looked ridiculous — but when faced with such rare fare, who cared? The power contained in demon blood was something he remembered well.
Coraci shook a silver sphere at him. John nodded, recognizing it as preparation for the Prison Cart.
Of all the bat-winged demons, succubi were among the weakest; females were slightly stronger, but far rarer, while males were more common and even weaker. John didn’t know whether the average bloodkin in an ordinary state could overpower an incubus — but he knew that, having fed on demon blood, he himself could take McDonald easily. The first time he handled a succubus was in Coraci’s third-floor study.
At first McDonald fought and howled. Gradually, he shifted to pleading. Finally, John stepped on his wings, put on insulated gloves, and bound his wrists behind him with a silver chain. Producing his ID, John held it in front of him.
“I’m taking you to the proper authorities and submitting evidence. You can start thinking now about what defense you want to make.”
The incubus struggled weakly. “This isn’t right! I heard the West Bay City Association’s vampire employee was a mediator! You’re not supposed to be in enforcement!”
“That was three years ago,” John said, glancing up at Coraci, who was finishing the Prison Cart incantation. “After that, I started doing both.”
“That’s still not right! You’re supposed to say, ‘You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say can and will be used in a court of law’—”
John marveled at how much this incubus could talk. No wonder he’d blended so easily into human society as a con artist.
Author’s Note:
This one was basically office work… stares at the ceiling. Maybe a little plain.
We’re at chapter 81 now… not sure if it’ll wrap up within 100 chapters.
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